The profits from the magic scrolls were good, but at most, Caster worked like five regular mana scribes. He wasn’t a magicsmith yet, and the real money was in making reusable gear for adventurers or soldiers. Getting a good commission from the noble lords to outfit their armies could make more money than selling to adventurers.“Aye, the brat is working hard. He even asked me for smithing books…”The demon said while the elf man smiled.“He’s going to change classes again already…”The two were surprised by Caster's progress. They figured he couldn’t be an ordinary person since he already had his second class at eleven. There were ways to increase experience besides killing monsters and crafting.“Do you think he used blood crystals, manager? He doesn’t seem like the type.”“He didn’t show any signs of using them, probably not.”The demon replied while lighting his pipe. The elven man cringed, not being a fan of smokers.“We have him for another two years, so we can watch him closely
Caster got to his usual place, which was just at the bottom of the house. The outside looked as dead as always. He turned around and walked slowly upstairs. His room had no difference from how it was, and he went straight to the computer. He heard the fans turn on, and the system asked for his password as usual.“I said it. There are a lot of them this time.He went straight to the event that made him aware of the possible classes and started looking through them. As usual, there still was the usual tier 1 classes like archer, warrior, and scout, but now there were some tier 2 classes available.‘Advanced Mana Scribe… Advanced Magic Mana Scribe are there…’He had maxed out both of his scribing skills and some mage class skills. He understood that what he had was sufficient to allow him to change to these classes. Going with the tier 2 Advanced Magic Mana Scribe class seemed like a good idea.He looked at the magical classes side but frowned. There weren’t any tier 2 mage classes
Caster put the crafting instructions aside. He had learned how to make a magesmith’s ladle used in forging. He didn't expect this to be his first project. He also needed to inscribe magic on the metal tool before it could be considered finished.He looked at the tool rack and started picking out the tools and resources needed for the task. He didn't come unprepared; he had studied many crafting textbooks. He had also watched other smiths in the city.He even tried to pay a few for lessons, but they weren’t willing to share their secrets, thinking he was a spy from another smithy. Not wanting to ask the Manager for help, he settled for watching from afar, but was soon removed after being spotted a few days later.Nodding to himself, he began placing the items and tools needed to forge the ladle. First came the magesmith's hammers, essential for the craft. Next were shears for cutting thinner pieces of metal, a punch to make holes for attaching the round ladle end with rivets, and so
Caster began bending the end of the handle’s taper over the rounded far edge of the anvil.Then he started shaping it, a process called scrolling. He did this by holding the rod flat on the anvil and hammering back towards himself.This would give the handle a nice curved shape, which was needed for this type of ladle.His hand grew tired, and his stamina points dropped. He kept bending the handle until it formed a proper scroll. He then bent the end further, about 45 degrees to one side over the far side of the anvil, to create a ring at the end. He placed the little loop in the anvil’s spike and finished shaping the handle with more hammer strikes before quenching it.With the handle now done, he moved on to the other end where the oval ladle would attach. The sounds of hammering metal continued while Caster sweated. After some time, he shaped the other end well enough and then needed to punch holes through it.The tool for this was a punch, which looked like a large nail but was
The sand kept running out, and Caster began to feel dizzy. Even after resting and regaining some mana, he was reaching his limit.Caster had to reach for his reserves even now. His face turned pale, and it felt like nails were being driven into his ears, but he kept hammering.**Ladle of Lesser Fire Resistance [Lesser: Lowest, High]**He managed to finish without passing out and got a strange rating for his item. Within it was both the higher and lower grade. The lesser part likely referred to the rank of the item, which was low because it was just a plain iron ladle. The high part was probably because the magic he forged was of high quality, but the ladle itself was barely passable.He was transported back to his room after passing his second tier 1 class change. He was now a magical magesmith. Before he could celebrate, he had to grab his waste bin and vomit his supper into it. His mana had dropped to 1%.He swiftly moved over to his spatial bag and pulled out a mana potion, whic
Caster yawned and turned his head to the side. His head was sticking out from under a blanket, and he could feel a cold breeze coming in through the window.He got up, stretched, and yawned again, his eyes still a bit heavy. Over the years, he had gained some freedom, but he was still used to waking up early.Today was different. The new workshop he was promised was opening.He was going to work there instead of at Exeor’s Magic Emporium. As a magical magesmith, he needed more space to practice his smithing skills.The manager had kept his promise, and today, Caster would move to the new workshop. He was going to live there, so he wouldn’t need his room at the inn anymore.The new place had a small bedroom for him. He wouldn’t get it for free, though; he had to pay rent and still produce at least ten spell scrolls a week.He wasn’t thrilled about the increased workload. He wanted to improve his smithing skills. Caster’s scribing skills were not able to advance anymore till he got a ti
