Edwin's Magic Notes

I died unjustly. The bookshelf in the library fell down and was smashed to death. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the continent of Iseland, the Free City-State Silver Harbor, a place where currency was more complicated than a spell. Gold ducats, silver florins, copper hele, elven moon silver leaves, orc salt and iron coupons, dwarf mineral rights coupons - you have to look at the blackboard at the door of the goblin exchange house before going out to buy a piece of bread. First, there is magic in this world. But it has nothing to do with me. The robed mages at Yingang University and even the most junior apprentices can make fireballs. Then there are the formal mage, expert, archmage, and city-breaking levels—the kind of people who can tear down city walls with one hand. As for demigods and gods, that's legend. Second, I have magic in me. Blocked. I don't know who the person who blocked me is, but he is definitely not a philanthropic person. Third, the old half-elf who taught me the spell is the same kind of person as the senior mage who died in the university laboratory last night. He said: "You can learn magic. But you have to live first." I said, "Okay. Anyway, my life is not worth three hundred gold coupons." Then I got involved in something. A matter of using spells to change the exchange rate, using magic to kill mages, and using gold coupons to buy human lives.