Even a Quack is Fine (1)
Patrick glared at the magic book the Village Chief had left behind as a “gift” and made up his mind.
“I’m not doing it.”
Giving up was always the easier path.
Didn’t I already die from overwork in my past life? Now I’m supposed to bury my head in research again?
If studying magic could actually change his life, maybe he would have felt differently. But Patrick was an exile. No matter how much he wandered the island with the village children, pretending to be a carefree idler, that fact never changed.
I can’t leave this island.
That meant even if he reached the pinnacle of magic, he could never expect to live in luxury in some grand city. For someone forced into a life of modest contentment, pouring time into magic formulas and new spells was utterly pointless.
Things aren’t so bad right now anyway.
Besides, he had never been particularly ambitious. Island life suited him just fine. The only real complaint was not being able to eat as much meat as he wanted, but at least he had a soft bed and could cook himself an omelet in the morning.
“Still, you should set a good example.”
“What example?”
“How can you call yourself a teacher?”
“Does being a teacher mean I have to be a perfect role model? There’s such a thing as a cautionary tale.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when you show people exactly what not to do.”
“No way.”
“By sacrificing my own body, I’m teaching you all this profound truth about life. That makes me the truest kind of teacher. Absolutely.”
“Please don’t say things like that in front of the kids.”
“You’re a kid too, you know.”
Ben clicked his tongue at the childish remark and picked up the magic book Patrick had casually tossed aside.
“Why? Suddenly want to learn magic instead of spirit arts?”
“Not really. I just got curious about what kinds of magic exist. You only showed us a few spells. There’s a lot written in here.”
“Even at the first or second circle, there are tons of spells.”
“If there are so many, why do you only use a few?”
“Because those are the only ones I know how to use.”
“Why?”
“I never learned the others.”
“······?”
Patrick shrugged as if it were nothing, but Ben tilted his head, clearly confused.
“Even mages with the same circle count can use different spells depending on their affinity and talent. The power varies too.”
“The strength changes even at the same circle?”
“Yeah. For example, I’m pretty good with water magic. Fire, not so much.”
Ben nodded in understanding. Even from a child’s perspective, the Waterball Patrick conjured was impressive. His Fire spell, on the other hand, was barely stronger than sparks from striking flint.
“That’s why good teachers try to find the right magic affinity for their students. They teach a bit of everything first, then focus on what suits the student best. My own teacher never cared enough to do that for me.”
“······.”
Patrick’s voice was calm. After all, it hadn’t happened to him—it had happened to the old Patrick who no longer existed. There was no point feeling sorry about it now.
“My teacher taught me a few spells and decided I had no special talent. Don’t look at me like that. Most people are like this. If everyone were a genius, then no one would be.”
“Still······.”
“It wasn’t so bad. I had food and a place to stay. If I hadn’t gotten caught up in that rebellion, it would’ve been a decent life. And now that I’m here, it’s not bad either.”
Patrick deliberately made light of it when he saw Ben’s guilty expression.
“I meant that. No need to make that face.”
“I’m sorry, Teacher. I didn’t know······.”
“Well, it’s still annoying to be constantly underestimated by my own student. Since I got these books for free, I might as well learn a few more spells. It doesn’t cost much anyway.”
“Does learning new magic cost money?”
“Of course. You need materials until you get the hang of it. That’s why people say being a mage is expensive.”
“Oh! But you don’t have any money, Teacher. Exactly—”
“Ow!”
Patrick flicked Ben on the forehead for the innocent remark.
***
“I already said it, so······.”
That night, alone in his room, Patrick rolled around on his bed and flipped through the books the Village Chief had given him. Since he had opened his mouth, he needed to at least learn one new spell to save face. But even first- and second-circle magic required far too many materials.
If this body had a bit more talent, I could’ve skipped the materials and just brute-forced it.
The world wasn’t fair. Those overflowing with talent didn’t need catalysts to raise their success rate or reduce side effects when casting unfamiliar spells. They could instinctively guide their mana so that success came easily and backlash stayed minimal.
