I spent the rest of the day feeling like I'd been run over. My head was fuzzy, and my skin kept buzzing. More than anything, though, I was annoyed. I had all this power, but I was still basically a seven-year-old trying to control a firehose.
Sage, I thought later that night as I lay in bed, we need to fix the output. I can't keep melting every sword Jason hands me. Work on the efficiency. Use those Gilgamesh eyes to break down whatever reinforcement trick Jason used and show me how to do it better.
[Processing. Deconstructing Reinforcement Magic via Eyes of Gilgamesh. Optimisation complete. Output can now be regulated to a stable 1% flow.]
Perfect.
The next morning, Jason looked a little wary when we stepped outside again. He handed me a thick wooden practice sword. "All right, let's try this again. Slowly, Merlin. Very slowly."
I took a breath and let Sage do the hard part. My eyes slipped into that strange golden swirl again, though I kept my head lowered so Jason wouldn't get too clear a look. This time, I could see exactly how the magic needed to settle around the wood. Instead of bursting out of control, it spread in a soft white glow, steady and clean. The sword felt almost weightless in my hand, but solid as iron.
I tapped the tip against a nearby rock. The stone didn't crack. It burst apart into a spray of tiny fragments.
Jason stared for a long moment without saying a word. Then he blinked and let out a low whistle. "Well… damn. You're a quick study, kid. Too quick. You actually listened to me for once."
He laughed and clapped me on the back hard enough to nearly send me stumbling. "All right. If you can control it that well, we start proper swordsmanship tomorrow. No more standing around smashing rocks. Time to learn how to move."
Martha stepped out onto the porch, drying her hands on a towel. She'd clearly been watching the whole time. "He's got the hang of that well enough, Jason. My turn. He needs to learn more than how to hit things with a stick. Tomorrow I'm teaching him elemental magic. We'll start with water. It's safe, and if he makes a mess, all we lose is a little dignity."
Jason nodded. "Works for me."
The next day, Martha had a bucket of water waiting in the clearing.
"All right, Merlin," she said in her best teacher's voice. "Water is about flow. It doesn't hold shape the way a sword does. You have to feel it. Watch my hands."
She moved her arms in a slow circle, and a small sphere of water rose from the bucket and began to spin gently in the air. I could see the magic circle forming with it, a layered web of blue lines, precise and delicate. For an ordinary kid, it would have taken months to notice something like that.
For me?
[Magic Circle: Water Nebula analyzed. Pattern recorded. Replication possible at 100% accuracy.]
I could have copied it perfectly on the spot, but Sage had already warned me not to scare the old couple. I didn't need them deciding I was some kind of demon child.
So I stretched out my hand and made the water wobble like jelly. Then I let it collapse and splash back into the bucket.
"It's all right, honey," Martha said gently. "Try again."
On the "second" attempt, I lifted a shaky sphere and made it spin. I kept it uneven on purpose, a little lopsided and rough around the edges, but Martha lit up anyway.
"Oh! You did it! Jason, look, he's doing it already!"
A week later, we finally made the trip to the larger town market. I was still stuck in my ragged old clothes, and Martha had decided that a young mage ought to dress like one.
We found a tailor's shop tucked between a bakery and a candle stall, smelling of dust, cloth, and old wood. The tailor was a gruff old man with a measuring tape draped around his neck.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, eyeing my messy silver hair.
"I want something specific," I said, stepping forward. Then I started describing Merlin's outfit from Fate. "A long coat with a high collar. Mostly white, with purple and silver patterns on the sleeves. Loose trousers, comfortable enough to move in. I want it to look like… well, like someone who knows too many secrets."
The tailor gave me a strange look, but Martha laughed. "He knows what he wants, this one. Can you make it?"
The old man grunted, flipping through his notebook. "I can sew whatever you want, kid, as long as your mother here is paying for the fabric."
He took my measurements while I stood there trying not to grin. I was finally starting to look the part: white hair, Gilgamesh eyes, and soon the Magus of Flowers' wardrobe. I was still stranded four hundred years in the past, sure. But hey, if I had to waste four hundred years in a fantasy wasteland, I might as well look awesome doing it.