An A-Rank Junior
"Bwahahaha!"
"A recruit, you say? And a mage at that?!"
"Looks like a real heavyweight has rolled into our yard!"
"An earth-wielding mage! Welcome, lad! You've come to the right place!"
The stonemasons sat crowded together inside the union hall, guzzling ale by the flagon as they boisterously recapped the day's events. Every man possessed the voice of a foghorn, and the ceaseless clamor set Reed's eardrums ringing.
Among them, the elderly dwarf was particularly overjoyed.
"Bwahaha! Hahaha! Those blasted wood-choppers! Watching those cowards tuck their tails and run washed away ten years of sour bile in an instant! Gwahaha! Now then, what did you say your name was again?"
"...It's Reed, sir."
"I'm Darahalt! Guildmaster of this fine Stonemasons' Union! You can address me as Meister Darahalt, or if that's too stiff for your liking, you're welcome to call me big brother!"
"...An honor to meet you, Meister Darahalt."
Long after that, the masons continued to roast the carpenters over their drinks, passionately praising how immensely satisfying and magnificent it had been when Reed ran the lot of them off.
Reed nodded along with an awkward smile. When the raucous atmosphere finally showed signs of settling into a calmer hum, he seized the opening to ask a question.
"Does this sort of thing happen often? I mean... brawling with the carpenters."
"Hm?" Meister Darahalt stroked his bushy beard and nodded. "Our trades share plenty of overlapping territory, so head-butting is an everyday affair."
"They only laid a few bricks, though..."
"You could look at it as just a few bricks. But give those bastards an inch of ground, and they'll try to swallow a mile of our trade tomorrow. Besides, didn't we offer them a gentle warning today?"
A gentle warning? Reed scratched the back of his neck. Dozens of grown men squaring off with heavy iron hammers and axes bared didn't feel particularly gentle by any definition.
"If things go sideways, someone could get crippled or killed."
"Every man dies eventually."
"...Pardon?"
"Brothers, however, never vanish."
Darahalt gestured toward a polished slab of boulder erected against one wall of the hall. Carved into its stony face in bold, flowing strokes was a short inscription.
Darahalt's weathered face settled into stern solemnity.
"Reed. Masonry is a perilous trade. Getting your flesh gouged by flying shards of rock is routine, and if luck turns against you, a collapsing slab will crush you flat on the spot. On top of that, we must wander from region to region. Some days we climb high into the crags to carve aqueducts; other days we cast bridge piers across raging rapids. When war breaks out, the army drafts us as technical officers for siege works. The only way folks like us survive through all that grit is by becoming true brothers to one another."
Darahalt stood up. The surrounding craftsmen rose in unison without a word, forming a solid, muscular ring around Darahalt and Reed.
"If you become a stonemason, we will shield you as our own kin. In return, you must shoulder your duty as a brother to us. So I put the question to you, Reed. Will you be our brother?"
Reed caught his breath.
Brother.
It was a concept he had never once touched throughout his entire existence. In his past life, Reed had been an orphaned day laborer shackled by poverty; in this life, an utterly discarded loner.
Carrying the memories and sensibilities of a modern human, Reed had been an alien anomaly even among the slum dwellers. The other street urchins, despised as gutter rats though they were, had never allowed him into their packs.
This was the first time.
The very first time anyone had stepped forward and declared that they would take him in.
Reed rose from his seat, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke.
"Yes."
Darahalt grinned ear to ear and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Brothers! A new brother has entered our fold! Though the rock may fracture, our bond shall never break!"
"Never break!"
The stonemasons thrust their heavy hammers into the air in a single, thunderous motion.
"Though time weathers all to dust, our brotherhood shall never waver!"
"Never waver!"
"By this oath, I recognize Reed as a member of our union and confer upon him the rank of apprentice!"
"WAAAAAAHHH!"
A roar of full-throated cheers shook the rafters. Watching the sea of grinning faces, Reed found himself smiling.
