Books were arguably my favourite things, right on par with delicious food, but I could not eat indefinitely. Thus, books remained my most cherished leisure activity. A captivating story or a book on mystical subjects could keep my hunger at bay for hours.
Though some time had passed since I brought home the thirty-odd books, the urge to devour them all was still as strong. I wanted nothing more than to speed-read, moving from one book to the other as fast as I could, but that might cause me to overlook some important things. I forced myself to read slowly, lingering over every word to truly digest them.
For the first few days, I carried a book everywhere—the dining table, the playground, and almost even to the loo. It wasn’t until Mum caught me reading hours past midnight instead of sleeping that she imposed her tyrannical house rules.
I was allowed to have a book at the dining table sometimes, but reading after bedtime was strictly forbidden.
History had its value, but stories held a special place in my heart. The culture of the realm encouraged people to publish their life stories. When fame was directly involved with the mystical essence, it was really easy to make literature rich and abundant. Of course, embellishment and artistic liberties were inevitable. Many dismissed them as phoney, but I found them enchanting, enhancing the reading experience.
It was endearing to read about someone like Emil Thorgen, who had risen from humble beginnings to become a living Hero of the Alberan Empire.
Resting the crimson leaf where I left off in the book, I turned to my journal for this week’s entry. Supposedly, the leaves of an elder tree had alchemical uses, but I found them perfect as bookmarks.
After some failure, I found daily journaling was not for me. Some days, nothing interesting happened for me to note, while at other times, I was too overwhelmed to record anything. Ultimately, I negotiated with myself to make it a weekly thing.
My penmanship had improved significantly over the past year. Rather than a conventional, elaborate style, I had chosen straight, compact lettering, the font small enough that one had to squint to read. I could squeeze two pages’ worth of content onto one, and no, it wasn’t out of desperation for not having enough notebooks.
Mum spared no expense on my education, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced about my other training. Like my current practice of writing with my left hand. She probably wouldn’t object, given that I had seen her engraving runes with both palms. She likely felt all this was too much for my tender bones.
It took nearly an hour to fill just a couple of pages about my new swordsmanship regimen with the wrong hand. Still, I didn’t stop until, at last, the Spell revealed itself.
[A new Way is accessible: Ambi-dexterity I (1/100)]
“Finally!” I exhaled in relief, and then felt a headache building, thinking about completing the Way. I could do the same writing in mere minutes with my other palm.
Hmm, I wonder if I could improve Ambi-dexterity through sword practice.
Probably—but I would have to start from scratch.
For the first week, Father had us repeat Whispering Gale in shadow practice and mock battles without introducing anything new. Only when he deemed our forms commendable did he proceed to the next form, Tidal Surge.
Needless to say, the second form was far more complex and required significantly more time to master. At this rate, I feared it would be Fall before I got to learn the third.
At least rune engraving was more immediately gratifying. Although both Ways counted hours spent training, not actual improvement, it was easier to determine my progress with runes.
That reminded me—it was about time I finished my assignment. I brought out my stencil papers, rune engraver pen, and got to work. Although I had unlocked the Way of Ambi-dexterity, attempting to draw with my left hand would be pointless. It would only ruin expensive materials. Mum refused to tell me how much these special papers cost, but I intended to waste none of them.
So far, I had learned only one elementary script of the fire element. Engraving it wasn’t particularly difficult, but achieving perfect symmetry was another matter. A slight tremor in my hand or too much pressure in one stroke, and the script was ruined. Even with the engraver pen’s uncanny ability to draw precise lines, it took some time getting used to.
Now, I found even drawing a deliberate flaw on the octagonal line was a careful task. To be thorough, I prepared another imperfect script for my experiment, but just as I was about to step outside, the Spell’s voice halted me.
[Congratulations! Engraving I (10/10) is complete.]
[+2 Arcane Acuity.]
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
[Engraving II (10/25) is now accessible.]
“But these scripts aren’t perfect,” I muttered. I was already aware of the reward I'd receive, but the message confused me.
Does the Spell only count time spent on the craft?
It finally dawned on me.
That feels so wrong…
Wouldn’t that encourage people to repeat the same elementary script endlessly without actually improving?
Shaking off my concerns for now, I proceeded with my experiment. I already had answers to Mum’s assignment; now I just needed to collect evidence.
I found a dry piece of wood and wrapped the stencil paper around it. If I had my own threads of essence, the process of imparting the runes would have been much easier. Instead, I painstakingly traced over the stencil’s lines onto the wood. Once finished, I opened the small vial of diluted liquid essence Mum had given me.
Using the small pencil brush that came with it, I carefully traced the input point of the script and observed. Immediately, the essence flowed through the octagonal path to activate the fire rune. However, the deliberate imperfection on one corner caused a slight delay. While the other seven sides reached the rune almost instantly, the flawed side lagged behind by a moment or two before igniting the wood.
