“Toris, don’t tell me you actually won the bet?” A middle-aged man looked up in surprise at Toris’s question.
Toris raised his chin proudly.
“I didn’t just win—I won thoroughly!
Those who didn’t show up today will regret it for the rest of their lives.”
“Toris, cut the chatter.
Let’s begin the test.
We’re all busy people.” An old man rose from his seat, his impatience unmistakable.
“Fine.
Kent, show everyone your magic—the same one you showed me.
Cast at them for exactly three seconds.
Three seconds is enough.” Toris, clearly annoyed at being slighted, spoke with a sharp edge.
“As you wish, my lords.” Without hesitation, Kent extended his hand.
Rather than aiming at the formidable figures before him, he directed his spells toward one of the hall’s stone walls.
Fireballs shot forth in rapid succession, landing one after another like beads strung on a single thread.
After roughly fifteen fireballs, a torrent of wind blades followed, carving into the same wall.
Kent deliberately kept his total output to around thirty spells.
Some card…
he wasn’t yet ready to reveal.
The ones who had scarcely glanced at Kent before were now utterly stunned.
Any of them could have cast spells at such speed, of course—but the mana fluctuations were unmistakably those of a first-rank mage.
To instant-cast two different elemental types at that rank, with seamless magical transitions and not a single pause between spells…
why, the gap between the final fireball and the first wind blade was exactly the same as the gap between any two other consecutive fireballs.
Not a hair of difference.
“Come, Kent.
Channel your mental power into this crystal ball.” Toris produced a transparent crystal sphere, inscribed with intricate magical formations, as if from thin air.
Kent closed his eyes, slowly pushing his mental energy into the ball.
Inside, he felt layer upon layer of magical formations.
The mental power flowed like water, and the formations were like irrigation channels guiding its course.
He easily filled more than half of the sphere’s formations, then deliberately stopped there.
“Five times that of his peers—quite impressive.” Toris cast a glance at the old fogies around him, speaking with casual indifference.
Kent accepted this evaluation at face value, thinking of his Earth days when he could game for two or three days straight without rest—his mental strength had always been solid.
Add the nourishing effects of months of qigong practice, and his mind was far stronger than ordinary.
He congratulated himself on his clever restraint.
But a moment later, his face fell.
“Toris, you old bastard!
Five times is just ‘impressive’?
I seem to recall someone at that age only having 1.6 times the norm—and out here acting all high and mighty about it!” A grumbling voice cut in, exposing Toris’s own history.
“Hmph!
Taristone, you have no right to lecture this boy.
His talent ends nowhere near there.
Look at this leather armor.” Toris produced the armor from seemingly nowhere, tossing it into their midst.
“He killed an earth-attribute demon ape single-handedly, taught himself alchemy, and crafted this all on his own.
I personally watched him do it!
Which one of you old coots can honestly claim your first work looked half as good at his age?
Shameless, the lot of you!
With this one piece alone, this child could become the wealthiest man on the continent!
He’s improved the entire alchemy process—these three innovations alone, patented, would set him up for life!” After tearing into the old men, Toris added, “Kent, later you’ll demonstrate your refining process again and explain exactly where it differs from the conventional method.
These will be your official patents.
Anyone who uses them must pay you royalties—and naturally, the Mage Guild will take its cut as the supervising authority.”
It was clear Toris himself carried spatial equipment, since the armor had been in his possession all along.
“Yes, my lord.” Kent was overjoyed.
He’d been racking his brain for ways to make money, and now money was flying straight toward him.
The fountain pen was the best-selling item back on Earth, and there was no reason this world would be any different.
As for the filter—anything involving solutions would need one.
Kent could already see the gold coins swirling around him like a blizzard.
He drew up a list of materials he needed, and they arrived within moments.
Kent worked slowly, explaining every step as he went.
With the old fellows pitching in, the alchemy pen turned out far more refined this time, and the filter looked properly professional.
He then engraved an earth-attribute magic array onto his leather armor—this time using a second-tier solution.
It consumed a considerable amount of mana, but he succeeded all the same.
“Tsk, tsk.
Fine work, lad.
From now on, no more rushing like madmen when we craft.”
“Indeed.
Who would’ve thought there were impurities in what looked like perfectly clear solution?
Look—with the filtered solution, the pen never clogs mid-array.
