Obviously, I was literate. Just… not in this world’s tongue. My mother was a poor seamstress in an extremely rural village, and my father was a poor hunter from a similar village. I didn’t think any of the villagers were literate, except maybe Umbor. I never had the opportunity to learn my letters.
Knowing how to read and write in English wouldn’t help me directly in this life, but it’s not like the concepts were foreign to me. I was sure I would pick it up quickly. Unfortunately, it seemed like knowing how would be a prerequisite of even attending the academy.
“Five more days of travel,” Somnial frowned. “Then merely a handful days more before the term starts. That’s simply not enough time.”
“I’ll learn,” I said, seriously. I might not be wildly proficient, but I’m sure I can get the basics down before day one. “If you can teach me, I promise I’ll learn.”
Somnial let out a slow sigh. “I suppose I have no choice. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to find some simple books to purchase in the next town. For now…”
Thus began my education. Over the following days, I became reasonably proficient at identifying the various letters of the local language, which I learned was called Argadian, after the country that Ivarnel was a part of, Argadia.
It was extremely fortuitous that Argadian was almost entirely read as it was written, and written as it was spoken. English was a messy language, with tons of exceptions to its own rules, in part because it was full of influences from other languages. That was not the case for Argadian. There was only ever one way to read the written word, at least in formal speech—there may be some differences in slang and common vernacular, but for the purposes of chanting, that wouldn’t matter—and likewise there was only ever one obvious way to write the words which I could already speak and understand.
Sure, it would probably have been better to learn how to read and write as a young child while learning what words meant, like most people did when learning a native tongue on modern-day Earth, but even when I was a child in this life I was learning Argadian as a second language. As far as second languages went, Argadian’s writing system was a breeze. It was also a way to further train my Mind.
It would still take time before I could rapidly sightread without sounding things out. Likely months, at least. And note taking, early on, would be difficult, especially if I wanted to avoid writing things down in English and mentally translating everything.
A part of me wondered how long I’d even remember English, since I wasn’t likely to ever use it again. In a few lifetimes, I’d probably forget Argadian as well. I tried not to think too much about the prospect of eternal life and the infinite amount of time ahead of me. Well, infinite as long as I’m not soul-killed.
Somnial was impressed by my retention speed, though, and that felt nice, even if I was hiding knowledge from him from my previous life. I hoped that whatever other education came with my schooling at the academy that trained mages wasn’t too difficult, at first, so I could focus on perfecting my letters. Math would be fine, at least once I had my numerals sorted. I asked about that towards the end of the trip, once I was feeling a little more confident about letters.
“How do you write numbers?”
The Magus looked at me in confusion. “How do you mean?”
“Well, how would I write one, two, three, and so on?”
“The same way you would write out any word,” he said, pointing to the relevant letters for the Argadian words for one, two, and three.
Oh, they… don’t have numerals. So math is going to be all word problems. That’s actually kind of frustrating, since it means I need to be even quicker about learning the letters. If I’m slow to read the word problems, it’ll also appear as if I’m slow to understand math.
“Right, of course. Thank you,” I said, moving past it.
I had likely slipped up a few times while getting this rapid beginner education from Somnial. It was hard not to give up information by accident just in the process of asking the right or wrong questions. It was clear that the man hadn’t ever raised kids of his own by virtue of how he dealt with me, and also failing to realize how I differed from a normal child. I had caught the Magus looking at me curiously a few times, but overall he still seemed pleased in his decision to sponsor me.
Better take it easy and just focus up for the rest of the trip before I blow it.
The towns we traveled through had continuously grown more and more populated the closer we got to Ivarnel’s capital city, which was where the name of the domain came from. Ivarnel—the city, not the domain—apparently housed tens of thousands of individuals, compared to the mere hundreds of villagers I had grown up around in Redding. The larger towns towards the end of our route were reaching a point where they had populations in the thousands, rather than hundreds.
Subsequently, we were able to stay in nicer and nicer inns, the closer we got to Ivarnel. Somnial wasn’t holding back when it came to expenses for the trip, and I didn’t think it was because he was trying to impress me. I got the distinct impression that money wasn’t an issue for him. He exchanged raab coins fairly freely. Maybe sponsoring me isn’t as big of a deal as I thought.
I had also picked up on a few things as we started encountering other people.
“That’s Magus Somnial,” I had overheard some travelers say in hushed whispers. “The Magus Somnial. The Sage.”
Occasionally a shopkeeper or innkeeper would try and refuse payment for products and services, too. Somnial always insisted on paying, though. I was pretty sure I overheard someone say “champion of Ivarnel” as well, which might explain that.
Seems I’ve been sponsored by quite the big shot, I thought to myself as we neared the end of our journey. For all that, the man seemed relatively humble—not performative, though he held himself with confidence and clearly had money—but earnest, not interested in flaunting his status. I might have gotten quite lucky.
