Ok, what I’m trying to do is not exactly ‘easy-peasy.’ And much less ‘lemon-squeezy.’

But we have assessed that anchoring a spell matrix is doable, and that’s big.

If one point of the matrix is fixed, I could make it rotate on itself. Make it spin. But that’s not what I want, is it?

“Book, can I use the anchor to determine a fixed length in real space from the fixed point to where I want my spell? I mean, can I have the spell not move past a certain length from the anchor?”

This time, the book answers promptly, albeit still with a different calligraphy than what I’m used to.

‘Yes. You must create overlapping Mana paths supplied with enough energy to contrast the first spell matrix polarity.’

Ok, wow, that’s weird.

So, I can basically draw over the squiggly lines multiple times. Wow.

My brain is getting dizzy at the image, and I activate [Deep Focus].

Breathing slowly, I look at the spell matrix in the energy world generated by my other skill.

I start by anchoring the matrix with quite a bit of Mana, then draw thin lines from opposite starting points. As a result, the anti-matrix – that’s what I call the opposite version of it – is only half-charged compared to the main one.

I’ll spare you the description of the first attempts that didn’t generate any [Light] and simply made my Mana disappear into the void.

After half an hour, a small [Light] manifests, slowly travels to a few inches from where I imagined the anchor, and stops.

I’m a bit sweaty by now, and my brain is hurting. It took much more concentration than I had imagined. It was hard to coordinate the Mana in the anchor, the matrix, and the anti-matrix to create the desired effect.

The main problem during the process was understanding the fundamental difference between the spell matrix and the anti-spell matrix. Most of my attempts that actually generated [Light] first created [Lights] that simply traveled in the same direction of the polarity of the spell matrix but slower. The anti-matrix was simply slowing down the effect, but it wasn’t providing an anchor.

It turns out that to anchor the thing; you need to superimpose two different spell matrixes of the same spell. So, the anti-matrix turned out to be more stretched but still followed the same squiggly lines of the first matrix, for the most part. For example, imagine you had two eggplants. You need to make one eggplant smaller than the other and much more oblong because, as I’ve said, if you only follow the same paths, it will simply cancel the polarity of the other.

Now, if you stretch out the anti-eggplant outside the bigger eggplant boundaries and focus a lot of Mana into the tips of the anti-eggplant resting outside the actual eggplant... boom! There you go. You create a smaller opposing force that cancels out the first force after reaching the established boundary.

Man, you would imagine that executing the first goddamn Cantrip would be stupidly easy. Like, what the hell is going to be the twentieth Cantrip, huh? And what about the five-hundredth-and-twenty-third?

I feel like puking.

Whatever. Let’s focus on the matter at hand.

Now, I just need a second overlapping anti-anti-matrix to kick in the movement. Is it even correct to call it an anti-matrix if it doesn’t actually cancel the movement?

Stupid made-up nomenclature of mine.

I start casting again.

This time, I use the same principles I used for the anti-matrix and trace the squiggly lines perpendicularly to the first matrix. I try to moderate the amount of Mana I’m putting there to avoid creating a super-fast, seizure-inducing spinning [Light].

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

So, to recapitulate:

I have an anchor to avoid having a [Light] whose orbit expands infinitely and to avoid having an infinite number of vectors to generate a true and proper physics-based circular motion. Instead, being the smooth brain that I am, I basically anchored a ping-pong ball to a pole with a string, and now, I’m about to hit it with one hit.

And when I say ‘infinite number’ of vectors, it’s because this vector doesn’t really change its direction, meaning that after one-quarter of its travel, it will actually kind of stop if you just keep the vector there. If this doesn’t suffice, I’ll figure out the stable version with layers upon layers of matrixes later on. In the end, I could just figure out a rhythm to it and see how I can have vectors fire intermittently, I suppose. Four should suffice.

If you don’t understand, try imagining a vector that doesn’t change direction. When you reach one-quarter of the way of a circle, the vector is now pointing perpendicular to the circle, outside of it, but not in the direction you need the actual acceleration to go.

The solution? Do not create a constant acceleration as if it was a turbine, but just hit it once. Creating a force vector that acts like a ping-pong racket and slams the bejizzle out of the ping-pong ball while it’s anchored to a pole.