Without filtering, it gets blocked every few lines.”
“Truly.”
“Never would have guessed!”
“Everyone,” Kent spoke up, “this actually has an even greater use.
Replace the solution with ink, seal the rear chamber with tree gum, and swap the nib for a metal one—high-grade steel would be best.
Hmm, would it be possible to lend me a set of tools?” Seeing the old mages’ blank expressions, Kent realized he wasn’t explaining well at all.
He requested some tools and proceeded to craft a fountain pen on the spot.
The nib was shaped in a single fluid motion, each old fellow pulling it directly out of the mana furnace with pure mental force.
The rest was easy—the slit, the barrel, and finally the cap.
Once completed, Kent tested it himself.
No sooner had he touched it, though, than the old mages snatched it away, each of them trying it in turn.
“Hmm, I’ll take this one to use myself.
It’s perfect for recording magical notes—clear, compact, and one fill of ink lasts ages.
Not like those troublesome quills.” The last old man to test it casually slipped the pen into his own pocket, then patted Kent on the shoulder without a shred of shame.
Kent realized the old fox had deliberately waited until last just to claim it.
He could only smile.
Kent’s two inventions were officially recorded in the guild archives.
From now on, all he had to do was show up and collect royalties—though thirty percent of the patent fees would go to the Mage Guild itself.
Then the old fellows shooed him out, claiming his exact position within the guild was still under discussion.
As he was leaving, though, Kent caught a glimpse of the tense, bristling atmosphere behind him.
He understood at once: he was too juicy a piece of meat, and everyone wanted him exclusively for themselves.
Kent went through the series of registration procedures and received two badges.
The first was a white staff topped with a six-pointed star—though Kent’s staff was half black and half white.
The second was shaped like a beaker, inscribed with the numeral “one.” He also received a mage’s robe, the kind that could hood over the entire head.
Its elegance, practicality, and material far surpassed the leather armor he had crafted himself.
“My lord, might I have two more of these mage robes?” Kent thought of Alice and Delis.
With such robes, they would run into far fewer troubles out in the world.
“Little brother, that’s nothing at all.
I’m Kweilin—if you don’t mind, just call me Brother Kweilin.” The man casually handed him two robes, speaking with easy warmth.
Kent slipped into his own robe, took the other two, and replied, “Sounds good.
If Brother Kweilin doesn’t mind, I’d be honored to call you brother.
Does my brother have time?
I’m new to Alliance City and still finding my way around.” Kent seized the chance to build a closer connection.
Anyone who could work alongside those old fogies upstairs was certainly not ordinary.
He looked young, sure, but his badge already showed second rank—and that represented connections.
Without them, even the most talented person might never see the inside of that hall in a lifetime.
“You’re a straight shooter, brother.
I like that.
Come on, I’ll show you around.
I hear you brought some female companions—let’s go pick them up together.
I know this place like the back of my hand.” With that, Kweilin led Kent forward.
“Thanks, brother.” Kent found himself comparing their appearances: Kweilin was taller, paler, more refined, and better-looking than he was.
Kent felt a pang of frustration—but then noticed Kweilin wasn’t nearly as sturdy as him.
Looking at that slender frame, Kent’s mind briefly wandered to some rather inappropriate images.
Along the way, they passed a number of mages—rank fours and fives, rank twos and threes, but no one above rank six.
Seeing Kent’s badges, they all reacted with surprise, several of them staring at him as if trying to memorize his face.
“Listen, brother,” Kweilin said, “once we step outside, you should take those two badges off.
If you wear them, we’ll be swarmed in no time.
The tavern outside the guild gate is packed with noblemen’s spies.
Any mage coming in or out who isn’t yet taken under someone’s wing gets surrounded by those vultures.
That badge there—it’s a dual-element mage badge.
It means you’ve reached first rank in two magic systems.
And this one down here is even more impressive—a first-rank alchemist badge.
You have to understand, the Mage Guild has pitifully few alchemists.
Out of the hundreds of mages who join each year, if five manage to become alchemists, that’s already a good year—and about half of those eventually reach high ranks.
The mages sent here are already around third rank; a first-rank mage would never normally make it into the Grand Guild.
Of course, there are exceptions.
Those with exceptional talent might get in at second rank…” Kweilin patiently explained the inner workings of the Grand Mage Guild, sprinkled with all sorts of extra tidbits.