Those with mediocre talent, however, had to rely on external help to compensate. And that “help” always came down to money—herbs to stabilize internal mana, magic stones to amplify weak mana, and various reagents to prevent potential mana reflux.
No matter how much Patrick searched through the first- and second-circle spellbooks the Village Chief had brought, he found nothing he could actually attempt. His pockets currently held not even a single copper coin.
“Damn it. What kind of luck do I have?”
Patrick flopped onto his back and picked up the very last book anyway. Human resolve was fragile. Even after deciding to give up completely just moments ago, he still couldn’t let go of that tiny sliver of hope.
“Basic Reagent Crafting?”
The final book wasn’t a spellbook at all. It seemed to have slipped in while Oren was gathering related materials. Reagents were essential for magic, spells, and experiments, but they had little to do with beginner mages like Patrick. Beginners only used a handful of reagents, so there was no need to study them from a book. Learning through word of mouth from teachers or colleagues was enough—and even that was often handled through mutual cooperation among mages in the tower. They pooled money for materials, had one person craft a large batch, and stored and used it together. That way, they could obtain various reagents at low cost.
“It’s almost like a cookbook.”
The book titled Basic Reagent Crafting contained recipes for over thirty different substances.
“It’s not just reagents mixed in here either.”
Like most books in this world, it was a chaotic mess. Alongside magic reagents Patrick often used, there were several recipes for emergency medicines for common illnesses, and at the end, methods for creating antidotes to simple poisons.
Doesn’t seem like a mage wrote this.
It might have been written by a healer running a clinic somewhere.
“These look like I could actually make them.”
A few recipes caught Patrick’s eye. They weren’t particularly powerful, but if he asked the children, he could probably gather the ingredients on the island. He would have to search the forest tomorrow.
***
“Teacher, hurry up!”
“Huff, huff! I’m doing my best here!”
“You always say doing your best doesn’t matter—doing it well does!”
“Don’t use the stuff I taught you against me, you brats!”
The next day, when Patrick asked the children if certain herbs grew on the island, they gave vague answers like “I think I’ve seen it” and dragged him out. They packed some simple provisions and immediately began wandering aimlessly through the forest.
“Mushrooms!”
“We already have plenty of dried mushrooms, so stop picking them!”
“There’s sage here too! Teacher, you said you needed this!”
“Oh, you’re right! Good job, Tommy!”
Most of the children scattered and showed interest in things completely unrelated to what Patrick had asked for, but a few stayed focused.
“You said you needed white sage, right?”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to reduce inflammation in wounds.”
“Teacher, there’s valerian here too!”
“I need the roots for that! Let’s dig up the plump ones.”
“Me?”
“Then should I do it?”
“You’re the one who needs it, so you should do it!”
“······Tch.”
Patrick reluctantly began digging after failing to pass the task off to Ben.
A few hours later, Patrick returned from the forest with all sorts of things piled on his back. It wasn’t just plants—several types of stones added considerable weight.
“Augh! This isn’t a military march, what the heck!”
Still, the harvest was quite abundant for just a few hours of foraging. Naturally, not everything in the basket matched the recipes in the book—only some of it did. But since Ben knew quite a few medicinal herbs, Patrick decided to process everything while he was already planning to make reagents.
It’s something I would’ve had to do eventually anyway.
Patrick hated troublesome tasks. The fact that he was voluntarily doing something no one had asked him to do showed just how much the situation had been weighing on his mind.
If I need something, I can ask the Village Chief to get it from outside. But what if I get sick?
Being trapped on the island meant exactly that: no matter how ill he became, he couldn’t go out to buy medicine. There was no way a skilled healer or priest would make a house call for a condemned criminal. He had to take care of his own health.
But Patrick’s body, which kept fainting at the slightest provocation, was far from healthy.
I have to protect my own body.
He had no intention of becoming a great healer. He simply wondered if he could make medicines with the goal of lasting until he could obtain proper ones from a decent healer.
Thus, Patrick—who had been doing nothing but pointless things every day—finally began to act like a real mage.