Cultivating in the Wizard World

Chapter 595: Chapter 509: True Name and Cooperation

On the way to the central command room of the camp, Jeming clearly felt a shift in the surrounding atmosphere.

Every wizard he encountered along the way, whether they were rushing to the front lines or repairing Witchcraft Artifacts in temporary workshops, would let their gaze linger on him, even if only fleetingly.

Their gazes weren’t hostile; they were more a mix of curiosity, inquiry, awe, and... a certain indescribable hint of gossip.

He could even faintly sense the slight encrypted fragments of Spiritual Power fluctuations in the air, suggesting someone was having secret discussions about him.

Jeming frowned slightly.

He wasn’t accustomed to such intense attention, especially since he had just gone through a heavy injury.

"Pay it no mind," Viola, beside him, seemed to have read his thoughts, a playful smile on her lips as she lowered her voice.

"You’re quite ’renowned’ now, junior. Taking down three Sixth Level formidable enemies, including the Hand of Obliteration, all by yourself, and finally eliminating the Chaos Secret Sect’s trump card, the Saint Heir, while severely injured... Such battle achievements are hard to go unnoticed."

"Even though the command center hasn’t officially announced it yet, they’re probably doing final verification and tactical value assessments. But wizards have their own channels of information, especially in these frontline camps—any minor disturbance spreads rapidly."

"I see... Or not!" Jeming glanced at his senior sister, "It must be because you’ve been bragging too much!"

Hearing this, Viola looked not the least bit ashamed and instead appeared quite pleased: "Oh, it’s no big deal, really, I didn’t help that much..."

Jeming sighed, though he knew that, for wizards, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

In fact, he himself didn’t think it was a bad thing either; it was just a matter of getting used to it.

After all, wizards are essentially "scholars," and whether it’s "academic exchange" or "selling products," having a bit of fame is certainly better than being unknown.

Suddenly, he became a bit curious.

In the Wizard World, notable battle achievements often give rise to corresponding "titles," which is almost an unwritten rule.

"So... do I have any titles now?" he asked, with a probing tone.

Although hearing titles like "Saint Heir," "Warfare God," or "Hand of Obliteration" always seemed a bit pretentious...

But when it came to having one himself, somehow... it felt kind of nice?

Upon hearing this, Viola’s silver-gray eyes glinted with obvious mischief.

She deliberately looked Jeming up and down before slowly saying, "A title? Not for now, oh."

"Hmm?" Jeming was taken aback.

"Titles aren’t given casually," Viola explained, "They usually stem from a wizard’s most notable characteristics—it could be their most adept Law, their signature Witchcraft, their main research direction, or even their unique style of conduct. Like my ’Pain,’ or that ’Hand of Obliteration’ you’ve eliminated."

She shrugged, the smile on her face deepening: "But you, my dear junior, are too ’clean’ in your actions. So far, enemies who’ve witnessed you going all out have almost left no survivors."

"Among colleagues in the camp, aside from the frightening battle achievements, the most profound impression is probably... that scene where you were carried back to the camp by dozens of dark and terrifying Black Giants, as if you were some precious, fragile item."

She leaned in closer, lowered her voice in a mischievous tone, and asked, "You wouldn’t want a title to be associated with that kind of ’triumphant return,’ right? Like... ’Lord of the Black Coffin’? ’The Carried One’? Or more straightforward—’The One Who Was Carried Back’? In fact, there’s already a tendency towards this in the camp recently..."

Hearing Viola’s words, Jeming’s expression froze.

To be honest, his appearance when he finally returned to the camp was indeed not very dignified.

Goodness, if the final title ended up being "Black Coffin Bearer"...

A video he saw in his previous life of a professional Black team instantly popped into Jeming’s mind, making him shiver.

Compared to all those, the simple and straightforward name "Jeming" felt like heavenly music!

"...I think using my original name is just fine," he said dryly.

"Hahaha!" Viola burst into laughter, clearly satisfied with Jeming’s reaction.

After laughing, she cleared her throat slightly before saying, "Actually, not having a fixed title, in certain situations, is a greater honor."

"Oh?" Jeming was intrigued.

"It means that when people mention your ’name,’ they automatically refer to you personally, without any prefix or suffix needed to distinguish you." Viola’s eyes showed a hint of longing, "It signifies that your existence itself has enough ’uniqueness’ and ’recognizability.’"

At this point, Viola winked at Jeming: "For example... our mentor doesn’t have a title..."

Jeming listened with some yearning: "To achieve such... ’appearing in the world by true name’ level, what needs to be done?"

"It’s simple."

A plain yet penetrating voice came from behind the two.

Jeming and Viola turned around simultaneously, only to see that Professor Clark, without them noticing, was walking a few steps behind them, still in his gray robe with a detached expression, as if the comment just made was not uttered by him.

"Professor." Both of them greeted him promptly.

Clark nodded slightly, his pace unbroken, naturally moving ahead of them, leading them towards the heavily guarded command room doors, shrouded in layers of Barrier lights.