It still begged the question why he would hoof it out to the middle of nowhere to pick up what was effectively a stray, though.
When we finally arrived in Ivarnel, and I laid eyes on Somnial’s estate, I only had more questions.
The man was clearly loaded. We were greeted by an entire staff, who quickly moved to take our luggage and get us settled in.
“Welcome back, master Somnial,” an older butler said, bowing to us.
“Byron,” Somnial said with a curt nod, and motioned to me. “This is Tovar. He’ll be my ward while I sponsor his studies.”
“Greetings, master Tovar. I am the head butler here, Byron. Would you like a meal? Or a bath? We can prepare whichever you like immediately.”
“Uh,” I said, slightly overwhelmed. “I could eat.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” the butler said with a quick bow. “Right this way.”
Somnial followed as I was led through the manor into a dining room that was larger than my entire house back in the village. We were seated at a table, and I immediately regretted not asking for a bath first, as I worried about dirtying the luxurious chair offered to me, but no one said a thing about the state of my road-wrinkled clothes.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Just a tea for me,” Somnial said, sitting at the head of the table and reopening his grimoire.
What followed was the fanciest and most delicious meal I had eaten in my whole second life. The food was prepared expertly and with spices that were only familiar to me from my time on Earth, things I had never seen in over a decade of living in Redding. My family ate a lot of stews when I grew up, as well as whatever was in season, with no imports to speak of. The food I was eating now was like it was from a different world entirely—even more of a different world than the one I was already living in.
After finishing up the last morsel, I sat back in my chair, fatigue setting in as my stomach struggled to digest all the food I had just gorged on. Somnial snapped his book shut, and I looked up with bleary eyes.
“Byron, take Tovar to the markets and get him what he’ll need for the academy,” he said, standing. “I’ll be in the library.”
“Very good, sir,” Byron responded before turning to me. “First, though, I think a bath and a change of clothes are in order.”
Shaking off the fatigue of a week of non-stop travel and a heavy meal, I followed the butler as he led me from the dining room to the baths, and I almost wept when I was left in a warm room full of steam and a perfectly heated tub to soak in. A decade of wiping down with a rag or jumping in a cold stream, but finally, I can have a proper wash-up.
I luxuriated in the hot water and the cleansing soaps, scrubbing off layers of grime and road dust, then enjoyed a shockingly fluffy towel to dry myself before I was given a new set of clothes.
“Apologies if they do not fit perfectly, master Tovar,” Byron said. “We can make some adjustments, and we will get you some fitted clothing this afternoon, as well as your academy robes.”
Bespoke clothing for an eleven year old sounded silly to me—I’d grow out of it in no time—but I wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you, Byron.”
The butler bowed in response, and sent in a maid to help me dress.
“Uh, I can… dress myself…” I stammered.
“Of course, master Tovar,” the woman said. “I’ll just need to see where to take in the excess fabric or let out the seams.”
“Right, sure,” I said awkwardly, as the woman fussed over me and my new wardrobe.
Sooner than I would have thought, I was wearing relatively well-fitted clothing which, even if not bespoke, was clearly worth more than anything I had ever owned before. I shook my head in disbelief at the rapid change of lifestyle. I would have been entirely overwhelmed had it not been for growing up how I had on Earth. As nice as this clothing was, it still couldn’t quite compare to some Earth materials like synthetics with their stretch, light weight, or breathability.
I stopped Byron as we head out. “Oh, I had a pair of old swords in my luggage. Could we bring those with, and go to a weapon merchant or smith of some kind?”
“Certainly,” Byron said politely, though his expression when he actually saw the poorly kept swords once they were brought out betrayed what he thought of the rusted weapons.
A smaller carriage brought us from the manor to the markets of Ivarnel. There were clearly different tiers of shopping available in this city. We passed by a shockingly bustling market that served what was probably the common people, mostly groceries and other common goods, and I studied it eagerly, learning what I could about how the people here lived.
The foot traffic slowed as we entered a part of the markets with larger, fancier shops that served fewer but wealthier clientele. Our first destination was an outfitter who took my measurements, and we put in an order for some new outfits, undergarments, and my academy uniform, which Byron or his staff would retrieve later.
I half-wondered if we would visit a wand shop or something like that, but instead I was brought around to various shops where I acquired the necessities of living, like better boots, toiletries, some writing materials, and other fairly normal things. It was nothing too far beyond what might be considered back to school shopping. I also couldn’t help but notice that there were no prices on display and that no coins were exchanged during our shopping, and that all the merchants seemed to know who Byron was before we even entered. Guess it’s all going on Somnial’s tab.
Stepping out of the last store, some signage caught my eye. “Is that a weapon shop? Can I sell my swords there?” I asked Byron.
The butler winced slightly. “Ah. It is, but… I do not think they have a need for the young master’s… swords,” he said, pausing before the final word. “Perhaps we could try a different shop.”
