Mage? Magic Engineer!

"I don’t really have a gift to give, and this isn’t enough to express my thanks, but here—take the new edition of the Technical Manual for the Spell Chain." Rorschach casually pulled a new Scroll Book from his ring. Richard took the manual but waved off Rorschach’s thanks. "You saved my life. What more thanks do I need?"

"Oh, wait. I think I actually do have a gift for you." Rorschach fumbled around in his ring again and pulled out a small car.

At first glance, the small car looked a lot like the die-cast toy models from his past life, roughly 1/64 scale. But this was the result of Rorschach applying the Ethereal Membrane Space Compression Technique to a real car. He had first shrunk it to 1/4 scale to make it easier for engineers to study the whole system. After that task was complete, Rorschach discovered he could keep toying with it.

He just kept compressing its volume, with the Ethereal Membrane acting as its patina. Rorschach had even considered shrinking it until it couldn’t be found anymore. Today, he happened upon it in his ring’s storage space and thought it would be a perfect gift for Rick.

"A toy?"

"Heh, it is. But it can gradually grow larger, or if you break the Ethereal Membrane, it will instantly expand. Be careful not to get crushed by a ’toy’ that weighs several tons."

"This..." Richard didn’t want to accept another gift from Rorschach, but the little car was exquisite. Such a tiny, intricate object held a natural fascination for any man, and driven by curiosity and admiration, he accepted it.

"If you really want to thank me, then help me find a way to present a gift to His Majesty the Emperor. The Bayern car factory is willing to present a luxury Air Car to His Majesty as a gesture of congratulations."

"What are you really after?"

"This way, the cars will become popular among the rich. You know, people follow the lead of those at the top..."

"Really?" Richard was still suspicious.

Rorschach looked hurt. "Really! You have to believe me!" ’It really is the goal... one of them, at least.’

After bidding his friend farewell, Rorschach flew off toward the small village, carrying the family letter Franz never had a chance to send. This was the last task Rorschach needed to complete on this trip: to bring the Mercer Family to Bayern.

Richard’s post was on the Western Line, which had significantly lengthened Rorschach’s journey. It wasn’t a wasted trip, though, because this place was much closer to the Mercer family’s home.

’No wonder we haven’t heard a peep from the kid since he enlisted...’ Rorschach was speechless as he first scanned Franz’s handwritten letter. Not only was the handwriting crooked and sloppy, but he had also gotten the address wrong and simply left the postal code blank because he didn’t know it... ’It would take a miracle for this to ever get delivered! You can’t just expect a Mage from the Prophetic System to work for the post office, can you?’

The latest letter was also a scrawl, and Rorschach recognized at a glance that it was written on stationery from the Tower of Stars. ’They really are treating Franz well...’

"Dear Mom, Dad, and Angela:

"My unit suffered a major defeat. The southerners summoned several huge monsters onto the battlefield—you can’t even imagine how tall and terrifying they were... My commanding officer is dead, my comrades are dead... The southerners captured me, but Big Bro came, and they were all afraid of him...

"Big Bro Rorschach supports me staying in the army, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll definitely earn us a huge manor and have His Majesty the Emperor personally elevate the Mercer name to the ranks of the Nobility..."

’Keep on dreaming your grand dreams while you’re scrubbing toilets. I just hope Franz can graduate from the military academy after the war is over...’ This was Rorschach’s ruthless way of crushing his little brother’s dreams of fame and glory.

For now, this was the only way Rorschach could think of to satisfy his little brother, himself, and Mr. and Mrs. Mercer all at once: join the army, get an education, and stay far away from the front lines.

By the time he finished reading the two letters, Rorschach had almost reached the village.

The moment he neared the town, he felt a strange ripple in the ambient Magic Power—a ripple that was disturbingly familiar. Rorschach frowned. As he flew past the Town Mage’s tower, he deliberately slowed his dash to perform a rough scan with his senses.

’The Magic Arrays are all idling... It’s like there’s no one here.’

’I wonder what the situation in the village is like...’ Rorschach’s expression darkened. His correspondence with the Mercers had never mentioned anything like this. Only Franz had briefly noted that the activities in both the village and the town were getting more and more "lively."

’I never thought these so-called "activities" would be related to the Sect... This was strange from the start. Normally, during a war, shouldn’t common folk be tightening their belts to get by? How could this small town and village be getting happier and happier?’

’Either their lives have genuinely improved, like in the Special Zone, or...’

Rorschach had originally planned to drop his invisibility at the village entrance, but now he changed his mind. He floated all the way to the source of the abnormal Magic Power—the mill.

A large crowd was now gathered at the mill. ’What are they up to?’ Rorschach stood right beside them, and the oblivious villagers listened as the Mill Master, standing atop a haystack, rallied them with a cry:

"Tell me, why has our grain yield gotten better?"

"Because we have the Divine Spirit’s blessing!"

"Correct! You, me, him... every single one of us here is a righteous person who knows how to be grateful." The Mill Master’s speech, a mix of elegant and folksy phrases, incited the villagers below:

"Now that we have so much grain, what does everyone plan to do with it?"

"Eat it, of course." "Trade some for money to make new clothes..." "Brew alcohol."

The Mill Master cut off the villagers’ chatter. "Wrong! All wrong! Your grain is all going to be taken away! The Empire is at war right now; you’re lucky they aren’t dragging you to the front lines. Soon, a new requisition order will come down. It’s not like before. Don’t even think about keeping any of your grain."

"If you have ten jars, they’ll take nine! If you only have five... they’ll send you *and* your grain to the front lines. If you don’t believe me, go ask the village chief! He’ll start by asking you nicely to hand over your grain, but if you refuse, the armed collection squad will come to ’persuade’ you!"

The villagers were instantly unsettled. They began to hesitate, wondering whether they should go and ask the old village chief directly for clarification.

The Mill Master immediately spoke up again, "But I have a way to keep you from having to hand over your grain! Just like I kept my word and made your harvest increase."

"Resisting taxes is a death sentence!" an older, more worldly villager shouted. He knew those gun-toting lackeys wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

"Believe it or not! If you really pay the Empire’s tax, you might survive today, but by winter or next spring, you’ll be dead anyway!" The Mill Master paid the dissenter no mind. "Those who believe me, those who have the guts, gather at the mill tonight." With that, he leaped off the haystack, slammed the mill door shut, and left the villagers staring at each other in dismay.

"..." Rorschach listened quietly until the Mill Master finished his performance. He was now a little worried about the situation with Old Mercer and the village chief.

With a flash step, he was at the village chief’s house, but it was completely empty. The door was closed and the house was reasonably tidy, but the hunting rifle that hung by the bed was gone, leaving only the horseshoe that served as its rack.

Rorschach didn’t linger and immediately went to the Mercer family’s home.

The Mercer family’s home was now the most impressive house in the entire village. When Rorschach had first returned to the village, they had lived in a medieval-style farmhouse with just a single room and a large communal sleeping platform. Now, having moved back from town, the Mercers had hired masons and bricklayers to basically build a replica of a two-story townhouse in the village, complete with fenced-in front and back yards. It was quite comfortable.

The "Mo Manor" name didn’t quite match the amount of land they owned, but everything else was up to par. After all, land couldn’t yet be freely transferred here. Then again, as long as Rorschach kept sending money, it was only a matter of time before they became the richest family in the entire town area without even lifting a finger.

Rorschach passed unimpeded through the courtyard fence and walls. In the guest room, he saw the old couple, along with the scruffy-bearded village chief.

The village chief was holding a wooden box—the very one Rorschach had given him before leaving last time. It still contained a good number of Gold Coins, which glittered in the light of the kerosene lamp.