I was not one to sit around and wait for the Founders to bless me with their non-existent favor. The miners would not return until sunset, and I was not meeting with Baron Markov until early tomorrow morning, which gave me hours of free time.

Aresford had begun to fill out when I stepped into the streets, though it was far from busy. A thin coating of dust covered everything, from the ground beneath my feet to the windows of nearby buildings. A stench of fire was carried on the air, mixed with a metallic tang as the nearby smiths prepared ingots of iron, copper, silver, and even gold.

The city's economy ran entirely off the mines dug into the mountains. Most people worked as miners, stonemasons, and laborers, preparing shipments for the rest of the kingdom. The wealthiest owned these businesses and mines, and those were all nobles, usually earth and metal mages.

I had learned all those details years ago, under Girem's tutelage, but time had blurred the details. However, Julian was a man who seemed to favor preparation more than I thought at first glance, and the readings he gave me jostled those memories free.

I paused by an open warehouse, glancing inside and watching men pile stacks of dark metal bricks onto a wooden cart. Iron, judging by the hue. A scan revealed lines of glowing mana embedded into the boards underneath, reinforcing it to withstand hundreds of pounds of weight.

Not for the first time, my thoughts turned to my attempts at replicating the strengthening of magical creatures. I had often wondered why we could not accomplish that feat and the difference between our species. The logical conclusion seemed simple enough.

There was none.

There was a saying that went along the lines of "The simplest answer is often the correct one." In this case, it seemed plausible that it was possible, and we had not figured out the process. I fully intended to be the first. It just might take me a little longer.

I continued on my way, reaching into my bag and brushing my fingers on one of the vials inside. Initially, it had been three-quarters full of blood taken from my finger. Now, only a thimble remained, clinging to the sides of the glass.

That resulted from attempting to push and fuse mana with the blood in a mimicry of the purification technique taught to me in Forging. When I had done so, it had almost immediately begun to degrade. Parts boiled and bubbled, as if under an open flame, while others simply vanished like mists in the morning sun.

I had no idea why it reacted like that, and my subsequent few attempts had gone similarly. I tried reducing the volume of mana and moving more gradually, but the end result was the same. Nearly all the blood vanished, leaving only dredges behind.

Was this just with blood, or was it all tissue? What would happen when my mana grew denser? And were there any improvements to the remaining bits that survived the process? I needed to experiment further.

Really, the only thing I confirmed was that I would not survive the process without careful preparation. No ordinary human could lose almost all of their blood and survive.

"Apprentice Vayne?" a voice said, breaking me from my thoughts. I jumped, turning and finding a man standing not far away. He was dressed in a dark suit, better than most commoners and worse than a noble. His eyes stared at me, and he had what I could only describe as apathy personified on his face.

I recovered, plastering a firm look on my face. I was a mage representing the Academy and had to act like one. If you looked like a person someone could take advantage of, someone would.

"Who is asking?" I said, meeting his eyes and keeping my tone level.

"Baron Markov," he responded, and I blinked a few times, "He heard that you arrived early and wished to meet with you immediately. He's a busy man, as I'm sure you can appreciate."

That was unexpected. Most nobles would prefer to leave me waiting, but this one seemed eager to meet now. I was unprepared, but that might also be his intention.

I paused, running the mana into the ring around my finger and cleaning myself off in an instant. If I could not avoid this, I might as well look presentable.

"Lead the way."

----------------------------------------

The Markov 'estate' was, funnily enough, about the size of the Estton servant's quarters. A dozen or so rooms laid out in a rectangular, two-story building with a slanting roof, half-crumbled stone walls, and a small metal gate did not present an image of wealth.

The guard standing outside noticed our arrival and gave my guide a single nod before stepping to one side. As we walked through the narrow hallways, I looked around using both my physical and magical senses.

The foyer was oval-shaped, with busts of ancestors circling the room. I saw faded plaques underneath each, naming them and briefly scanned each. One had a crack on the front of its face, and another looked to be missing an ear. The floors looked dull and unpolished, with a few deep scratches. The rug was stained and frayed at the edges.

We walked down a long hallway, past portraits of family members that hung from the walls. Their frames looked scuffed, and they sat at awkward angles like someone jarred them and did not care to fix them. More than once, I passed the outline where someone must have hung but now stood empty.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Most notable of all was the mana, or rather the lack of it. I had expected a noble to have dozens of spells and enchantments layering their home to protect and maintain it. That is what I would do, at least. But besides hints of earth mana, possibly from the Baron himself, there was nothing.

I took all of this information in during the few minutes it took to walk from the entrance upstairs and to the door of the Baron's office. My training with Girem had taken over, and I filed all of it away, not knowing if it would come in handy. But as my mentor might say, the more you knew about your enemies, the greater your hold over them.

The office was small, square, and comfortable, with a fireplace, expensive carpets, and a few sofas and heavy chairs in a half-circle. There were a few tables, and various knick nacks along the walls, but it looked sparse in places like the rest of the estate.

