Indeed, the revised edition of Encia’s “Basic Theory of Magic by Cientia” continued to sell like hotcakes.
Just how much was it selling? To the point where a scribe would barely finish assembling a handwritten book before some mysterious guest snatched it off the sales counter, throwing money down and dashing off—scenes like that were becoming commonplace.
“Hmm… At this rate, the scribes are going to collapse from exhaustion. Isn’t there some better way?”
“Better way?”
“Yeah. Like creating books with magic or something. Or maybe a magic that can replicate objects—it’d be convenient if we had that.”
Replicating objects with magic… Hmm… Technically possible since you can create material using magical power, but it’s incredibly draining on mana. Unless one has mana to spare, it’d be tough for Encia to pull that off. Yeah, definitely tough.
Instead…
“A magic that makes quills move automatically might help.”
“Magic that moves quills automatically?”
“Right. You teach the quill the motion of writing, then have it replicate those exact movements without needing a scribe. Essentially, you’re creating a magic-powered quill that writes on its own.”
In simpler terms, it’s like a magical printer. Sure, it won’t refill ink or paper automatically, so those parts still need manual handling. But hey, it’s like having a tireless scribe working nonstop, which would definitely boost production efficiency. Plus, reduced labor costs as less work is delegated to actual scribes.
“Hmm… A magic that memorizes and replicates motions. Never thought of that.”
“Not the kind of thing one easily comes up with.”
Especially not without the freedom to experiment like Encia does. Most mages stick within their usual boundaries and rarely venture far beyond them.
“So, should this magical quill use a method where it gets recharged with mana? Or perhaps attach a mana stone and use that as its power source? The former saves on mana stones since mages can directly channel their own mana, while the latter means even non-mages could use it, making it accessible to more people…”
With just one idea planted, Encia dove deep into her thoughts, pondering possibilities.
“Come to think of it, I heard dwarves have tech that uses mana stones as power sources. Maybe I could apply that…”
And thus began Encia’s project to craft an automatic-writing quill capable of storing and replaying motions.
A few weeks later…
“Complete!”
Encia triumphantly held aloft a splendidly designed quill. Aside from a small mana stone embedded in the grip, it looked no different from an ordinary quill—but its function was anything but ordinary.
“Phew! Implementing the motion memory feature was such a pain! And there were parts that didn’t work out as planned; once it learns a motion, it can’t be modified afterward!”
“Good job, Encia.”
“Yeah! Thanks to Tia! Without your idea to use the mana stone as a memory device, this wouldn’t have been possible!!”
Had she poured all her effort into it like when creating Talos, she might’ve given the quill its own personality. But no divine assistance here—this was purely Encia’s creation!
All the quill could store was about enough motion to write one page. Once set up with paper and ink in fixed positions on a flat surface and powered by injected mana, it simply replayed the memorized motions. Still, it was an object that wrote by itself.
Despite its limitations, this marked perhaps the start of a new revolution in automatic production.
“Alright! Next, let’s summon a scribe to teach this quill its motions!”
“Erm… They might not appreciate it.”
“Why wouldn’t they? We’re creating something to assist them!”
“Because… it’s taking away their jobs. They might try to destroy it instead.”
Ah, like how weavers smashed automatic looms during the Luddite movement. Though, maybe slightly different? If we properly compensate them for storing their handwriting styles, it might work.
“Hmm… Then how about this: For every page written by this quill, we pay the equivalent of 100 pages’ worth of labor fees. That way, the scribes won’t complain, and they’ll avoid excessive strain too.”
“Hmm… As long as the scribes don’t mind, it sounds fine. How will they react though?”
Perhaps this changes the role of scribes altogether—from mere copiers of texts to artisans preserving unique handwriting styles.
But that’s not my concern, right? I’ve got enough things to worry about already. No need to bother with these minor details!
Thus, after paying hefty sums to scribes to imprint motions into the magical quills, Encia’s book production sped up dozens of times over.
What used to take days now took hours, allowing nearly a hundred copies daily instead of just two or three. This satisfied the overwhelming demand for her works.
Thanks to this, surplus stock emerged, spreading widely beyond Procyon’s borders.
The result?
“Our council recognizes the weather mage Encia, who ushered in a new era for mages, with the grand title of ‘Starting Mage.'”
“Thank you.”
And so Encia earned the illustrious title of Starting Mage.
Of course, it made sense. Entirely new kinds of mages, unlike any before, were growing in numbers. So many aspiring mages flocked to Procyon, knocking on its doors.
Procyon flourished like never before. Bestowing such a title was only natural.
“Wow, Master really is incredible to earn the title of Starting Mage!”
Cecil, Encia’s disciple, gazed admiringly at her master, determined to etch this historic moment into memory.
Though often clumsy in everyday life, Encia was undeniably a powerful mage in her field.
“Hehe, thank you, Cecil. You’ll become a great mage surpassing me someday.”
“But someone like me…”
“Someone? You’re the one-and-only disciple of the ‘Starting Mage.’ Don’t underestimate your potential.”
“Yes! I’ll work hard, Master!”
The harmonious scene between teacher and student brought smiles to the surrounding mages.
I observed Encia closely—or rather, the growing lump of faith forming within her.
At an alarming rate, this mass of faith, or divinity, was accumulating inside her.
However, Encia hadn’t noticed it yet.
Was it because the seed of divinity was infinitesimally small compared to mana? Or was it obscured by her mana? Or perhaps the human body naturally suppressed such seeds from sprouting?
Unclear. Creating a living human deity hasn’t happened since Rychlen. What method did the gods use back then? Did they pour faith onto a living person to turn them divine? Could that make someone transcend mortality? Or maybe during the process, the physical body dissolved and reconstructed entirely through faith?
That process… doesn’t sit well with me. Replacing a living being’s body with faith feels wrong. It’s different from when beastmen became deities after dying naturally and their souls were transformed.
What should be done? Let the seed grow until death and ascend then? Or break free from bodily constraints sooner?
Uncertain. What truly benefits Encia? I’m unsure.
“Hey, Tia, why so quiet?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
For now… let’s observe. Encia isn’t aiming to become a god immediately.
“Hmm… You seemed deep in thought.”
“It’s really nothing.”
“If you say so, Tia.”
But if Encia wishes to become a deity right now…
Hmm. In that case, I’ll teach her the method—to transcend through soul, divinity, and mana.
Even if it means ending her life as a human.
