Chapter 107 — Jenny Perot
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 3
Jenny Perot, a Tier-Four runemaster from the royal capital, was sitting in her room, sorting through her meager belongings.
They were mostly tools for drawing runes or inscribing magical arrays—corrosion-resistant applicator rods, engraving knives alloyed with adamantite powder, wedge-shaped scrapers, and pens of every size—along with the books and notes she had carefully collected over the years.
When she had left her mentor's mage tower, these were the only things she had been permitted to take; beyond them, she owned nothing but two changes of clothes.
Yet Jenny Perot still arranged them with the utmost care, placing her pitifully few personal effects on the desk, in the cabinet, and on the shelf beside the bed. When that was done, she sat down in the chair at the center of the room and quietly looked around this plank-walled hut that could only be called crude.
As the highest-ranked professional in a company of a hundred, she had received special consideration: a house to herself. Though it was only a simple wooden hut that could not remotely compare to her mentor's mage tower, Jenny knew that even this was one of the few decent houses in the camp. In this company, only the accredited craftsmen and one other gentleman mage were entitled to separate quarters, and hers was the largest of all the buildings—which left her more than satisfied.
After all, even when she had lived in her mentor's mage tower, she had done nothing but sleep on a pallet in the storage room. Apart from the stone walls around her, that lodging had hardly been better than this one.
No—this place was better. At least this wooden hut was hers, and she no longer had to live in constant fear of being summoned by her mentor to test potions and magical arrays.
Jenny gazed quietly at everything before her, then lowered her eyes to her own hands, pondering the days to come.
She was well aware of her awkward position. She was the highest-ranked professional in the company, yet her true transcendent rank was merely that of a mage apprentice. Runecraft was a trade; setting aside spellcasting ability and the capacity to sense magical energy, it was essentially no different from carpentry or masonry. In fact, by the conventions of mages, the Tier-Two arcanist gentleman in the company ought to have been the one of highest standing—so it was obvious that she, a mid-tier professional, was there purely to make up the numbers.
She was equally certain that the legendary duke from seven hundred years ago had seen through this at a single glance.
So how long could this situation last—an outsider in such an awkward position, yet received with full ceremony according to the rules and provided with separate quarters?
Probably only until His Grace the Duke felt he had given the king sufficient face—or until anyone at all in the territory raised an objection.
And when that time came, the only thing that could secure her a foothold in this land was the craft in her hands.
This was, after all, a camp still under construction, with so much that needed to be built. Whether manufacturing magical implements or processing runes, hands were needed—and Lady Hedy could not possibly attend to everything herself. That gave her, a runemaster, a place to be useful. If she did well enough, she might even earn that lady's approval. Jenny did not dare hope for more; simply gaining a foothold here would content her.
Just then, a knock at the door suddenly came, interrupting Jenny's thoughts.
She looked toward the door with some surprise and nervousness, wondering who could be coming to see her at this hour. But she did not let it slow her down—she rose at once to answer: whoever was outside, it would be best not to offend them.
The door opened, and the person standing there made her breath catch for half a beat.