The mana crystal took seven to eight days to charge—Leon spent his mornings meditating to refill it, his afternoons practicing Mage Hand. He'd refined the spell, reshaping his tentacles for precision rather than strength. Now, he could mold wet clay into tiny shapes or pick up a single bean without dropping it. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do—he could sand the final product for smoothness.
The furnace stood outside Moonlight Cottage, sheltered by a rough wooden shed. Leon gathered his materials: charcoal (he'd never seen coal in Etho, so charcoal would have to suffice), iron ore, and a tiny grain of adamantine—hard, magical metal Im had reluctantly given him, no bigger than a sesame seed.
He lit the charcoal, then activated the furnace's runes. Flames roared, their heat intensifying as the wind rune pumped oxygen. Before melting metal, he tested his Mage Hand, sending a tentacle into the fire.
The mana and mental energy drained ten times faster than normal. After four minutes, the tentacle shattered like glass. With four tentacles, he'd have just twenty-five minutes of usable time—if he didn't pour extra mana into them. "Good grief," he muttered. "Let's hope this works."
He used Mage Hand to lower the iron ore into the furnace. The temperature climbed past 3,000 degrees Celsius, far hotter than the 1,500 needed to melt iron. The ore glowed red, then liquid. His first tentacle failed halfway through; he swapped to a second, stirring the molten iron to burn off excess carbon, turning brittle cast iron into steel.
When it was ready, he poured the steel into a thin mold and quenched it in water with a hiss. The result was a small steel sheet—palm-sized, no thicker than a grain of rice, its surface uneven but usable. He took it to Im for inspection.
"The steel is good, but full of air bubbles," Im said, running a detection spell over it. He bent it with a Strength cantrip, then sliced it with a small Wind Blade—only a faint scratch remained. "You need to forge it to remove impurities. Can you make larger sheets?"
Leon shook his head. "Four tentacles can only manage this size. Bigger would take too long."
"Larger sheets would make armor, but this is better for small magic items—rings, pendants, jewelry," Im said. "Most mages rely on jewelers for bases. Focus on precision—your mental strength makes you perfect for it. Blacksmithing for weapons requires forging, which you can't do yet."
Leon nodded. He'd always dreamed of making magic items—far more profitable than baking or herbalism. Over the next seven days, he crafted another metal sheet, this time mixing gold, silver, steel, and bronze—12k gold, by Earth's standards. He forged it until it was thin as two sheets of paper, then drew tiny spearhead shapes on it.
Im used a precise Wind Blade to cut out twelve shapes. Leon wanted to add adamantine for durability, but the tiny grain was too small for a proper tip. He melted a pea-sized chunk of gold, then added the adamantine—its melting point over 4,000 degrees, forcing the furnace to run at maximum power, its flames turning blue.
By the time the adamantine-gold alloy was ready, Leon collapsed onto the grass, his mana and mental energy spent. The mana crystal was empty too.
"What in the world are you doing?" Im said, walking over to help him up. He'd been watching from the cottage, worried about the furnace's intense heat.
"Making a pen," Leon said, breathless. "For Dahlia's birthday. I didn't know what else to get her."
Im laughed. "A pen? You should give her a stack of practice sheets—nothing teaches like repetition."
Leon stared. "She'd hit me. Hard."
"Nonsense—knowledge is a mage's greatest treasure," Im said, but he grinned. He examined the gold spearheads. "This isn't iron. Gold alloy? Smart—steel rusts. Gold looks nicer for a gift too."
"I wanted the tips to be durable," Leon said. "Adamantine is the hardest metal. I mixed it with gold since you only gave me a tiny bit."
"Adamantine enhances any metal's strength, but it's no match for pure adamantine," Im said. "Let's finish this. Show me what to do."
Leon directed Im to split the adamantine-gold alloy into seven tiny grains, melting each onto a spearhead tip. Im used magic to polish them smooth, then etched a flowing "L" (for Leon) into the middle of each tip. Leon bent the tips into a gentle curve, and Im sliced a small slit at the end with Wind Blade—critical for holding ink.
Leon pulled out a wooden pen杆 he'd carved from hardwood, its tip grooved to hold the metal nib. He inserted the tip, then tested it on paper. It caught slightly at first, but after Im used magic to smooth the slit, it glided smoothly, leaving crisp, clear lines.
Im took the pen, writing a few lines of spell runes. "This is better than my enchanted quill," he said, impressed. "Metal nibs can hold runes—perfect for scroll-making. Feathers are too fragile. I'll trade you my quill for one of these. Tomorrow, I'll get magic metal—help me make a enchanted version."
Leon smiled, holding the pen. It wasn't fancy, just a simple dip pen, but it was perfect. Dahlia would love it—unique, useful, and made just for her. As he polished the wooden pen杆, he thought of his past life's ballpoint pens, of the little joys that crossed worlds.
Magic was powerful, but sometimes the best gifts were the ones made with care—one tiny, adamantine-tipped spearhead at a time.