Chapter 372 — A New Life at the Research Institute

The mage Cohen walked down the broad, bright corridor of the Arcane Technology Research Institute. Researchers in white short robes of arcane craft hurried past him, and now and then someone would stop to exchange greetings with another before falling in step together and heading off to the laboratory where they worked.

Cohen wore the same white robe.

From the institute's front gate to the foyer took seventy-two steps; from the foyer to the First Practical Technology Laboratory took one hundred and two, passing through three doors and one corridor along the way. Cohen walked this route, which he had already begun to know well, at an unhurried pace, each step landing with absolute precision.

He glanced down at himself. The white short robe was in fact almost entirely devoid of ornament, save for a stamped metal card pinned over the chest, bearing his own name and a string of numbers. Nor was it any kind of enchanted robe with magical properties—it was merely a cloth robe, plain and simple. If there was anything special about it at all, it was that nearly everyone in this institute wore similar garb, and that this garb carried a most uncommon significance upon this land.

The identity this clothing represented was "arcane technician"—a title he had never heard before, one unique to this land.

Since coming to this land, Cohen had worked at the Arcane Technology Research Institute for over four weeks—more than forty days. To this third-rank arcanist from the royal capital, life in Cecil Territory was not entirely what he had first imagined. Here he had, as he wished, met that powerful ancient arcanist; he had met that legendary pioneering hero as well; he had also seen the arcane network, the arcane engine, and other wondrous creations said to be relics of some lost technology. Yet setting all that aside, the environment he found himself in was vastly different from what he had pictured.

This was no harsh, barren frontier settlement—the Cecilians had already sunk their roots deep here, and prospered beyond belief. Yet at the same time, this was no land that observed the classical rites and order. Though the one who founded it was a true ancient hero, the customs of Cecil, to Cohen's royal-capital mage eyes, could only be described as bordering on heresy.

The vast freedoms the common folk enjoyed, the noble system relegated to the back seat, the highly efficient administration of the Government Hall... Cecil Territory stood in the southern reaches of Anzu, yet everything that happened here seemed to belong to some distant, alien land that existed only in tales. Cohen had assumed he was brought here as a mage, to bury himself in ancient relics and moldering tomes and study in seclusion; he had never imagined that upon arriving he would become an "arcane technician apprentice," learning a body of knowledge wholly unheard of from the ground up—and learning it alongside a crowd of mage apprentices, craftsmen, and scholars.

In this field, everyone started from the same line. Even the extraordinary had no privileges.

To be honest, it had been hard to adjust at first, but by now Cohen had gradually grown used to it. He was no scion of some noble house, nor any mage of extraordinary talent; he was merely the son of a fortunate merchant. In the mage circles of the royal capital he had never enjoyed the privileges of the extraordinary either, so adapting here came all the easier. And he had been wise enough to realize one thing: no matter how heretical the goings-on in this land might be, he had no standing to question them—for the order of this land had been laid down by Gawain Cecil, and the one who laid down that order had also laid down the order of Anzu seven hundred years ago.

Everything now called the "rules of civilized society" in Anzu was merely the result of certain offhand words spoken by that ancient hero seven centuries ago, evolving over the long passage of time. So it was utterly meaningless to debate "orthodox propriety" in Cecil Territory: whatever the founding duke said—that was orthodoxy.

Cohen had settled firmly upon this conviction early on, though he himself could not say whether it had arisen after he personally witnessed that Master Carmel bow in homage to Gawain Cecil...

Turning over these idle thoughts, Cohen arrived before the door of the First Practical Technology Laboratory. But before he could push it open, a young girl with a flaxen ponytail came running down the corridor, waving a rolled-up paper in her hand: "Cohen! The new issue of the Cecil Weekly! I bought it for you—don't forget you owe me a meal!"

Cohen reached out and took the weekly from the girl's hand, agreeing offhandedly, then watched as she ran cheerfully toward another laboratory at the far end of the corridor.

The girl's name was Media, a mage apprentice from Kant Territory. She had arrived before Cohen, and so had become a "senior" of sorts at the Arcane Technology Research Institute; Cohen's life there had benefited a great deal from her care. Media was an enthusiastic girl, and seemed deeply influenced by the lord's thinking—eager to help others and possessing little sense of hierarchy. Many in the institute were fond of this spirited young woman.

Cohen shook his head with a smile, and walked into the laboratory where he worked, reading the newspaper in his hand as he went.

A newspaper—this too was something unique to this land. It had not appeared long ago; only three issues had come out so far. Yet Cohen found it fascinating. Reading a newspaper did not drain one's energy the way reading a grimoire did, and its contents were both entertaining and practical. Cohen treated it as relaxing reading to restore his energy—and he knew many others in the institute did the same.

What was more, Cohen knew that the project he and his colleagues had lately been working on was closely tied to this thing called a "newspaper."

"Morning, Cohen," a voice called out from nearby as he entered the laboratory. A fellow arcane technician he knew fairly well greeted him, and catching sight of the paper in Cohen's hand, could not help his curiosity: "What's in it this time? I haven't had a chance to look yet."

Another arcane technician nearby laughed and said, "I'm hoping for a sequel to that tale of strange happenings in the northern forests from the last issue. I never imagined there were so many bizarre legends up in the northern parts of the kingdom."

"Pay more attention to the useful news," Cohen said, glancing at the technician and raising the paper in his hand. "It says our king has already set out for the border to negotiate with the emperor of Typhon—and Mr. Godwin reckons they'll meet next week."

"Tch. So the day has come after all," the first technician said, smacking his lips. "Seems our king is in quite a hurry too."

"Nobody likes war—least of all the king. It'll cost him a fortune," the second technician said, and burst out laughing. "Renovating Silverhold ten years ago drained his entire savings!"

Cohen took no part in the conversation that followed. He merely shook his head with a smile, folded the newspaper neatly, and put it away in his own cabinet.

Here on a frontier settlement in the remote southern borderlands, two men who were nothing more than a craftsman and a mage apprentice discussed, with perfect naturalness, the negotiations between their king and a neighboring emperor—and this was no stale news from years past, but events unfolding over these very days. It was truly an astonishing scene.

The Cecilians seemed to have grown accustomed to accepting all manner of astonishing things, but for this mage from the royal capital, fully adapting to it all would likely take a little more time.

Just then, someone walked into the laboratory, and the arcane technicians—who had been chatting here and there or sorting their personal belongings—fell silent at once.