"Those Coral stones are Tier 1 stones of the lowest grade, Michael," Liam explained, adopting a somewhat lecturing tone. "They're essentially for beginner-level Mages. Even for Practitioners, the increase in mana pool is negligible, and they stop working after consuming a hundred or so of them."
Michael let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Well, if you're going to put it that way, I suppose I can't complain about it, can I?" He said wryly. "So, where do I sell these useless treasures?"
"I wouldn't say they're completely useless, especially for someone like you, Michael. Given your incredible Mana capacity, these stones could prove useful."
Michael leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Would you care to elaborate, please?"
"You have more Mana than you could ever use, at least with the spells you currently know," Liam said. "You will be exhausted even before you can use a third of your Mana. This is what we call mana-lag. Consuming one of these stones can help alleviate that issue, allowing you to use more of your mana before reaching exhaustion again. Of course, you must never use coral stones twice to help with Mana-lag on the same day, that can strain or damage your Magicore."
Now that was useful, especially during battles. Maybe I should keep half of these for emergencies and sell the other half for money. I do need money, after all.
"Well then, where do I sell these moderately useful stones?"
"Oh please, Michael," Liam snorted. "The way your eyes lit up, I can tell you see the potential value of these stones for you. But if you insist on selling them, your best bet is the Merchant's Guild or the Mage's Guild. They're the only ones likely to offer a fair price."
Michael's jaw dropped in surprise.
"There's a Mage's Guild in Madwin's Barrow?" He exclaimed, unable to hide his astonishment. This world felt more and more like games he used to play.
Careful Michael, He chided himself. Remember, this is no game.
Liam doubled over, bursting into laughter, slapping the table before him. "Of course not, you idiot! There's no way a small village like ours could support a Mage's Guild. The nearest one is in Naiker's Hold, two weeks of journey north from here."
Liam wiped the tears from his eyes. "It's been a while since I have laughed so hard."
It was Michael's turn to snort, did he really have to laugh at something so simple? And here he was, worried about offending his religion.
"Well then," Michael said, trying to ignore the amusement in Liam's eyes. "I have got to go to Naiker's Hold to sell them, Haven't I?"
"Or you can simply wait for the merchant's train to pass by."
"How often do they do that?"
"Every two months," Laim said, pulling up the hood of his cloak to protect his hair from flailing about in the wind. "The wind is picking up. It will rain soon."
As if summoned by his words, a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a rolling thunder, a roar that shook the house. Large raindrops began to pelt against the roof, the deluge growing in intensity with each passing moment.
Michael hastily helped Liam secure the doors and windows against the coming storm.
Fuck! I have to live through four more months of this?
He had learned that the seasons changed every six months or half a year in this world through subtle questions. That meant the cycle of seasons here was biennial in nature and not annual.
***
The next three days, Michael's irritation grew as the storm raged outside. The constant crackle of thunder and the pounding of rain against the roof were grating on his nerves. It stopped him from going outside and doing something fun, like shooting arrows of air at trees and birds.
He paced the small room, trying to think of something to do—there were no TV or video games in this world to pass his time with. Oh, they had spent their time with Liam teaching him healing spells and Michael trying to make his friend familiar with the spell, [Thermo Domain]. But they couldn't spend all day, everyday learning magic, could they?
Liam, oblivious to Michael's growing agitation, curled up in a corner with a worn leather-bound book, his face flickering with the light of a small oil lamp. The occasional murmur of words escaped his lips, as he read the book.
Michael sighed heavily and sat down on the carpeted floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. He stared blankly at the oil lamp, trying to distract himself from the thoughts of home that seemed to creep up in his mind more often lately.
It didn't help, so Michael prepared tea for him and Liam. Then a thought occurred to him.
"Liam," Michael said, offering him a cup of tea. "I understand how you learned magic in general, But how did you learn the healing spells and the Whispering Arrow?"
"Dumb luck, I guess," Liam said, gently swirling the tea in his cup. "I saved the life of a passing High Mage. I found him half buried and dying. He taught me everything else I know about magic as gratitude."
"It seems you have a habit of finding half buried people and nursing them back to health, don't you? What a saint."
Colour rushed into Liam's face.
***
The next day, it was Michael's birthday. Now he was fourteen, just like Liam. For reasons he couldn't fathom, Michael could not bring himself to tell anyone that it was his birthday today, not even Liam.
Time dragged as if he was studying in history class, each minute an eternity.
He cried himself to sleep that night, tears his only company—thinking about his mother's cooking, simple yet filled with love, and his sister's taunts about how they had found him in a dumpster as an infant. Of course, he had never believed his sister, though her words always stirred anger him. Now he desperately wished for those taunts.
"Happy Birthday Michael."
Some birthday it was, without his family.
***
A sound disrupted Michael's slumber. Someone was pounding on the door, a relentless assault that dragged him from the depths of sleep. It was not an angry knock, but it was insistent.
Groaning and turning, he muttered a curse into the darkness and opened his eyes.
"Who the Fuck is doing that in the middle of the night?"
"I don't know what 'fuck' means, but it's already morning," Liam said, as he clattered about, apparently preparing morning tea.
Morning? It couldn't be. Michael's mind refused to believe it, he'd just drifted off. Yet, it must be true.
He twisted and turned in his bed for a few seconds and got out of it, following Liam to see who was at the door.
Michael did not recognise the stout man who stood on the porch, drenched and out of breath, dripping water all over the floor.
The urgency in the man's posture vanquished all the fatigue and sleepiness Michael felt.
"What is the matter?" Liam asked.
The man's reply was barely audible over the torrent of rain. "The mayor has summoned both of you to the council meeting. He believes you should hear the news."
What kind of news could be so urgent that it demanded their presence in the middle of a storm?
"What news?" Michael asked, but the stout man was already running, waving at them to follow. His figure turned into shadows under the haze of rain.
Michael and Liam had no choice but to follow the man through rain and mud, lightning flashing overhead.
"Damn this rain!" Michael muttered under his breath as he ran.