“And done!”

It was the day after. The day he decided to finally give that tome of basic rune application a go. Which was a bit of relief. Since it meant that in the span of the week he managed to prioritize. That he hadn’t rushed into things. After all, as good practices went, proper procedure prevailed.

For example, besides appraising the tome, he hadn’t in so much of touching or worse, activating it. He did of course read it. Because, duh.

Yet, really attempting it, a total hand-in, dipped wet, was off-limit. Not until he got a clear understanding what it entailed. After all for the scroll, the [Appraisal] bespoke something unsettling —that it summoned sapient, thinking being. Somehow. Which was great if it was helpful. Not if they were even at the level of literal genie.

That why after exhaustive reading, cover to cover. He had determined that the tome were likely, possibily, might be ...safe. Probably. You never could be too sure. It differed a bit from the [Chronicle] runecraft in the way that the tome only contained the basic of basic —the first layer of the concept instead of prepackaged library ready to install.

Also instead of the games, doing all of the clicks for him. Now he needed to draw the whole schematic himself. Which, figures.

And it was fine. This was opportunity to learn about magic. Especially if what he suspected was true. Not to mention, he did need something practical from the book.

Opening the leather cover, he followed the first direction on his prepared note; turned the book to the seventh page. And there it was! On the lowermost third paragraph, just by the fourth’s first line indent, an image was depicted. Three rotating swirls that reminded him of a hurricane if it viewed from above.

Checking for possible errors —confirming the page number, the paragraph number, the subsection title, the preceding paragraph contents, and repeating it again for three times, he nodded. This was the right rune.

Thus, he lifted his quill and drew it down. Line by line. Dot by dot. Following the stroke regulation, the assembling protocol dictated on page three to a tee. Like a first year hanzi student he heeded the instruction without so much of a question. The strokes finished, he encompassed the whole thing in a circle (also dictated by page three) that he connected it to another double concentric circle via a twin pair of lines.

At once, as the quill dried of its last liquid ink, his mana plummeted. Bereft by the paper brown.

The whole ensemble glowed.

For a moment he stopped. Mesmerized. Beholden by the lines, by the shines.

Breathless, his eye contoured at the thing ebbing-dimming glow. He saw the blue, sparked around. Emitting and absorbing the remain of mana in inequal measure.

Now all he needed was to apply it. Giving it a jolt, a spark to let it function.

He sighed.

Actually, he didn’t really want to do this. Oh, the heating pad and the cooling box, they were wonderful. Although for the former it remained to be seen how the price fare against cheaper, widely available wood. This though, this grinder he intended to make, was something he rather not. High rpm was a workplace hazard. Flying sharp blade that capable to slice his neck in half? No thank you. He already had enough experience of that for three lifetimes.

Unfortunately, this medieval time didn’t leave him much of a choice. His preferred mode of apparatus —the coffee grinder— needed conical burr to work. Which with how their grooves and blades were shaped, were too intricate to be crafted by the local blacksmith in this town (they barely agreed on his commission after all),

And the alternative was stone mills. Which he refused to use without some form of automation. There was a thing called OHSE thank you.

So here he was, practicing the [Rotating] rune on the paper before trying to etch his soon-to-be grinder. Well, more like his soon-to-be-food-processor. But that was semantic.

Rubbing his index finger and the thumb together, he willed a little spark of mana, pushing it inside the double concentric ring. He saw it trawled, ripped through the connecting lines, before bursting —activating the runes.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“Well, at least it worked.”

The paper rotated five times before it was blown off to the side. Flying, swirling in the air. It swiveled ten more times before the spark of mana, the little he put, was sputtering out —letting gravity reined it hold. Allowing the paper to land on the floor several meters away.

For a proof of concept it could be judged as a success. After all, it did rotate. For the real thing however, besides the need of commissioning the parts and designing good safety mechanism, there exist another layer of complication. The rune needed to be small enough to be etched on the blade and he must make sure that he could get the drawing right in one try.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The tome's introductory warned that all lines drawn were permanent, so wrong curves meant wrong curves, meant wasted material, meant that he needed to commission the stuff again.

Picking up the flown paper, he flipped the tome to section three —the 25th pages for the second test. It depicted attaches; subsets. It was this numeral line, insetted in half circle to the rune itself to determine the rune's amount per unit of time. In this case how much rotation per one minute.

Picking up from where he left, he drew additional three diagonal left, indicating a thirty. A ten factor safe margin from the lowest setting commercially available. Which should be enough.

Putting the paper into a large basin, he hinted another spark, this one a cupful instead of a thimbleful he did for the proof of concept. And as the mana transfer finished, he closed the basin with a wire mesh lid topped with a heavy iron bar to made sure that the paper wouldn’t knock the lid off.

He took three steps back.

