Night had fallen thick over Sarneth Town, and Leon pulled his mage's robe tighter against the chill. The fabric, though soft, offered little warmth in the winter air. "Note to self," he muttered, holding a lantern high to light his path, "enchant a temperature-regulating rune circle on this robe someday. Warm in winter, cool in summer—perfect."
The banquet had been an eye-opener. In his past life, he'd never attended anything fancier than a company dinner; here, dining with nobles and lords—men who ruled lands larger than his old neighborhood—felt surreal. A viscount was roughly equivalent to a mayor, he guessed, but the power gap was far wider. Yet he'd left feeling underwhelmed. The food was rich but monotonous, the conversations stiff, and the nobles' awe of Im only reinforced one truth: magic was the ultimate equalizer.
It strengthened his resolve to master magic. Unlike Earth's exams or careers, magic offered true freedom—no lords or rules could bind a powerful mage. And thanks to his past-life knowledge, learning came easier than most. He'd finished writing his paper on the fountain pen, though "patent" would have been a more accurate term. Mage society protected such inventions fiercely.
In Etho, invention papers had a fifty-year protection period—down from a hundred after a mage hoarded puppet-making patents, creating an unbreakable monopoly. Now, individuals could use patented ideas for personal use by paying a small fee to the mage guilds, but commercial use required the inventor's permission. It was designed to encourage innovation, not stagnation. Leon had handed the paper to Im, who'd left for Wickham City—capital of Viffel Province—to deliver the pens to his old friends and submit the paper to Bernaron Root Mage Academy.
Wickham City lay 150 kilometers away, a three-day ride for ordinary travelers. With magic boosting his speed, Im would make it in half the time. The city sat on the banks of the Bell River, a major waterway connecting to the imperial capital—vital for trade and travel. Leon missed modern transportation, but he'd learned to appreciate the slower pace of Etho, even if it meant waiting weeks for news.
After two days at home, Leon grew restless. It was the same restlessness he'd felt as a student—craving the familiarity of his "dorm" (Moonlight Cottage) after the novelty of home wore off. He missed his meditation routine, the quiet of the herb garden, and even the tedious task of tending Im's ice crystal grass. With a quick goodbye to his family, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and set off for Linden Pine Valley alone.
Back at Moonlight Cottage, Leon settled into his routine: morning Tai Chi (feeling mana hum in sync with his movements), afternoon magic practice (refining his suction-cup tentacles for more precise control), evening herb tending, and late nights reading Im's old journals. He even experimented with the high-temperature furnace, melting small scraps of metal to make tiny trinkets, but the mana crystal drained quickly, forcing him to spend days recharging it.
In Wickham City, Im stepped into the Purple Feather Merchant Guild—specialists in magic herbs, potions, and materials. The guild catered to mages, who were too scattered to support dedicated institutions; instead, merchants handled mail, trades, and paperwork, sealed with magic to prevent prying.
A clerk hurried forward, eyes widening at Im's robe. "How may I assist you, Mage?"
"Send for Lester," Im said. "I need to submit a paper."
The clerk bowed and scurried off. Moments later, a blonde man with a polished smile appeared. Lester, the guild master and a newly minted full mage, greeted Im warmly. "Im! Back so soon? Need more seeds for your herb garden?"
"Not seeds," Im said, pulling Leon's paper from his pack. "A student's invention—a fountain pen, easier to enchant and write with than quills. I'm submitting it for patent."
Lester's eyebrows shot up. "A student? You mentioned taking an apprentice, but I didn't realize—"
Im pulled out his own fountain pen, dipping it in ink and scribbling a few runes. The pen glided smoothly, no need to sharpen, no fear of snapping. Lester examined it, his smile fading to awe. "It's brilliant in its simplicity. But a child designed this?"
"Ten years old," Im said, unable to hide his pride. "A natural talent."
Lester shook his head, laughing. "The world never fails to surprise. Congratulations—this will sell well. Mages hate sharpening quills. Speaking of, I just got in some new supplies—spices and devil's grass. Interested?"
Im nodded. Devil's grass was key for mana potions. "I'll take two bundles of each."