No matter the era or world, entering a new organization almost always meant enduring territorial hazing and hostile initiation. Bringing in another hand meant gaining a colleague, but it also meant bringing in a competitor who might take a slice of the pie. Yet having witnessed Reed rout the rival Carpenters' Guild, these craftsmen were celebrating with unvarnished joy. Not a single glare of jealousy, resentment, or cold calculation met his eyes.
And so Reed smiled alongside them.
To have someone welcome you, to have someone genuinely need you—it was an overwhelming sensation that swelled within his chest.
It was so warm that tears threatened to surge into his eyes. But unwilling to spoil the festive air on such a grand day, Reed swallowed the lump in his throat and laughed heartily with the rest of them.
Once the passionate night drew to a close and heads cleared, it was time to tackle the mundane demands of practical reality.
First and foremost, Reed needed a roof over his head. Fortunately, the union took care of that matter without delay.
"You haven't secured lodging yet? The union owns a few residential buildings. We'll lease you a room at a cut-rate price."
Venturing past the bustling commercial district brought him to a quiet residential quarter. In the heart of it stood a two-story stone building that was to become Reed's new sanctuary. The ground floor was occupied by a sundries shop, while the upper level housed an attic room—well, a chamber slightly larger than an attic, though calling it spacious would have been an outright lie.
Still, the interior was spotless, furnished with a sturdy table and a proper bed.
To Reed, who had spent his second life rolling through the muck and grime of Asteritz's slums, this humble chamber might as well have been a royal palace.
Four copper coins a week!
Twenty imperial copper coins amounted to one silver coin, and twenty silver coins made a single gold piece. An impoverished peasant family typically budgeted four silver coins for an entire month's worth of food. Even the sleaziest flop inn would have charged far more than four coppers for seven nights, making the union's lease an undeniable bargain.
The perks of union membership didn't stop there.
Affiliated taverns and diners offered hearty meals at discounted rates, and several tailors throughout the district maintained trade ties with the stonemasons. After liquidating the gear stripped from Letz's gang and the unfortunates who had fallen to the fishmen, Reed took his modest coin pouch and paid a visit to one of those clothiers.
"Looking for garments, are we?"
"Yes. Could you show me some clean shirts and a robe? I'd also like to look at clothing suited for manual labor."
Attire served as an indispensable badge of identity across every age. Commoners often sneered at the nobility for draping themselves in opulent fabrics, denouncing it as vain decadence, but that criticism captured only half the picture. Maintaining that degree of external splendor was precisely how they preserved recognition as lords, leveraging the intangible authority and respect granted by high birth.
Back in modern times, people treated someone in grimy, patched work rags entirely differently than someone dressed in a crisp uniform or tailored suit.
Having worked backbreaking construction jobs in his former life and clawed through the slums in this one, Reed grasped that truth down to his marrow. Hadn't the gate guards at the Pioneers' Guild tried to kick him to the curb the second they laid eyes on his scruffy appearance?
My purse won't stretch to luxury, but I can at least present a respectable, tidy front. Now that I've become an earth mage, cultivating an air of quiet mystique wouldn't hurt either.
Perhaps a pointed wizard's hat? Or a serviceable staff? Reed was young, which made him an easy target for condescension, making it all the more critical to mind his outward presentation.
Shortly after Reed laid out his specifications, the shopkeeper returned with a genial merchant's grin, unfurling a sturdy brown wool robe.
"How about this fine piece? Spun from the fleece of sheep raised along the northern borders of the Demonic Realm, it's wonderfully warm and soft, yet exceptionally durable. My goodness! It looks stunning on you, young master! The earth-toned fabric matches your brown hair and eyes so splendidly—you look positively refined!"
"I... is that so?"
"You mentioned needing shirts and work garments as well, correct? Tallying it all together... that comes to seven silvers and ten coppers. Tell you what, I'm feeling generous today! I'll let the whole bundle go for an even seven silver coins!"
"Urk. Th-that's quite steep."
"Steep?! Good heavens, you won't find craftsmanship of this grade at such a price anywhere in Morasil!"
