The snarl of significance and tangled energy in my upgraded [Arcane Domain] paints a picture of the encounter between Nicanor and the [Merchant] spy. He must be in a magnanimous mood, because she doesn’t seem to be in pain or distress.

  Well, not more distress than before.

  I reel in my Domain, no longer paying much mind to the unfolding drama. Focusing on their interaction from so far away is a needless drain on my mana, which is still low.

  Sure, it’s more raw capacity than I had before my upgraded core, but I’m not used to rationing my energy use anymore. Burning through a good three quarters of my total mana on the excavation project didn’t set me up for success, but I should be able to get through this crafting session thanks to the boost from the string of pseudo-cores. They’ll buy me enough time for my natural regeneration to kick in and top me off again.

  An hour flies by as I create more figurines of lithe cats and prancing horses, slithering sea serpents and proud hawks. Interspersed between the fun items, I create a few platters and goblets. Fancy dinnerware has never been my favorite, but it paid the bills, so the familiar old techniques rise to the surface with barely any effort.

  It’s a welcome enough change of pace from the exhausting training on the road, so I’m hardly about to complain, but I wish I had another challenge. Creating the time-accelerated cold cup was the most fun I’ve had in weeks, even if I overshot my mark and froze the woman’s hand.

  My lips twitch at one corner of my mouth. The ridiculous ice-cube fiasco that followed making the cup of perpetual icy water may have biased me a bit, to be completely honest. The look of panic on the spy’s face when the ice kept creeping will warm my heart for many weeks, I bet. Definitely a strong point in favor of the cold cup.

  Lost in pleasant thoughts, with my Domain compressed down to the streets around the shop instead of covering the entire market, I don’t notice trouble until it’s almost upon me.

  The discordant spike of aggression from them makes me frown in sour anticipation.

  I quest outward, confirming a heartbeat later that a handful of individuals connected to the woman from earlier are heading my way. Feedback from [Arcane Domain] tells me what I’d already suspected: the [Merchants] of the marketplace don’t take kindly to interlopers.

  Lovely. Consequences.

  I breathe out a soft, weary sigh. No matter how far I’ve come, I still can’t escape petty people. At least now I know how to deal with them.

  I’m not a scared, uncertain boy anymore.

  Squaring my shoulders, I stand tall, mana and hot glass swirling around me in complex patterns. For those with eyes to see, the pattern is suspiciously similar to the runic array in my [Arcane Domain] that grants me limited influence over nearby objects.

  I like to think of it as authority.

  Training like a madman on the road with Nicanor, particularly as I try to merge all of my Skills while drained of energy from long runs and grueling sparring matches, has crystalized several ideas for me. The most intriguing idea is the interface of concepts and runes.

  I grin in anticipation.

  While higher-order concepts exist discretely and uniquely, distinct from something as simple as Skills anyone can earn, they are not completely separate.

  After all, magic is still magic.

  My grin widens as I put my burgeoning understanding of authority to good use. Runes simply tap into the axiomatic powers that run the world. Our Skill structures are complex, but Rakesh and I have come to a surprising conclusion over the last few years of study: they’re consistently built on repeatable patterns.

  Essentially, the runic arrays in our Skills are codified interpretations of Concepts. Well, at least slivers of concepts. Grand truths are impossible to distill that perfectly. Skills are generally straightforward applications of power, while concepts are broader, more flexible—and far more difficult to wrap my mind around.

  I’ve discovered that it’s possible to become so familiar with a Skill that the wielder gains an affinity for and comprehension of the underlying concept. Ranking up any Skill to such an extent requires years of practice, however, and more frequently the connection forms the other way around in my experience.

  Once a new concept is etched onto my soul, any previously-unknown runes I encounter that resonate with that concept begin to become legible to me. And as time goes on, and my understanding of concepts and runes deepens and expands, a synergistic effect has emerged. Knowledge and insight are accelerating faster than I ever expected possible.

  Strangely enough, I’ve become more grateful for my time with the mad runic researcher Scalpel, not because I have fond memories of the person—no, she was a nasty bit of work, and I have no regrets about the violent nature of our parting—but because of the secrets I learned and the legacy Skill I was granted.

  Perhaps the heavens are making up for the injustices I suffered, I think with a slight chuckle.