That wasn’t all. As I scrutinised closely, the script began to disintegrate from the flawed side. It was designed to provide a steady flame, but instead, the rune burst abruptly, setting the wood alight, rising to a flame higher than myself. I stepped back as the fire flared, but it receded just as quickly, leaving behind pure black charcoal.
Huh, that was more fun than I expected,
I thought, shaking my head. Without wasting time, I repeated the process with the second script, though this one had a different type of flaw.
This time, the rune malfunctioned much faster, with the faulty side disintegrating first. But instead of erupting into a towering blaze, the rune was slowly consumed by its own weak flame. The script acted as nothing but a glorified matchstick.
With that out of the way, I returned to the study room and began scribbling.
Mum arrived just in time, asking if I wanted to join her in the forge. She asked, not ordered; there was a clear distinction.
Before she could leave, I handed her a notebook, flipping to a specific page.
“What is this?” she asked.
“The homework you gave me the other day,” I said with a grin, almost certain about my answers.
On my first day in the forge, she had demonstrated the fabrication process, showing how most runes were carved symmetrically. When I asked why, she made it an assignment for me to figure it out on my own.
So I did.
I considered all the factors I was privy to with my meagre knowledge base on the subject before coming up with my experiments. Then I meticulously recorded every detail of my observations, filling more than a few pages.
“This is well detailed,” Mum murmured, flipping through the pages.
“Writing helps me,” I said, craning my neck. “It keeps me focused on the facts.”
The truth was, too much information in my head became overwhelming. Writing it down made everything concrete and easier to analyse. It also freed my mind.
“So, what’s your judgment?” she asked, her expression unreadable as she mulled something over. “Did you reach an answer?”
I grinned as she turned to the final page, where I had written my conclusion.
Runic designs needed symmetry to function correctly. The more precise the form, the better the rune’s performance. This principle was at least true when it came to circuit integrity and rune efficiency. Also, a symmetrical design allowed runes to operate at full capacity with minimal essence consumption.
The imperfect scripts I tested were not only inefficient but also structurally weak. Calling them unstable would be an understatement.
Mum hummed thoughtfully. “Anything else you discovered?”
I tilted my head. “Did I miss something in my observations?”
Not exactly. But there was one question that had been nagging at me since she had given me this assignment.
“Mum, do spell forms also need to be symmetrical to work properly?” I asked, recalling how all the rejuvenation spells she had cast on me followed symmetrical patterns.
She smiled, ruffling my hair. “It’s all about efficiency, isn’t it? You’ve come to the right conclusion, though you can’t yet explain why symmetry enhances performance.” She paused, as though she had forgotten to praise me properly. “Good job. It usually takes a novice months to figure that out.”
It hadn’t even taken me a week, I thought, but I kept the smugness to myself. She didn’t like gloating, and neither did I. Then again, my success was the result of months of study, ever since she first handed me the cube.
We left for the forge underground. As Mum discussed my observations, I asked the question gnawing at me. “But why does a symmetrical form raise efficiency to such a high degree?”
“You probably would have figured out the rest on your own if you could use your own essence to power formations,” she said. “It’s all about flow distribution—not just in rune design, but also in essence veins, spell forms, and even within our bodies. The more evenly distributed the flow, the more efficient everything becomes.
“When essence pools unevenly, it destabilises the design. It becomes inefficient, and eventually, the structure collapses. There’s also an argument that symmetrical forms allow for the fastest essence flow output.”
I clicked my tongue. “Blight and ashes, I forgot to measure that.”
Mum didn’t seem at all disappointed. I had been so focused on analysing flawed scripts and backtracking to the answer that I completely forgot to test with a perfect script.
There was still so much to learn.
Now I knew symmetrical forms were needed for runes to excel, but that was only where the problem began. There was a huge gap between knowing and applying it in practice. Just knowing wasn’t enough. A scriber needed to be perfect in their scribing to make it symmetrical. Even a tiny mistake, invisible to the naked eye, could eventually make the formation break.
“There are many dishonest artisans out there,” Mum said, her voice turning serious. “They deliberately leave imperfections in their designs so that the integrity weakens over time. That way, the fabricator malfunctions, and the owner is forced to pay for repairs. Some do it out of greed, others just to survive. Runesmithing is expensive to learn and practise. Either way, the motivation doesn’t change the fact that it’s a dishonest practice.”
She stopped walking and turned to face me, her gaze firm.
“I want you to never practise such dishonesty,” she said, her voice turning grave. “Your work defines the kind of man you are. If you ever feel like the coins you have aren’t enough, just tell me. Hmm?”
I nodded like a woodpecker, completely in agreement.
Although we were not rich—certainly not like the Octavius family—we lived a fulfilling life. Mum provided for everything we needed, and she never hesitated to invest in my education. That was more than enough.