Martin had stumbled upon a method to comprehend magical characters, albeit a rudimentary one. While spells and programming appeared vastly different, he found a surprising connection. To a peak hacker like him, the logic behind magical characters bore a striking resemblance to the relationships between code and the viruses he had encountered in his previous life.
He had successfully mastered five of the thirty-two magical characters, enabling him to craft a variety of basic spells. However, to delve into more advanced spells, he would need higher-level magical characters. Without them, any spell he attempted would falter, akin to a broken program. Understanding the meanings behind these characters was a knowledge gleaned from practice—a practice that often resulted in failures.
Fortunately, Martin had never shied away from failure.
Creating a few magical scrolls from copper sheets wasn't a concern for him. Given the overall benefits, Busca wouldn't mind Martin using some of their limited supplies. After all, he was technically a prisoner. If Busca couldn't tolerate a few scrolls being wasted, he could simply tear them up.
But Busca wasn't willing to waste those scrolls. The output of thirty magical scrolls a day was a precious income for him. Even when Quinn had informed him about the unfortunate incident of several scrolls being used as toilet paper, Busca chose to remain silent. Instead, he graciously brought Martin a few scrolls bought from the big business bank during his next visit.
After being imprisoned for a week, Busca finally decided to confront Martin.
"It seems you've made quite the impression on Debbie," he remarked, his voice laced with annoyance. "She's been causing chaos in my magic store. If this continues, I might just have to deal with her myself. You understand how much she's disrupting business, right?" He glared through the iron bars at Martin, his expression darkening. "So, I hope you grasp how foul my mood is."
Martin remained silent, observing the overweight figure on the other side of the gate. After a moment, he turned and returned to the desk beside him, scribbling a note in magical ink on a piece of parchment. He then slid it through the vent in the iron door. "Give this to her. I think it'll stop her from causing more trouble."
Busca hesitated before carefully examining the scroll. He unfolded it and read the letter addressed to Debbie.
"Debbie, I've encountered a mage who has accepted me as his apprentice. I must leave immediately to maintain peace in the world. I don't have time to explain, but trust that I'll be fine. Soon, I'll return as a mage. – Your love, Martin."
After reading the letter multiple times, Busca convinced himself there was no hidden message. He folded the parchment and tucked it away. "I'll be sure to keep her away, as long as she doesn't come looking for me," he sneered before turning to leave, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And by the way, using a scroll for a letter? You do realize those cost money, right?"
With a loud clang, the vent slammed shut.
Martin clenched his fists in frustration, pacing the dimly lit room. He imagined Debbie's reaction upon discovering he was gone—how furious she would be, wielding her massive sword in search of Busca. But despite her fierce exterior, Martin knew she was just a lonely girl, likely worried sick about him. He couldn't help but wonder how she was coping without him, if she had been eating properly or if she had been crying for him.
Debbie was his only family in this world. Their bond, forged through shared hardship, was more potent than mere blood. Martin's concern for her well-being ignited a fierce anger within him, a fire that he struggled to suppress. He needed to remain calm and think clearly.
"I've learned three magic characters in the past few days, but it's not enough. Even if I manage to create an intermediate high-level magical scroll, I can't face two second-order swordsmen in this confined space. My chance to escape is limited."
Martin sat down on the cold, hard floor, brainstorming potential solutions. The letter he had written to Debbie had sparked an idea, drawing inspiration from the films he had watched in his previous life. While those movies were fictional, they often contained insights that could be applied to real-life situations. What if the protagonist in one of those films were imprisoned like him?
Suddenly, a glimmer of inspiration illuminated his mind like a firefly in the dark. He looked around the warehouse, taking note of the piles of discarded materials: broken porcelain bottles, rusty armor, and boxes filled with forgotten remnants. Days earlier, he had rummaged through this mess and found a piece of hide covered in insect eyes.
Then he recalled a movie he had seen before—**Iron Man**. The protagonist, captured by terrorists, had built a suit of armor from scrap metal to escape. Though such technology was impossible in this world, the concept of using available resources to create something powerful resonated with him.
In this magical realm, spells had a unique interoperability with programming. Perhaps he could adapt that idea to create something extraordinary.
Martin's eyes sparkled with determination as he surveyed the assortment of junk in the corner of the warehouse. A smile crept across his face, filled with newfound hope.
"Iron Man, here I come," he whispered to himself, ready to turn improbable dreams into reality.