The days that followed were calm yet filled with quiet busyness.

  Laville brought the little book home, as though it had added a spark of delight to the two girls’ daily lives. By elven standards, Gotaya was still very much a maiden.

  At first, the three of them fought to read it, much to Glenn’s bewilderment. It was such a thin book—how could they spend so long poring over it, only to return to it again and again?

  One day he couldn’t help but remark, “It’s such a dull thing. How can you even stand reading it?”

  The fiery elf girl snapped back at once, “Dull? Then why don’t you write something better yourself!”

  As it happened, Glenn had just finished a collection of fairy tales meant for Laila. He handed it over casually, saying, “I’d wager these stories for children are far better than that book.”

  Gotaya snatched it from his hands, her expression suggesting she couldn’t wait to find fault with it. Laville and Tia, curious as always, leaned over to read along.

  Glenn paid them no mind and went back to his work.

  Later, when he happened to meet Laila again, she asked about the stories—only then did he realize he had forgotten to retrieve the manuscript.

  He told her he’d written a few tales and would bring them next time.

  Her excitement was impossible to hide; she nearly reached out to shake his hand again.

  In those days, Glenn also learned that Laila had been retelling The Ugly Duckling to nearly every child who had suffered from the monstrous insects’ attacks. Many of those once-depressed children had begun to recover, bringing immeasurable relief to their parents.

  Through this, Laila herself had tasted, if only briefly, the joy of being an angel.

  The stories spread far and wide—so much so that even adults had heard them, while among children they became cherished tales. Glenn even encountered a bard in Dood Town who specialized in narrating The Ugly Duckling; the crowd gathered to listen was large enough to fill the square.

  Recalling this, Glenn began to wonder if his other stories might find the same welcome.

  When he asked the elf girl to return his manuscript, however, she made every excuse imaginable, clearly reluctant to part with it.

  At last, only through a bit of coercion did Glenn reclaim it, her expression a portrait of unwilling defeat.

  Finding the pages still intact, he asked with amusement, “I thought you didn’t care for such stories?”

  “They’re… all right,” she muttered, cheeks tinged pink.

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  Glenn glanced toward Laville and Tia, who were both pretending not to look but clearly eavesdropping, and he understood—they liked them too.

  That settled it.

  “Tia,” he said, “I’ll give you one day. Copy these stories for yourselves—I need to take the original.”

  She let out a cheer. “No problem, Mr. Glenn!”

  “I want a copy too!” Laville and Gotaya chimed in together.

  “Then ask Tia to make more,” Glenn said with a wave of his hand.

  They agreed enthusiastically.

  The stories—Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, Cinderella, The Three Little Pigs, and others—were classics from Glenn’s former world, familiar and timeless. There were only about twenty in total; it wouldn’t take long to copy them all.

  Once they were done, Glenn handed the original to Laila, who could barely contain her joy before hurrying home to read. He couldn’t help but worry it might distract her from her studies.

  Beyond that, there was the matter of the giant insect’s remains.

  The commander, Hamoine, had not contacted Glenn since their first meeting, though Glenn quietly kept an eye on him. According to Dougrie, the man had done nothing noteworthy in the days following his arrival. Yet Glenn could still sense faint traces of activity around the town—evidence that the old fox was far from idle.

  Still, there was little for Glenn to concern himself with; soon enough, Hamoine’s men arrived in Dood Town. The contingent was even larger than Berlin’s team had been, and their presence stirred the entire town—people gathered as though it were a festival.

  Efficient to the extreme, they unearthed the magically hidden corpse on the very first day and departed at once with it, Hamoine included.

  Months passed.

  In that time, Glenn completed the construction of his small farm and brought in all the livestock—each one personally escorted by him.

  The tavern’s renovation had also begun. Materials arrived right on schedule, and John’s crew wasted no time getting started. They had worked on noble estates before, so when they mentioned they could handle any complex request for the right price, Glenn’s eyes lit up.

  That night he drafted a design—strikingly modern yet graceful—and presented it to John the next morning. The man was astonished but intrigued, assuring Glenn he was eager to attempt such a style.

  After lengthy negotiations over price, they reached an agreement, and construction began immediately. Luther and the Carter brothers lent a hand as well, treating it as their current employment.

  Back in Bayek Town, Glenn remained true to his word and trained Gotaya as promised.

  He dedicated part of each day to instructing her. Being a warrior among the forest elves, she needed no foundational body conditioning; instead, they focused on sparring, learning through the rhythm of battle rather than words.

  Though the elf girl ended every match sprawled in defeat, her eyes always shone with fascination for the art of combat. Despite her slender frame, her control and coordination were extraordinary—her grasp of technique surpassed that of most humans.

  Beyond such daily matters, Glenn devoted the bulk of his energy to studying magic.

  Each day he practiced sensory focus for four hours and experimented with a few simple spells.

  The old man who had promised him lessons had yet to return—he’d said he was off visiting a friend, though Glenn wondered if the man might be avoiding him. Still, it hardly seemed likely; his requests had been reasonable enough.

  Months of practice had borne fruit—Glenn could now cast the basic spells described in his primer with steady precision.

  He wasn’t sure if this pace was impressive or ordinary. Half the book remained unfinished, and if the old man delayed much longer, Glenn would have to consider seeking him out himself.

  He’d heard that the Demonfall Valley lay several days’ journey from Bayek—at least four or five by carriage. Unless absolutely necessary, he preferred to stay; after all, Daov had advised him to fully digest the book before making the trip.

  Setting that aside, Glenn spent his rare leisure hours arranging his basement.

  After a thorough cleaning, he began to plan it as a proper mage’s laboratory—complete with space for future tools, alchemical reagents, and magical components.

  It would, in time, become exactly what it was meant to be.