This wasn't a regular house; it was probably a small warehouse. It had a two-story storage area and a small office, which would be his living quarters.Just outside the warehouse stood this loading platform to help load and unload goods from carts and wagons. For heavier items, there should have been a simple hoist above the warehouse door, but there was none. There might have been a crane operated from the catwalk, but that wasn't there anymore either.Most of the building's space was for storage, giving plenty of room for various smithing tools. Right in the middle was a large anvil, which looked quite old and heavy to lift.By the wall was the heart of the smithy: the forge, with a bellows connected to it to allow him to pump more air into the fire. The forge made use of coal as fuel and was in working mode.He looked at the iron tools on the other side of the room. After going through them, he noticed some were even rusty.First, he sorted them out, bringing all the hammers to on
Caster placed the rounded part of the nail header onto the anvil, aligning it with a circular hole. With the nearly finished nail in the header and on the anvil, he began hammering the top. Soon, the nail took its final shape, and he set it aside.Iron Nail Creation - Low - 1XP gainedHe raised an eyebrow at the experience gained. It was the lowest possible for any action, and given this was his third tier 1 class, this probably wasn’t the best way to level up.‘Glad I haven’t made too many tools for item-related magic.’He sighed, disappointed by the small amount of experience. At least he had made something better than ‘lowest.’ He continued making nails until he ran out of stock. He didn’t level up any of his magesmith skills yet; if he did after making simple nails, it would have been too easy.He practiced making nails while also creating spell scrolls during his downtime. He needed to keep up or improve his progress.Now that he had a workshop, he’d need to spend money on new ma
Caster was mature enough to see the world as it was. He understood that most younger folk saw it through a lens of hope and ambition, their dreams of treasure and fame setting them apart from his more grounded approach. Some were from humble beginnings: sons and daughters of farmers; young people from families that were better off but that had fallen on hard times and now were boy or girl determined to claw back some of that perceived lost respect, no matter the price."My jaw twisted into a small smirk as I imagined their wide eyes and wide, baseless plans and all they think is, ‘Get some gold, a shiny sword, you’ll be a hero.’" It was the same story, time and again: things that were often only dreams, rarely aligning with reality.Lowfield had been a deliberate choice despite what she had become. Knowing full well it wouldn’t be clear, he took the fast route but he took the fast route. The road taught him about its steep hills, its rocky passages and on occasion, the unfriendly tra
The early morning breeze bit into the cloak and the underdress at Caster’s shoulders as he walked the narrow cobblestone path into Lowfield. Today he had gotten rid of his imposing helmet and heavy armor. Dawn's fresh smell of its own earth together mingling with the familiar taste of his workshop on his clothes. He wasn’t hiding his identity, or painful silence had been left behind, today. Today was about remembering the life that kept breathing after his magesmith-tools stopped.The caravan had added liveliness to the town which reminded me of festival time, the town was waking up. Some of the faces settling onboard Caster recognised—newcomers amongst the adventurers. With fresh ambitions and none of the resolve yet tested, they walked on their own journey wide eyed and reminded him of the person he used to be. He watched the newcomers with a kind of quiet amusement, catching snippets of eager chatter about dungeons and imagined battles, bravado thick in the air.A young man, prob
Casting his small treaty of provisions, a load of stale bread crusts, some wrinkled fruits, and a hard wedge of cheese that once lived on a more hospitable broke surviving clunk to clunk. He made a gagging noise as he peered at the dried meat again and poked it with distaste. "Wouldn't it kill the fates to give me a real meal?" Just once. Something hot, even." He sneaked a look over at where a stove should be, the ones that made his mouth water when a hearty stew bubbled away. For a moment he smirked, "No stove yet … maybe I could conjure a magical pan up." "Oil might be asking for a miracle."Peering out the window he squinted at the city in the early light. Carts creaked along cobbled paths and vendors hawked fresh fish and newly baked bread in the place I had walked into, even now. He’d done a lot with the house in the week that he’d been there, turning it into something livable, barely. "What the hell?' he murmured, 'Doors actually close now' he concluded feeling a bit more proud