Science, baby. Wait—sorry, magic, baby!

In front of my eyes, a ball of [Light] starts going off. It’s slow and deliberate, unlike the deathly projectile I created the first time I tried moving a spell through its matrix. From the center, it slowly reaches the outer limit of the spell, already creating an expanding orbit.

As soon as it hits the limit I set, it starts circling around, making a beautiful, perfectly circular orbit. After that, it only goes as far as the perpendicular anti-matrix I created allows. As soon as its strength ends, it stops orbiting.

However, having no idea about how friction works in the magical world, I stare at it going for at least ten minutes before it silently poofs out of existence.

Well, that was something.

I deactivate both skills and let myself slowly fall onto the bed, exhausted. It’s not even eleven in the morning, but I’m already wiped. I’m not tapped out in terms of Mana, but my brain has been drained. So now, sitting on an empty tank, I enjoy the weird softness of my bed. I say ‘weird’ because I have still not figured out what this mattress is made of. It’s also quite a bit longer than a normal mattress. Probably because those stinky Elves are as tall as lamp posts.

Damn, my head hurts.

Like, do you know when you ask your girl what food she wants for dinner, and she says she isn’t hungry? You know it’ll be a mess because she is going to eat your food. But how do you solve your problem? You simply order more food, you might think, right? But are we all made of money, my friend? I don’t think so.

Anyway – I yawn – what’s the next order of business?

Can I finish up the first Cantrip? I just need to make another [Light] and—

...

I suddenly wake up with a startle, looking at the clock on top of my bed.

I slept ten hours straight.

I feel a hole in my stomach, and my head goes to Tiberius and Quintus. I told my pals to take care of the bread to distribute among the homeless, so I don’t necessarily need to get out before midnight, right?

Plus, is this the feeling of a full tank of Mana, or do I need to go to the bathroom?

...

Both, it turns out.

Anyway, I boil some water and call the spellbook to me as I chop some green onions. And when I say green, I mean green. Whatever. At least I’m pretty sure it’s not due to any weird colorant.

Plus, if these people don’t have pesticides, is everything essentially organic?

I suppose so.

But then, if you use [Green Mages]... is that bad for the produce?

See, this is the kind of stuff I should ask Agostina, honestly... But she would probably keep badgering me about marrying her niece, wouldn’t she?

Looking at the floating book at my side, I smile to myself. I look like a [Magical Chef], even though I haven’t really gotten any levels in culinary classes—which at this point clearly points to some weird secret. If I was the protagonist of some stupid book, I’d go around concerning myself with the root of this problem. But since I know that it would result in all kinds of problems, to hell with classes and levels. I’ll just cook as I used to on Earth.

I wonder about the book, though. It’s been acting a little erratically, no? It took quite a while to answer my questions, and then it changed font? Like, yo, what’s the matter with you? You good?

Maybe I should ask about it.

“Yo, book, isn’t it time for you to sleep too? Too much magic can do things to—”

And I get zapped.

How does this even work? Isn’t the curse supposed to work only when I don’t do things? Can’t I give some attitude to this conceited pile of papers?

I get zapped again while staring maliciously at the book, which, in exchange, makes some ink appear on its pages.

‘A great [Mage] has a magnanimous heart.’

The inked sentence makes me wish I had some magical matches to pair it with. But it is what it is, isn’t it?

I put some thinly cut Elven sausage in the pan and let it sweat. I look at its softness and find myself honestly quite satisfied with what these Elves have been doing with their meat.

I chop up the mushrooms and take a little branch of rosemary that I throw in with the sausage. As soon as the mushrooms are all nice and chopped up, they go into the pan with the rest.

Honestly, this isn’t anything fancy. I can’t be bothered to cook something complex right now. I’m just damn starving. In fact, I basically throw the half-cooked pasta from the pot into the pan to let it finish cooking amid the sausage and mushrooms.

I take the pan off the flame and stir it for good measure.

Goddamn, I’m hungry.

Is this because of magic?

Don’t care.

I slurp the fresh pasta and nod to myself.