Chapter 107: Jenny Perro

Jenny Perro, a fourth-level runesmith from the royal capital, sat quietly in her modest room, carefully organizing the few belongings she had brought with her.

Most of her possessions were tools for drawing runes or engraving magic circles: corrosion-resistant smudge sticks, chisels mixed with electrum powder, wedge-shaped scrapers, and pens of various sizes. Beyond these, she had only the books and notes she had painstakingly collected over the years.

When she left her mentor’s mage tower, these were the only things she was allowed to take. Even her changes of clothes were limited to just two sets.

Still, Jenny meticulously arranged everything, placing her scant personal items on the desk, in the cabinet, and on the shelves by the bedside. Once finished, she sat down in the center of the room and quietly took in the simple wooden cabin around her.

As the highest-ranking professional in the hundred-person team, she had been granted special treatment: a separate house. Though it was just a humble wooden hut, nothing compared to her mentor’s mage tower, Jenny knew this was one of the best accommodations in the camp. Only the official craftsmen and one other mage were entitled to their own rooms, and hers was the largest among them all. That alone made her feel quite satisfied.

After all, even when she lived in the mage tower, she had only slept on a makeshift bed in the storage room. Aside from the stone walls, that place was hardly better than this.

No, this was better—at least this wooden cabin was hers. She no longer had to worry about being summoned at any moment to test potions or magic circles.

Jenny gazed quietly at her surroundings, then looked down at her hands, pondering the days ahead.

She was painfully aware of her awkward position. Though the highest-ranking professional in the team, her actual mage level was only that of an apprentice. Being a runesmith was a craft; aside from the ability to cast spells and sense magic, it was no different in essence from carpentry or stonemasonry. By the usual standards of mages, the second-level arcanist in the team should hold the highest status. Clearly, she was just there to fill a quota.

And she knew the legendary duke who had been resurrected seven centuries ago saw this immediately.

So how long could this awkward arrangement last? How long would she be treated with respect and given her own room?

Probably only until the duke felt he had sufficiently honored the king’s wishes—or until someone in the territory raised objections.

When that time came, the only thing that could guarantee her a foothold in this land was the skill she held in her hands.

After all, this camp was still in its early stages of development. There was much to build—whether crafting magical devices or engraving runes, manpower was needed. Lady Hetty couldn’t oversee everything herself, so Jenny’s skills as a runesmith had a place here. If she did well enough, perhaps she might even earn the lady’s recognition. Though she dared not hope for too much, just being able to establish herself here was enough.

Just then, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Startled and a little nervous, Jenny looked toward the door, wondering who might be calling at this hour. She didn’t hesitate, though—she rose immediately to open it. Whoever was outside, it was best not to offend them.

The door swung open, and the figure standing there made her heart skip a beat.

A tall man with short brown hair and deep, penetrating eyes—the lord of this land, Duke Gawain Cecil, resurrected from seven centuries past. Beside him stood Lady Hetty, elegant and beautiful in a flowing red gown.

The lord and his steward had come personally. Jenny was momentarily at a loss, recalling her earlier anxious thoughts and suddenly worrying: did the duke already think her accommodations too generous?

As Jenny stood frozen in surprise, Gawain studied the young woman before him, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. This runesmith from the capital looked no older than twenty, tall but frail, with a sickly pallor. Her long silver hair was unkempt and dry from neglect, strands falling on either side of her face. On the left cheek, where the hair failed to cover, was a large, ugly scar.

That scar was what made Gawain look twice.

It marred what might have been a delicate face, covering a third of the left side and trailing down her neck. The clothing concealed how far the scar extended, but it looked like a severe burn from some terrible accident.

Realizing it was inappropriate to stare, Gawain withdrew his gaze. “Well? Won’t you invite us in?”

Jenny snapped out of her daze, stepping aside awkwardly. Nervously, she spoke in a low voice, “Duke… Your Grace, you’ve come in person… is there something you need?”

