Childhood (4)
“Same as usual today?”
“Is there any good new meat that came in?”
“Ours is always the same.”
“Then the usual, please.”
I tucked the wrapped meat under my arm and left the shop. Pulling my robe lower over my head, I walked down the street. The neighborhood was lively as ever. Alley captains were the same no matter the place or world—loud. I caught sight of a blond kid waving a sword made from a snapped branch and moved on. Kelton was probably getting hungry. I needed to hurry.
When I reached the house, I glanced at the rocking chair in the yard. No Kelton. That was his usual spot for resting his old bones, so where had he gone? Out for a drink, maybe? Well, it didn’t matter. He always came back when it was time to eat. I headed straight to the kitchen without worrying.
After simmering the meat into stew and tending the garden, Kelton returned.
“Why were you outside?”
“I watered the herbs.”
“Let’s eat.”
I glanced at the leather bag he carried, then ladled the stew onto the table. We ate. Today’s meat stew was delicious, as always. I poured herbal tea for Kelton and sipped my own. The warmth chased away the early December chill. Already December. Time flew. It had been over a year since I met Kelton.
So much had changed in that year. The villagers all knew me now—the mage’s disciple who always wore the black robe pulled low. My body had grown, too. A year of proper nutrition had added nearly ten centimeters. I was still small for my age, but it was fine. At this rate, I might reach my dream of becoming a 3.5-meter-tall muscle tank by adulthood.
My cooking had improved as well. Most recipes from my previous life were sealed away thanks to Happy Mid-land’s peculiarities, but cooking every day had taught me how to stretch limited ingredients. Kelton had plenty of money from his mercenary-mage days, yet even wealth couldn’t buy much in a rural village. Still, seeing pepper and salt everywhere proved magic had advanced in certain fields. That was why this place was Happy Mid-land, not just Mid-land.
One thing that hadn’t changed was my magic. After a year, I was still a first-rank mage. That was normal—most people took a year to reach second rank—so I was still average. For now.
Rustle. While I washed dishes, Kelton pulled something from his bag. It looked like a flat board. I kept washing but listened closely. Tap. He placed something on the board. Tap. Again. What was that? Curiosity got the better of me. I finished the dishes and approached.
On the desk sat a checkered board with oddly shaped pieces. A board game, obviously.
“The rocking chair isn’t enough anymore?”
“Hard to sit outside in winter.”
“You must’ve learned that the hard way last year.”
“Staying cooped up inside was miserable.”
I studied the game. The soldier-shaped pieces made me think it was some kind of otherworld chess. Then Kelton, who had been moving both black and white pieces alone, suddenly transformed a black piece. The soldier became a knight in full plate.
“Transformation!”
“Why are you shouting?”
“This looks fun. What’s it called?”
“Arcana Battle Board.”
“That’s a stiff name.”
A board game with transforming pieces, yet no romance in the title.
“How do you play?”
“Sit down.”
Kelton taught me the rules of Arcana Chess. It followed the basic structure of strategy board games but let you spend turns evolving pieces one stage higher. Each game, you could evolve one piece all the way to its ultimate form, creating countless strategic possibilities.
“Checkmate.”
“I’ve been wondering—does this world have a game called chess?”
“It does. This is just a variant of it.”
No wonder the name included “chess.” Still, it was surprising that chess existed here. Had another Earthling reincarnated and spread it?
“Checkmate.”
Two checkmates in a row. I blinked.
“This is hard.”
“I’ve played it my whole life. Of course you can’t beat me on your first day.”
“Let’s play again.”
Each piece had a different transformation, which made evolving them satisfying. The folding mechanisms reminded me of those “transforming robots dads love” from YouTube Shorts. No wonder they were expensive to make.
“This must cost a fortune.”
“That’s why I never bought one. I used to borrow them from the pub.”
“You’re stingy.”
Even if it was pricey, a pub could afford one. A man who earned as much as Kelton had only bought it now? Or maybe he was just that frugal, which explained his wealth. Which came first, the egg or the chicken?
“Checkmate.”
“Some pieces have terrible evolution efficiency. It’d be better to save up and evolve the high-efficiency ones first.”
“That’s called the Royal Gambit.”
“Let’s play again.”
I arranged the pieces neatly.
“How’s your magic coming along?” Kelton asked casually.
I moved a soldier forward and answered slowly. “Asking so nonchalantly because you’re worried I’m bothered by my lack of progress? You’d have raised a daughter well.”
“……How is it going?”
“Same as before.”
“That’s fine, right?”
“Of course.”
There were many things in the world that effort alone couldn’t overcome. Even with talent, bad luck could ruin everything. No need to panic over being stuck for just a year. I would obtain it all eventually. No rush. What if it took years instead? I’d think about that when the time came.
Fwoosh. A flame bloomed in my hand. A perfect sphere—characteristic of the flame of Balance I had realized. Mana distributed evenly, forming a consistent shape. The only real advantage was that it looked pretty. No joke; that was it. Most spells cast by first-rank mages were like that. Second rank was when magic became practical.
“Kelton, how did you reach second rank?”
“Haven’t I told you before? I—”
Kelton evolved a soldier into a knight and conjured a flame. Its radiance lit the room.
“—realized that a fair price doesn’t have to be one-to-one. Just because I give one doesn’t mean the other side must give two.”
“Unfair trades violate ethics.”
“It’s just an expression. An expression.”
I had heard the story of his second-rank breakthrough many times, but it never helped much. A mage’s realm was too vague to put into words. He explained what he could, yet it wasn’t enough. Every mage experienced it differently, so too many explanations only confused things. The one thing all mages agreed on was simple: understand the elements. Use the elements as tools to understand the world. It sounded like nonsense, but as a first-rank mage myself, I understood. Nothing described a mage’s training more accurately. To understand the world through the elements, I had to delve deeper into them. But how—how—
“It’s cold.”
Kelton stood and lit the fireplace. Fwoosh. The firewood caught. A lightbulb went off in my head.
“I got it!”
“Did you reach second rank?”
I ignored him and ran to the workshop. Among the tools, I grabbed a lantern and lit a flame. I hugged the lantern tightly.
“What are you doing?”
Kelton lit his pipe, looking baffled.
“If you want to get closer to an element, just keep it close at all times.”
“You’re going to carry that around constantly?”
“Is that not allowed?”
“It’s allowed, but it won’t mean much.”
Kelton exhaled smoke. Plenty of people had probably tried the same method. If it worked, every mage would walk around with fire or water at their side. The fact that they didn’t proved it was useless.
“Still, there’s no harm in trying, right?”
“Well, sure. Do what you want.”
Kelton answered indifferently and puffed on his pipe. I spoke slowly to his bored-looking face.
“Want to play another round?”
“Sit.”
*
Two more years passed.
“Done!”
“Three years. Three times the average.”
I had finally become a second-rank mage.