Staring at the group of over a dozen people crowded inside the store, Archie quickly recognized a few of them as individuals who had come in over a week ago for a refund.

At the time, Archie had made it abundantly clear: if they chose to return their purchase and buy a magical air conditioner elsewhere, Mechanica House would not be responsible for maintaining it if issues arose.

Now, these same people were back with problems, demanding repairs. Their audacity was astounding.

“We’re willing to pay for the repairs,” one of them pleaded. “The air conditioner is still pretty new. It just needs a bit of fixing, right?”

This was classic self-deception.

Shaking his head, the sleep-deprived Archie replied,

“It’s not just a repair issue. The problem is that you bought a knockoff. The entire unit is flawed.”

Karien had anticipated this situation in advance and explained to Archie the inherent problems with counterfeit air conditioners.

Although Archie wasn’t highly educated, he had diligently used a sound-lock device to replay Mr. Sixteen’s detailed explanations hundreds of times. Even with his limitations, he had memorized them word-for-word.

“Counterfeit air conditioners might work fine when it’s not too hot, but if high temperatures persist, the magic array on the magical chip will overwork itself.

“The core of a magical air conditioner is the Frost Mist spell, which, like any spell, requires magical elements to function.

“In the capital, the air is relatively rich in magical elements, so the Frost Mist spell can draw directly from the environment.

“Since this is a consumer-grade device, its consumption of magical elements is usually minimal. However, the hotter it gets, the more magical elements the spell needs to cool the air.

“The chip’s size is limited, and the array has its maximum capacity. Once it exceeds that limit, the effectiveness of the Frost Mist spell deteriorates until it stops working entirely.”

After Archie’s explanation, someone asked,

“Then why don’t Mechanica House’s magical air conditioners have the same problem?”

Archie walked over to one of their magical air conditioners, patting its sturdy casing as he spoke.

“The magical air conditioners from Mechanica House aren’t just about the core chip. The metal casing is designed to work seamlessly with the chip.

“It ensures that no magical elements are wasted and that the chip operates at maximum efficiency without overloading.

“Maybe if the temperature soared to something extreme, like oven-level heat, even our air conditioners would fail. But for a typical summer like this, maintaining a cool environment isn’t an issue at all.”

While most of the group didn’t fully grasp Archie’s technical jargon, they understood one thing: the casing of a magical air conditioner was crucial.

Previously, they had assumed that the premium models were only better-looking. Now they realized the casing was an integral part of the system.

INSIDE THE BACK ROOM

Karien watched through a small window as Archie managed to placate the crowd. A faint smile appeared on his face.

In truth, although the casings of Mechanica House’s magical air conditioners were 99% standard metals like iron and alloys, Karien had incorporated a small amount of Stormsteel into them.

While Stormsteel wasn’t as stable as Primal Stone when used in magical arrays, it was incredibly versatile and could be shaped into any form.

Karien had forged Stormsteel into thin strips and welded them inside the casing.

These strips were engraved with simple light-and-dark patterns, though they were hidden deep within the structure and practically invisible under normal circumstances.

The purpose of these patterns was straightforward: to direct the flow of air and magical elements, ensuring that the chip received an optimal supply.

When the spell was activated, the patterns also distributed the chilled mist in a controlled and efficient manner.

More importantly, the patterns guided wind and water elements—the two key components of the Frost Mist spell. Other elements weren’t entirely excluded, but their ratios were significantly reduced.

It was a concept Karien had experimented with before, like in the magical hairdryer he provided to Horace. However, in this case, the design was simpler and more focused.

By optimizing the Frost Mist array’s efficiency and reducing energy loss, the enhancements worked much like upgrading from a basic iron wheel to a rubber-tired one: the same function, but faster and more durable.

The casing design had been the result of countless experiments and a significant investment. Karien had even tested the air conditioners by exposing them to open flames to determine their limits.

After rigorous testing, he ensured that his magical air conditioners could reliably cool rooms in temperatures up to 50 degrees Celsius.

Such meticulous engineering wasn’t something others could easily replicate.

This was why Karien wasn’t afraid of counterfeiters. His products were the culmination of relentless experimentation and precision manufacturing, standardized for mass production.

Not only were his costs lower, but the quality variance between units was minimal.

