Back at Stonewall Construction, Bruce was hunched over his desk, scribbling notes into his ledger.

  He didn’t look up.

  “How did it go?”

  Arthur paused.

  Then, casually, “He’s a great addition to the team.”

  Bruce nodded, still writing.

  Arthur glanced at John.

  “He’s a magic builder.”

  Bruce’s pen stopped.

  He let out a slow breath, like he’d heard the words before and still hated them.

  “…Of course he is.”

  John shifted. “It’s not a big deal. I just want a simple life.”

  Arthur added, “And another thing—Amber Grey knows.”

  Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but the air did.

  “That isn’t good.”

  John frowned. “I already turned her down. No big deal. She’ll have to find someone else.”

  Bruce finally looked up, doubtful.

  “No. Once she wants something—or someone—she’s ruthless.”

  John shrugged. “Well… nothing I can do about it.”

  Arthur nodded. “He’s right. No use dwelling on it.”

  Bruce cleared his throat and opened a drawer.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Alright. Here’s your pay for the day.”

  He handed Arthur a heavy coin pouch—then placed a smaller one in John’s palm.

  “Good work.”

  John didn’t comment. He just pocketed it and headed out.

  The bell above the door rang behind him.

  ---

  Outside, John loosened the drawstring and peeked inside the bag.

  **[10 Gold Coins]**

  “…Alright,” he muttered. “Place to stay.”

  He pulled out his folded map, smoothing it with his thumb.

  Two blocks away.

  **Moonlight Inn.**

  “Not bad.”

  John tucked the map away and headed down the street.

  The inn was big, but clearly built on a budget. It wasn’t fancy—just plain.

  Exposed wooden beams.

  Whitewashed walls.

  Plain, square windows.

  ---

  He stepped inside.

  The room was lit by hanging lanterns, their warm glow spilling across an old rug laid in the center of the floor. A modest dining area sat off to one side.

  People, elves, and beastfolk filled the space, chatting quietly over meals and drinks.

  An old innkeeper looked up from behind the counter.

  “One gold coin per night. Two if you want meals included.”

  John nodded.

  “That’s definitely doable.”

  He set two gold coins on the counter.

  The innkeeper slid a key across the wood.

  “Second floor. Room 203.”

  He fixed John with a steady look.

  “Be mindful of the other guests. Keep the noise to a minimum.”

  “Understood.”

  ---

  John climbed the stairs.

  “Alright… where’s my room?”

  He followed the hallway all the way to the end.

  Room **203**.

  As he passed the door beside it, muffled noise drifted through the wall—laughter and movement, the sound of a neighbor who hadn’t gone to bed yet.

  John didn’t linger.

  He unlocked his door and stepped inside.

  The room was small and cheap.

  A narrow bed.

  A worn bookshelf.

  A cramped bathroom tucked into the corner.

  Nothing special.

  But it was his.

  ---

  John wandered over to the bookshelf and pulled a thin volume free.

  **An Introduction to Practical Magic.**

  He flipped through it until a simple spell caught his eye.

  *A light spell.*

  “…Sure.”

  John focused and tried to cast it.

  Nothing happened.

  He exhaled.

  “Okay. Guess I can’t do that one.”

  He kept reading.

  Most people, the book explained, if they had magic at all, usually possessed only **one type**.

  **Common Types**

  * Nature

  * Dark

  * Light

  * Elemental

  * and others

  He turned the page.

  **Rare Types.**

  His eyes slowed.

  Near the top of the list—

  **Building Magic.**

  Top five rarest.

  “…Huh.”

  John flipped to the page on **Building Magic**.

  *Once overlooked, now considered a staple of modern kingdoms.*

  He stared at the line.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Just what I needed.”

  He closed the book and set it aside.

  John lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  “…Maybe I should consider another profession.”

  ---

  Sleep eventually took him.

  Sometime later, John woke in the middle of the night.

  He sat up and stretched.

  “…I’m going to step out for a smoke.”

  He moved quietly down the stairs and out the front door.

  The air was a little chilly, enough to wake him fully.

  John pulled out his last one, lit it, and took a slow drag.

  The town was lit by torches lining the streets, their flames flickering softly against stone and wood.

  A few carriages rolled past in the distance, wheels creaking low and steady.

  From somewhere inside the inn, faint laughter drifted out—just a noisy neighbor still awake.

  Otherwise, the town was calm.

  Just another night.