Leon's sketching wasn't for art—it was for rune carving. Im had told him understanding runes wasn't enough; steady hands were essential. Uneven lines disrupted mana flow, leading to failed arrays or mana backlash.
So Leon practiced lines—endless lines.
He'd invented pencils himself: mixing graphite and clay for the core, encasing it in carved wood. Valoka Guild sold them as a cheap alternative to fountain pens, though Eunice cared little for the low-profit item. It was just a way to round out their product line.
Leon's practice was monotonous. He drew vertical lines from top to bottom, spacing them millimeters apart, until the page was filled. Then he rotated the pad and drew horizontal lines, covering the paper in a grid. He kept going until both sides were black with graphite, turning the paper into a makeshift transfer sheet.
Years of this—hundreds of pencils worn down to stubs—had made his hands steady as a rock. He could draw parallel lines a third of a millimeter apart without them touching. He could create lines that tapered evenly from thick to thin, or spiral patterns that filled the page without overlapping.
Im had praised his precision, calling it "supernatural." But Leon's actual sketches were mediocre at best—geometric shapes were perfect, but anything living looked stiff and lopsided. He'd never mastered shading or composition, unlike the artists he'd admired online in his old life.
Today, he drew Big Cyan and the cows, his lines quick and functional. The ox's muscles were too bulky, the cows' legs too thin, but it was recognizable.
Dahlia's voice made him jump. "What are you drawing? Don't tell me that's a cow."
Leon turned, his cheeks flushing slightly. He'd been lost in thoughts of genetics and lineage, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. Dahlia had grown into a pretty young woman, her features softening as she matured, her mana giving her a quiet, intelligent aura. But Leon saw her as a sister—she was still too slender, too innocent.
"It's not a cow," he lied, flipping the sketchpad. "It's a design."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "A design for what? A cow-horn stool?"
"No horns, no cow," Leon insisted, scrambling for an excuse. Then inspiration struck.
He grabbed his pencil, sketching over the cow's legs, straightening them into thin, cylindrical shapes. He added circles at the bottom, crisscrossing lines inside to form wheels. He extended the cow's horns upward and outward, turning them into handlebars. He flattened the cow's back into a seat, erasing unnecessary details and darkening the lines with his pencil.
As he worked, he smudged the graphite to create shadows, making the object look three-dimensional. It was as if the design had been waiting in his mind, just needing a push to emerge.
Dahlia leaned closer, her eyes widening. "What is that?"
Leon stared at the sketch—a two-wheeled vehicle, powered by the rider's legs. A bicycle.
"I call it a bicycle," he said, grinning. "You sit here, push the pedals, and it moves. No horse, no mana—just your own strength."
Dahlia traced the wheels with her finger. "Would it really work? Two wheels seem unstable."
Leon nodded, his adult mind recalling the physics of balance and momentum. "It's all about keeping it moving. Once you're going, it stays upright. And it's faster than walking, easier to carry than a horse."
He thought of the possibilities: traveling between Sarneth Town and the valley faster, carrying small loads without relying on Big Cyan or horses. It would be useful for the bakery, for delivering pens, for exploring the mountains.
"I can build it," Leon said, excitement building. "Use wood for the frame, iron for the wheels and pedals. The blacksmith in Sarneth can forge the parts."
Dahlia smiled, her skepticism fading. "Can I help? I want to see if it works."
"Sure," Leon said, handing her the sketchpad. "We'll need strong wood—oak or ash. And the wheels need to be sturdy, with spokes to support the weight."
Big Cyan let out a low moo, as if demanding attention. The original cow nuzzled him again, and Leon rolled his eyes. "Even the cow's jealous of my invention."
Dahlia laughed, tapping the sketch. "Let's start tomorrow. I'll ask Flower to help—he's good with his hands."
Leon nodded, watching Big Cyan. The ox's recovery, the mine's wealth, the bicycle—everything was falling into place. He thought of Eldrin's journal, of the ancient ruins waiting to be explored.
With resources, allies, and now a new invention, they were more prepared than ever.
He glanced at the bicycle sketch, then at the mountains in the distance. "Let's build it. And when we're done, we'll test it on the road to Sarneth. Then… we'll head for the ruins."
Dahlia's eyes lit up. "Really? We're ready?"
Leon smiled, thinking of the Mana Stones, the crystals, Big Cyan's strength. "Almost. Just a few more preparations. And this bicycle? It'll make the journey easier."
As the sun set, Leon packed his sketchpad and pencil. He walked back to the cottage, already planning the bicycle's design—adjusting the frame size, calculating the wheel diameter, thinking of how to attach the pedals.
This was the joy of his second life: combining his old-world knowledge with Etho's magic and resources, creating something new, something useful.
Eldrin had taught him to adapt, to survive. Im had taught him magic, to grow stronger. Now, Leon was forging his own path—one invention, one adventure, one promise at a time.
The bicycle was just the next step. The ruins were waiting. And Leon was ready to keep his word.