The town of Niailan lay nestled south of Dolez City, a modest settlement known for its spice trade. It stood on the edge of the vast Lush Forest, where an aromatic plant of immense value thrived. Though its numbers were scarce—and the beasts it attracted made harvesting dangerous—its worth ensured a steady stream of hunters willing to risk their lives for profit.
These two advantages—spice cultivation and the lucrative plant trade—kept Niailan prosperous despite its distance from Dolez.
The tender season had just ended, and the town basked in its usual tranquility. Morning mist curled along the gravel-paved roads, while nesting crows filled the crisp air with their cries. The breeze carried the scent of fresh soil as farmers headed for their fields, hunters prepared their rucksacks, and children laughed and played as always.
It was an ordinary day.
But today, for the first time in decades, the quiet town of Niailan would welcome an uninvited guest.
On a hillside just beyond the town, a grand carriage stood still. Trimmed in gold, its craftsmanship alone spoke of wealth and influence. It was drawn by two powerful horses, their polished coats gleaming beneath the morning sun. Any onlooker could tell at a glance—the owner of this carriage was no ordinary traveler.
From afar, a group of young girls, emboldened by curiosity, watched as a figure descended.
He wore a flowing light-blue mage robe, its fine fabric shimmering faintly with magical brilliance—nothing like the coarse linen garments they wore. But it wasn't just his attire that captured their attention. An aura of suffocating power surrounded him, seeping into the air itself and making their skin prickle with unease.
Fascination warred with fear. Their hearts pounded, yet none dared approach. The golden runes embroidered along his robe and the unnatural pressure clinging to him like a second skin made one thing unmistakably clear.
Mage.
For townsfolk raised on stories of magic-wielders snatching children away, the presence of a mage was not merely awe-inspiring—it was terrifying.
The figure was Punk.
This quiet, relatively prosperous town would serve as his research base for the next century.
His mood was unusually light. His chosen business proxy, the young noble girl Luo Taran, had proven herself capable. While he had been purchasing materials at the Mage's Union—using Menezi's wallet, of course—the girl had completed her assignment with surprising efficiency. Not only had she secured sales, she had also finalized contracts with three magic shops.
Thinking back to how she had proudly boasted of her "achievements," cheeks puffed with stubborn pride, Punk had to admit—though she lacked maturity, her business instincts were remarkable.
"I truly have an eye for talent."
He brushed his fingers across his smooth chin, allowing himself a rare smile. For the foreseeable future, he wouldn't need to worry about research funding.
Now, he could focus entirely on magic.
But first—he needed a place to work.
Scanning the landscape from the hillside, Punk considered his options. This elevated terrain would be ideal for his base—overlooking the town, providing a natural defensive advantage against military incursions, and offering a clear line of sight to detect approaching threats.
A true Mage Tower was beyond his current means, but even a temporary research base demanded proper defenses.
Ignoring the cautious greetings of a few apprentice-level professionals below, Punk had no interest in entertaining the chatter of ants.
Without hesitation, he cast a formal spell—Sound Playback.
The same spell Menezi had once used to address an entire city.
The tranquil morning shattered.
A booming voice rolled across the town like thunder, rattling windows and making ears ring. Every one of the thirty thousand residents of Niailan jolted upright as Punk's declaration thundered through the streets:
"I am the official mage, Punk-Si'an. From this day forth, I will reside on the southern slopes of this town. I will not accept visitors—ever, for any reason. My experiments are of utmost importance. Any who disturb me will bear the consequences."
It was an arrogant proclamation—but from the perspective of a formal-rank powerhouse addressing a town without even a single trainee-level professional, it was already an act of restraint.
He hadn't done this to boast. There was no glory in dominating weaklings. The reason for this public warning was simple: prevent trouble before it began.
If he left things ambiguous, there would always be fools—aristocrats seeking favor, ambitious schemers, or curious children who didn't know better. Handling such interruptions one by one would be tiresome.
Better to silence them all now.
Of course, there would still be noble brats convinced that rules did not apply to them. But that was acceptable. When the first two or three died for their stupidity, the rest would quickly learn.
As the lingering echoes of his voice faded, the townspeople were already scattering in panic.
The overly enthusiastic nobles who had once planned to extend their warm greetings fled like startled hares. Even the professionals among them—though technically stronger than common folk—retreated without hesitation.
This was the world they lived in.
A world where magic ruled above all.
Punk watched their hurried retreat with quiet satisfaction. Now they would remember him only as "the reclusive mage on the hill"—a man best left undisturbed.
Looking down at the town below, he inhaled the sharp scent of spice carried on the wind. The grass swayed gently at his feet, glistening with the last traces of morning dew.
Reaching into his brass space ring, he felt the subtle pulse of magic within. His fingers brushed against the ancient tome and the materials he had gathered.
Then he withdrew a clear, radiant yellow gem.
It was time.
Time to build his research base.
As the twin suns of Mila and Chikasa climbed higher into the sky, burning away the lingering morning mist, a new chapter of experimentation and progress began.