The mere thought of spending an entire wizard apprenticeship with Transcription as his solidified Zero-Ring spell made the hair on the back of Tars's neck stand on end. Solidifying such a spell would essentially mean bidding farewell to any hope of wilderness exploration or completing dangerous wizard commissions. Of course, that might not be a dealbreaker for everyone—some were better suited for alchemy or stationary tasks to earn resources—but in the long years before becoming a formal wizard, conflict and confrontation were inevitable.

  Tars imagined a terrifying scenario.

  Two sides, locked in a heated dispute over ideology or some other grievance, are reaching a breaking point. Magical fluctuations are quietly brewing in their hands. Suddenly, one man raises his hand and casts his most practiced, instinctive spell: Transcription. On the spot, he writes ten letters of apology, effortlessly neutralizing his opponent's impending, out-of-control spell through sheer absurdity. Since a standard Transcription spell could handle two or three records simultaneously, a solidified version could likely churn out ten apology letters without even hitting its limit.

  However, writing too many things at once might cause the caster's brain to short-circuit; Tars deduced that the powerful wizard in the story must have had a way to solve that particular problem.

  Feeling that such heights were far beyond his current reach, Tars set the thought aside and focused on learning the spell. He remained immersed in study until the night grew deep. This was a change from his earlier days; before his mental energy had been tempered, he never could have maintained such prolonged focus. As his mastery of meditation grew, so did his capacity for concentration.

  "Lord Tars, is it time for dinner?" Daisy had been waiting nearby for quite some time.

  "Of course," Tars said, smiling at her expectant face.

  He was actually curious about Daisy's skills; his future appetite depended on it. As for Big Dumb Hum and Aiskin, they were easy to please; as far as they were concerned, even Tars's rudimentary roasted meat was worth endless praise.

  Daisy did not disappoint. She understood his preferences perfectly. The dinner wasn't overly fancy or complicated; instead, she prepared a few simple dishes that maintained a level of refinement while significantly increasing the portions. She had even prepared shares for Aiskin and Big Dumb Hum. In the past, Tars had always ordered meals meant for training knights because the standard aristocratic portions at the manor were too small—it was a hassle to clear a dozen tiny plates for just two bites of food, unless he was in the mood for a rare delicacy.

  With a wave of his hand, Tars summoned Aiskin and Big Dumb Hum.

  "Brother Tars.""Big Brother Tars."

  Big Dumb Hum had finally gotten used to calling Tars "Big Brother" instead of "Master" or simply grunting. The fellow wasn't actually stupid; he had just kept "forgetting" to change the address because he was afraid of being scolded, so he would use his habitual grunts to muddle through. Aiskin had secretly let Tars in on that little secret.

  Aiskin, meanwhile, was curiously taking in their new surroundings.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "This is our new home," Tars said with a laugh. "First, let's enjoy dinner. Afterward, you two can go pick your own rooms."

  Daisy stood by with a beaming smile, serving them and constantly smoothing over the "damage" the three of them dealt to the table as they wolfed down the food. Having seen Daisy many times before, the two kobolds were comfortable around her and gave her cooking a unanimous, high-level endorsement. Tars invited Daisy to sit and eat with them, but the young maid displayed a surprising streak of stubbornness, and he eventually let the matter drop.

  "Lord Tars, the Starry Festival starts in three days. I'll make Starlight Pastries for you then," Daisy said cheerfully. Since leaving the manor, her smiles seemed more frequent.

  "What's that? A festival unique to Starry City?" Tars asked, sipping his post-meal fruit tea while the other two continued to eat.

  "The festival lasts for three days. Most people take a break from work, and there are various celebrations. Even in the towns within the numbered cavern sectors, everyone stays home. During those three days, there is no sun—only the starlight above," she explained.

  Tars realized this likely coincided with maintenance or replacement of the overhead light-stones, or perhaps something else entirely. Given that it was a periodic festival, he couldn't help but draw that connection.

  Tars produced a basket. "Prepare a suitable return gift and send it to our neighbors tomorrow. You should have seen that little boy earlier," he said, handing the basket to Daisy. She accepted it with a smile, appearing to genuinely enjoy such social tasks.

  The night passed peacefully. The next morning, Tars was jolted awake by a chorus of angry roars and the rhythmic clack-clink of weapons clashing.

  He opened his eyes in a daze. For a moment, if not for the sight of his bedroom, he would have thought he was back in the Abyssal Bedroom being woken up by Big Dumb Hum and Aiskin's training. He had chosen a room on the third floor toward the back of the house, which was usually enough to block out most of the street noise.

  Coming downstairs, he found Daisy had already brewed the fruit tea and was preparing breakfast. Tars took a cup and leaned against the window.

  Out on the street in front of his house, two brawny men were at each other's throats, their weapons flying in a fierce back-and-forth.

  "That's Mr. Trevanko," Daisy said. "I met him this morning when I went to deliver the gift. He's the father of that little boy."

  Following her gaze, Tars saw one of the combatants. The man held a short hammer in his right hand—the head was small, but the power behind it was formidable. His left arm, however, was missing; a portion of the forearm was gone, replaced by a metal bracer that functioned like a long, armored gauntlet.

  The two men traded insults as they fought. Trevanko used his stump as an iron fist to strike and as a shield to parry, coordinating it with his hammer. Slowly, he began to gain the upper hand. Tars sipped his tea and walked out into the courtyard to get a better look.

  Trevanko's opponent fought like a knight, focusing on sword forms and technique. He wielded a peculiar long-handled one-handed sword, which he occasionally gripped with both hands for more leverage.

  "You bastard! You stole my business yesterday, and today your little brat kissed my daughter! She is a high-born noble lady!" the man roared, raising his sword above his head and bringing it down in a savage overhead strike.

  Each blow was caught by the iron bracer on Trevanko's stump, but the impact forced him backward, breaking his offensive momentum.

  CRASH!

  A section of Tars's courtyard wall was knocked down.

  "They're just toddlers! I already made him apologize. He only pressed his face against hers because he thought she was cute. Don't use that filthy head of yours to project onto children. And what kind of noble are you anyway?" Trevanko shouted as he shoved his opponent back. "It's not like I haven't seen the lords in the Inner District. Your family has been starving since your grandfather's grandfather's time! Even if you were nobles once, you aren't anymore. Careful, or you'll be punished for impersonating a lord."

  Holding his teacup, Tars looked at the collapsed wall and raised an eyebrow. He noticed the little boy hiding in the distance, peeking out with half his head visible, his small hands gripping a windowsill tightly.