Chapter 109: E = 1.66

Under the persistent questioning of Gawain and Hetty, Jenny finally broke her silence. For the first time, the full story behind this notebook and its successive owners was laid bare—and Gawain learned much more about that wild mage.

The notebook’s first owner was indeed that wild mage, though he never inscribed his name in it. Jenny only knew that he was a down-and-out, eccentric, and ostracized predecessor. This wild mage hailed from the Violet Kingdom in the northern continent and had once been a member of the largest human mage organization, the Arcane Society. But as Gawain already knew, his power was weak, and he was shunned by others. His research was considered heretical by orthodox mages, leaving him destitute. Eventually, to save his daughter’s life, he left the Arcane Society and crossed into Ansu territory. The notebook Jenny had was one of his early manuscripts—if she wasn’t mistaken, it was sold cheaply to a mage in the Ansu Kingdom just to raise travel funds.

Perhaps it fetched only three copper coins, or maybe it was worthless—just a freebie among a pile of books and notes.

The second owner’s fate was no better. From the notebook’s margins and scribbles, it was clear that this mage was also engaged in “heretical” research. His motivation was similar: weak personal power and no hope of advancement.

A mage struggling to progress in magic and runes, he pinned his hopes on logic and mathematics to uncover the world’s true nature. The wild mage’s research on rune universality and underlying laws had lit a guiding lamp for him, allowing a faint grasp of a path to explore magical mysteries without relying on great power or personal strength. But this second researcher never got far down that road.

Perhaps to fund his research, or to verify some data from the notebook, this unnamed mage died on an expedition. His few possessions were quickly divided up, and the precious notebook eventually passed into Jenny’s mentor’s hands.

But Jenny’s mentor never became the notebook’s owner. This “orthodox mentor” held the notebook in utter contempt. He didn’t believe two low-level mages scribbling endless formulas on paper could reveal any truth. He thought the second owner had died on that expedition precisely because he trusted the nonsense in those pages—the poor soul who perished in the ruins was proof of the notebook’s flawed theories.

So the mentor threw the notebook away, tossing it into the trash heap outside the Mage Tower—where it was picked up by his “apprentice,” Ravenkess.

This so-called “apprentice” was actually the great mage’s slave.

Such arrangements were common among orthodox mages. Their apprentices fell into two categories: true apprentices, gifted and often of noble blood, and “non-person” apprentices—those who held the title but were treated as slaves and experimental subjects. Ravenkess belonged to the latter.

Lacking magical talent and noble lineage, Ravenkess was ignored in the tower. Though gifted in math and logic, his poor spellcasting and rune sensitivity earned him the scornful labels “idiot” and “freak.” The great mage grudgingly taught him some basics, then forcibly accelerated his promotion to official mage using cheap potions with severe side effects and rituals. Afterward, he was trained as a runesmith, intended to handle drawing magic circles and crafting tools.

It was during this time Ravenkess found the notebook, becoming its third owner.

Several years later, Jenny met Ravenkess.

Unlike most who entered the Mage Tower as “gifted,” Jenny’s background was far humbler. She wasn’t even selected as a “mage slave.” This frail girl came from a poor rural village far from the capital, where no one had ever dealt with the supernatural, let alone possessed “noble mage blood.”

She entered the tower because her village was struck by famine, and her family was on the brink of starvation. At that time, her “mentor” happened to pass through her village and, out of “charity,” offered to trade some of his grain for local goods.

Jenny remembered clearly: it was a cold, windless night. Her parents gathered the children and drew lots. At just fourteen, she was chosen.

The next morning, she was pushed into the “mage lord’s” wagon and exchanged for enough food to keep her family alive—two sacks of wheat.

She recalled the wagon was piled with strange herbs, animal specimens, stones, metals, bark, and several children about her age, all with vacant expressions.

The wagon was full of experimental materials.

The mage had traded grain for experimental subjects—and she was one of them.

Later, in the Mage Tower, she met Ravenkess, a slave apprentice with slightly higher status.

Ravenkess was responsible for “feeding” the experimental subjects.

The children brought from the countryside were soon put to use. Every two or three days, one would be taken out. Some returned alive, some did not. Even those who survived soon became deranged and weak. Jenny realized her fate but did not run.

Because Ravenkess warned her daily: never run. It would be worse than death.

Then came the day Jenny was “put to use.” She barely remembered the details, overwhelmed by fear and confusion. But fortune smiled on her: when placed on the experimental magic circle, she was detected to have a faint magical affinity.

She actually had magical talent.

Because of this, and her previously obedient behavior, Jenny was spared and became one of the mage’s apprentices—though still a “slave apprentice” like Ravenkess. She even received a surname: the mage casually named her “Pero,” meaning “wheat” in the common human tongue—because she had been bought with two sacks of wheat.

