While others exchanged a word or two at most before handing over their gifts…
…Ian was stuck in an entire conversation.
Feeling the prickling stares from behind, he quickly decided to just give the gift and leave.
“Here’s my present.”
“May I open it now?”
He had planned to hand it over and slip away, but Viola insisted on opening it right then and there.
She clearly had no intention of letting him off easy.
Desperate to escape, Ian forced an awkward smile while silently cursing her.
“Of course. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“Coming from the heir of Schrantz, my expectations are high.”
Carefully, she opened the lightweight box—and then actually looked surprised.
Just as he’d said, it was something no one could’ve anticipated.
“…A branch?”
“……”
“……”
Every noble in the hall fell silent as they witnessed the contents.
The banquet hall went dead quiet, as if someone had dumped ice water over the festivities.
Reactions varied—some gasped, some turned pale, and others openly sneered.
“Pfft—!”
A stifled laugh broke the silence, followed by murmurs.
“Did that backwater lord lose his mind along with his fear?”
“Does he think he’s above the Duke of Endran?”
“Or maybe… he’s planning to impress Lady Viola with that?”
“Whether he’s forgotten his place or prepared some sweet talk—the Duke will kill him.”
Amid the ridicule, Viola’s expression shifted—and some began eagerly awaiting her response.
“What… is this branch?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t seem insulted or angry.
Instead, she looked genuinely intrigued, as if sensing something special about it.
‘It looks ordinary, but it’s infused with mana.’
A seemingly plain branch, brimming with mana—something unheard of.
Those farther away might not have noticed, but Viola, standing right in front of it, could feel it.
“Recently, we made contact with elves in uncharted territory and began trading with them. Have you heard?”
“Yes, I have.”
“This is a special branch from their forest.”
“A branch from the elves’ forest… Does it have unique properties?”
“Wands or staves crafted from it allow smoother mana flow, enabling stronger spells with less expenditure.”
“But isn’t that what regular wands do?”
“This is on a completely different level.”
“How so?”
“Artifacts made from this reduce mana consumption by at least 25%.”
Everyone’s eyes widened.
If true, this branch alone could produce a wand worthy of high-ranking mages from the Milant Tower—the kind even imperial court sorcerers would covet.
“Do all branches from the elves’ forest have this effect?”
“No, they’re exceedingly rare. I only stumbled upon this by chance.”
He called it luck, but Ian had literally ransacked the warehouse where all elf-traded branches were stored.
These mana-infused branches appeared at an absurdly low rate—and this one was of a grade he’d never even seen in the game.
With too many to inspect alone, he’d enlisted Sera’s help—and, miraculously, found two the day before leaving for the banquet.
One so potent it stunned even him.
‘Honestly, I considered keeping the better one for Sera.’
Its performance was that exceptional.
But Sera, immediately reading his mind, begged him to gift the superior one—for Schrantz’s reputation.
In the end, he promised to have the lesser branch crafted into a wand for her later.
Even the “lesser” one reduced mana use by 20%—still leagues above standard staff.
“Ideally, I’d have had it pre-crafted into a wand, but alas—Schrantz lacks an artificer.”
This was true.
Artificers were elite craftsmen—they’d never settle in a backwater like Schrantz when they could work for noble houses or the imperial capital.
‘Even if we had one, there wouldn’t have been enough time.’
Hence, the raw branch.
‘Exhausting.’
A single day had left Ian utterly drained.
After presenting the gift, he’d been swarmed by nobles—those eager to hear his exploits, those angling for connections, those pushing their daughters at him…
Escaping proved impossible.
Every time he tried, new people latched onto him—trapping him until the banquet’s end.
‘Somehow, this is more tiring than fighting.’
His throat still burned from overuse.
‘At least it was just one day.’
Most noble birthdays spanned three days—some even a week.
Thankfully, the Duke had kept it short due to tensions with House Eaton.
A blessing for Ian.
“Even the young master has his struggles, it seems.”
Nea, trailing behind him, giggled.
They’d left their lodgings to stroll the streets—until Ian stopped at a towering spire.
