Chapter 20: The Subtle Uses of the Mage’s Hand

Joan washed his hands and stretched lazily. Lifting his gaze, he took in the vast expanse of the wetlands unfolding before him, reaching all the way to the horizon. In the shaded spots, patches of snow still lingered, while the sunlit areas were already lush and verdant. Tall reeds and bulrushes swayed gently in the breeze, and the chirping of small birds occasionally sounded from the grass. Viewed with a tourist’s eye, the scene was easily a perfect place for a spring outing.

Joan shook his head softly, silently warning himself not to be deceived by the enchanting landscape. Hidden within the emerald thickets were countless bottomless mires—one misstep, and you’d never climb out again. Deeper in the swamp, predators far more terrifying than the mud awaited: not to mention dinosaurs, giant pythons, and lizardfolk, even the crocodiles and venomous snakes lurking at the swamp’s edge were enough to give him headaches.

Earning money was urgent, but nothing compared to the value of his own life. Joan had no intention of venturing into the heart of the treacherous marsh. He waved away the bothersome mosquitoes, waded through the muddy water, and headed for a sloping patch of ground near the swamp’s edge, where a majestic pine tree cast a broad, cool shade.

He turned over every stone, large and small, beneath the tree, making sure there were no centipedes, scorpions, or other venomous creatures concealed below. Only then did he sit down with relief, leaning against the trunk and sighing contentedly. After resting for five minutes, he took off his backpack and drew out a wooden box about two feet long, one foot wide, and half a foot high. He opened the lid carefully, revealing a layer of fine, moist sawdust, within which a dozen or so brownish-yellow leeches writhed faintly.

Satisfied that his morning’s catch was all alive, Joan’s spirits lifted somewhat. He closed the box and set it in the shade—next, he would try a brand-new method for catching leeches.

Joan closed his eyes and meditated for a moment, calming his mind and entering a state of spellcasting focus. He deftly formed the necessary gestures, chanted the incantation in Elvish, and finished with a crisp activating word.

“Rúma!”

Joan’s right hand glowed with a pale radiance, as magical energy conjured an almost transparent “Mage Hand” that reached toward the muddy patch below the slope.

At his current level of spellcasting, the zero-level “Mage Hand” could extend about eight yards—a range neither especially long nor short, but enough to reach from his perch on the slope down to the edge of the marsh.

The Mage Hand had no time limit; as long as Joan could maintain his focus, this invisible force could tirelessly replace his own hands, turning over mud to catch leeches. Unlike flesh and blood, the magical hand was nimble and immune to leech bites. Its maximum five-pound carrying capacity was more than enough to lift a small leech. In all respects, it was perfectly suited to his current task.

Seated in the shade, Joan didn’t move a finger; with just his will, the Mage Hand churned the mud and snatched up leeches. Not only was this far less tiring than working by hand, but it was also far more efficient—within less than an hour, he had caught over a hundred leeches.

He placed all the captured leeches into the wooden box. Watching his catch grow steadily, his mood improved. At a minimum rate of a hundred leeches per hour, he could catch at least a thousand a day, which would earn him ten gold ducats from Mr. Kelandir. Unless he found a more lucrative occupation, Joan was quite satisfied with his current income.

Catching leeches was a tedious task, but it gave Joan the chance to train his spellcasting—prolonged use of Mage Hand strengthened his concentration, and the need to seize slippery, tiny leeches improved his control over the spell’s finer details.

As his remote-control skills improved, his efficiency soared. By the time the sun was about to set, Joan was averaging nearly two hundred leeches an hour.

The last glow of daylight finally dipped below the western horizon, dusk cloaked the Great Marsh, and night fell swiftly. Joan rubbed his aching eyes and slowly got to his feet to stretch. As darkness deepened, he could no longer see the muddy pools thirty feet away. Unable to work in such conditions, he packed up and made his way back to Derlin Town.

It took Joan two full hours to walk from the edge of the swamp to the small town. By the time he reached home, it was nearly eight o’clock. While his leeches were still alive, Joan first visited the clinic and handed the box—containing more than eight hundred leeches—to Mr. Kelandir.

Dr. Kelandir was a handsome, elegant half-elf, appearing just over thirty by human standards. His quiet, reserved nature was quite compatible with Joan’s own. He opened the box and, seeing the mass of writhing leeches, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Though clearly a bit taken aback, Kelandir didn’t ask how Joan had managed such a catch in a single day. He simply estimated the quantity, took out ten gold coins, and handed them to Joan.

“Doctor, I counted—there are eight hundred and thirty-one leeches here,” Joan said, accepting nine of the coins and reaching for his purse to make change.

“No need,” Kelandir waved a hand. “You’ve had a long day. Consider the rest your travel fee.”

Joan expressed his gratitude, hesitated for a moment, then summoned his courage to ask, “Doctor, would you let me watch how you refine the leech potion?”

“How much do you know about alchemy and potion-making?”

“I’ve read a few books, but there were many things I couldn’t understand.”

“Are you interested?”

“Yes,” Joan replied earnestly with a nod.

Kelandir smiled softly and murmured, “Indeed, if you aspire to become a distinguished mage, my young friend, you must devote some attention to alchemy and potion-making—for these are important branches of magical knowledge. A mage ignorant of potion-crafting is bound to be laughed at.”

“Would you be willing to teach me?” Joan asked hopefully.

Kelandir considered for a moment, then nodded gently. “The clinic opens at eight each morning. From six to eight, I’m free—you may come and observe my potion-making. On weekends too, if you have the time, you’re welcome anytime.”

“Um, about tuition…” Joan trailed off, unsure.

“There’s no need for tuition,” Kelandir said calmly. “Just catch me a few more leeches.”

“That’s… I can’t thank you enough,” Joan said, bowing deeply in excitement.

Kelandir smiled kindly, turned to the bookshelf, and drew out a volume, which he handed to Joan. “This is my Introduction to Alchemy and Potion-Making. Take it home and read it well. There’s plenty of foundational knowledge worth learning. Once you finish it, you’ll be qualified to serve as my laboratory assistant.”