Casual Heroing

Do you think through your every decision?

I don’t.

That’s how I ended up with a Wallorian Treasurer, a white pig of exceptional value. Stan was telling me, moments ago, that it costed us around five hundred gold coins. That’s fair. From what Lord Juler told me, this little thing is probably worth much, much more.

I cleaned up an empty room for Princess Bianca and asked if she preferred resting alone or keeping me company while I was doing some magic.

And that’s the story of how a little pig watched with mild interest me doing magic.

…

Thank God, Princess Laura finally calmed down. It’s hard to explain some jokes to her. She’s very mercurial about this stuff. And the problem is, I could not take my words back in front of Princess Bianca, could I?

You finally decided to go back to magic after all that fooling around. You completed the Cantrips, but you still have to consult the book, don’t you?

That’s true.

After the whole Stanimal debacle, I didn’t check the book.

“Book,” I say while taking it out of my bag of holding.

The big tome levitates in front of me and Bianca snorts with interest. I’m about to peer down the new ink that’s appearing when a loud squeal comes from my side. Looking down, I see an outraged Bianca looking at me like an idiot. She points her small front leg at the book and then at herself. Her outrage is a dangerous crescendo.

I’m not entirely sure what she means—

Wallorian Treasurers can often read, Joey Luciani. She wants to read what the book is saying.

Good God. This pig has more literary interest than Antoninus!

Picking up my little Princess, I show her what the book is saying.

‘The path of an [Archmage] is filled with hard trials. Most of them are deadly. You completed the maximum amount of Cantrips before the time limit could expire. Magister Mulligan would be proud of you.’

Proud is a bit much. Satisfied, I’d say.

‘Eons ago, magic was great. Nowadays, people became lazy and complacent about their practice. The foundational skills of a [Mage] should be refined over years. Only the greatest could hope to shorten their initial training. You count among those people, but beware: arrogance has ruined more than one [Archmage].’

‘For your devotion to magic, you get a reward. Few can boast about completing all the Cantrips in under nine months. Put your hand inside the book and take your reward.’

Is this book going to bite me or something? The last time it gave me a reward, it was more homework.

Oh. I think I know what I put up for this reward. Go ahead.

Tentatively, after shifting Princess Bianca on only one arm, I put my hand on the book, and it disappears through the pages. Feeling something on the other side, I try pulling it back.

When my arms comes back, I’m holding a…

“Is this a giant wizard hat?” I look at the the thing with a raised eyebrow. It’s definitely on the larger side, something like two and a half feet or something. It’s the kind of thing you might want to be careful about when you cross a door.

‘This is one of the great artifacts Magister Mulligan collaborated on with some of the greatest [Tailors] in the world. Wear it proudly at all times.’

“Is this a joke?”

I suddenly feel Princess Bianca squirming and I realize she’s sniffing the air furiously. She looks at the hat like a pig possessed.

It might be considered a joke. Or maybe, an act of pettiness. I never liked [Witches] and my relationship with their cabals was quite strained. One day, I was particularly crossed. Therefore, I made this artifact to scorn them. I used to wear it at all times. It has a number of enchantments – or Cantamen, which is the Vanedeni denomination for enchantments – on it. I’d say that in this disgusting era, it’s could probably be considered a relic. To me, it’s akin to a great artifact. Maybe slightly superior to a great artifact.

“Can I make it a bit smaller?” I ask with a grimace.

Not really. See, I had just told the [Queen of Witches], or whatever her wretched class was, that those hats were silly. A witch’s hat doesn’t actually do much apart from the general… We didn’t talk about rituals and eidetic magic, did we? Well, suffice to say it’s magic relying on the supernatural. Symbols, faith, empathy with the world. [Mages] have always been disgusted by such practices. It’s not science. It’s just—

“Excuse me if I interrupt you, Lord Juler,” I say. “Are you telling me that you didn’t put any [Resize] spell or whatever on this ungodly hat? And, on top of that, that you created such an artifact to spite witches?”

Well, you should have seen that woman’s face. It took me a year to find all the necessary materials and put together enough craftsmen. The interior is made of softened dragon leather – it is quite luxurious, yes, but it’s also a necessity because I suffered from these red patches on my head from the stress. When you find the right person to work dragon leather, it becomes the perfect interior for anything you have to wear on your skin.

As the man blabbered as per usual, I felt a tingle on my skin.

Then, I noticed the book made some more ink appear.

‘This is a great gift and it must be worn at all times. You can only take it away for necessity or sleep before you reach the rank of [Archmages]. Before then, any transgression of this rule will get you an electric shock every ten minutes.’

Oh. I forgot about that part. I must have removed it from the memories I retained. That’s what happens when you use too many skills to remember things. Your soul gets weaker.

“Putting aside the instant revelation that the soul has something to do with memories. Do I have to wear this ridiculous headpiece, now? And wait. Wouldn’t witches get angry at me for ridiculing them?”

Dragons too. I’m not sure what their foreign politics is at the moment. But using their bodies to craft things is a big taboo.

“Wait. Didn’t I steal you from a Dragon or something?” I said, starting to sweat.

Yes. That one is – or maybe was – a bitch. Pardon my language.

I slowly put the hat on top of my head, while Princess Bianca squealed in delight at the sight of such an artifact.

Why, Lady Luck—just why? Why does it have to be always me?