Reed squeezed his eyes shut, doing the arithmetic against his shallow purse. Even if he emptied every last coin he owned, it would fall short.
"Could you shave off a bit more...? To tell the truth, I was sent here on a referral from the Stonemasons' Union."
At Reed's meek, almost apologetic plea, the shopkeeper's demeanour transformed in a heartbeat.
"Oh? Is that so? Why didn't you mention that from the start, lad? Just hand over three and a half silvers and we're square."
"...?"
The shopkeeper hadn't given him a special discount for being a stonemason at all.
He had simply charged the actual retail price.
He was trying to fleece me for double the cost?!
A shiver ran down Reed's spine at how close he had come to being skinned alive in broad daylight.
In this manner, securing membership in the guild had swiftly stabilized his entire life. Food, clothing, and shelter were settled in a matter of hours, wiping away his immediate anxieties. Having planted his feet firmly thanks to the union's backing, the time had come to shoulder his responsibilities as a brother.
Late that afternoon, Reed knocked on the door of the guildmaster's office.
"Enter."
Stepping inside, Reed found Darahalt buried behind mountainous piles of paperwork. Scowling ferociously, the burly dwarf was scanning reports and financial ledgers, looking far more like an overworked, battle-weary bureaucrat than a master craftsman. Well, he would have, were it not for the fact that he was completely shirtless, his thick, bulging chest and arms on full display.
Why on earth is he handling paperwork with his bare torso out?
As Reed took a chair, Darahalt set down his documents and locked eyes with him.
"Right then. Let's have ourselves a proper talk. If you were just another greenhorn, I wouldn't bother sitting down for a private interview, but you happen to possess a rather extraordinary set of skills."
"Yes, Meister."
"Let me ask you straight first: why us? A mage is treasured wherever he sets foot. Masters and nobles willing to hire you for fat coin purses are crawling all over the realm."
It was a question Reed had already weighed countless times, so his response came without a shred of hesitation.
"First, because I believe it will aid my magic. Chipping stone, tamping soil, raising foundations... I believe mastering the techniques and practical wisdom of stonemasonry will elevate my control over earth magic."
As things stood, Reed's magical repertoire was desperately primitive.
Suffocating a foe with flying dirt? Clamping someone down with a mud hand? Feats like that could be accomplished through ordinary physical means without wasting a drop of mana. What he needed was refined technical skill. Only an irreplaceable craft unique to him would truly amplify his value.
Back then, Uncle Park worked ten years doing raw day labor without learning a trade, yet Uncle Choi, who spent three years mastering interior carpentry, earned vastly more money.
Uncle Park had grumbled endlessly about how unfair the world was, but the young Reed of that past life had realized the cold truth right then and there.
A person had to learn. Only technical mastery and knowledge could elevate a man to greater heights.
"And the second reason... you could say it's an old dream of mine."
"A dream, you say...?"
Darahalt stroked his flamboyant beard in quiet contemplation before his eyes flared with sharp light.
"If you harbor genuine ambition and wish to climb the ladder, our union is a prime choice. Out here in the Western Frontier, there's hardly a corner our calloused hands haven't shaped. It begins with building humble homes, extends to erecting mighty keeps and aqueducts, and right now, word has it the Governor of Morasil is weighing a grand canal project. If an imperial canal gets carved out, who do you think they'll hand the contract to?"
A canal? The staggering scale of the project made Reed's eyes widen.
"Wealthy merchants, titled lords, even the Governor himself. Our union maintains solid ties with every faction of consequence. Should you wish it, I can readily broker introductions to generous patrons and noble benefactors."
A patron.
For Reed, who was currently pinching every brass copper, it was an irresistible prospect.
Acquiring knowledge didn't happen along a single path. The wisdom locked inside books was invaluable, and Reed desperately wanted to acquire texts on magical theory—but naturally, such academic tomes were notoriously expensive.
"In any case, so long as you prove your worth with matching results, our union is prepared to back you to the hilt."
"You are very kind, Meister."
Darahalt snorted contemptuously.
