Leon's gunpowder was born in Marca's apothecary.
He'd stumbled upon potassium nitrate and sulfur while organizing shelves, and charcoal was easy to come by—three key ingredients that had lingered in his memory from his former life. Back on Earth, he'd made gunpowder as a middle school student, after learning the formula from textbooks. His chemistry teacher had trusted him with lab keys for competitions, and he'd used the access to mix the substances out of curiosity.
The result had been underwhelming then—slow-burning, smoky, leaving black residue—and the same was true now. His otherworldly version was no more powerful, its main effect being a loud bang and thick smoke, similar to firecrackers. It was more spectacle than weapon, but it had served its purpose: impressing Im.
He'd never forgotten the chaos of his first attempt on Earth— a classmate had mixed gunpowder with phosphorus in a beaker, filling the lab with smoke. Another had burned himself when the mixture ignited in his hands. Those memories had made him cautious, but curiosity had won out. Now, he told Im the lie he'd perfected: "My master Eldrin taught me. He used it for signaling in the forest."
The loud "boom" of the wicker ball had drawn guards, but Flower waved them off. "Just my teacher practicing magic," he'd said, passing the blame to Im with a grin.
Leon turned back to Im, his heart racing. "What's the difference between mages and wizards?" he asked, seizing the chance to keep the conversation going.
Im leaned back, sipping tea. "To most people, there's none. But mages study the world's rules, understand magic's principles, and cast spells through knowledge. Wizards gain power by worshipping other beings—spirits, devils, even ancient artifacts. Priests, who serve gods, are a separate group. And sorcerers? They're born with magic in their blood, descendants of powerful magical creatures." He shrugged. "Categories don't matter much. What matters is how you use the power."
Leon nodded, then blurted out the question he'd been fearing: "Can I learn magic from you? Please."
Im raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to?"
"Magic is amazing. It lets you do things no one else can. And… it lets you control your own fate." The last words felt raw, honest— a truth he'd carried since Eldrin's death.
Im chuckled. "Control your fate? No one truly does. But you're bold, I'll give you that." He paused, studying Leon. "I don't want another student. Two are enough trouble."
Leon's shoulders fell. "I'm smart. I can read, I learn fast. And I can cook—better than the manor's chef! I'll bring you meals every day."
Dahlia and Flower chimed in, defending him. "He's quick to pick things up!" Dahlia said. Flower nodded: "Teaching three is no harder than two. We can help each other."
Im shook his head, but he didn't ask Leon to leave. Instead, he began his lesson—basic theories, math, explanations of the world's energy—while Leon pulled out a notebook and scribbled notes, clinging to the chance to listen.
For eight days, Leon arrived with breakfast, sitting quietly in the corner, absorbing everything. Im never chased him away, and Leon dared to hope. On the ninth day, after class, Im stopped him.
"You really want this, don't you?"
"Yes. More than anything."
Im tested him then—quizzing him on the lessons, asking follow-up questions Leon could answer easily, even the ones Im hadn't explicitly taught. "You're talented," Im admitted. "Even if your magic affinity is weak, your mind will take you far. But teaching has a cost. The lord pays a hundred gold coins a year for Dahlia and Flower—fifty each. If you can pay, you're in."
A hundred gold coins. Leon's family earned five or six a year now, with the bakery thriving. It would take two decades to save that much. He left the manor, his mind spinning, wondering how to bridge the gap.