Have you ever found a cool trick and immediately gotten obsessed with it? Like, you learn it once and suddenly you haveto show everyone, hoping they’ll get just as excited as you?
Yeah, that was me, wandering through the woods like an over-caffeinated garden gnome.
One part of the library’s knowledge on crafting had this totally unexpected section about herbology—and an even weirder one about plant enchantments. Turns out, if you fed a plant the right kind of mana in just the right way, you could make it grow insanely fast. I’m talking minutes to get what should’ve taken months.
Naturally, I had to stop every five minutes to mess with it.
First, I hit up a berry bush labeled as edible (because obviously). Then I found a regular strawberry bush—no way was I passing that up, even if I had to double-check it wasn’t another Dream Lace variety waiting to wreck my sleep schedule again.
And then... a grapefruit tree.
A grapefruit tree.
In the middle of the woods.
Not exactly what I pictured for the local ecosystem, but hey, it was begging for a test run.
Slight problem: big plants took a lot more mana. I drained myself harder than I expected, but it paid off.
I walked away with over a hundred grapefruits and a deep, personal respect for citrus.
The whole experience made me reflect on what I actually knew about crafting—and more specifically, runecrafting—now that I had time to just sit and think for once, instead of constantly cramming mana into my body like my life depended on it.
(Which, to be fair, it kind of did.)
Turns out, the basics of magic here weren’t that different from something I already knew from Earth: the first law of thermodynamics.
Although here, they explained it a little differently.
Basically, matter and energy can't be created or destroyed—only changed.
Magic just lets you cheat a little harder at that game.
You weren’t pulling new stuff out of nowhere; you were taking what already existed and mushing it around like cosmic Play-Doh, limited only by what you could instinctively intend to happen.
And because I grew up on Earth—where people actually had science classes and theories about how the universe works—I was basically walking around this world as an Abrams tank... while everybody else was swinging BB guns.
When it came to runecraft specifically, the library had drilled into me that it was basically a shortcut: a synthetic language where every symbol could have multiple meanings, depending on your intent.
Which, thinking about it, meant there were probably a bunch of other "languages" out there too—different runes, different cultures, different styles.
Kind of like if ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Japanese kanji, and emoji all got thrown into a blender and used to bend reality.
The Second Law of Thermodynamics, boiled down, says that in a closed system, everything tends toward disorder—entropy always increases over time.
In other words: things break down, energy spreads out, nothing stays perfectly neat forever.
Now add magic.
Magic basically hijacks that process.
Instead of everything naturally falling apart, if you control mana well enough, you can force energy and matter to stay organized—or even reorganize it better than nature ever could.
Where normal physics says, "Everything falls apart eventually," magic says, "Not if I get there first."
It’s like fighting entropy by grabbing it by the collar and yelling, "No, YOU sit still!"
That got me thinking—there was probably a really simple explanation for why there were monsters and all kinds of other crazy things running around in this world.
I was almost certain a lot of what made magic work here wasn’t based on solid science, but on completely made-up theories and hilariously bad observations about the natural world.
Or... whatever passed for the natural world on Sky.
I mean, come on—they had dungeons.
They had magic.
And apparently, people just popped in from other universes like it was an occasional Tuesday event.
So rune crafting?
It was basically the fantasy-world version of writing down a list of instructions for the universe.
"Dear Reality, please do this thing. Sincerely, Me."
As long as you had enough mana to "power the program," you could force nature to play along.
Now, here’s where it all got a little fuzzy.
When I asked Fu where mana—or ki, or whatever else you wanted to call it—actually came from, he gave me the most blank stare I’d ever seen.
Like I'd just asked him to explain why toast always lands butter-side down.
It was like nobody had ever thought to ask the question before.
And honestly, I kind of got it.
For the people of this world, asking "Where does mana come from?" was probably like asking why grass grows or why the sun shows up every morning. It just was.
They hadn’t made it that far down the endless ladder of “why” questions yet.
When I pushed Fu a little harder about how people even started using ki in the first place, the best I got was, "It’s always been here. It’s always been used."
Apparently, there had been a lot of civilizations over the ages... and a lot of those civilizations had a bad habit of blowing themselves up, only for someone to rebuild centuries—or even thousands of years—later.
I’ll be honest: I was a little disappointed with the answers.
But I was also kind of intrigued.
Because, apparently, humans weren't the only sentient beings walking around.
That's right: all those myths and legends about elves, dwarves, animal people, and hobbits? Totally real.
Unfortunately, the nasty stuff was real too.
