Once Ryan issued his skill's command, the energy began to flow in perfect harmony from the palm of his hand directly into the grimoire's central gem.
Despite having almost fifty thousand magic power points circulating through his veins thanks to the three buff spells, the dark wood of the cover did not even creak. There were no erratic sparks or heat leaks burning the courtyard air.
The entire process seemed to respond to a millimetric calculation. The dexterity Ryan possessed right now to feel even the most minuscule mana flows around him—coupled with the daily habit he had developed of suppressing his monstrous internal energy to the point of appearing like a simple, harmless human in front of others—had somehow granted him the ability to exert an enormous and absolute magical control.
He dosed that ocean of power as if he were letting water fall drop by drop down the neck of a glass funnel without spilling a single one over the edge.
