For a long time afterward, Asmon brooded over what lay ahead. Even if common magic had been forgotten in this world, that didn't mean the spells he once used had disappeared. Possessing a secret weapon unknown to others was a privilege beyond measure. Realizing this, Asmon devoted every spare moment—not counting meal times or when he extended his hotel reservation—to studying magic.
Aside from the three spells he had used at the factory—Light, Bolt, and Silence—there were various other common spells. Most of these spells existed simply for the user's convenience; they weren't especially powerful or profound, but their versatility was unmatched. They could be applied regardless of one's attributes or targets. So, he compiled a list of every common spell he could recall and began testing them one by one.
Rustle!
As he watched a roll of tissue paper being shredded by a cutting spell, Asmon nodded. "Cutting magic works. Let's see…" He scribbled the name of the new spell in the corner of a memo pad already covered with similar notes, several of which lay scattered across his bed.
Through his efforts over the past few days, Asmon had gained a solid grasp of which spells he could cast and their limits. At least with common magic, he no longer had to worry about drawing elaborate magic circles, summoning familiars, or reciting lengthy incantations. All it took was his will, letting his magical energy take shape and manifest into reality. Of course, with his current reserves, some spells were simply beyond him or too overwhelming to risk casting in a hotel room.
Even so, Asmon was fully aware of just how incredible his talent was. When he had played as the magical gunman, every common spell required him to form a pact with a familiar and recite incantations. They even allowed players to skip drawing magic circles for convenience—but without that help, it could take minutes to cast a spell.
Moreover, as he continued practicing, his total magical energy steadily increased to nearly three times what it had been when he first awoke. Simply by using magic, his reserves grew—a phenomenon Asmon had never experienced, even after years of playing WORLD. Thanks to that, he found himself capable of casting nearly ten spells in a single afternoon, and the pace of his magical research only accelerated with each passing day.
Locked away in his room, he spent entire days casting spells; when his energy ran low, he'd collapse as if dead, only to pick himself up again. It had been a week of clinging to magic until Asmon finally reached a point where he could proudly call himself a mage. At long last, today was the final day he had resolved to devote entirely to his magical research. He had done nothing else for so long that he now needed to venture out and secure a steady income to stabilize his life. "This is the best I can do."
Though he once played as a magical gunman, Asmon didn't remember every single common spell—he had entered this world to experience its play, not to become a seasoned mage. So, the common magic he knew was mostly the popular spells among players. Even with that gap, the number of spells he had cataloged filled three entire memo pads. Even if his magical energy ever ran low, he was confident he wouldn't be short on resources. "I guess it's time to head out."
When he opened the window, the cold pre-dawn air rushed in. In a symbolic act of renewal, Asmon tore up the meticulous notes he had spent a week compiling on magic and flushed them down the toilet. All the painstakingly gathered information was washed away in an instant, yet he remained calm as he packed his few belongings and rose from his bed.
All his talents were now focused solely on mastering and wielding magic. Every detail about the spells he had memorized was perfectly stored in his mind. Every preparation had been made. The funds he had swiped from the thugs—and even the cigarettes—were beginning to run low. It was time to move.
"I did get some useful info from that guy," he muttered to himself as he navigated the twisting alleys. The words of the man he had saved from a beating echoed in his head, guiding him to the basement of a rundown gambling den.
Inside, the dim bar was washed in neon lights, glowing faintly even though the night was nearly over. Only three customers remained, slumped in their seats, their drinks half-finished. Behind the counter, an elderly bartender mixed drinks at a lazy pace, swirling a glass in his hand. Asmon took a seat, keeping his distance. "A cocktail," he ordered.
The old man didn't ask questions. He simply mixed something up and placed it in front of him. Asmon let the drink sit untouched before finally speaking. "I'm looking for work—a job a mage can do."
The old man paused for a brief moment before tapping his glass four times. The rhythmic sound barely faded before someone groaned from the back of the bar. "Ugh… Seriously? It's past closing time. What's all this?" A woman emerged from the shadows, rubbing her eyes. Her damp, unkempt hair hung over her face, and she wore a loose shirt with jet-black leather pants. Even half-asleep, there was something sharp about her presence—like a blade hidden beneath casual indifference.
The old man turned to her. "He claims to be a mage."
She eyed Asmon, frowning. "…You sure about that?"
"yes," Asmon said, his tone deliberately vague.
Her stare hardened. "You look more like a patient than a mage. You're not one of those escaped test subjects, are you?"
Asmon said nothing, but his silence only seemed to confirm her suspicions. She exhaled and slumped into a seat across from him. "Whatever. Doesn't matter. As long as you can actually do the job, nobody cares." She tilted her head slightly. "Name's Jenny. You?"
Asmon hesitated. His real name wasn't an option. After a brief pause, he gave the only name he had ever been called at the factory. "…Ban."
Jenny smirked. "Alright, Ban. You must've heard about this place from someone. We arrange jobs for people like you. The real question is—how skilled are you?"
Asmon narrowed his eyes slightly. "You mean my level?"
"Something like that." Jenny leaned forward, tapping a finger on the counter. "You don't have to explain your whole magic system, but I need to know what kind of mage you are. Otherwise, I can't match you with the right work."
Asmon went silent.
Jenny's expression shifted. "Don't tell me you're just some street rat who picked up a few cheap tricks?"