Dark elves, predatory fae, and these demon-looking folks called Scarletts—most of whom were actually super chill and weirdly into magical plants instead of blasting fireballs.
Getting back to rune crafting: not only was it a synthetic language, it was basically the magical world’s version of shorthand.
Stuff you could do by manually manipulating mana... if you had the time, patience, and a few decades to kill.
If I kept practicing basic mana manipulation, I'd eventually be able to not just make mana material—but also reshape it into completely different forms from its original state.
Which sounded awesome... until I noticed another margin note from Javier.
This one said, almost verbatim:
Really, really big boom — DO NOT!
If Javier was warning me that a "big boom" was bad, then a "really, really big boom" was... catastrophic.
And knowing my luck? "Nuke bad" was definitely on the table.
It honestly wasn't hard to imagine someone accidentally wiping out an entire civilization here.
Which probably explained why knowledge like that was guarded more carefully than a dragon hoarding gold.
So, being the responsible adult I was (or at least pretending to be), I settled for the much safer hobby of stopping every mile or so and speeding up the growth of any plant I could positively identify as valuable, unique—or most importantly—edible.
On my first day of hiking, the sun dipped below the horizon way faster than I expected, and I just barely found a spot to camp before the woods turned pitch black.
(Probably didn’t help that I kept stopping every five minutes to play magic gardener.)
While I was walking on the second day, I decided to switch things up.
Instead of playing magical gardener again, I pulled some of the materials I’d stuffed into my storage space and started messing around with runecrafting.
Now that I actually understood runes better—and had a clearer idea of what the materials could handle—I decided it was time to get a little daring.
Because let’s be honest: sometimes, you want a big boom.
If I ever ended up fighting more than one person—or worse, another full group of murder-happy adventurers—or even worse, something that wasn’t even human, I needed something simple.
Something I could chuck and forget about.
Something that wouldn’t look threatening... until it was way too late.
So, I basically took the idea of a grenade and sprinted with it in a few very interesting directions.
One of the coolest things about this world’s magic—and mana manipulation in general—was how it bent the rules I grew up with.
The law of conservation of matter? Yeah, that still technically applied... but it could be seriously messed with.
Air, water, earth—any of the elements could be twisted, condensed, flipped inside out, and made into some truly insane stuff.
Oxygen? Burns hot.
Hydrogen? Burns way hotter.
Water? Doesn’t have to stay liquid. Ice? Doesn’t have to stay frozen for long if you don’t want it to.
There was just so much creative freedom to make awesome—and absolutely terrifying—things.
And even better?
You could pack those little death-traps onto a piece of wood no bigger than your thumb.
Which led to my next genius idea:
I needed to learn how to throw tiny rocks or sticks using mana at insane speeds.
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That's right.
I was officially living the classic fantasy trope—hurling rocks with my mind.
Small problem: apparently, I had some of the worst aim ever.
Which made zero sense, because I had literally just picked up a skill book that was supposed to help with precision and hand control.
Turns out, that didn’t do much for one of those weird extra senses nobody talks about often—proprioception.
You know, that built-in system where you can (hopefully) touch your own nose with your eyes closed instead of jabbing yourself in the eye?
It’s the same sense that lets you move and aim instinctively.
Like how you don’t think about catching your phone when you drop it—you just flail like a lunatic and somehow save it.
(Or maybe that's just me.)
Anyway, I’m pretty sure proprioception is tied to your equilibrium... or your brain’s internal GPS... or whatever ancient system keeps you from walking face-first into a door when you're tired.
And, honestly, even back on Earth, mine wasn’t exactly a top-of-the-line model.
Adapting to this new world meant seeing weaknesses as opportunities for growth. My first step was to figure out why my throwing was so horrible. If I couldn’t get it right with physical effort, maybe magic could help me narrow down my aim.
While practicing, I realized that practice doesn’t always make perfect right away. Using the technique of retrieving items from my personal storage, I had a sizable pile of stones set aside for practice. I began retrieving them one at a time, throwing them and working on my aim. I improved, but I wouldn’t say I got good. There’s a difference between throwing in the general direction and actually hitting the target. I aimed for a 4-foot wide area but was still hitting a 5-foot radius.
Ultimately, I knew I had a lot of work to do, especially if I ever found myself in a real conflict. As luck would have it, the test of my combat ability came much sooner than expected.
On the third day, sometime in the afternoon, I started to feel an itchy sensation between my shoulder blades. It was that primal feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you.
I had entered a heavily forested area, the canopy thick above me, casting the path in deeper shadows. I had only been on the road for a few hours that morning, but I was trying to stay hyper-vigilant. Unfortunately, I was still out of practice.
