The Blacksmith and the Mage, Birds of a Feather (1)

Odine, the nation of magic—well, the city is also called Odine—is a city for magic built by the countries of the Small Nations.

This goes back a little, but before the city in this land became independent and formed a group of city-states, a great power called the Azuedda Empire once existed here.

As is true of many great powers, the Azuedda Empire apparently had several specialized institutions for studying magic—in other words, things like magical academies.

However, before the collapse of the Azuedda Empire, authoritarianism ran rampant in those magical academies, and they had ceased to function properly as schools and research institutes.

After all, the Azuedda Empire itself was on the verge of collapse. There was no way magical academies overrun by authoritarianism could remain healthy under such circumstances.

Thus, after city after city won independence, the Azuedda Empire collapsed, and the Small Nations were established, the existing magical academies were dismantled.

Then, when the new city of Odine was built for the sake of magic, its founders reflected on the failures of the old magical academies and decided that Odine should be made an open place for all as a city for magic.

As a result, although Odine was a city-state built and maintained with funding from the Small Nations, it was relatively tolerant and open even toward people from other regions.

In other regions, there were apparently many magical academies that required citizenship, high taxes on top of that, or noble or equivalent status to attend.

Yet even in Odine, considered an open magical city, it was by no means the case that everyone could study magic.

That was because using magic supposedly required enough magical power to meet its conditions, as well as the talent to interfere with the magical power within one's body.

If testing determined that someone lacked sufficient magical power or talent, then they could not study magic even in Odine.

So, after reaching Odine and spending a leisurely night at an inn, I went to the town hall the next day to take a magic aptitude test.

The thought of taking a magic aptitude test had my heart pounding with excitement. It felt incredibly fantastical.

But what would I do if they told me I had no aptitude?

I had never even considered that possibility until now, and suddenly I was getting anxious.

In truth, I didn't know all that much about the magic of this world.

It might sound ridiculous to say that after coming all the way to a distant land specifically to study magic, but nine-tenths of the reason I'd come here was simple fascination.

From the bits I'd heard, magic was apparently a means of using a technique called a spell formula to give direction to the magical energy people possessed within their bodies and produce the phenomena they desired.

It was a rather difficult explanation to understand, but the person who had told me probably just passed along something they'd heard from someone else.

Incidentally, as far as I knew, there were four techniques for bringing out supernatural powers of this sort—or, in terms of my previous life's knowledge, four types of magic.

The first was spirit arts, the art of borrowing the power of spirits.

The second was divine or holy arts: miracles brought about by mental strength honed through rigorous training or a heart of strong faith.

The third was magic, which manipulated one's internal magical power using a technique called spell formulas.

The fourth was immortal arts, which interfered with the magic in nature outside the body, rather than within it, to produce phenomena.

Well, explaining each of these techniques would be tedious, so I'll skip that for now. Of the four, magic was probably the only one that could clearly be called a technique.

Spirit arts were ultimately just asking spirits to do something, while divine and holy arts, judging from what my acquaintance Martena, a priestess, had shown me, were probably something akin to psychic powers.

As for the last, immortal arts, aside from knowing that there were an extremely small number of practitioners in the far eastern reaches, I knew nothing but the name, so I couldn't really say much about them.

When I told the town hall why I'd come, a middle-aged man who was probably a veteran clerk was utterly astonished.

Apparently, since he had started working at the town hall—indeed, probably since the city of Odine was built—no elf had ever come to take a magic aptitude test.

Of course, elves probably rarely visited Odine in the first place.

Since I was a little curious, I asked him for more details. Dwarves had come to take the magic aptitude test three times since the clerk had started working there, and more than ten times according to records since Odine's construction.

This was because magic included things called magical tools—objects engraved with spell formulas that produced phenomena when magical power was channeled into them.

The dwarves had apparently wanted to study magic so they could apply that technology to weapons and armor.

Unfortunately, only two dwarves had ever possessed magical aptitude. One had left the city several decades ago, and the other had left a few years ago, so neither was in Odine anymore.

Apparently, magical tools themselves were not considered a particularly important technology among mages.

That was because using a magical tool required channeling magical power into an object engraved with a spell formula—in other words, it required the magical power and the talent needed to activate magic, or magical aptitude.

Consequently, ordinary people could not use magical tools, so they were not put into circulation.

Most mages apparently thought it was quicker to cast magic themselves than to painstakingly engrave spell formulas onto tools.

It was... truly, deeply regrettable.

Just hearing that made me desperately want to try making a magic sword.

As we talked, I followed the clerk's instructions and gripped small rods of some unfamiliar metal in both hands—yes, unfamiliar even to me, a blacksmith!—then brought their tips close together.

Then, with a sharp crack, sparks flew from the tips.

The clerk gave a satisfied nod.

Apparently, that alone had revealed my magical aptitude.

Apparently, these metal rods drew out their owner's magical power, and the spark just now had been caused by mine.

People without the talent to interfere with the magical power inside their bodies had rigid magical power, which these metal rods could not draw out.

Moreover, even if the rods could draw out someone's magical power, sparks would not fly as they had just then unless the amount was sufficient.

Furthermore, the size of the sparks and the distance between the rods when they appeared revealed how readily the person's magical power moved and how much of it they possessed.

In short—yes—I possessed magical aptitude, and there was no question about it.

Yay!

I was insanely hyped.

Honestly, I was unbelievably happy.

I was so happy that I even grabbed the clerk's hand and shook it.

I also really wanted one of these metal rods for future reference.

I tried negotiating to buy one, but the clerk looked so troubled that, after pestering him for about five minutes, I gave up.

No, I really was incredibly curious, but if I was going to study magic in Odine, I would probably see these metal rods again somewhere.

Finally, the clerk said one more thing.

"The power of magic as it exists today is nowhere near the power wielded by spirits. Therefore, since you can borrow the power of spirits, you may encounter jealousy and opposition when you study magic. But Odine is a city for those who study magic. If anything troubles you, please come and consult us. I welcome you, Eisa-san."

...he said.

And so began my life as an aspiring mage in Odine, the nation of magic.