Douglas soon parted ways with Glenn, saying he had to make arrangements for the Chief Commander’s stay.

  Since Glenn’s only reason for seeking the police chief had been to deal with the visitor from above, and the situation now seemed settled, there was no longer any need for him to linger.

  That old man clearly didn’t intend to act by force. He knows I’m hiding something, yet he’s searching for a reason to move against me—what’s holding him back? Or perhaps… he’s simply an eccentric?

  Pondering this, Glenn found himself standing before a factory—the only building materials plant in town, one that virtually monopolized all nearby trade in raw construction goods.

  He’d learned as much from that contractor named John.

  In the distance, a line of people had formed, all waiting their turn. After inquiring, Glenn discovered they were there to purchase building materials, so he quietly joined the end of the queue.

  Taking out the Basic Principles of Magic that Dao’ov had given him, he flipped it open to pass the time.

  Before long, a familiar voice called out, “Mr. Glenn—it really is you!”

  Lowering his book, Glenn turned and saw Old Cat waving at him.

  “Old Cat? What brings you here?”

  “Buying materials, of course,” Old Cat laughed. “I’m planning to build a house not far from town.”

  “You’re building a house?” Glenn asked with interest.

  “Forgot already?” Old Cat teased. “Didn’t you buy that tavern last time? I suppose you’re here to renovate it into your butcher shop, aren’t you?”

  Glenn smiled. “Exactly.”

  They chatted idly as the line moved faster than expected.

  Soon, it was Glenn’s turn. At the window of a small office hut, a bald, heavyset man in work clothes scratched away with a quill pen without even looking up.

  “What materials do you need, and how much of each?” he asked brusquely.

  Glenn froze. This was not his area of expertise—he’d never built a house in either of his lives and had no idea how to estimate quantities. Distracted earlier by Douglas’s affairs, he hadn’t prepared at all, and now stood awkwardly silent.

  The bald man raised his head, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

  Fortunately, Old Cat, sensing Glenn’s hesitation, stepped forward and rattled off a list of materials and their approximate quantities, as though reading Glenn’s mind.

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  The bald man saw no objection from Glenn, quickly jotted everything down on what looked like an order form, then set aside his pen.

  Glenn cast a grateful glance at Old Cat.

  “These might be a bit short,” Old Cat said with a chuckle, “but you can always buy more later.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I nearly ordered twice that amount,” Glenn said earnestly.

  “It’s nothing, Mr. Glenn,” Old Cat waved off with a grin.

  The clerk looked up again. “Deposit’s four silver coins—copper of equal value is fine.”

  Glenn pulled four silvers from his pocket and handed them over. The man dropped them into a metal box, stamped the paper with a heavy seal, and placed it atop a neat stack of other orders.

  “Excuse me,” Glenn asked before leaving, “how long until the materials arrive?”

  “Not many buyers lately. Should be a day or two.”

  Glenn nodded and stepped aside.

  Old Cat gave his own order—his list was longer, his deposit twenty silvers.

  “Building a house sure empties the purse,” he said wryly as he rejoined Glenn.

  “You hired John’s team to help?” Glenn asked.

  “John?” Old Cat shook his head. “Hiring help costs extra. Just the materials alone nearly drain my savings. I’ll have to rely on a few friends.”

  The two strolled along, their talk meandering from daily trifles to idle speculations about the kingdoms—most of it harmless boasting without basis.

  When the topic drifted to mages, Glenn asked casually, “Old Cat, do you know where one might find shops that sell magical tools or reagents?”

  He still dreamed of owning his own modest laboratory. If he could find a steady source of magical instruments and materials, that would be ideal.

  “Why do you ask, Mr. Glenn?” Old Cat replied automatically.

  “I have a friend who just became a magic apprentice,” Glenn lied smoothly. “He needs that sort of information. Of course, he could ask his teacher, but it’s always better to handle things independently.”

  “A magic apprentice, eh? How enviable,” Old Cat said wistfully. “If not for money, I might have become one myself.”

  “Why’s that?” Glenn asked.

  “A mage once tested my elemental affinity,” Old Cat explained. “Seventy-something, he said—enough to qualify as an apprentice. But the cost of training was astronomical. My family could never afford it.”

  Glenn nodded. There were many like him—commoners with talent doomed to ordinariness by poverty. In the original Glenn’s memories, such stories were frequent topics among the nobility, who relished discussing them over wine, as if flaunting their superiority.

  So what if they’re gifted? Without wealth or title, they’ll always crawl beneath us.

  That was the unspoken sentiment.

  After all, high elemental affinity did not guarantee greatness; many with affinities in the sixties had surpassed those in the eighties. This uncertainty was why few mages were willing to bear the cost of training apprentices.

  Old Cat returned to Glenn’s question. “You’re asking if I know any magic markets, right? That’s obvious—the capital’s full of them. The finest in the kingdom.”

  “Of course I know that,” Glenn replied lazily. “I just don’t fancy the trip.”

  “Oh! You mean those small, private shops out in the wilds, don’t you?”

  “Uh… something like that,” Glenn admitted.

  “I don’t know any myself,” Old Cat said, “but a friend who went near the Mad Bear Forest once mentioned a rumor—something about a lake deep inside the forest, where a strange hermit sells magical materials.”

  “Mad Bear Forest?” Glenn frowned. “Why such a name?”

  “They say a crazed gray bear appears there every so often, attacking anyone who enters. No idea if it’s true.”

  “You think that rumor’s credible? If I were to go—”

  “I’d advise against it,” Old Cat cut in quickly. “Even if it’s just a tale, it doesn’t sound like a good place. Better let your ‘apprentice friend’ go instead.”

  Glenn only smiled. With his strength, common dangers were hardly worth concern.

  Suddenly, a few raindrops splattered from the darkening sky.

  “Damn it—it’s raining!” Old Cat yelped. “I’ve got to run, Mr. Glenn! My place is a long way off—I’m not keen on turning into a drowned rat!”

  With that, he dashed off through the drizzle, leaving Glenn standing beneath the first curtain of rain.