  Rotating the large glass rune around me even faster, I ignite the mana flowing through it like rivers of fire. The glass glows like a bloody sun at the edge of dusk, and a ripple of unease spreads through the crowd at the ominous display.

  I bring the sliver of authority to bear on the man in front of me, cutting off his words as soon as I sense his intent and notice the shift of his mouth opening through my Domain. His jaw snaps shut unwillingly before he can even begin to speak.

  “If you're here for a desert cat,” I call out in a too-sweet voice, “you'll have to wait in line behind the children. Perhaps come back next week?”

  Cold anger hardens the faces of the [Merchants]. Only one child is still waiting to receive a figurine, but my dismissal is plain for everyone to see.

  “What do you think you’re doing, injuring my employee?” the [Merchant] with the highest level of advancement thunders once I allow him to speak again.

  He draws near enough to cast his booming voice above the crowd, trying to loom over the shorter customers to re-establish his superiority, and nearly succeeding.

  Unfortunately, it's hard to command respect when everyone has already seen me rob the man of his voice at a whim.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Regarding him impassively, I take stock of my harasser. He’s extremely tall, perhaps a head taller than the next tallest in the crowd, and broad shouldered, with distinguished silver hair cropped close. Carved muscles speak of strength in his youth, though the first signs of a pot belly forms an undeniable outline against his silk embroidered shirt. His slim nose and clear eyes lend him a noble appearance, but right now his face is pulled into a tight knot of anger.

  “Are you in the habit of deceiving and undermining your competition when they appear a little too threatening to your bottom line?” I reply, my voice mild but my Domain pressing down against the man and his ill-mannered coterie.

  Mana swirls within him as his jaw clenches. A Skill gleams, activating a complex array of runes that I’m not terribly familiar with, and he shouts again. “I will have remuneration!”

  Instinctively, I stop his attempt to bind me with a Skill, effortlessly wielding my growing sense of authority to crush his effort with the suffocating weight of my [Arcane Domain] and an application of [Legacy of the Scalpel]. Unwilling to be hit by a social Skill, even from a mediocre talent with no hope of ever reaching the Second Threshold, I take zero chances.

  Who knows what sort of mental compulsions and contractual magic a wily old [Merchant] might wield? Weak or not, specialized Skills are a headache to deal with at the best of times.

  And I’m all out of patience.

  I increase the runic pressure, and he struggles to speak as I bear down on him. “What makes you think you’re entitled to anything in return for your employee’s foolish behavior? She asked for a cup that endlessly refilled itself. I provided precisely that—along with a stern warning that it was cold. Not my fault she froze herself.”

  “You can’t weasel your way in here and expect us to grovel at your feet,” he snarls in response once I lessen the oppressive force of my Domain.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Already dropping the pretense of caring for your employee?”

  “The Mender saved her before the frostbite claimed her hand,” he replies with more gravitas than before, trying to regain control of the narrative.

  “Paying for her medical expenses is no problem,” I say soothingly, levitating over a small pile of some of the coins I’ve earned for my day’s labor.

  Just as a triumphant, sinister smile spreads on his face at what he no doubt interprets as a tacit admission of my guilt, I drop the other half of my declaration.

  “After all, deception that ham-fisted and bold must be a congenital defect. Do you think I’m some heartless monster to deny her care for her failings of the mind?”

  His face goes tomato-red.

  My Domain crashes down, cutting off any chance of him firing off a retort.

  “No groveling here,” I say lightly. “You’re welcome to purchase as many glass wares as you desire, however—once I’m done making cats for the kids, of course.”

  He struggles against the iron will of my Domain, his eyes bulging in impotent rage.

  Mana surges from his companions, and they link up their Skills before I fully analyze what’s happening. The combined weight shoves back against my restrictions, and I grudgingly give way before their assault. I don’t have enough mana right now to properly contest their teamwork, not without risking actually harming them.

  Gasping as he breathes freely once more, the lead [Merchant] gathers the tattered and sullied remains of his dignity, releasing his angry frown and smoothing out the crinkles around his narrowed eyes. He regards me more warily than before, and this time when he speaks, it’s with more cunning and charm.

  First the vinegar, now the honey.

  “Tell me, have you ever raised chickens, young man?”

  Intrigued by the abrupt shift in topic, I go along with the line of questioning. “Helped my mother collect eggs, but they more or less raised themselves, wandering all over the farm.”