Caster adjusted his grip and took a close look at his work, scrutinizing every line and angle of the newly crafted weapon handle. The wood was tough but carefully sanded, bearing faint, meticulous patterns he had engraved over hours of work. "Alright," he muttered, almost to himself. "Let's see if this holds up."He lowered his gaze to the small, rough-edged mana stone beside him. Its surface shimmered faintly, a testament to the raw energy that pulsed within it. With precision, he made a tiny opening at the base of the handle, using one of his tools to keep the gap just wide enough for the stone to fit snugly. Holding his breath, Caster slid the stone into place, his hand steady even as he felt the twinge of nervousness in his gut. One wrong move, one crack, and the handle would split, and the entire effort would be wasted. He exhaled, the pressure off his shoulders as the stone was secure. He picked up a little hammer and taps the opening closed, sealing the stone.Caster was co
Caster’s gaze shifted between his rough tools and the iron-cast walls around him. The dim, flickering light from a lone torch cast dancing shadows on his workbench, where the worn mace lay, waiting. Each scuff and nick in the wood handle held a tale of its own; it wasn’t just a tool but a companion, a weapon that had been through as much as he had. And here he was, weighing its life and usefulness like a weary healer judging the last pulse of an old patient.He ran his hand over the handle one last time, tracing the grains and grooves with a practiced eye. “Adding a stone’s one thing,” he muttered. “But what it needs is stability.” His fingers slid to a small crack, an old fracture that hadn’t yet spread but threatened to. “If that widens… this thing’s done.”His hands worked without thought, reaching into the assortment of stones, metals, and powders he had scavenged over time. His fingers found a small, rough mana stone, and he rolled it between his fingers, feeling its faint warm
Caster knocked metal hard on metal, the sound reverberating in the almost pitch black workshop. With every hook an aura of magical energy was discharged providing brief glimpses of light on the roughly completed stone walls. It smelled of hot metal and a low, tense buzz, which seemed to say that the room itself had tensed to watch him.Caster, still young but hardened by the trials of his craft, stood poised over his latest project: a shield, its shape still raw but which is already starting to look graceful. Though not tall and still somewhat thin, he seemed to possess good illating strength, every punch he landed being calculated. Each movement was accompanied by complex magical ripples, which Indragni had seen on the surface of the shield before a layer of runes he more or less sketched with great detail. In addition to a frown a look of intense concentration took over his face only to be interrupted the occasional lean back to examine the painting.After several more strikes, he
Caster climbed the winding stone stairs leading upward from the basement of Lamba fortress as the red rays of the morning sun spread across Lowfield. He sighed as he breathed in the crisp morning air and hours spent wading through dim and damp caverns had taken a toll on him. The bustle outside was a stark contrast to the quiet gloom below. Merchants, hawkers, and small-time dealers filled the open area, all eager to cater to the steady stream of adventurers drawn to the dungeon.“Potion for mana, sir?” called a nearby merchant, brandishing a small flask that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Clearly, the man wasn’t going to miss any opportunity to sell.He gave her the distinct pleasure of a faint smile and a polite shake of his head. “Not today, but thanks.” The merchant glanced up as he passed saying “As he passed his gaze fell on a young boy standing beside the merchant with his hands outstretched each palm held small stones of different colors.”“Lucky charms,” the boy put out
Caster climbed the winding stairs stone leading upward from the basement of Lamba fortress as the red rays of the morning sun spread across Lowfield. He sighed as he breathed in the crisp morning air and hours spent wading through dim and damp caverns has taken a toll on him. The bustle outside was a stark contrast to the quiet gloom below. Merchants, hawkers, and small-time dealers filled the open area, all eager to cater to the steady stream of adventurers drawn to the dungeon.“Potion for mana, sir?” called a nearby merchant, brandishing a small flask that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Clearly, the man wasn’t going to miss any opportunity to sell.He gave her the distinct pleasure of a faint smile and a polite shake of his head. “Not today, but thanks.” The merchant glanced up as he passed saying “As he passed his gaze fell on a young boy standing beside the merchant with his hands outstretched each palm held small stones of different colors.”“Lucky charms,” the boy put out
Caster met them along the way quite often, which slowed down his progress. As he fought, he had to wait for them to finish before he could move on. “Hey, Caster! Need a hand?” one adventurer called out, swinging a sword at a monster.“No thanks! I’m good,” Caster replied, keeping his eyes on the battle ahead. He knew he could be accused of stealing if he forced his way through. Caster wished to avoid conflict with others, at least for now. He didn’t want to risk incurring their wrath or losing potential allies. “Once I get a silver-grade card, things will be different,” he thought. With higher levels, prestige wouldn’t be far behind, and the dynamics of encounters would shift dramatically.The level wasn’t that large; if someone knew the way, they could stroll past most dangers and quickly descend to the second level. Caster recalled hearing about hidden paths that only seasoned adventurers were aware of. These shortcuts could be the difference between life and death, especially dee