The next morning, after Leon had rested, Im dragged him back to the workshop to make new fountain pens. Dahlia and Flower tried to hang around to watch, but Leon handed them practice sheets and sent them away—no distractions allowed.
With Im as the mana source, Leon didn't need to tend the furnace. He only had to use his Mage Hand tentacles to melt metal, meditating to replenish mana when he ran low. His strong mental strength let him push through several rounds without tiring.
Im was powerful by Leon's standards, but he couldn't control Mage Hand tentacles as deftly. For the magic fountain pen, he redesigned the nib—longer and wider at the base, wrapping fully around the pen shaft to leave space for runes. He stuck with the gold alloy but tweaked the formula for better toughness and durability, adding water element powder to boost mana compatibility and keep the nib moist.
Once Leon helped shape the nib, Im pulled out a small carving knife and etched a rune circle. Since the nib needed a slit for ink flow, the circle formed a "U" shape. But he hit a snag—he didn't know which rune to use. Pen-enchanting was niche; feather quills had too little space for complex runes, and only master craftsmen could weave runes into feather shafts. Even then, the magic was weak.
Im wanted a powerful enchantment, but he lacked the specialized knowledge. In the end, he settled for a basic "Smooth Writing" rune—same as his enchanted quill, a waste of the nib's potential. He'd hoped for fire element affinity to aid scroll-making, but the nib was too small for a miniaturized rune, and he couldn't optimize one on the spot.
To power the rune (and add a decorative touch), Im embedded a tiny sapphire at the end of the nib's ink channel.
With Im's help, Leon refined the pen shaft. He'd originally made the ink-storing capillary structure short to avoid messy spills, but now he lengthened it and added a wooden sleeve—similar to modern fountain pens. The sleeve, carved from hard ironwood, screwed onto the shaft's threaded end—all cut with Im's Wind Blade, which he wielded with incredible precision, as if "embroidering" with air. Leon wondered how Im had mastered Wind Blade so thoroughly—surely not every mage was this skilled.
When the pens were finished, Im gave Leon one without runes. "Carve your own enchantment later, when you find one that fits."
"Master, can I have another?" Leon asked, holding the pen. "I want to give one to Dahlia for her birthday."
Im counted the pens. "These are already promised— I'm sending them to friends in the capital next trip. Gifts mean more when you make them yourself. Use the one you crafted yesterday—no runes, so it works just as well."
Im hadn't made many nibs. He'd planned to use mithril to fill the runes but abandoned the idea once he realized he had no suitable enchantment. The only upgrade was extra adamantine for durability. He'd crafted eight or nine nibs total—only one enchanted with "Smooth Writing" for testing, the rest to gift to colleagues, who could add their own runes.
Leon had no choice but to ask Im to redesign the pen shaft for his original nib—carving intricate patterns filled with gold and silver, and adding a simple leather cap to protect the tip. The final product looked nearly identical to modern fountain pens.
He didn't want to give Im's gift pen to Dahlia—he planned to enchant it later. For now, the difference between his and Im's creations was minimal. Back on Earth, he'd laughed at novel tropes where protagonists stumbled into powerful gear, but now he was living it—Im's nib used better materials, a quiet act of kindness.
After finishing the shaft, Im said, "Name it, Leon."
Leon shrugged. "Fountain pen. Steel would work for the nib, but it's harder to forge. 'Gold pen' sounds too ostentatious. 'Fountain pen' fits—it highlights how it holds ink." Naming wasn't his strong suit; he'd just reuse the Earth name.
"Fitting," Im said. "Write a paper about your invention—steps, materials, advantages over quills. I'll submit it to the academy. Mages will love it—it's more durable than quills and easier to enchant."
"Thank you, Master. But how do I write a paper?"
Im fetched a book and handed it to him. "Wizard Monthly."
Leon frowned. "Master, we're mages. You said wizards gain power through worship?"
"During the church wars, they called all spellcasters 'wizards' and hunted us," Im explained. "This magazine was founded then, copied with Copy Magic. It started as an irregular publication called Wizard— a middle finger to the church's accusations. Back then, it shared spellcasting tips, but over time, mages shifted from chasing power to studying magic's principles. Now it publishes research. When the church retreated to East Pole, the name stuck. Wizard Monthly focuses on inventions and rune improvements—fundamental discoveries go to Wizard or specialized journals."
"Follow this format," Im said. "List yourself as the sole owner. I'll be second author."
He explained the rules: "Owners split profits and rights—you can have dozens, even non-inventors. Authors are creators: one first author, up to two second authors, three third. Owners hold rights (e.g., commissioned work), but theoretical discoveries belong to the author, no matter the contract. Since you designed the fountain pen's core, I'm only second author—you own it."
It was different from the charcoal filtration method, where Im had organized experiments and written the paper. "Like how artemisinin's discovery is credited to Tu Youyou, even though Chinese medicine used wormwood for malaria centuries ago," Leon thought. He was grateful—he'd heard horror stories of teachers stealing students' work back on Earth.