Escaping death was a huge blessing for Jenny, but her situation remained grim. She had merely changed from “experimental subject” to “slave,” and in many ways, the difference was negligible.

At the time, Jenny had little energy to ponder this. Surviving was enough. Being able to read, write, and study magic as an apprentice—even a slave apprentice—was beyond her wildest dreams. She devoured knowledge, studying day and night, learning to read, recognize runes, and memorize spells. Soon, she discovered Ravenkess shared her interests and way of thinking.

They became close friends, a bond beyond age. Ravenkess excitedly showed her the treasured notebook and explained the incredible, math- and logic-rooted concepts within. Two low-level mages, barely trained in formal magic, absorbed the notebook’s knowledge and built their worldview upon it.

They had no idea how heretical this approach—relying on formulas and calculations to approach truth—was to orthodox mages, who believed in pursuing truth through personal power.

Meanwhile, Jenny’s mentor, the powerful mage, soon realized her magical talent was weak and pitiful. This sickly girl, risen from experimental material, had only a trace of magical sensitivity. With her mental aptitude, she would likely only ever master a few apprentice-level tricks, never becoming a full mage.

So he quickly ceased investing in her and sought to recoup his costs. He gave Jenny a potion and a magic circle blueprint, ordering her to drink the potion to forcibly catalyze her into a first-level mage, then begin runesmith training.

Ravenkess, who had already taken the potion, secretly stopped Jenny and made a bold suggestion: why not trust the notebook’s knowledge? Trust the formulas they had derived from it? Try controlling runes not through spells, but purely through math and logic?

Jenny followed Ravenkess’s advice and, as an apprentice, successfully reconstructed the magic circle.

It was probably the first “calculated” magic circle in the world.

But her mentor did not reward her. Instead, he flew into a rage and soon discovered Ravenkess’s “scheming.” Following the trail, he found the notebook’s existence. This near “betrayal” enraged him further. To him, a notebook full of nonsense from weak mages corrupting his servants was a grave insult.

The great mage was furious, ready to destroy the notebook and punish his two apprentices severely. But for the first time, Ravenkess bravely stood up and faced his mentor’s wrath alone.

He accepted the punishment by himself, sacrificing an eye, a quarter of his soul, and two tendons to save the notebook and Jenny. He tried to convince the tyrannical mage that preserving the notebook and letting the foolish apprentices study it was worthwhile—there might be something worth investing in. He and Jenny could serve as test subjects, attempting to create magic circles and runes as the notebook described. If successful, all results would belong to the great mage; if they failed, he would only lose two experimental subjects.

The mentor accepted this reasoning, allowing the two bold apprentices to continue their research. But he never stopped mocking and undermining them—he believed rune research by those incapable of controlling high-level runes was absurd and laughable, like serfs guessing the king’s menu. Without the ability to sense and control runes, relying on formulas to guess their power was sheer folly.

Regardless, Ravenkess and Jenny finally continued studying the notebook. They soon discovered a glaring “gap” in the magical conductivity and other properties of different conduit materials. This gap seemed to divide all conduit materials into “positive” and “negative” categories, influenced by a mysterious constant affecting their performance in magic circles. It turned out that various conduit materials only affected the magic circle’s “output power,” while the circle’s resistance to interference and stability depended mainly on the logical arrangement of runes. The relationship with conduit materials was governed solely by their polarity and this constant…

They began working through the derivation of the constant, gradually closing in on the final result. But just as they were on the verge of success, their mentor suddenly assigned them a new task.

They were to go to an out-of-control mana well and reset the rune array there.

This was far beyond their skills as runemasters, and resetting the rune array of a mana well wasn’t really a runemaster’s job—it was the responsibility of a fully qualified mage.

Yet the mentor’s orders were absolute. Along with the command came a single, pointed remark:

“You said all the runes could be incorporated into your formula, didn’t you? Then go prove it.”

Ravencourt accepted the order. He knew full well that the archmage had lost patience—this was not a man who tolerated his servants acting on their own. So he had no choice. Besides, adjusting the runes in the mana well would give him the chance to test a crucial question.

Jenny’s recollection was drawing to a close. Her tone was calm—so calm it almost didn’t sound like she was talking about herself. “Before Mr. Ravencourt left, he told me he would adjust the runes according to the first hypothesis. If he came back alive, then E equals 1.29. If he didn’t return, then E equals 1.66… He never came back.”

Gawain lowered his head, staring at the notebook. The notes on the constant E were written in fresh, neat handwriting—Jenny’s handwriting.

(End of chapter)