I felt uneasy, and there was a distinct tension in the air. Not far ahead, rustling came from the bushes around me, and then, from behind a boulder, the first man emerged, holding a huge club. Surrounding me, eight more men appeared, each armed with various weapons. None of their weapons looked well-maintained, and all the men were unkempt and dirty. The stench was overpowering, and I had to fight the urge to cover my nose and mouth.
"Well, gentlemen," I began, trying to keep my voice steady, "you don’t seem to have very good intentions. Is there any way we can make this a friendly encounter instead of, you know, turning into a fight?"
The man with the club, who had stepped out from behind the boulder, grinned. "Charlie, break his legs so he can’t run off."
One of the other men chuckled. "Okay, but I get a cut of whatever food he's got. Silver’s nice, but it’s useless out here. The local farmers are overcharging anyone who isn’t a regular. Especially us."
The man with the club nodded, still grinning. "Don’t worry. Charlie will be swinging by the Conrad family soon enough. They’ve got a cute older daughter that needs ‘breaking in.’” His slimy chuckle made my blood boil. I made up my mind right there—I wasn’t holding back in this fight. I knew I was probably going to get hurt, but I had healing supplies and equipment I hadn’t had the chance to test yet.
As Charlie stepped closer, I casually undid my backpack and set it down on the ground, making it look like I was preparing for them to go through it. Then, just before stepping back, I yanked one of the swords from my storage space, making it appear as if I were pulling it from the pack. At the same time, I retrieved one of my more expensive rune grenades, the one I’d spent a solid 20 minutes crafting. This was going to be interesting.
It was a piece of dark iron, covered in intricate runes, with one distinct effect. A small infusion of Mana, throw it in the direction of the enemies, and boom—electricity blasted out from the metal, arcing through the air. I knew the perfect spot. Behind me was the best option. Less than three seconds later, a burst of electricity shot through 5 of the bandits, frying them in an instant. They dropped to the ground, smoking like they’d been left in an oven too long.
As I threw the rune, I bolted forward, activating Bob’s wristband for a boost of speed. My movements blurred as I closed the distance. At the same time, I poured every ounce of Mana I could into my sword, reinforcing and sharpening the edge. In the 1.5 seconds it took me to reach Charlie, I sidestepped his mace swing, cutting through his left leg with a precise sideways chop.
Momentum carried me forward, and I sliced through the leader’s club with two quick strokes, breaking it into three pieces. Without hesitation, I severed his arm and followed with a clean cut, splitting him in half above the waist. The five seconds of speed vanished as quickly as they had come, and I found myself facing the last two bandits.
One of them pulled a bow from thin air, firing it at me from less than six feet away. Instinctively, I raised my left arm to block with my bracer, but I lifted it too high. The arrow was on course to strike me. I braced for the impact when—out of nowhere—a shimmering energy shield about two feet wide materialized in front of me, absorbing the blow.
I was still catching my breath from the close call when I heard footsteps behind me. I didn’t react in time. The second bandit barreled into me, knocking me onto the ground hard enough that my face scraped across the rough dirt and gravel. He started wailing on me with both fists, landing blow after blow. Before I could react, he yanked a knife from his sheath and drove it into my back, right into one of my lungs.
Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and suffocating. I couldn’t breathe properly, and every movement felt like it was making things worse. Blood pooled in my mouth, but I couldn’t spare the energy to spit it out.
The man with the bow was running toward me now, and I could barely focus through the haze of pain. The guy on top of me kept stabbing, each strike digging deeper into my gut. I was losing this fight fast, all the preparation I’d made for situations like this slipping through my fingers.
Thinking things through, magic was all I had left in this moment, and if I didn’t act soon, nothing else would matter. I decided it was time for a big boom.
I focused on what I needed: a ball of hydrogen. Drawing mana from the air, I began to shape it. It’s not something you can see until it takes form, and what I was going for wasn’t a solid mass—just the beginnings of a coalescing sphere. As soon as I had condensed about the size of a basketball into one concentrated point, I triggered a spark of flame Mana at its core. The result was instantaneous—a large explosion, erupting just four feet above my head, right at chest level for Mr. Bow-and-Arrow and face height for the guy who’d been stabbing me repeatedly.
The explosion threw them both back, knocking them several feet away. It rattled my bones, and the force nearly knocked me out. My vision blurred as I fought to stay conscious. Reaching for my recovery pills, I fumbled for three of them and swallowed them down. Then, I retrieved a healing rune from my personal storage space. As soon as I activated it, I felt immediate relief. I could breathe again, but the healing process wasn’t instantaneous. It would take a few minutes, but at least I wasn’t still on the brink of death.
