Chapter 92: Creating Business Opportunities

The arduous practice of arcane arts placed an immense strain on Joann’s mind and body. While the fatigue of the spirit could be alleviated through meditation and sleep, the prolonged lack of physical exercise seriously undermined his health, rendering him increasingly frail and susceptible to illness with every change of season.

After a week of sleepless, obsessive research into spells, Joann had lost five pounds; his already slender frame now seemed so fragile that a strong wind might topple him. The pallor of his skin, caused by a long deprivation of sunlight, took on a sickly hue. Past experience warned Joann that persisting in such a lifestyle would surely bring him to illness. It was time to set aside his books for a while and engage in labor that demanded more of his body than his mind. He needed to regulate his diet and schedule, train himself properly, and lay a sound foundation of health for the next stage of his studies.

In the past, when Joann needed exercise, he would take Jamie hunting in the hills behind town. But now, with Gray handling most of the hunting, his presence would be of little use. Instead, he considered turning to some more skillful work—magical craftsmanship, for instance.

The world of Vares was awash with magical items, too many to count. When people appraised the quality of a magical apparatus, they generally adhered to two customary standards: first, the highest level of spell employed in its creation; second, the monetary cost of its manufacture. These two factors complemented one another—the higher the spell level, the greater the expense.

By these unwritten standards, magical apparatuses in Vares could be classified into five tiers: minor, intermediate, advanced, legendary, and artifact. Minor magical items used spells of no higher than the third circle and cost no more than 5,000 gold coins; intermediate items used up to sixth-circle spells and cost no more than 50,000; advanced apparatuses used spells up to the ninth circle, with a price ceiling of 500,000. Legendary items and artifacts were vanishingly rare, never sold openly in the market, and ordinary folk could not begin to guess at the means or cost of their creation. To call them “priceless treasures” would not be exaggeration.

Joann was but a second-level mage, with a paltry sum available for enchanting. Whether measured by his spellcasting ability or his finances, he could only attempt the lowest of minor magical items—such as a “Face-shield.”

Poverty brings clarity. Joann had neither the money nor the idle fancy to create self-indulgent works like the Face-shield, without a thought for their sale. His ideal project had, first and foremost, to be practical, and second, to possess immediate commercial value.

After careful deliberation, Joann set his sights on one of Derlin Town’s celebrated local products: furs.

Two days later, with a letter prepared in advance, Joann pushed open the door of the Derlin Town Leather Shop, heart beating with a mix of hope and anxiety.

It was early morning; there were no other customers. Mr. Longfellow, having just finished his breakfast, was whistling as he swept the floor. On seeing Joann enter, he greeted him warmly, offered him tea, and gazed at him with undisguised curiosity.

Joann guessed that Mr. Longfellow was observing his right eye, now concealed behind an eyepatch. He was still considering how to explain when Longfellow himself brought up Joann’s battle with the soul-thief faerie. Through their conversation, Joann learned that the shopkeeper had already heard the tale from Aunt Barbara.

Aunt Barbara’s enthusiasm for news was matched only by her inexhaustible tongue. Any rumor she heard, she would eagerly relay to neighbors, and what she said would be passed from one to ten, and from ten to a hundred. Within a week, the story of Joann’s struggle with the wicked faerie—and the loss of his right eye—was the talk of Derlin Town.

To be the subject of idle gossip was no pleasant thing. Joann had long been deemed eccentric by the townsfolk, his mysterious profession as a mage only heightening his outsider’s status. Now, with an eyepatch, his appearance matched his reputation, and he became, in their eyes, a true “monster.” Passersby would stop to stare, some with sympathy, others with distaste; children, glimpsing him from afar, would turn and flee in fright.

Joann cared little for their looks. Being regarded as a “monster” brought him peace and solitude, freeing him from the time-consuming duties of socializing, and allowing him to devote himself wholly to his studies. Of course, no one can remain entirely apart from the world. Joann too had moments when he needed to interact with others or ask for help. Today was such a day: he had to leave his sanctuary and, with some reluctance, come to visit Mr. Longfellow.

Longfellow, seeing Joann at his door, assumed he was there to sell pelts. But when Joann suggested a deeper collaboration, the shopkeeper raised his brows in surprise, half-jesting, half-curious: “My good mage, how may I be of service to you?”

“Mr. Longfellow, I recall you once mentioned that cleaning fur coats and woolen goods is quite a troublesome matter?” Joann asked with studied casualness.

“It’s the truth,” Longfellow replied with a wry smile. “If fur goods get soiled with grease or mud, cold water won’t clean them, and you can’t soak them in hot water. Cleaning is troublesome and requires detergents like soap. As far as I know, here in Alfheim, even across the whole New Continent, there’s no specialized detergent for high-end furs. We have to import it from the Far East. With tariffs, a single pack of imported cleaning powder costs more than a fine fur cap. Ordinary folk can’t afford such expensive cleaning, so among us fur dealers there’s a saying: ‘You can afford to buy it, but not to clean it!’ That’s the reason only the wealthy will buy high-end furs, and there aren’t many of those in Derlin Town. High-end furs are hard to sell. See that fine white fox cape on my shelf? It’s been there a year and hasn’t sold, just for show.”

“If there were a way to make furs clean themselves, it would certainly boost sales,” Joann said, choosing his words with care.

“Of course!” Longfellow’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I see it! You want to go into business with me—open a magical laundry for furs, right? That’s a fine idea! How much startup capital do you need?”

“I’m not opening a laundry. That would be too much trouble for me,” Joann replied, drawing an envelope from his pocket and handing it to the shopkeeper. “I’ve written out my idea. Please read it, and all will be clear.”

“Hm? We can’t discuss it face-to-face? You had to write a letter—must it be so formal?” The shopkeeper, unfamiliar with Joann’s peculiarities, shook his head and muttered, but he took out the letter and read it. As his eyes traveled down the page, puzzlement gave way to astonishment.