The mage tower of the Endran duchy.
“You followed me out, but was the tower your goal?”
“Since we’re here, I’m buying spellbooks.”
“You don’t seem keen on learning magic yourself… For Sera, then?”
“Right.”
Ian had checked Sera’s skills.
[Skills]
— Herbology (Beginner) Lv.5
— Alchemy (Intermediate) Lv.8
— Potion Crafting (Intermediate) Lv.9
— Magic Theory (Intermediate) Lv.1
— Elemental Magic (Intermediate) Lv.1
— Destruction Magic (Intermediate) Lv.1
— Support Magic (Intermediate) Lv.1
Thanks to successfully brewing a Half-Elixir, her Alchemy and Potion Crafting skills had skyrocketed.
She hadn’t neglected her magic training either—already reaching Intermediate rank.
Sera had long surpassed her mother’s abilities.
With nothing left to teach her, she now trained alone.
Even so, her skill progression outpaced most.
‘If I get her proper books, she’ll grow even faster.’
With that thought, Ian approached the mage tower’s gates.
A guard stationed there called out.
“State your business.”
“I’m here to purchase spellbooks.”
“Proof of identity.”
“Ian von Schrantz, eldest son of House Schrantz.”
Ian showed his emblem. The guard inspected it, then bowed.
“Welcome. Please register in the visitor log before entering. The artifact shop is the first building straight ahead. Be careful not to stray—if you ignore this warning and suffer an accident, no one will take responsibility.”
The tower restricted access to outsiders.
Even nobles couldn’t wander freely without being mistaken for spies.
Mage towers were independent institutions, hubs of arcane research—and real infiltrators did exist.
Those who didn’t follow instructions risked being branded intruders.
This rule applied universally to all towers.
‘I learned that the hard way.’
During his early days in Meta Pangaea, he’d skipped the warnings and wandered into a restricted zone.
Guards and mages had swarmed him, dragging him to the underground prison.
After interrogations and a hefty fine, they’d released him—but the humiliation stuck.
Most players made this mistake at least once.
Now, he knew better.
“I’ll be careful.”
Ian stepped inside.
The tower shone with fascinating artifacts, but Ian stuck to his goal—buying intermediate spellbooks.
He examined his purchase with a wry smile.
‘I knew it’d be expensive, but this is brutal.’
Thirty gold per book. An astronomical sum.
‘Prices vary by tower, but thirty is outright robbery.’
From what he remembered, intermediate tomes usually cost 10–20 gold.
Enough to make lesser nobles tremble.
‘Whatever. Consider it an investment.’
If this book accelerated Sera’s growth, it’d be worth it.
The thought eased his irritation slightly.
“Hey, you! Stop right there!”
A shout rang out behind him.
Turning, he saw a scrawny teen—clothes tattered, arms full of stolen bread—sprinting from a furious baker.
Exhaustion slowed the baker, but—
Thud!
The boy tripped on a protruding cobblestone, crashing face-first.
“Hah—! Got you, you little rat! Think you’re clever? To the guards with you!”
“I’m sorry! I was just—so hungry! I won’t do it again, please!”
“Sorry won’t cut it! You’ll lose a hand for this!”
The boy thrashed, but the baker’s grip was unyielding.
Ian stepped between them.
“How much?”
“Eh?”
“The bread. What’s it worth?”
“Two shillings.”
Ian checked his coin pouch—no shillings, just gold and silver.
He tossed the baker a silver coin.
The man gaped at the overpayment.
“Consider it settled.”
The baker, though baffled, wasn’t about to complain. Two shillings’ worth of bread for ten times its value?
He released the boy.
“Count yourself lucky. Thank the kind noble.”
Humming, the baker left. The boy bowed shakily.
“Th-thank you, milord.”
“Grateful? Then pay me back.”
“P-pay…?”
“That’s right.”
Ian grinned.
“I hear the Duke of Endran seizes thieves wrists. You nearly lost one forever—until I stepped in. So now, you owe me. Fair?”
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