Just as the dampened clang began to sound, he saw it. The paper. It was rolling. First with perceivable rotation, the edges —the rune distinct, gleamed, readable as it turned left, up, right, and down.

Yet as time passed, the rotating imagery disappeared. Sped up. Creating illusory, unintelligible blur manifested as four runes as if they were starked, existing together.

And then, it came. The full power. All the four runes' images blended together, forming a smooth disc of gleaming blue. A circle that buzz with such speed it hit up the wire mesh and the basin wall with tangs and tangs for one glorious brief.

It worked.

[https://i.ibb.co/kHLk3wt/Line-Break.png]

"[Appraisal]."

It had been three days, and all his commissioned items were more or less finished. So here he was, doing the final check. Making sure all the established protocols were followed, all material prepared. Although even he’d admit this last protocol was a bit excessive. Appraising his quill. After all where in the world he’d found other special, shining quill that came together with his special, shining tome? Well, with how magic existed —at least one in every town, maybe in every stationery shop. So yeah.

Well. at least it was a bit relaxing. The appraisal he meant. It was weird, but knowing that there existed higher entities that somehow verified the all inner working of reality for certain came as great comfort for him. Not all people could be sedated by ‘it worked in mysterious way’ after all.

[Quill of Easy Etching - Basic I]

Designed by [Runemaster] (REDACTED), the Quill of Easy Etching - Basic I was the first of its series, forged in the deepest fire of (REDACTED) boon. It enables burgeoning apprentice of runecraft to draw rune on mundane and tier 1 material directly.

[Otherworldly Traveler]

Bypassing the common runecrafting process (etching and/or engraving).

Nodded, he put a checkmark on the to-do. The quill was the last of his item list which included heavy iron disk spaced to a rod, ready to be drawn; the design blueprint, triple-checked; the container, a thick heavy slabs of cube made from the hardest stone he could find; the curved blades, hollowed on the base; and finally a plate of copper square, latched with twin wires.

“Easy, easy…”

He said, slowly drawing. The quill tip glowed as he copied every line to the heavy disk bottom, seeing it etched, taking shape. The grooves slowly carved, five millimeters deep. With each move, each caught trembling hand, he took and made sure, breath held, that he had the exact dimensionality down.

“Phew.”

He looked at the lines, the rune, the numeral; the everything. It glowed dim, a bit brighter than the paper one, perhaps because it took like three times more mana. He observed it for slightest perceivable deviation. Salvageable deviation. He prepared three sets of the disk just in case, but it seemed he got it right the first time.

Thank God. Perhaps he could get three grinders? Well, one could hope.

The first part done, he gently lifted the disk to another table, putting it inside a box, and safely store it for later. For now, he moved to the next part; drawing the powering mechanism —the copper square.

Which was easier in comparison, because for it he only needed to draw the double concentric ring instead of the whole rune schematic.

“I hope this works.”

Finished with the powering mechanism, he took back the disk. Putting the slabs on the mounting, hollowed table. Then he connected the copper wires to the base plate and donning his thick leather gloves, he opened the box and attached the blades into the rod pole. Making sure it tightened before putting back the lid.

“Here goes nothing.”

He opened the inventory window, taking one of the mana pebbles —the roundest and the most polished he had before putting it on the powering mechanism.

Then, with just a little spark, glove off, he turned it on.

—and practically leaped to the back.

Bzzzz….

FwumpFwumpFwumpFwump. Fwump. Fwump. Fwuuump.

Shwooooosh.

His hand holding a long wooden stick a meter far, ready to move the pebble at one wrong sound. His feet were mere half meter from the opened door, one step from moment notice —the moment when the spinning death blade broke the stone thick slab and flew across the room, reaching for his neck.

Yet as the time passed, minutes by minutes, nothing —none. The hour bell tolled and tolled. From his chair, hands aching and eyes red, he saw the pebbles had distinctly become smaller. At least by half.

The blades kept their regular shwoosh and wooosh, not once he heard a peep of irregular whack nor thwack. Finally, as another bell tolled, his hand washed, holding a toasted koshi, he saw the last bit of the pebble crack. Exhausted, he was assured that the grinder was safe.

Sidelining the crumbs from the powering mechanism, he waited around three minutes to allow the blade to stop completely. Hearing no sound, he opened the thick stone slab and saw the blades; spinning slow and more importantly still attached.

Satisfied. He moved the grinder to the corner alongside the heating pad he made before. Which were simpler, just copper wires and a mounting mechanism for the heat to transfer. Although, he still needed to use the wooden pole, albeit the smaller one to deactivated it, since the tome somehow didn’t give on/off switch.

So he stuck with doing quick and dirty method, which was removing the power source.

All in all, the grinder was a success. Taking off the gloves he headed for the bath. A wash —a fifteen minutes soak before sleeping.

Tomorrow he could finally start. Attempting the potion.