Barbarian Spellcaster

"Manus, Potentis, Paro." The brief incantation ended with its final note.

A sky-blue radiance burst from his hands and enveloped Zhang Yuan's entire body. It then vanished like a mirage, leaving only the faint glow emanating from the caster's clothes and body as proof that a successful protective spell had been summoned from the Weave.

After finishing the spell, Zhang Yuan eagerly pinched his own cheeks and arms, discovering that they felt completely different from usual, as though there were a layer of thick hide or rubber between his fingers and skin.

What was he waiting for? Zhang Yuan hurriedly pulled out his phone and, no longer caring about the small amount of battery power it used, took a selfie.

Heh heh, if I can still connect to the internet, this'll be hilarious. I can livestream while casting spells, and the view count will definitely explode. When that happens, I'll make Fathead Fish read "My Position" aloud to me in person!

With all sorts of lewd ideas running through his head, Zhang Yuan put away his phone, then took out a Swiss Army knife and slashed twice at the hem of his overcoat.

The experimental results were fairly satisfying. Although the surrounding force-field shield couldn't completely stop the dagger's cuts and thrusts, it created considerable resistance and deflected them.

In actual combat, long swords and other cold weapons were naturally superior to a tiny dagger. But amid constant movement and changes in position and angle, this degree of resistance and deflection should still prove quite useful.

Having just experienced magic for the first time, Zhang Yuan was thoroughly content. After all, for a bumpkin from a world where the mystical had long since vanished, what could satisfy his fantasies more than casting a spell with his own hands?

Still, after coming back to his senses, Zhang Yuan couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Although he had become a mage, the entire process had relied on the spellcasting motions granted by the system, as instinctive as a reflex.

More precisely, he knew that it worked without knowing why it worked—usable, but incomprehensible!

He was like a barbarian who had picked up a gun. He could fire bullets with it, but had no concept of or understanding of firearms themselves.

Except here, the barbarian named Zhang Yuan wasn't holding a gun. He was holding the arcane.

"Forget it~" Zhang Yuan let out a long breath and stopped dwelling on it.

He had only just arrived here. Having spells to use was already good enough. What more could he ask for?

Though he knew how without knowing why, he would continue forward even in confusion.

Weren't those sorcerers who made a living by showing off their faces also relying on instinct to throw out spells? He could find an opportunity to make up the theory later. For now, the urgent matter was finding somewhere to stay in this city, then surviving—living well.

His inner thunder roared, and he walked straight into the doorframe.

Holding his head, Zhang Yuan straightened his clothes and walked out of the tavern.

With nothing else to do, he simply found a seat in the tavern, ordered a cup of the cheapest Shadowbrew, and slowly sipped it while listening to all sorts of old fellows from every walk of life nearby bragging.

A short distance away, several middle-aged men dressed like ordinary citizens had clearly drunk quite a bit. They swayed their heads, unable even to hold their cups steadily.

One of them, a fellow with a bald crown, couldn't even get a grip on the cup in front of him.

"Hey, don't run away. Don't run. I'm only having one sip, just one." After reaching out several times and grabbing nothing but air beside the cup, he simply stretched out both arms and cupped the vessel in both hands, gulping it down noisily. "Hic~" After letting out a resounding belch, the bald fellow promptly collapsed face-first onto the table and passed out.

His companions didn't seem bothered in the slightest. They were clearly used to it and continued chatting and bragging among themselves.

The other middle-aged man sitting opposite him, his hair tied back, shook his head and said, "He brags and tries to show off every time, then makes us take him home in the end."

His companion chuckled. "We're happy today. A couple of extra drinks won't hurt. We have the Iron Throne to thank for giving those of us in the ore and smithing trades a much greater voice in the Merchants' League."

The middle-aged man didn't seem very interested, and his voice was somewhat gloomy. "There's no such thing as a free lunch. The Iron Throne has spent so much to win over and organize the entire ironwork and weapons-manufacturing trade chain. It must have some special intention."

His companion dismissed the concern. "So what? Who does anything without an ulterior motive? The gold in our purses has increased. That's enough. Why think so much?"

Yet the tied-back-haired man's mood did not improve. Instead, he stared at his companion and said, "How long has it been since the Time of Troubles ended? The scheming of ambitious men has never stopped. The Iron Throne can lay its hands on the entire iron and weapons industry today, so guess what it'll want tomorrow?"

Seeing his companion fall silent, he sighed. "Maz, I advise you to have less to do with the Iron Throne's people as well. I don't plan to stay in Baldur's Gate anymore, either. In two months, I'm taking my smithy and moving away."

"What! You're moving? Why?" His companion panicked and shot to his feet. Sweat slid from his flushed, alcohol-heated, chubby face onto the floor. "Stop joking around, my good Talon. If you leave Baldur's Gate, is there anywhere along the entire Sword Coast with a better business environment?"

"Who are you going to sell your iron goods to? The bookworms in Candlekeep? Or the farmers in Nashkel? You can't possibly run all the way to Amn, can you?" Maz urged his companion to reconsider, partly because he couldn't bear his friend's sudden departure and partly because it directly affected his own interests.

His weapons shop owed its thriving business to Talon's reliable quality and steady supply of fine weapons. Without that source, his own shop would probably end up looking like any other general-goods store.

Talon shot Maz a glare, then spoke after seeing through his companion's concerns. "Don't worry. I'm not going that far. I plan to move my smithy to the town of Beregost. If you keep buying from me, it'll only mean paying a little extra in shipping."

With his concerns exposed, Maz gave an awkward laugh, slowly sat back down, and resumed drinking and chatting as though nothing had happened.

Watching the scene, Zhang Yuan couldn't help falling into thought. He never would have expected that Talon, the smith from Beregost, was currently in Baldur's Gate—and happened to be sitting in the same tavern as him.

Talon was no ordinary smith. Calling him the greatest smith in all of Faerûn would be an exaggeration, but when it came to the smithing trade in Baldur's Gate and throughout the Sword Coast, Talon was unquestionably one of the top figures.

If the game's data was also reliable in this world, then several of the fine enchanted weapons and pieces of armor his character had once worn had been purchased from Talon. Zhang Yuan had no choice but to view this muscular middle-aged man with a ponytail in a new light. For nothing else, the fact that he could process a digging worm's shell into light yet sturdy magical armor was something only he could do.

However, what delighted Zhang Yuan most wasn't this chance encounter with the smith, but the other piece of information revealed by their conversation.

I'm actually a little dragon! RUA, YYFSSMDDX