Felix stood at the edge of the five-acre plot, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the uneven land. The soil was coarse but rich, scattered with patches of grass and a few stubborn shrubs. Beyond the hill to the east, a distant line of trees marked the start of a forest. In every direction, the land was quiet, peaceful. Untouched.
A gift from the Southern Command.
It had arrived in a formal letter sealed with crimson wax, delivered by a courier who looked more tired than proud. The letter's contents had been simple:
"In recognition of your talisman contributions during the defense of the Southern Border, and the survival of Captain Berrin's division, the Southern Command awards you a five-acre plot of land located east of Eastwell Town."
Felix had accepted the award weeks ago, grateful yet stunned. But receiving land—real land—meant more than sentiment. It meant bureaucracy.
He had traveled back to Eastwell Town to finalize the documentation. The local administrative branch was a long stone building with scrolls stacked behind glass cabinets and officials moving like ants among desks.
Gerra, a sharp-eyed, graying woman with a penchant for tapping her pen when annoyed, had handled his case.
"You'll need to sign this verification form here, here, and again here," she said, pushing a stack of parchment toward him.
Felix leaned over the desk, pen in hand. "All of this just for a land grant?"
Gerra snorted. "You think land comes without strings? You have to record your intended use, pledge you won't violate spiritual stability regulations, and confirm non-military development unless pre-approved."
Felix nodded slowly. "Can I list it as research, cultivation, and residence?"
She tapped her pen. "Technically, yes. As long as you don't start growing soul-eating vines or building restricted-grade arrays without a permit."
It took hours, and Rin had to help with a few pages where Felix's handwriting grew impatient and illegible. When it was all over, he held a stamped certificate in his hands. Land Grant 9B. Officially his.
But paperwork didn't solve the bigger issue: he had no money.
He'd spent most of his remaining silver refining the Mystic Flame Talisman formula. Barely ten silver remained.
That evening, sitting with Rin beside a small campfire on the plot, Felix stared into the flame, mind racing.
"I can't afford to build anything right now. Not even a shack," he muttered.
"So don't build yet," Rin said, passing him a cup of tea. "Plan it. Know what you want. Then take steps."
He sipped the tea and looked out over the land. "You're right. I have to plan smarter. This place will become something—no, it must become something."
Felix pulled out his worn notebook. Over the next days, he dedicated himself to pure planning.
The shop would be the heart—a dual-purpose structure near the road. One room for greeting customers, another for crafting and consultations. Behind it, a storehouse built partially underground for insulation and preservation of materials. It would hold herbs, talisman scrolls, refined cores, and spiritual inks.
To the right, he marked space for a rest house—modest, two or three rooms. It would accommodate traveling cultivators or merchants needing rest. Those who couldn't pay in coin might barter talisman materials or trade information.
Farther back, nestled between two natural convergence points he sensed using his Essence Condenser, he sketched a meditation area. There, he would train and refine his Breath of the Mystic Vessel method. He imagined wooden decking, shade from hand-grown trees, and an open roof to gaze at the stars.
Behind that, he envisioned a garden. Not just a place for aesthetics or peace—but functional. Rows of fireroot, sun grass, frost petals, and wind pepper. Growing his own ingredients would reduce his dependence on merchants and provide fresher sources for talisman crafting.
Finally, furthest back—a dedicated Talisman Room. It would be underground, reinforced with containment arrays and energy suppression runes. A space where he could conduct experiments without risk of hurting anyone.
He labeled each area meticulously, noting measurements, structural needs, and energy flow pathways. He even began mapping potential underground channels to direct spiritual water and air for stabilization.
As days passed, the plans evolved. He added ideas for a rain collection system linked to talisman-run filtration. A forge near the talisman lab for heating minerals and processing ink bases. A pond, perhaps, fed by an aqueduct system he could rig with basic formation nodes.
Rin often watched him draw from her perch on a nearby hill.
"You're drawing more buildings than the whole eastern quarter of Eastwell," she teased.
"Planning is free," he replied. "Mistakes during building are not."
He showed her the blueprints one evening, laying them out like maps before a campaign.
"What about you?" Felix asked. "If you could build one thing here, what would it be?"
Rin tilted her head. "A reading room. Quiet. Big windows. Maybe a cat."
"I'll mark it down," he said, grinning. "North side. Private. Locked door."
She smiled. "With a sign that says: 'No Felix Allowed.'"
Though they had little, the land gave them something rare—possibility.
Felix knew the true next step. To raise even a single wall, he'd need funds.
He couldn't rely on selling minor talismans forever.
He glanced at his Mystic Flame Talisman.
"If I can get it officially registered…" he muttered. "I could sell it at a higher price. I'd need to travel to a proper city with a branch of the Talisman Artisan Guild. I've delayed it for years, but if I want recognition, I'll need to take the examination. Apprentice to Novice was one thing—but it's time to try for Adept."
Rin looked over. "You're talking about the guild badge, aren't you?"
"Exactly. If I can pass the Adept assessment and register Mystic Flame as my original design, I'll gain formal rights over it. That would raise its grade and justify the price I'm aiming for."
She nodded. "Then that's the next step. Travel to the city. Register. Get that badge."
Felix closed the notebook. The land could wait a few more weeks. But its foundation was already built—in vision, in purpose.
And in that, he was wealthier than most.