Even better, his factory was hidden in a secluded valley, making it nearly impossible for competitors to uncover his production methods.

As long as this advantage was maintained, Mechanica House would remain the market leader, no matter how many knockoffs appeared.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, Karien turned to leave through the back door.

But then he overheard the group out front muttering,

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Damn it, we regret this so much. Who would’ve thought those knockoff air conditioners were made by an Abongian?”

An Abongian?

Karien froze for a moment.

The only Abongian he knew was Arij.

Arij, a peer of Karien’s, had left a lasting impression with his exceptional engraving skills.

Although they weren’t particularly close, they had once worked together at the Gallon Research Institute. Karien had been in the Magical Theory Department, while Arij was in Engraving.

The two departments occasionally collaborated, giving Karien a few opportunities to interact with Arij.

Arij came across as introverted and, at times, even self-deprecating. Likely due to his status as an outsider, he faced constant marginalization in the Engraving Department.

Similarly, Karien, who lacked magical talent, had experienced his fair share of discrimination in the Magical Theory Department. If not for his mentor, Owen, shielding him, Karien wouldn’t have lasted three years at the institute as an ordinary person.

This shared sense of alienation gave Karien a faint sense of camaraderie with Arij.

Leaning by the small window, Karien continued listening to the group’s complaints.

Soon, he pieced together the story: the person responsible for counterfeiting his magical air conditioners was likely Arij—or at least, Arij had handled the engraving for the chips.

However, given Arij’s timid and self-conscious nature, Karien doubted he could have assembled and marketed the counterfeit air conditioners on his own.

Then Karien heard another name: Bande.

With that, everything clicked.

Bande had long coveted Mechanica House’s magical air conditioners. It was entirely plausible that he had persuaded Arij to collaborate on producing knockoffs.

Understanding the situation, Karien walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out some stationery.

SOUTHERN DISTRICT POLICE STATION

Several officers were sitting around, discussing how to divvy up their latest “bonuses.”

A middle-aged man with a shiny forehead and a bulbous nose walked in.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Tumbler,” one officer said, turning around with mock surprise. “Word is you’ve been making a killing lately!”

Holding a smoking pipe, Simon Tumbler chuckled. “Hardly. Just scraping by.”

Leaning on the desk, the officer arched an eyebrow and asked,

“So, what brings you here? Got a business opportunity for your little brother?”

Simon smiled and placed a fine leather pouch on the table.

“I’m here to post bail.”

“For who?” the officer asked, intrigued.

Simon’s smile widened.

“For an Abongian.”

With his hood pulled up, the gaunt and wiry Arij followed a middle-aged man and asked cautiously,

"Who are you, and why did you bail me out?"

As he stepped out of the detention center, Arij had overheard an officer mentioning that someone had paid 200 gold coins for his bail—a hefty sum by any measure.

Besides his mentor, Arij couldn't think of anyone who would spend that much money to free him. But his mentor had been reassigned to the northern district a month ago, which was also why the research institute had dismissed him.

"The one who bailed you out isn't me," replied the man.

"Then who is it?"

The bald-headed Simon, biting down on his pipe, walked ahead and said, "You'll find out soon enough."

They passed through a stretch of woods, eventually arriving at a quaint wooden cabin. Simon exhaled a puff of smoke, pointing at the cabin with his pipe. "He's waiting for you inside. Go on in."

This only deepened Arij's confusion. He cast a sidelong glance at Simon before cautiously approaching the wooden cabin.

The cabin wasn't large but was exquisitely designed, with a small courtyard enclosed by a fence. Various medicinal herbs were growing around it. Arij treaded carefully on the cobblestone path leading to the cabin's wooden door.

As he raised his hand to knock, a voice came from inside.

"Come in."

Startled, Arij hesitated before slowly pushing the door open. Inside, he saw a figure cloaked in black robes, wearing a mask adorned with a strange symbol. Something about that symbol seemed familiar to Arij.

"Have a seat."

The figure, who was now scrutinizing him, spoke again. Arij hesitated before lowering himself onto the seat cautiously.

"My name is Sixteen," the man said, his voice calm yet firm. "I’m the bishop of the Church of Mechanica in the capital."

The moment he finished speaking, Arij shot to his feet, his face pale as he turned to flee. Only now did he remember where he had seen the symbol on the mask. It was etched on the circuit of a chip he had once replicated—a design that marked it as property of the Church of Mechanica.

