My Struggle

Annan imagined that before long, he would master the Common Tongue, save enough money, and stun everyone with the results of his aptitude test. He would have the potential to master both magic and martial arts, and beautiful mentors, extraordinary divine beasts, godhood, Wealth, and status would follow in quick succession.

But even by the time he could spend all night discussing poetry, literature, philosophy, and history with Victor, he still wouldn't have saved enough for the aptitude test.

As for what the gray-robed mage had said about mages spending money like water, Annan hadn't even made it through the door yet.

Besides the Library and the tavern, Annan needed to find something else to do.

After a restless, sleepless night, Annan got up to begin a new day.

He made his way through Sunday crowds noisier than usual to the Library. As always, he dusted the place, then chose a biographical novel about a mage.

The birchwood bookmark he had bought for one copper coin was still tucked into page twelve of Geography of Reekan, but right now, Annan needed something interesting to counter his waning enthusiasm for dry facts.

Soon, Annan was absorbed in the plainly written biography, following the legendary mage through his childhood. When he looked up again, the minute hand of the mantel clock had reached the half-hour mark.

Mr. Victor hadn't come.

Thinking about how he would tease Victor later, Annan kept reading. When he looked up again, another ten-odd minutes had passed. Mr. Victor still hadn't come.

For a punctual, rule-abiding old man, that was almost unbelievable.

Rather than sit there any longer, Annan tore off a sheet of notepaper, scrawled "Temporarily closed. Looking for Victor" across it, and stuck it on the door.

He had just shut the Library door when a shadow fell over him. It was Lady Fine Wine's niece.

"Mr. Victor still hasn't come. Do you know where he went?"

"I don't." The robed girl's lead-gray eyes, their color visible in the sunlight, swept over the note on the door before returning to Annan. "But I know where he lives."

"Take me there."

Fortunately, the niece didn't refuse. She led Annan to Victor's home.

Along the way, Annan watched the route in case Victor had collapsed somewhere by the roadside. Perhaps some delinquent had cracked the cranky old man over the head, or perhaps he had slipped into a ditch.

They arrived at a detached house on the wealthy street the townsfolk jokingly called Guard Street. Little Winchester indicated that this was the place.

Annan stepped forward and knocked. Before long, familiar footsteps sounded behind the door.

Click—

Mr. Victor's perpetually stern face appeared behind it.

"You didn't go to the Library?" Annan's worry faded.

"The Library is closed today."

"You never told me." Annan had no idea the library even had a day off.

"Didn't I?"

"No."

"I'm telling you now."

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Annan thought he caught a glint of smug mischief in those slightly clouded eyes. There was nothing he could say. He bade Victor goodbye with a "Have a nice day," then left, casting a suspicious look at Little Winchester, who seemed to have known all along.

"You knew the Library was closed today?"

"You didn't tell me about you and my aunt, either."

"We..." Annan swallowed the words there's nothing between us. What if there really was something?

In any case, a day off without a cut in pay was a good thing.

Annan returned to the Library with Little Winchester, who was still following him. He pulled down the note, checked the windows and the basement door, then told her, "I'm about to lock up."

After watching the silent Little Winchester leave, Annan returned to Aunt Susan's house.

"Aunt Susan, I'm going out to visit a friend."

"Our little Annan is making friends now." Aunt Susan, who was hanging laundry out to dry, was about to call Martin, who was still asleep, but Annan stopped her.

He pocketed a few copper coins and asked Aunt Susan to rub some dirt on his face.

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"I will."

Annan waved as he left the yard and Pinglin Town, then followed the winding road to the hill before the Haunted Gold Mine.

Despite the bloody incident a week earlier, the Haunted Gold Mine hadn't closed. It was busier than ever—in the wake of that attack, the miners had unexpectedly found a nearly exhausted vein of ore. Even so, it could still bring in hundreds of coins.

After asking around and learning that Tasia was still there, Annan headed into the woods, relieved. He sat beneath the tree where she usually rested, its roots bare of weeds, and waited.

The patches of sunlight filtering through the canopy crept slowly across the ground. As noon arrived, miners began filing out of the Haunted Gold Mine.

At nearly two meters tall, Tasia stood out among them.

But as she drew closer, Annan frowned.

"You're hurt?"

Tasia's stride on her left side was short and awkward. Annan told her to stand still, crouched before her dirt-covered legs, and lifted the shackle.

A ring of raw, festering flesh encircled her thick ankle.

Catching the smell of rot, Annan said, "Your wound's infected... Wait here."

Annan ran to the shed and soon returned with a bowl of clean water. He tore off a corner of his clothing, dampened it, cleaned the wound, and bandaged it.

Tasia lowered her head and silently watched him do for her, a slave of another race, the lowly work of a servant.

"Phew... There."

Annan tied the bandage tight and stood, wiping the fine sweat from his brow. "Keep the shackles off the wound. Let it get air and sunlight. Better yet, find a way to get the shackles off."

"Why are you helping me?" the quiet Tasia asked. Her muffled voice was neither crisp nor pleasant.

"You were the first friend I made after coming here."

As for Aunt Susan's family... they were family.

Annan sat back down among the roots and patted the ground beside him. After a moment's hesitation, Tasia sat next to him and listened as he told her what had happened since he left the Haunted Gold Mine.

"...Now I work at the tavern and the Library, trying to save money... What about you?"

Then it was Tasia's turn. She said her foreman had died in the kobold warlock's fireball, but her slave contract remained. She had been sold to another foreman for seventy silver coins.

"Do you need money?"

Tasia reached into her pocket. About a dozen copper coins lay in her dirt-stained palm.

"I took them off the bodies."

"...Not right now." Annan shook his head and stood. "I have to go. I'll find a way to buy you."

That evening, Annan arrived at the tavern to find Michael, the gray-robed mage, there too.

"Just checking on how you're doing," Michael said in greeting.

But Annan had something else on his mind today. He went to ask the bard what kinds of stories were popular in this world.

"Very... straightforward," the bard said.

Annan confirmed that the next day at the Library.

These literary works had little in the way of twists or obstacles. Even the bestsellers had nothing much to offer. Books were written the same way they had been hundreds of years ago.

Thinking of the aptitude test and Tasia's wound, Annan wondered if he could write a book to get himself out of this predicament.

Then he could show it to the bard for his opinion.

As someone who earned his living singing and telling stories, the bard knew what kind of story people liked best.