Baron Markov himself sat in an oversized seat. He appeared like a man who had once exercised regularly but had long since taking up eating and drinking instead. Even sitting, I could tell the man was a full head taller than me, and his shoulders retained a broad set with a round gut spilling over his scuffed belt. His shirt strained at the seams, sweat beaded on his forehead and his cheeks looked red and swollen as if he had a fever.

But even as he drew long, unsteady breaths, I felt a palpable weight of earth mana hanging over me. I doubted he could shroud it, but if he could, he did not bother. If I had to guess, it was in the higher ranks of a gaseous state, almost powerful enough to physically affect the world just by exerting his full power.

"So, you are the apprentice sent by the Academy? A pleasure, I'm sure," he asked abruptly, staring at me with beady eyes the color of rocks soaked in water.

I put on a smile, falling into my training over the years, and bowed low, responding, "Yes, my lord. I am deeply honored to meet you, Baron Markov. I am Vayne, an apprentice-"

Markov grunted, flicking one hand to his servant, who pulled out another of the comfortable-looking chairs. I straightened, took the offered seat, and folded my hands in my lap, waiting. The Baron was my social superior, and I should not speak unless in response.

Besides that, this was a negotiation, and Girem always said to let the other person talk more. The more they spoke, the likelier they would show their hand.

The Baron sat forward, grabbing a dull silver goblet from a nearby table and taking a long drink before setting it back down with a sigh. I remained silent, suspecting this was an attempt to make me uncomfortable.

"A few months ago, a messenger from the Academy arrived, asking about my ancestor. Apparently, one of the masters at your school was intrigued and offered a sizeable sum for his notes. I was happy to oblige and agreed to trade it for two thousand gold pieces." he said finally, leaning even further back in his chair.

I already knew how much Julian planned to spend, but my eyes still nearly widened involuntarily. Two thousand gold was a fortune, more than an entire family of commoners might earn across several generations. Even a noble could not spend that frivolously.

All at once, the pieces clicked into place. Markov's family were earth mages, and one particular subskill of the element was gravity magic. While he was not an expert at the skill, his great-grandfather was.

Julian was trying to improve flying magic, and learning to manipulate gravity had myriad uses for that goal. Making yourself light as a feather was one, but I could think of several other possible applications. Maybe if I did a good job, Julian would let me take a peek. All I had to do was make sure this trade went through without any problems.

I smiled and said, "Excellent, my lord. I can retrieve your gold now, and-"

"I'm afraid there's been a change," he said, cutting me off. I felt his mana flex, and a grunt slipped out, drawing a smirk from the man.

He kept his gaze on me for another few seconds before the energy subsided, continuing, "I had intended to agree to our trade, but the last few weeks have given me valuable perspective. And I'm afraid our original deal can no longer stand."

I froze, blinking a few times. That was not unheard of, but it was looked upon unfavorably to break an existing deal, even if a better one came along. A noble's word was their honor, and that was one of the few things that bound them.

After a second, I relaxed, putting a polite, neutral expression on my face and saying, "Forgiveness, my lord, but am I to understand you wish to break our deal?"

"Not entirely." he said, waving a hand dismissively, "I want you to make me a better offer. One where we both benefit. I'd hate to think I was taking advantage of an apprentice such as yourself."

His eyes glittered, and again his mana flexed, though not as much as before. So, that was his plan.

Markov had summoned me early when he knew I was expecting to meet tomorrow. He had brought me to his personal study, interrupted me, and flexed his position and personal power. All of that spoke to an attempt to intimidate and disorient.

This was all to force me into making a bad offer. One that suited his needs and not mine. Unfortunately for him, I had a measure of the man now.

I sat back, smiling, and said, "Apologies, but I have not had anything to drink in hours. May I?"

Markov raised an eyebrow but nodded, and his servant scampered forward. He produced a cup, filled it halfway, and handed it to me. I took a long, lazy sip, savoring the taste and sighing. It gave me a few seconds to think and brought an uncomfortable silence onto the room.

"I came here with an understanding that we would trade your journal for two thousand gold pieces. And I am still willing to fulfill that initial deal. What I am not interested in is altering things last minute." I said, trying to channel Girem. He would not bend so quickly, and neither would I.

"Try to understand it from my point of view. Two thousand gold is simply too low for my ancestor's secrets. You're asking me to trade invaluable information for a pittance. But I could part with it for...double." he said, trying to put a friendly, grandfatherly smile on his face. If I had not seen the greed lurking at the edge of his eyes, it might have been more convincing.

Truthfully, if Julian's experiments proved successful, that might still end in a profit. But it was also twice as much gold as I had to spend.

I met the Baron's eyes and weighed my options. Truthfully, there was only one I had before me.

So, I stood, smoothed the front of my shirt, met his gaze, and smiled politely.

"I am afraid I have to refuse your offer then, my lord."

He sputtered for a moment, his eyes widening, and I continued, "I had hoped to complete our initial deal, and I will still gladly do so, at the agreed-upon two thousand pieces. If you decide as much, I am staying at the Pale Pauper near the main entrance to Aresford."

He still had not spoken, and I bowed again. When I rose, I said, "Thank you for your time, my lord. And have a good evening."

Then, I turned and walked from the room, leaving the Baron behind me to consider my offer.