Realizing he had stolen a pivotal magical chip from the Church, Arij knew he was in deep trouble.

Just as he was about to bolt, Sixteen snapped his fingers.

A loud explosion sounded outside the cabin, stopping Arij in his tracks. He stumbled back in shock and fell to the floor.

"No need to panic," Sixteen said, tapping the wooden table lightly with his fingers. "I won't harm you, but if you try to run, things might get... complicated."

The underlying threat in his tone made Arij freeze. Slowly, he turned to face the bishop, fear evident in his eyes.

Sixteen hadn’t even drawn a magic circle to cast that spell. This was no ordinary mage. As a mere second-tier mage, Arij knew he was powerless against such a figure. Attempting to flee would likely end in his death.

Swallowing his fear, Arij bent low, almost bowing.

"I’m truly sorry. I was desperate and foolishly trusted that crooked merchant. I’ll do everything I can to make amends. Please, forgive me!"

Sixteen didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable behind the mask. While Arij’s mistake was serious, the bishop knew that wrongdoings couldn’t go unpunished, even if they had once worked together.

"And how do you plan to make amends?" Sixteen finally asked.

After a pause, Arij raised his head and replied, "I’m a recorder—a scribe specializing in inscribing magical arrays—and I possess affinity with all elemental attributes. I can replicate almost any second-tier magic array flawlessly. If you need any of my skills, I’ll offer them as compensation."

Sixteen’s composure faltered momentarily. All-elemental affinity?

What kind of talent did the heavens bless this fool with?!

Clearing his throat to hide his astonishment, Sixteen asked, "So your magical aptitude is... exceptional?"

Arij shook his head. "Not really. While I have all-elemental affinity, most are at three-star or four-star levels. My talent is average at best."

Three or four stars is average? Then what does that make me, with zero stars?!

Suppressing his internal frustration, Sixteen retrieved a magical chip from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"This chip—did you replicate it?"

Arij glanced at it briefly and nodded. "It’s likely mine. I sincerely apologize—I shouldn’t have used such methods to make money."

"Your replication work is flawless. Do you understand the array’s design?"

"Not at all," Arij admitted, shaking his head. "This chip contains the most intricate and incomprehensible array I’ve ever encountered. It doesn’t even resemble traditional magical arrays.

"But despite its complexity, the Frostmist Array allows ordinary people to wield magic. The ingenuity behind its design is beyond my grasp. My replication succeeded only because my primary job at the Gallon Research Institute was copying arrays. Even if I don’t fully understand them, I can replicate any second-tier array with perfect precision."

Impressive.

Sixteen nodded approvingly before continuing. "Because of you and that merchant, Bander, our Mechanica House has suffered almost no sales in the past two weeks. Our losses are estimated at over ten thousand gold coins.

"While Bander bears most of the blame, your actions weren’t harmless either. Leaving you in custody wouldn’t help us recover our losses, nor would it benefit anyone.

"That’s why I paid for your release. First, to make you take responsibility, and second, to offer you a new path."

Arij’s curiosity piqued. "A new path? What do you mean?"

"Before I explain, are you interested in hearing the ideals of the Church of Mechanica?"

Do I have a choice? Arij thought bitterly. But outwardly, he smiled nervously. "Of course, Sixteen."

Satisfied, Sixteen launched into a passionate explanation of the Church’s philosophy. Unlike other faiths, the Church of Mechanica didn’t preach blind devotion to a deity. Instead, it emphasized technological innovation and personal effort as the keys to progress.

Although most of it went over Arij’s head, he was surprised by the church’s pragmatic approach.

When the sermon ended, Sixteen asked, "Would you consider joining the Church? Here, you could hone your talents and earn a decent income."

Arij hesitated. While he felt guilty about his crimes and wanted to atone, joining a new faith for redemption conflicted with his own beliefs.

Noticing Arij’s unease, Sixteen chuckled. "If you’re not comfortable joining, that’s fine. You can still work here."

Sixteen hadn’t expected Arij to convert. This was more about practice for his preaching skills.

"From now on, you’ll work in this cabin, completing the inscription tasks I assign. Your monthly salary will be 100 gold coins, but 80% of it will go toward repaying the 2,000 gold coins you owe us for damages."