"Kind? Don't mistake this for softhearted charity. I'm simply placing a bet on your potential. Picture what happens when your magic matures and weaves together with our trade! Fortress ramparts shooting out of the dirt overnight! Grand stone bridges spanning roaring torrents in a single day! The pioneering of the Demonic Borderlands would accelerate tenfold, and our Stonemasons' Union would prosper beyond measure."
Reed closed his eyes, painting the scene Darahalt described in his mind.
Thick curtain walls surging from bare earth; massive arched bridges spanning uncrossable rivers; an entire fortress city forged overnight.
It was an intoxicating vision.
"...Could such things truly be possible?"
"Damned if I know! Do I look like a wizard to you?"
At Darahalt's characteristically blunt retort, Reed offered a wry smile.
"Well... fair enough."
"Still, if even half of that vision—or hell, a quarter of it—becomes reality, it'll bring tremendous fortune to our brotherhood. As guildmaster, I've decided to invest in you. Speak up if there's anything you require. Regrettably, my own schedule won't allow me to instruct you personally, but I'll place you under whichever master craftsman you desire."
"Treating me like an ordinary apprentice is more than generous enough, Meister."
Darahalt scoffed again.
"Sitting here having a private audience with me is already special privilege, boy. Usually, a raw apprentice spends two solid years sweeping floors and hauling chamber pots, bowing down with a tearful 'thank you, master' if they get tossed a crumb of instruction. You wouldn't care for that, would you?"
"..."
Truth be told, he really wouldn't.
"And we've no intention of wasting a precious magic-user on sweeping dust, either. If you don't have a preference, you'll learn the craft under Meister Anton. His stonework is second to none, and he's a gifted mentor to boot."
"...Understood."
"Good. I'll be keeping an eye out for your achievements."
Darahalt waved a thick, hairy arm, casually dismissing him from the office.
Taking stock of the arrangement, there wasn't a single drawback for Reed. Considering that apprentices were typically treated like indentured dogs for years just to pry loose a few technical secrets, he had been granted immense preferential treatment.
Still... I wonder how the other apprentices will take this.
When men who had crawled through grueling trials saw a newcomer comfortably leapfrog the process, resentment was practically inevitable. It wasn't born of malice; it was simply raw human nature. The union brothers who had roared in celebration yesterday hadn't shown an ounce of jealousy, but they didn't represent the entire guild, and human hearts were fickle creatures.
Under such circumstances, Reed had only one recourse.
I just have to show them.
Deliver results so undeniable that no one would dare whisper the word 'favoritism.'
Fortunately, if there was one thing Reed knew through and through, it was grinding labor. He had lived his past life and his current life doing nothing but working himself to the bone.
When it came to putting his head down and sweating, he was confident he could outlast anyone.
Loty was an apprentice of the Stonemasons' Union.
Having toiled with dog-like devotion for four long years, he was widely regarded as being on the very cusp of passing his journeyman certification.
Lately, however, an irritating knot had formed in Loty's gut. Or rather, an acute sense of crisis.
A mage suddenly joined our ranks?
Getting a junior apprentice was fundamentally a blessing. It meant Loty could finally dump the miserable scullery chores onto someone else.
The fact that this junior happened to be a magic-user, however, was terrible news.
To make matters worse, that same mage had earned roaring praise throughout the union for running off the Carpenters' Guild. Driving away those insidious, vile, devil-spawn woodcutters was undeniably thrilling, but having such an overwhelmingly celebrated figure arrive as a junior colleague was a massive headache.
They were bound to be compared at every turn.
There's even a rumor that he's skipping the grunt phase entirely to receive direct instruction and jump straight to journeyman.
It made Loty seethe with envy and frustration. What did that make all the years he had spent breaking his back in the dirt?
And so, Loty resolved to be a little difficult. Mages were notorious for their haughty arrogance. The brat would surely look down on an ordinary senior like him and act high and mighty.
When that happened, Loty would simply cite the union's solemn traditions and iron discipline to knock the kid's nose down a peg.
I-it'll be fine, right?