  He smiles disarmingly. “Ah. And did you prepare your best egg-layer for dinner, or let the hen flourish in peace?”

  “Point taken,” I sigh.

  Emboldened by my apparent capitulation, several of the big man’s companions take the opportunity to also air their grievances. I hold my peace and let them rant.

  “Always some upstart who doesn’t think things through,” one of them announces in a voice dripping with disdain. “Comes in like a big shot and tramples all over common decency.”

  “Yep. Always an eager kid, thinks he’s hot stuff. Lacking any foresight,” his partner in crime agrees, smirking at me as he believes he’s putting me in my place.

  I spread my arms in welcome, pretending not to have taken any issue with their rude and misguided grumbling. “How may I help rectify the situation, friends?”

  “Stop ruining our business,” the first man pipes up, seeming to find his spine. “We’re all in this together, like it or not. Selfishness lines your pockets for the day, but it steals from us for the rest of the month.”

  “Aptly said!” the lead [Merchant] chimes in, nodding to his little band of thugs. “Don’t try to cook the hen who lays your eggs. You’re greedy for one roasted drumstick. We’re ensuring that we all eat one hundred omelets!”

  “I rather prefer steak,” I drawl.

  Scowls return, more thunderous than ever, but I forge onward. “Spare me the stupid little parable about eggs and hens. You want to tell a story with a moral? True foresight is investing in the property next door, buying a thousand chickens, and hiring the neighborhood children to gather the eggs and sell them at market for you.

  “My problem isn't that you want to provide for yourselves. No, what offends me is that you’re not content to simply scrabble for scraps yourselves, but you also want to drag everyone else down to your level instead of grasping for greatness.”

  “That’s enough!” the lead [Merchant] booms. “Kindly retract your insults and close your shop. We aren’t in the habit of doing business with such temperamental people.”

  “Likewise,” I wisecrack.”

  “You’re outnumbered, fool,” the nastier of the lesser [Merchants] snarls. “Be gone while you still have your dignity. More of our friends are on their way.”

  Sure enough, a dozen [Merchants] are marching our direction. Grim resolve swirls through them. Combined, they may actually be able to overcome my Domain in a contest of contractual Skills; while I could crush them all in a fight, I’m not so petty as to escalate this spat to true violence.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and wait for them to arrive so we can get the showdown over with, but another group beats them to my humble little stall.

  Nicanor and his duo of guards arrive just then, hands on their weapons. I groan and try to catch the [Spear Commander]’s attention, shaking my head.

  “Trouble already? Talented,” Nicanor grunts.

  I wave off the bodyguards, who have shuffled forward and stand poised to act. If I can’t handle a few disgruntled [Merchants], then what hope do I have to take on a [Death Mage] well past the Third Threshold?

  “Last chance,” I warn the [Merchants].

  “Or what, your hired thugs will gut us?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I laugh.

  The reinforcements arrive, but Nicanor leaks enough mana to make them pale and draw back. He plants his enchanted spear in the ground, content to stand by in a brooding, menacing supporting role while I take center stage.

  “Come. There’s no need for this. We’d like to ask you civilly to withdraw,” the spokesman of the [Merchants] says, seeming to realize now that we have the upper hand, not him. We could easily outmaneuver and overpower him, despite his clear advantage in raw numbers.

  “Why, can’t compete?” I ask bluntly.

  “We don’t sell goods that freeze the hands right off a poor girl!” he snaps, back to his claims that he cares about her well-being.

  “I’m sure she’s already been more than adequately restored by the Mender. Nothing but a simple misunderstanding,” I reiterate.

  He bristles, but swallows hard and masters himself. “Take your cheap tricks somewhere else.”

  I stare him down. “Cheap tricks? You dare to call a master of his craft a mere charlatan?”

  More eye rolls greet my pronouncement. I suppose it’s to be expected. Many people in the growing crowd missed my earlier display. They probably don’t believe the rumors. They’re all here for the show. And who can blame them? This is high drama!

  Fine. I’ll give them a show to remember.

  Vicious satisfaction spikes through me as I pull more and more mana from my core and feed it into my new Skill bundle, warping the air with its potency. After all I’ve done today to create a basement, I’m low enough on reserves that I reach for my necklace of glass pseudo-cores to supplement the work.

  I said I wanted a challenge. It's time to show what I'm truly capable of creating—and this time, it will be far, far more impressive than a mere cup of cold water.