Unexpected Income (1)
Patrick had taken this rote-learning approach and given it the lofty name of “self-directed learning.” “Well, they’re the ones memorizing everything, aren’t they? That makes it self-directed.” If the education scholar Malcolm Knowles, who had first defined the concept, ever heard of it, he would have tried to chew Patrick to the bone. Yet the villagers’ satisfaction was surprisingly high.
“I think I could manage the easier words now, even if I stumble a bit.”
“It’s a little embarrassing to pass the test late, but it works, doesn’t it, big brother?”
“As expected of a mage teacher from the capital—his teaching style really is different!”
Even though tests were given every day, they weren’t designed to rank students. They were simply checks to see whether the day’s material had been remembered. Because of that, complaints were far milder than Patrick had feared.
Word of Patrick’s night school spread, and residents began showing up at his door for “academic counseling,” drawn by their neighbors’ recommendations. A wave of literacy swept through the tiny village of fewer than a hundred households.
“Oh my, you really didn’t have to!”
Of course, Patrick cared nothing for literacy rates. The only thing that interested him was the bundles the new students brought as “gifts.”
Chop, chop, chop!
A strange sound echoed through the soldiers’ barracks. After finishing training and their evening meal, the men were resting when one of the senior soldiers began doing something odd.
“Squad leader, do you have a skin condition?”
A junior asked cautiously. If it really was contagious, he needed to report it immediately.
“He’s always complaining about training and wandering outside—maybe he caught something?”
Checking on exiles was a popular assignment among the soldiers. Everyone knew that while others were rolling in the dirt during drills, the chosen men got to stroll through villages, chat with village chiefs over drinks, and generally have an easy time. That was why senior soldiers clung to the duty so fiercely.
But it wasn’t all advantages. On bad weather days they had to trek into mountain valleys or island villages, and if schedules went awry they often had to sleep outdoors. Worst of all, many exile settlements were poor, so the risk of catching something was constant.
“Is your eyesight bad?”
The answer had nothing to do with skin disease.
“Sir?”
“I asked if this skin of mine looks diseased.”
The senior soldier’s voice carried a hint of pride.
The junior stared at him, wondering what on earth the man had eaten.
“What do you think of my skin?”
“Your skin, squad leader?”
Only then did the junior examine the older man’s face. It did seem to have a certain… sheen.
“It… looks good, sir.”
“Be specific.”
“Uh… it’s sort of soft, like a woman’s, and there’s a glow coming from underneath…?”
Even as he spoke, the junior felt a wave of self-loathing. Why was he studying another man’s face this closely?
The squad leader nodded, clearly pleased.
“See? And what about yours? You’ve all got ringworm blooming white across your faces. Tsk, tsk.”
“But sir, aren’t these the marks of glory? A real man should be sweating so hard he never has time to wash his face—”
“If you say that outside, people will call you a country bumpkin.”
“Sir?”
“In the capital, even men put on lotion and take care of their skin.”
“……Men do? Besides the ones trying to fleece widows?”
“Think about it. Have you ever seen a noble with flaky skin or wrinkles at a young age?”
“Well……”
The junior wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find a single counterexample.
“But some nobles who train in martial arts have deeply tanned skin, don’t they?”
“That’s just color. It has nothing to do with elasticity or smoothness.”
Once again, the junior had no reply. The senior was right.
“Then… what does noble skin have to do with being called a country bumpkin?”
“I told you. In the capital, even men take care of their skin like nobles do.”
With that, the squad leader scooped up more lotion and began patting it onto his face with loud, satisfied smacks.
“……Is that really fashionable in the capital?”
“It is. I heard it from that mage who was exiled from the capital. He made this lotion himself and gave me some. Said he makes it himself.”
Ears perked up all around the barracks. Several soldiers openly stared at the lotion bottle.
“There’s this too.”
Feeling the attention, the squad leader puffed out his chest and produced another item.
“What’s that?”
“Lip balm. Watch.”
He stuck out his lips and rubbed the small stick across them.
“Ooh!”
The dry flakes vanished instantly, leaving a healthy sheen and a touch more color.
“Is it like women’s lip rouge?”
“That’s for color. This is just for moisture.”
“Moisture?”
“Dry lips crack and look ugly, so you take care of them. It’s got oil extracted from some flower—smells nice too. Here.”
“Did the mage make this as well?”
“Of course. That fellow’s a genius at making medicines, but he’s just as good at whipping up things like this. The villagers all get their remedies from him.”