One of the best things about a healing rune is that it prioritizes stopping the bleeding before addressing other injuries.
I glanced over at Mr. Bow-and-Arrow—still out cold. Rolling onto my back, I saw that Mr. Stabby wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, his head... well, let’s just say it was in no condition to do so.
I reached for another rune, one I’d been experimenting with. I held it in my hand, preparing to throw it at Mr. Bow-and-Arrow if he showed any sign of stirring. I knew my aim was still terrible, though better than it had been before. I didn’t need to be precise, though. I just needed to get it close enough for it to activate.
It was a simple rune, nothing too groundbreaking, but it had a few twists. As with most runes, you infused a little Mana into it, and depending on how it was carved, it had a time delay. This one would activate after about four seconds, and anything within a six-foot radius would be encased in ice—either as a solid sphere or a block, depending on which rune I’d grabbed.
Laying there, waiting for myself to heal, I could feel the pain ebbing slowly. But just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, one of the most annoying things happened—hiccups.
I hate hiccups. They’re harmless, sure, but they’re also one of the most irritating nuisances. Fortunately, I had learned a trick to get rid of them when I was younger. The method was simple: hiccups are caused by a pressure imbalance between the inside and outside of your body. To even things out, all you had to do was drink water in a specific way. You take a sip, inhale, sip, exhale, and repeat for about 30 to 45 seconds. It usually worked, and sure enough, I could feel the hiccups slowly fading away.
As I lay there, mind racing through the motions of getting rid of the hiccups, I couldn’t help but glance over at Mr. Bow-and-Arrow, still unconscious. I waited, Ten minutes passed, and he remained still. During that time, my healing had made remarkable progress—though I was still sore, I was getting back to a semblance of normal.
I finally got up and walked over to check on him. Kicking his boot, I got no reaction. I crouched down and checked his pulse. He was gone.
I moved around the other bandits, checking them for any signs of life. Each one was dead. They were all laying in various positions, most with weapons still in hand, but none of them moving.
As I looted them, I retrieved their meager belongings— knives, armor, and a few trinkets, nothing impressive. But then I found a small bag of coins. Surprising, considering how ragged they looked. 34 gold, 40 silver, and 78 copper. That might actually get me some decent supplies in the city. I wasn’t sure how much I’d be able to sell the rest of their gear for, but at least it was something.
I was moving toward my pack when I noticed something I had missed the first time: a small silver band, half-buried in the dirt near one of the bandits' bodies. It gleamed faintly, catching the light just enough to grab my attention. As I picked it up and examined it, I saw that the inside of the band was engraved with runes. Some of them were familiar, but others were entirely new to me.
Curious, I turned the band over in my fingers, feeling the weight of it. It wasn’t much to look at—just a simple, polished silver band—but there was something about it that made me pause. The runes were intricately etched, and they seemed far too precise to be the work of an amateur.
I quickly activated Inspect, hoping to get more details about the object.
Silver Band of Limited Storage
- Type: Magical Artifact
- Effect: This band functions as a personal storage device, allowing the wearer to store up to 20 kg of items. The items can be retrieved at will, though the band must remain worn to function.
- Rune Meaning: The engraved runes serve to preserve and contain items stored in the pocket dimension.
- Restrictions: Items stored are invisible to others and cannot be accessed without the band. The band requires a small amount of personal mana each time an item is retrieved.
it was a personal storage device, much like my own, but with far more limited capacity.
I slipped the band onto my finger, and immediately I could feel a slight hum of mana as it adjusted to my presence. A quiet warmth spread from the band, settling comfortably around my finger as if it had recognized me.
This wasn’t just a small trinket—it was a tool. Even with its limited storage, it wouldn’t hold everything I needed, but it would be invaluable for carrying a few critical items like healing supplies, food, or even weapons, without drawing attention to my abilities.
I felt a little more secure with it on, but the danger wasn’t over. As I returned my attention to the area around me.
Next, I grabbed my traveling pack, the one I had set down earlier. I checked its contents. Thankfully, everything I’d packed was still there and hadn’t spilled out, and there was no sign of any damage from the lightning rune. After making sure everything was in order, I tightened the straps and pulled it back onto my shoulders.
I’d learned a lot, and I was grateful for the gear I had picked up in the dungeon. Otherwise, this would’ve been a whole lot harder.
I started to relax, thinking everything was finally under control, when I heard the first growl.