Chapter 6: The Sphere of Domain: Schematics of Generation and Techniques of Craft

Two weeks had passed since the long discussion with the village chief and the elders.

On the very next day, Autihel had shown up at our house. But as soon as my mother greeted him with a teasing, almost mischievous remark—“Oh my, did you come here to be trampled again?”—his face twisted in a near-crying expression. Without a word, he turned on his heels and ran away as though fleeing from some dreadful monster.

From that day forward, Autihel avoided my mother as though she were a plague.

When I heard her words that day, what crossed my mind was: “Thank goodness Autihel isn’t an M-type personality.” He’s the sort of person who seems easily swayed by others, a bit too vulnerable to outside influence. In a sense, that worried me more than anything.

“Lady Tine, the preparations are complete.”

The harvest was ready. After making sure the wheat was properly dried, it was finally time to begin threshing.

Stefana, as always, had arranged everything with neat precision. The tool she prepared was called a mugigushi, though back in my previous life I would have recognized it instantly as a traditional senbakoki—a threshing tool with two rows of sharp teeth designed to strip the grains from their stalks.

The work itself was more delicate than I had imagined. The trick, Stefana explained, lay in the balance between strength and rhythm. Pulling too fast or too slow ruined the efficiency. “This is excellent training for you,” she said with a serene smile.

I forced myself to keep at it, even though that smile of hers—so gentle on the surface—had begun to feel oddly terrifying to me lately.

Once the wheat was separated, the mess was far from over. What remained was a jumble of grain mixed with splintered straw and husks. In my old world, this would have been the perfect moment for a winnowing fan or machine. But here, such tasks were solved with magic.

My mother and the others, who could wield wind magic with casual ease, summoned gentle swirling currents of air. The straw fragments scattered aside while the heavier grains settled neatly into baskets.

And me? I could only watch. Magic was beyond my reach.

But I knew better than to complain or sigh. To lament my lack of magic would only wound my mother, and that was something I could never allow. Instead, I reminded myself that in my previous world, science had always provided solutions. If it truly became necessary, I could simply build something myself. A rotating threshing machine, perhaps a winnowing device, maybe even a husker. I remembered the principles well enough—why not recreate them here?

Still, before I could dream too big, I needed to strengthen my knowledge through alchemy. Craftwork, after all, cost money. And without money, study and invention would remain nothing more than idle thoughts.

That night, after a long day of threshing and the tiresome process of paying our taxes, I approached my mother just before bed.

“Mother… I was thinking. I’d like to go out and gather some materials for alchemy…”

Her smile cut me off before I could finish. It was warm, almost gentle—but I knew immediately. This was the kind of smile that allowed no argument.

Denied.

The reasons she listed were many, but the sharpest and most unavoidable one was simple: my lack of fighting ability.

I might aspire to become an alchemist, but living in the frontier meant survival skills were essential. For that reason, I had been training under Stefana since the beginning of this year, learning the way of the sword.

In truth, though, I had barely begun. At best, my skill amounted to being able to swing a wooden sword hard enough to knock over grass stalks.

Dressed up in words, it sounded respectable. But in practice, it was little more than “hitting grass with a stick.” Hardly the qualifications of someone who could venture into a dangerous forest alone.

And sending me with the whole family would only make things worse—my mother couldn’t fight, which meant Stefana would be forced to defend all of us, doubling her burden.

So the forest was out of the question.

Which meant I would have to make do with what could be found inside the village.

Of course, I couldn’t just chop down trees at will, and stones or dirt held little value in alchemy.

One afternoon, wandering around the house deep in thought about what I might create or find, my eyes landed on something I had always overlooked: a tree.

It stood more than five meters tall, its trunk about thirty centimeters thick. I had seen it countless times before, but today something about it caught my attention.

“…Sap?”

A wound scarred the bark, and from it, golden resin trickled down in slow, glistening drops.

Sap. Instantly, memories stirred—maple syrup, rubber, and… amber.

In this world, amber was known as honey-gem, named for its golden hue so similar to honey. Though technically treated as a gemstone, its value was modest. Rare, yes, but often dismissed by women because insects were frequently trapped inside. Only eccentric collectors bothered to seek it out.

I remembered hearing once that amber was fossilized resin. But I had no idea whether it hardened simply with time and drying, or if pressure was needed.

“Well, there’s no harm in trying.”

I scratched a shallow cut into the bark and held out a transparent cup I had shaped through materialization magic. Over the next thirty minutes, I managed to collect a mere ten milliliters of sap.

Carefully, I began the process. First, I activated the sphere-pattern inscribed around the outside of the transmutation array, generating a containment sphere in which I placed the resin. At once, the sap pooled into the center.

Then, channeling mana into the technique-pattern drawn on the inside, I triggered Purification, stripping away impurities. Next, I switched to Extraction, forcing out the moisture.

“…Did it work?”

I withdrew the dried substance from the containment sphere, examining it in my hand.

“Ah… no. Not good.”

What I held could only be described as “dried sap.” It had hardened somewhat, but when I pinched it, it crumbled into brittle fragments. Far too fragile. Simply drying it wasn’t enough.

I tried applying pressure, compressing the brittle resin together. But it behaved like nothing more than a dirt clod, clumping weakly until the slightest squeeze caused it to fall apart again.

Perhaps, I thought, the answer lay in extracting moisture and applying pressure simultaneously.

“…But how?”

The problem was fundamental. Each transmutation array could only produce one effect at a time. The array was built with the sphere-pattern forming the outer ring and the technique-pattern inscribed within. I could maintain the sphere while rewriting the inner pattern, but it still allowed only one effect at once.

So how could I apply two effects simultaneously?

One idea was to draw two technique-patterns inside a single sphere-pattern. But that would double the diameter, quadruple the surface area. The advantage was that up to four techniques could be used, but the ratio problem immediately arose.

The balance between the outer sphere and the inner patterns determined output. Alter the ratio, and the result was like trying to cool an entire gymnasium with a single household air conditioner.

Another possibility: construct a cube, with each face inscribed with its own transmutation array, directing the spheres inward to overlap at the center. That could allow up to six simultaneous effects.

But it also meant layering six spheres atop one another—wasteful of mana, and with the very real risk of destructive interference.

“Then… should I just make the outer sphere-pattern larger?”

It came down to a choice: reduce output to allow multiple effects, or risk dangerous interference with overlapping spheres.

“…No. Wait. That’s not it.”

The realization struck me. I had always separated the outer sphere-pattern and the inner technique-patterns in my work. If so, why not leave a single sphere-pattern active, and simply connect multiple technique-patterns to it via conduits?

The central sphere would handle containment, while the surrounding diagrams could feed into it, each applying its own effect.

All I needed was a way to draw it cleanly.

When others used a transmutation board, they were bound to its flat surface. But I had no such restriction. I could create the formations wherever I pleased.

So I envisioned it: a central circle containing the sphere-pattern, and around it, multiple technique-patterns connected like monitors surrounding a control hub.

“…Yes. Like a wall of surveillance screens.”

It looked a little awkward, perhaps even ugly. But with this setup, I could theoretically connect up to nine technique-patterns around the core.

The possibilities stretched before me like a vast, uncharted horizon.

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