CHAPTER 53: CHAPTER 52: THE MAGE OF THE SCRIPTORIUM

The morning sun crept in through the tall windows of Nexus Mart, bathing the shelves in soft, golden light. Kael stretched his back with a grunt, wiping sweat from his brow. The shop smelled faintly of polished wood and fresh parchment, a scent that somehow made everything feel new.

"Alright," he muttered, placing the last box of bottled drinks onto the bottom shelf. "That should be everything."

He stood and took a slow, proud look around.

Each item was in its place. Food packets, grain sacks, canned goods, a small section for tools and supplies, and even a shelf of Kael’s own homemade health tonics—disguised Earth supplements infused with some minor local herbs to avoid suspicion.

The result wasn’t quite a modern supermarket, but it felt like one. A small, compact version that had been stitched together with dwarven craftsmanship and Kael’s 21st-century memory.

Behind him, Seris was sweeping the last traces of sawdust into a bucket.

"This shop is really big. Are you sure the two of us can manage it? Also, I have never seen such a shop, even when I was a noble."

Kael stretched his back and let out a satisfied sigh. "We’ll manage. And this? This is just the beginning. I plan to build something even bigger one day."

"Bigger? Gods, your dreams are so... strange. And huge."

"I’ve never known how to dream small."

They’d spent all morning stocking, cleaning, and adjusting shelves.

The bell above the door jingled, sharp and cheerful. Seris looked up, broom in hand.

Officer Marrek entered with his usual slow stride—muscular and alert, his striped fur catching the sunlight through the glass door. A well-worn leather satchel was slung over one shoulder.

"Good morning," he rumbled. His feline eyes scanned the room. "You’ve been busy."

Kael waved from behind the counter. "Just finished stocking. You’re right on time."

Marrek walked to the counter and unslung his bag. "I brought what the mayor promised." He pulled out a small bundle of parchment, tied in red twine.

Kael untied the knot and flipped through the pages.

"Shop deed. Trade license. Authorization to operate inside city limits."

"Everything’s in order," Marrek said. "You’re officially a citizen trader now."

Kael gave a low whistle. "Didn’t think this would happen so fast."

"The mayor pushed it through."

Kael smiled slightly. "Hope that’s a good thing."

Marrek took a slow walk down one aisle, eyes lingering on the colorful packaging.

"What’s this?" He picked up a bag of Earth chips. Bright foil, clean lines, artificial coloring.

Kael stepped forward and held his breath.

"Try one," he said.

Marrek studied the bag, then tore it open with one clawed thumb. He took a chip between his fingers and bit into it.

The crunch echoed in the quiet store.

His feline ears twitched.

"...Gods," he muttered. "What is this?"

Kael chuckled. "It’s called a potato chip. A snack food. Made in my homeland with spices and oils."

Marrek took another bite, slower this time, savoring the flavor. "It’s salty. Crisp. The texture’s strange. But I like it." He glanced at the packet. "And the drawings—what are these?"

"Printings. Done with machines."

"Machines?" Marrek looked at him, half-suspicious, half-curious. "Magical artifacts, you mean?"

Kael nodded slightly. "You could say that."

It wasn’t technically wrong. Industrial manufacturing back on Earth might as well be magic here.

Marrek looked at the shelves again, his eyes slowly scanning over the uniform rows of goods. "Your people must be efficient."

"We had... a different kind of progress," Kael said softly.

Marrek took another chip, more relaxed now. "You said you were planning to announce your shop?"

"Yeah. I want to let people know this place exists. Flyers, announcements. But I’m new here—I don’t know where to start."

"I can introduce you to someone," Marrek offered. "He’s a mage—deals in information, copies, announcements, flyers. That kind of thing."

Kael raised a brow. "Like a print shop?"

"Print what?"

"Never mind," Kael said quickly. "Lead the way."

He handed Seris the shop key. "Take care of the shop. I’ll be back soon."

Seris nodded once, eyes steady. "Yes, Master."

...

Marrek led him through Ginip’s southern quarter. The building they stopped at had a crooked chimney and a slanted wooden sign that read: Scriptorium of Illusions.

"Looks haunted," Kael muttered.

"Wait until you meet the owner," Marrek said, knocking on the door.

A moment later, the door creaked open and a man appeared—tall, wiry, with ink-stained gloves and a monocle with several rotating lenses.

"Ah! A customer. Or a debt collector?" he asked brightly.

Marrek grunted. "Neither. This is Kael. He needs posting work."

The magician bowed dramatically. "Jorren Lint. Scribe, illusionist, and part-time book sniffer."

"...Book sniffer?"

"First editions have a certain musk." Jorren stepped aside. "Come in."

The interior was dim, filled with shelves of paper, ink bottles, floating quills, and dancing letters that glowed briefly before vanishing.

Kael explained what he wanted: an advertisement—simple, clear, and attention-grabbing.

"Aha," Jorren said. "We’ll need artwork. Something visual. A name, a slogan, some anchor text. Do you want floating script or just ink?"

"Ink is fine," Kael said. "For now."

Jorren handed him a parchment. "Write what you want. Keep it short. Brevity attracts."

Kael wrote:

KAELMART

Now Open!

South Gate, Ginip.

Food – Tools – Items – Curiosities.

20% Grand Opening Discount

Prices Fair. Selection Rare.

Come see what you’ve never seen before!

Jorren read it with a whistle. "Poetic. You’ve done this before."

Kael shrugged. "Marketing is universal."

Jorren waved a hand, and several blank sheets floated into the air. He tapped his staff against the original parchment. A blue circle glowed beneath their feet, and with a whoosh of magic, the text and formatting from Kael’s sheet imprinted on each blank page in perfect clarity.

Kael blinked. "What was that?"

"Copy Magic," Jorren said proudly. "Basic, but elegant. First-circle spell. You’d be amazed how often nobles use this to plagiarize romantic poems."

Hmm, this magic seems like a cheap copy of a printing machine. Still, for a medieval world? This is a miracle.

"How many can you make in a day?" Kael asked, voice curious.

"As many as my mana pool allows. With rest and wine, perhaps a thousand."

"I’ll take a 500 for now. What’s the price?"

"50 silver coins. That includes distribution via messenger pigeons and putting up posters on the walls of every corner in the city."

Hmm... cheap.

Kael paid without flinching. "Deal."