“If it’s a mage’s medicine, it must be expensive. How……”
“Ah, that guy has no sense for money. Mages are all like that, aren’t they?”
A flicker of envy passed through several soldiers’ eyes. From the story, it sounded like the squad leader had bought these precious items from the mage for almost nothing.
“If he sold them instead of using them himself, he could at least buy a bottle of liquor……”
The thought of missing out on easy side income left a bitter taste in their mouths.
Thus, rumors of “medicines made by the capital-born mage” and “men’s cosmetics that are all the rage in the capital” began to spread through the soldiers’ gossip.
Patrick had no idea any of this was happening.
“These damn weeds, seriously!”
Once the rainy season began, showers fell two or three times a day. Heavy rain meant the golden age of weeds had arrived.
“At this rate I’ll run out of mana again.”
His magic capacity seemed to be increasing little by little, but he still refused to collapse just to dig a few more furrows.
“If I end up with heatstroke, I’m the only one who loses.”
Compared to ordinary mages who pushed themselves to the brink for the next realm, Patrick’s priorities were clearly broken.
“By the way, Teacher, didn’t you say you were going to gather medicinal herbs?”
“I did.”
“Why aren’t you going?”
“If the weeds were gone, I’d already be there!”
Thwack, thwack, thwack!
Patrick crouched in the field with a tiny trowel, weeding furiously while the children did their best to annoy him.
“Enough! I’m done.”
His already thin patience finally snapped. Staring at the endlessly sprouting weeds had made the world spin.
“Then shall we go to the forest?”
“Yeah. Let’s go clear the place out.”
“Waaah! Picnic! Picnic!”
“We’re going to work, I said!”
Patrick grumbled, but the children didn’t seem to hear.
“I’m gonna catch a ton of bugs!”
“Why bugs?”
“For bait. I’m going fishing tomorrow.”
“Me too, me too!”
“Then we need to catch earthworms?”
“Let’s do it!”
“I just want to make a pretty flower crown……”
“Elina, let’s make one together!”
“Okay!”
The forest was a playground for the children—an endless source of new toys.
“Well, kids are supposed to run around like this. Yeah.”
He had stormed into the woods in a fit of irritation, but listening to the children’s chatter, feeling the gentle breeze, and seeing the fresh green of the trees and grass, he thought there was no better healing in the world.
“Still, let’s not forget—we need new clothes.”
He hadn’t forgotten his goal. For the next few days he would gather herbs, process them, and make more first-aid kits. The single-minded desire for new clothes kept Patrick’s enthusiasm burning bright.
“Oh-ho. So you want to sell these medicine bundles as sets?”
“That’s right. A household first-aid kit.”
A few days later, Oren came to the island himself. While tasting the new wine from the Dunbrook brewery, he also wanted to check on the “emergency first-aid kit” Patrick had mentioned in his letter.
“Not bad.”
Headache medicine, painkillers, antidiarrheals, blood coagulants, and fatigue recovery tonics. Judging by the ingredients, they would definitely work. None of the herbs were particularly expensive, so the price would be reasonable.
“That’s the problem.”
This young mage had tried to create something affordable for as many people as possible. Which also meant the medicines were only for minor ailments.
“I’ll put them on display at the merchant guild, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Patrick’s face, which had been glowing with expectation, collapsed in an instant.
“Huh? Why? I thought this would be a huge hit!”
He asked quickly, “What’s the reason? From that soldier’s reaction, it seemed like there was real value in medicine made by a capital mage……”
“There might be some appeal, yes. But interest and actual purchases are two different things. Judging by the materials and price, these are aimed at commoners, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Commoners don’t stock up on expensive emergency medicine for minor illnesses that aren’t even urgent.”
“B-but there are commoners with some money, aren’t there? People who aren’t struggling to get by!”
Patrick added hastily. If he wasn’t careful, his new clothes would fly away, and there was no time to be picky.
“Of course there are such people, but that won’t make you much money……”
“Much money……?”
“If you want to buy high-grade magic books, rare reagents, or monster byproducts, you’ll need significant profit……”
“……? I don’t need any of that……”
“Pardon?”
“Ah, what are you saying! I just need enough money for a tailor to come here and make me new clothes!”
Patrick laughed brightly, as if the idea of anything else was ridiculous.
Oren stared at him for a long moment, wondering if the young man was being serious.
“……He really is a mage, right?”
A tiny seed of doubt took root in Oren’s mind.