We traveled a few streets over, and it did not escape my notice that the quality of the shop frontages slowly got less and less impressive, while the foot traffic increasingly returned with people of all sorts doing their shopping.
“This shop should do,” Byron said, leading me with my swords in tow through the front door before stopping at the entrance and allowing me to attend to my business.
Glancing around, I saw weapons and armor on display, and my eyes lit up. This is more like it, I thought to myself. I had used guns in my first life, like so many had needed to, but there was just something romantic about real swords.
Unlike the top-end shops we had been in prior, this store served the commons, and as such, there were price tags, even if they were using words instead of numerals. I doubted this store allowed customers to keep a tab, and the clientele probably shopped with a budget in mind.
“Can I help ya, kid?” the shopkeeper asked gruffly, drawing my attention.
“Ah, yeah,” I said, stepping up to his counter and placing my burlap-wrapped goods down for the man to examine. “I was wondering what I could get for these swords.”
The shopkeeper unwrapped the burlap and looked at the pair of blades with a frown plainly visible on his face. I didn’t think it was just a negotiating tactic. “These’re in terrible shape.”
“I know. Sorry.”
He shook his head. “Can’t give ya more’n two hundred raab for these.”
I didn’t have a good idea of what the value of a raab was yet, so I glanced around for a basis of comparison. There was a barrel of swords near the counter, which looked incredibly basic, though functional. I sounded out the words on the small placard, and read six hundred raab per sword.
“Do you do repairs? How much would it cost me to get one of them back into good shape?”
The shopkeep frowned again, but this time it was more pensive than displeased. He glanced at the two swords. “This’un needs a new hilt, so maybe a hundred, hundred-twenty raab to get’r usable. Blade’s gon’ be a bit slimmer, too, once’s ground down to good metal. This’un’s in slightly better shape, won’t need to be ground down as much. If yer fine with the hilt and guard as is, I could repair that fer… let’s call it seventy raab.”
“All right,” I said, now frowning as well. “Could I trade in this one in exchange for repairs on the better one?”
The shopkeep grunted. “S’pose that could do.”
“That won’t be necessary, young master,” Byron said, stepping forward. He turned to the shopkeep, whose eyes went wide when he saw the crest on Byron’s jacket’s breast pocket. “The Great Sage can get you a new blade, if you wish. Show us your finest, good sir.”
I hummed as the shopkeep leapt at Byron’s words, his attitude doing a full turnabout as he became quick to appease the butler and put his best foot forward for the customer. Soon he was showing me blades that were clearly more style than substance, showpieces that spoke of status, but not something that felt like I would actually use. I thought back to the sword I had seen Mishel holding the night of the goblin attack on our village, and glanced around the shop.
My eyes fell on a blade hanging on the wall. It was a solid-looking piece, priced at what seemed like a reasonably fair nine hundred raab.
“That one should do,” I said, pointing. From the corner of my eye, I saw Byron appraising me before turning to the shopkeep with a nod.
“Of course, sirs,” he said, a far cry from the gruffness display earlier. “And for the Great Sage, I would be happy to offer it in exchange for your, er, product.”
I shook my head. “You said those were worth two hundred, right?” I turned to Byron. “The man’s running a business here. Can we cover the seven hundred difference?”
“That won’t be a problem, young master.”
I nodded. “All right then. Thank you, Byron.”
Stepping out of the shop and leaving Byron to the purchase, I crossed my arms, thinking. I had mixed feelings about charity, beyond my sponsorship, and questions about why exactly that was even an option. Within a few minutes, Byron stepped out of the shop holding a sheathed sword, which he handed to me alongside two coins. I looked at the coins, realizing they were hundred raab coins.
“The sword is a gift, master Tovar. Keep the funds from your sale. It’s good to have a little pocket money.”
I accepted the raab with a sigh, slipping the coins into my pocket, and then took the sword from the butler. “Thanks again, Byron.”
“It’s no trouble at all, young master,” the butler responded.
Back at the manor, I placed the sword in my room. I’d do my forms with it in the morning, and continue to do them throughout my studies. There was no downside that I could see to staying in shape and keeping my skills up, even while gaining an education in magic. I would have to learn what the policies were about wearing it on my side, either around town or in the academy itself, to ensure I wouldn’t break any rules if I wanted to bring it with me, but if nothing else it would be fine to use it in the manor’s courtyard.
From my room, I followed the directions of a maid, and stepped inside a room with wall to wall shelves filled with books. It was a veritable treasure trove, and no doubt worth countless times more than the functional sword I had basically purchased today with Somnial’s funding.
The man in question was seated in one of a pair of armchairs, an orb of glowing magic light above him, reading a book. He glanced up at me when he heard my approaching footfalls. I hesitated slightly before clearing my throat and returning his gaze.
“So. What exactly is a sage?”
