Patrick glared at the spellbooks the chief had gifted him and made his decision.
“I’m not doing it.”
Giving up would be easier.
‘I died of overwork in my previous life—am I really going to wrap my head around research again?’
If there were any guarantee that studying would change his life, it would be different. But Patrick’s status was exile. No matter how he spent his days loitering around the island with the village kids, this fact wouldn’t change.
‘I can’t leave this island.’
That meant that however high his mastery rose, he couldn’t expect to stride into a big city and live in comfort.
For Patrick, forced to live content with little, studying spellbooks and researching new formulas was utterly pointless.
‘I’m not really lacking anything right now.’
Besides, having little greed to begin with, he rather enjoyed island life. It was disappointing that he couldn’t gorge on meat to his heart’s content, but he now had a soft bed, and could happily eat rolled eggs for breakfast.
“You still have to set a good example.”
“Example, my foot.”
“You’re still the teacher, right?”
“Does being the teacher mean I have to be perfect? There’s such a thing as a negative example.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s teaching you not to be like this one.”
“Whoa.”
“I’m burning myself up to teach you this great life lesson, so I’m the truest master. Mm.”
“Don’t say that in front of the kids.”
“You’re a kid too, aren’t you?”
At this un-grown-up remark, Ben clicked his tongue and peered at the spellbooks Patrick had carelessly closed.
“Why? Now you want to learn magic instead of spirits?”
“It’s not that. I’m just curious what kind of spells there are. You only showed me a few. But here there are so many written down?”
“Even at low circles, there are countless spells.”
“If there are so many, why do you only use a few, teacher?”
“Because that’s all I know how to do.”
“Why?”
“Because I never learned the others.”
“ … ”
Patrick shrugged and spoke unconcernedly, and Ben tilted his head as if he couldn’t quite follow.
“Even wizards of the same circle number can know different spells depending on aptitude and talent. Their power differs too.”
“Even if we’re the same circle, the strength differs?”
“Yes. For example, I’m better at water-related spells. Fire is a bit weak.”
Ben nodded as if he understood. From a child’s perspective, the size of Patrick’s Water Ball had been quite impressive. But his fire magic amounted at best to sparks from striking flint.
“So good teachers try to find their students’ best magic category. They teach a variety, then focus on what suits them. But my teacher didn’t care enough about me for that.”
“ … ”
Patrick’s voice was flat. It was something ‘OLD Patrick’ had experienced long ago; there was no reason to feel resentful now.
“My teacher taught me a few spells and then judged me. That I had no particular talent. Don’t see it as a bad thing. Most people are like this. If everyone’s a genius, what does ‘genius’ even mean?”
“Still...”
“It wasn’t all bad. Meals were good, lodging was provided. If I hadn’t been caught in the rebellion scandal, it could’ve been a decent life. And after coming here, it’s not so bad.”
Patrick cracked a joke at the sorry look on Ben’s face.
“There’s no need for that face. I mean it.”
“I’m sorry, teacher. I didn’t know...”
“Well, it’s a bit sad to be ignored by your student all the time, though. Now we’ve got free books, so you might as well learn a few, the cheap ones.”
“Does learning new spells cost money?”
“Of course. You need material power until you’re fully accustomed. That’s why magic costs so much.”
“Oh! But teacher, you have no money.”
Snap!
“Ouch!”
With Ben’s innocent jab, Patrick promptly smacked him.
That night. Left alone, Patrick flopped on his bed and flipped through the books the chief had given him. He’d said it, so if he wanted to save face, he’d have to learn at least one new spell. Yet they were only 1st- and 2nd-circle tomes, and the ingredients needed were disgustingly numerous.
‘If only I had more talent, I could have substituted materials with sheer will.’
The world wasn’t fair. The gifted needed no aids to raise success rates or reduce side effects when casting a spell for the first time—they instinctively channeled mana. Conversely, the untalented had to rely on other aids to compensate—aid that always cost money.
Herbs to stabilize internal mana. Mana stones to amplify scant mana. Reagents to prevent backflow.
No matter how Patrick searched the 1st- and 2nd-circle spellbooks the chief brought, nothing seemed within his reach. He didn’t even have a single copper coin in his pocket.
“Damn my luck.”
He lay flat again but still picked up the last book. Human will was so flimsy. Though he’d resolved to give up, he couldn’t let go of hope entirely.
“Basic Reagent Recipes?”
The final book wasn’t a magic tome. It seemed to have been tucked in by Oren, the merchant unfamiliar with magic, alongside the others.
Reagents were essential for many spells, rituals, and experiments—inseparable from wizards—but irrelevant for a beginner like Patrick. There were only a few reagents a novice used; one learned them by word of mouth from teachers or peers. When busy, Tower wizards pooled funds: one person bought ingredients in bulk, all shared. That ‘group purchase and production’ kept reagent costs low.
“This feels like a cookbook.”
The book titled Basic Reagent Recipes contained methods for making some thirty-odd preparations.
“Seems like a random mix, not just reagents.”
True to form, the book was chaotic. Some recipes described reagents Patrick often used, others remedies for ordinary wounds in metal bottles, and near the end cures for simple poisons.
‘Looks like it wasn’t written by a wizard.’
He guessed a healer running a local clinic must have authored it.
“I could try making some of these.”
A few formulas caught his eye. They weren’t miraculous but seemed gatherable from island ingredients. He resolved to scour the woods tomorrow.
The next morning.
“Teacher, hurry!”
“Hah, hah! I’m doing my best!”
“You said best doesn’t matter! Being good matters!”
“Don’t use what I taught you against me, you little rascals!”
When Patrick asked the kids whether the island had these herbs, they replied “I think I’ve seen them,” grabbed his hand, and dragged him into the forest.
They hastily prepared their loot and immediately began tromping through the woods without direction.
“Mushrooms!”
“I’ve already dried a ton of mushrooms, stop picking!”
“There’s sage here too! Teacher, you said you needed this!”
“Oh right! Good job, Tommy!”
Most kids scattered after their own interests, but a few stayed focused.
“You said you needed white sage, right?”
“Yes. It reduces inflammation on wounds.”
“Teacher, here’s valerian too!”
“For that you need the root! Let’s dig up a plump one.”
“Me?”
“Do you want me to do it?”
“You said teacher needs it, so teacher should do it!”
“ ... Tch.”
Muttering at failing to offload the work onto Ben, Patrick dug into the soil.
A few hours later, Patrick returned from the forest burdened with all sorts of things. Not just plants—some stones too, making it quite heavy.
“My, my! I’m not an infantryman, what is this!”
Still, compared to only a few hours searching, the haul was substantial. Naturally, not everything in his basket matched the book’s ingredients. Those were only some. Since Ben knew many medicinal plants, and he planned to make reagents anyway, Patrick decided to process everything.
‘It was a task that had to be done someday.’
Patrick hated tedious chores. Yet taking on this unsolicited work eased his worry.
‘If I need something rare, I can ask the chief to fetch it from outside. But what if I fall ill?’
Being trapped on the island meant no going out to buy medicine. No competent healer or priest would make a house call for a lowly exile; he had to manage his health himself. But Patrick, who fainted at the drop of a hat, was far from healthy.
‘I must protect my own body.’
He had no ambition to become a great healer—just enough to ‘hold out until I can get medicine from a halfway decent healer.’ With that in mind, Patrick started doing something truly wizardly for the first time.