“Just came to check on you,” Gawain said, stepping inside with Hetty. He glanced around the small room: the bedroom and living area were one and the same, furnished with simple pieces clearly made by the camp’s carpenters. There was little sign of personal belongings, confirming his suspicion that Jenny Perro had lived a rather hard life even in the capital. “So, how are you settling in after two days here? Are you satisfied with life in the camp?”

Jenny didn’t know why the lord and steward had come to her humble quarters and didn’t dare ask. She forced a smile and answered, “Very… very satisfied. Honestly, it’s better than I expected.”

As she spoke, she fetched two chairs for the lord and lady to sit, standing herself by the side—there were only two chairs in the room.

“Better than expected?” Gawain raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

Jenny realized she’d spoken too freely but had no choice but to answer. “At first… I thought it would be much harder. I heard this camp had only been under construction for a little over a month, and that manpower was scarce. I didn’t expect so many houses already built, or a dock receiving supplies from Tansan Town…”

“That’s because everyone’s been working hard,” Gawain chuckled. “Though, to be honest, this isn’t even fast. I’ve seen a town built in a month before.”

That was on Earth, with cement, he thought silently.

Jenny was startled by his casual remark but quickly caught on. “Ah, you mean the Gondor Empire from seven hundred years ago?”

“Something like that,” Gawain replied, glancing around the simple cabin. “For now, this is the best the camp can offer. But don’t worry—the brickyard is already under construction. Once we have enough bricks, I’ll make sure everyone can move into proper brick houses.”

Jenny blinked in disbelief.

She had been waiting for Gawain to mention that her treatment was too generous, but instead the conversation had taken a completely different turn. She wondered if this ancient lord was planning the camp according to the standards of the old Gondor Empire. Then she remembered—Gawain Cecil himself had started from nothing, helping to build the Ansu Kingdom alongside his predecessor. He had plenty of experience and wouldn’t be making baseless assumptions…

The confused runesmith began to speculate wildly in her mind.

Unaware of Jenny’s thoughts, Gawain had only been trying to lighten the mood with a few words. Seeing it wasn’t working, he changed the subject. “We came today mainly to check on your accommodations, see if you and the other guests from afar have any needs, and to get to know you a bit.”

“Get to know… me?” Jenny asked, surprised, pointing at herself. “In what way?”

Hetty pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it toward Jenny. “Let me be frank. We reviewed your records. You’re a fourth-level runesmith, but your mage level… is apprentice?”

Jenny’s heart sank.

So it had come to this.

A fourth-level runesmith title brought no honor. The truth lay in her apprentice-level mage rank, and the vast gap between the two didn’t speak of talent—it only made people see her as a freak.

Worse still: an apprentice mage stuffed into the team as a mid-level professional. What would the duke from seven centuries ago think? By noble standards, he would see this as deception and insult, possibly enough to provoke anger. But he wouldn’t take it out on the king—his frustration would be directed at the “lie” itself.

The runesmith from the capital bowed her head deeply, voice trembling with humility and fear. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, Lady Hetty. I never intended to deceive you. I’m willing to accept any punishment…”

But Gawain cut her off abruptly. “How did you do it?”

Jenny was still trying to prepare words to calm what she imagined would be noble wrath, but instead of anger, Gawain asked a baffling question. She froze.

Thinking she hadn’t heard correctly, he repeated, “How did you, as an apprentice, complete the basic runesmith exercises? Can you sense the magic of multiple runes at once? Can you perform ‘magical tuning’ on runes?”

Runesmiths were indeed craftsmen, their work no different from masons in the eyes of professional mages. But Gawain knew the difference was significant.

Runesmiths didn’t just copy diagrams—they had to actively modify and adjust rune placements, and test uncertain runes through tuning. To do this, they needed to sense multiple runes simultaneously and master the art of magical tuning.

That was something only a first-level mage could do!

(End of chapter)