Midway through the thought, Loty hesitated. Mages were terrifying beings. He didn't believe the backwater peasant fables about sorcerers turning folks into toads, but magic-users were undeniably figures you didn't cross lightly.
Still, this was a matter of artisan pride—and territorial livelihood.
Pride and livelihood: two things worth staking one's neck to defend.
I'm not the only apprentice around here. If we band together, a wet-behind-the-ears novice mage won't be able to do squat.
Repeating that internal chant to drown out his lingering jitters, Loty hurried his pace toward the worksite. It was well before the scheduled start of the shift. Showing up early to prepare the staging ground before the meister arrived was the most basic rule of an apprentice's duty.
Naturally, a greenhorn like Reed wouldn't have a clue about that, giving Loty the perfect excuse to chew him out right off the bat—
"Huh?"
Swinging the workshop door open, Loty let out a stunned croak.
Lined up across the floorboards were rows of neatly organized tools. In the center of them knelt Reed, vigorously buffing the metal heads with an oiled cloth. He had scrubbed them with such painstaking care that the heavy stonemason hammers gleamed under the morning lantern light.
Loty stared dumbfoundedly.
"Wh-what in the world are you doing?"
"Hm? Ah, good morning, senior!" Reed looked up with a bright, earnest grin. "I'm Reed, joining the crew starting today! I came out early to clean the station and prepare the tools for work!"
"Uh... yeah. Right. Good work."
He was... surprisingly courteous.
There wasn't a trace of arrogance in his posture. For that matter, Loty himself had never shown up this early to polish tools on his very first day.
Caught off guard, Loty hastily stiffened his spine.
H-hmph. So he's not an insolent brat. But being diligent means nothing if your hands are useless!
Novices always made a mess of things on site, bustling about pointlessly before getting cursed out by the masters. In fact, overflowing enthusiasm was even worse—it was always the eager ones who caused catastrophic accidents.
Unfortunately for Loty, that hope was brutally shattered within an hour.
"Here you go, Meister. It's this hammer, right?"
"Hm? Ah, thank you."
"You must be parched, Meister. I brought some fresh water."
"Hm? Ah, much obliged."
"I'll haul this mortar over."
"...Thank you, lad."
Reed watched Meister Anton's movements with razor-sharp attention. Whenever Anton reached for a tool, Reed had it waiting in his hand before the master could even turn his head.
The boy possessed incredible situational awareness and sharp eyes. Above all, he had an innate sense for physical labor, adapting to the rhythm of the worksite with terrifying speed.
It's like he's been working construction his entire life... though that's obviously impossible.
The kid was a mage. He must have spent his childhood buried in arcane studies—when on earth would he have had time to do manual labor?
And more than anything else...
"Senior, let me take care of this."
"Huh? Oh... yeah. Sure."
Laying masonry involved endless, agonizing chores: trenching soil, tamping the earth, sifting out gravel, and lugging endless piles of dirt and rock.
Normally, all of that backbreaking misery fell squarely onto the shoulders of the senior apprentices.
Yet Reed simply channeled his earth magic, completing hours of exhausting labor in a matter of heartbeats. Before Loty even realized what was happening, his entire workload had evaporated into thin air.
Th-this is... so easy.
Having wrapped up the morning's schedule hours ahead of time, Loty stood blinking in a daze.
Was work allowed to be this effortless? Just because a single junior colleague had joined the crew?
Right then, Reed stepped forward with a gentle, polite smile.
"Senior, I'll be in your care moving forward."
Reed extended his hand for a handshake. He was appropriately courteous, yet carried a quiet, self-assured confidence that bore none of the groveling servility of a bootlicker.
Loty stared down at the outstretched hand for a long moment before letting out an incredulous bark of laughter.
"Hah! Wow! Unbelievable, really!"
Then, gripping Reed's hand with all the strength in his fingers, Loty beamed.
"Damn glad to have you, brother."
Not long after, Loty was seen loudly boasting to all his fellow apprentices about the top-tier, Grade-A junior who had just landed under his wing.