Enchanting is the intricate art of imbuing objects with specific characteristics, fundamentally altering or enhancing their natural properties. This process can amplify an object's existing strengths or grant it entirely new abilities.
For example, applying a Sharpness enchantment to a knife refines its edge. Likewise, infusing armor with Durability bolsters its resistance, making it significantly tougher against attacks.
However, enchantments extend far beyond simple augmentations. Advanced applications include utilizing space-attribute magic to transform an ordinary door into a dimensional portal—similar to the hidden entrance of the black market—or crafting chameleon earrings that allow the wearer to change their appearance with nothing but a thought.
At present, my body has already reached the pinnacle of human physical potential. There is no more room for natural growth; surpassing this limit is practically impossible without external intervention. Relying solely on my guns and Sapphire, my AI, won't be enough in the long run. If I truly want to thrive in this world, I need to evolve beyond Earth's limitations, to acquire skills and abilities that were once nothing more than fiction.
This is why I turn to enchanting.
But why enchanting specifically, rather than mastering spellcasting?
The first reason is purely practical—creating and selling enchanted equipment is an excellent way to generate income. I could, of course, sell my platinum bullets for a fortune, but that would be shortsighted. Those bullets are a finite resource, a lifeline I may desperately need in the future. Trading knowledge and craftsmanship for wealth is a much more sustainable strategy.
The second reason is far simpler, yet far more frustrating—I cannot use mana. My Common Rank blood talent places a hard limit on my ability to wield magic. Even though I've stored extensive knowledge of magic theories, spell structures, and arcane principles within Sapphire, none of it matters if I lack the fundamental ability to harness mana.
Enchanting, however, offers an alternative path—a loophole in the rigid system of magic. Unlike traditional spellcasting, which demands an internal mana supply, enchanting allows anyone to wield magic, regardless of their innate affinity. Instead of learning to cast Fireball, I can create a staff that does it for me. The enchantment itself handles the magic, drawing power from the environment or from an external mana reservoir, such as a magical gemstone. This means I can wield magic without ever needing to produce it myself.
That being said, the art of enchanting is not without its challenges. Its complexity is what makes it a field reserved only for the exceptionally gifted. Mastering it demands an unparalleled level of precision, patience, and intellectual rigor. For most, this makes enchanting a near-impossible skill to attain.
For me, however, it is perfect.
Because in its essence, enchanting is nothing more than coding.
Except, instead of programming with Python or Java on a computer, I am scripting in the language of the gods—Arcanum.
And who just so happens to be one of the best coders Earth has ever seen?
Me, of course.
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With that goal in mind, Sophia and I now stand before the Enchantment Guild of Vera.
From the outside, the building is tall and imposing, its weathered stone facade standing resolute beside a majestic tree, its sprawling canopy painted in countless shades of red. Unlike the opulent shimmer of the Grand Library, the guild exudes a different kind of grandeur—one not of wealth, but of craft and legacy. There is an undeniable energy humming through the air, like the steady pulse of a beehive. People stream in and out constantly, the sheer movement lending the building an aura of ceaseless activity.
Stepping inside, we are immediately swept into a tide of motion, the atmosphere as bustling as a market at its peak. The air is thick with a cacophony of voices—haggling merchants, eager customers, and the rhythmic clinking of gold coins exchanging hands. Here, those who dedicate their lives to the art of enchantment are known as enchanters. The guild serves as both a sanctuary and a proving ground, a place where these artisans push the boundaries of their craft.
However, enchanters themselves are a rare breed. The majority of people crowding the hall are either merchants hawking their wares—enchanted items, rare materials, and specialized tools—or wealthy buyers eager to acquire magic-infused artifacts. Due to their scarcity, enchanters are revered, their works fetching astronomical prices. A single item crafted by a grandmaster, or even just a master enchanter can easily command millions of crowns, turning it into a treasure coveted by nobles and elite adventurers alike.
I barely take three steps before I'm swarmed.
"Sir, are you interested in our enchanted swords?" one pitches enthusiastically, "These are the works of Master Kresx, capable of slicing through Salamander skin with ease!"
"Hi! Do check out our latest fire-resistant cloaks! They can withstand even tier 4 fire magic!" another beckons.
"Please have a glance at these self-cleaning clothes! We can also enchant your favorite garments to stay perpetually clean!"
"And don't miss out on these swords!"
"And these bows!"
"And these axes!"
Of course, they all see me as a potential customer since I am wearing expensive clothes. I, however, stride past them, paying little heed to their sales pitches. My priority lies elsewhere. I'm here for something far more critical—Enchantment Ink, the foundation for my first foray into the world of enchantment.
"Jack, this is the place I was telling you about," Sophia says, pointing towards a specific vendor. The merchant, a short, stout man with a long beard that marks him as a typical dwarf, stands behind a stall adorned with a sign reading 'Lucas Ink.'
Approaching his stall, I take in the array of containers on the table. Each is filled with what looks like clear water. To an untrained eye, these containers would seem indistinguishable, mere colorless liquids, yet their price tags tell a different story. They range from a few hundred crowns for a large bottle to hundreds of thousand crowns for a tiny tube.
"So this is enchantment ink…" I murmur.
Indeed. Enchantment ink is completely invisible to the human eye, making it indistinguishable from ordinary liquid. But I already know the trick to revealing its hidden properties, thanks to my conversation with Mirabelle.
Closing my eyes momentarily, I issue a silent command.
Sapphire, activate augmented vision. Expand perceivable light wavelengths—ultraviolet range.
As I reopen my eyes, the world shifts.
Color drains away, leaving behind a stark landscape of black and white. But within this grayscale void, something extraordinary happens—the ink glows.
The once-invisible liquid comes alive, each container now radiating with vibrant hues, their enchanted properties revealed in dazzling, otherworldly light.