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A note from Wutosama

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Shuttle buses outside the great stupa took the contestants to their next port of call - the old colonial administration - now ironically once again the headquarters of the government-in-exile, a building stoically named the Secretariat.

The exit from Shwedagon Zedi Daw proved just as mystical as the Rite of Unfettered Body. Each of the contestants took up a candle as they exited the stupa, forming a long line of warm light that lit the exterior of Singuttara Hill, bathing the entirety of Dagon and the northern half of the city with its magnified, quasi-magical splendour.

“Even now, the light from the stupa and the glare from its guardian beasts keeps the Magical Creatures away,” Mayuree informed the team with a tone of reverence. “It’s the only reason Yangon has never fallen to Demi-humans.”

Which would make sense, Gwen supposed. Had the Mongolian Centaur tribes taken Yangon in the 13th century, as the Mongol Empire of her world had, it was highly unlikely so much gold and precious ornaments would have remained. When finally the group exited the stupa, Gwen enquired about the dome’s aurora.

“If you mean the bud,” Mayuree replied to Gwen’s continued enquiry, then indicated to the crown of the stupa with an expression of immense pride. “Five thousand, four hundred and forty-eight diamonds of varying shapes and sizes, inlaid through mithril Glyph-work bisecting two thousand three hundred and seventeen rubies stud the tip. At the zenith of the stupa lies the heart of an ancient Naga, gifted to the Mon and Pyu kings of old, it’s the source of the stupa’s protective power.”

“Sounds almost like a Shielding Station, only with gold and jewels,” Gwen recalled the giant Creature Core she had seen in Australia.

“It IS similar,” Richard was the one who butted in. “The mandalas used by modern Spellcraft have their origins in Hindi and Tibetan scriptural magic.”

“I find it curious,” it was Magister Walken who spoke next, his mana-threaded voice just audible between the two cousins. “That Myăma has revealed itself to possess both a Shielding Station by another name, as well as an ISTC array? Gwen, walk with me.”

“Eric?” Gwen blinked at her instructor once she fell out of step with Mayuree, who joined the others ahead, spinning yarns about the city and its many buildings.

“I have decided to take your friend’s account of this country with a grain of salt,” Walken advised. “Not that I am trying to come between the two of you, but if I were the ruler of a Frontier with this much resource, I would not be advertising my wealth either. In fact, something to offset unwanted foreign investments, like a rogue dragon, would be ideal.”

“But…”

“I know— you’ve told me already,” Walken dismissed her protest. “You believe what you want, but where I stand, someone or some ‘thing’ has allowed all of this to happen. That ISTC array looks like it's recently refurbished. I am unsure if your Professor Birch got that far with his lessons, but embedded within Imperial Metric standards for IST Circles are geo-dynamic Divination arrays used to pinpoint Translocation. Ergo, there must exist a private Divination array somewhere inside the city, tethered to the Chinese network and the outside world. All, alas, isn’t what it seems, including your friend. You must be careful; understand?”

“I think so,” Gwen answered quietly, mulling over Walken’s suspicions.

“It would be nice if that other cousin of yours, the Russian, were here,” Walken snorted, leaving Gwen to ruminate. “I have a feeling that before long, we’ll begging for a good Mind Mage.”

Though the contestants had left behind the vaulted dome of the pagoda, they nonetheless felt suffused by the blessing invoked by the reliquary commemorating the fabled progenitor of the Eightfold Path, an existence on par with men like Confucius, author of the Path of Rú, or his Western counterparts like Christ, said to be the shepherd of humanity.

It was with a great sense of Zen, therefore, that the students arrived at the Secretariat, also known as The Ministers’ Building, located in the colonial heart of Yangon’s downtown. Spread across six acres of the most prosperous real estate in the city, the old colonial building had fallen into momentary ruin when British Mageocracy left former Burma. In the last two decades, the interim government, having lost its northern capital, now laboured away in its old halls, blushing at the irony of having to return to a place of national shame to keep the daily affairs of the city in operation.

Within the compound’s quad was the central courtyard, a wondrous English garden that had survived multiple purges, revolutions, a rebellion and an assassination. It was here that a duelling arena had been constructed, together with viewing platforms for the dignitaries, a section for the outdoor ball, and an undercover canopy under which servants swarmed with zesty canapés and phalanges of liquor sitting in vats of ice.

After changing into more suitable clothing for the evening in their guest rooms, the contestants entered the building’s centre. There, they met with fanfare blasting from a live orchestra - the very first time Gwen had seen such a thing since arriving in this world: a whole pit of violas and trombones and saxophones and viol and piccolos, alongside traditional Burmese instruments which she could not identify. As they entered through the overhanging tent, taller than any canvas Gwen had ever seen, her eyes swept over truckloads of tropical fruit of every colour and description, lichees the size of oranges, oranges the size of grapefruits, mangoes the size of melons and pomegranates the size of Texan pumpkins.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A gentle light suffused the centre of the boisterous proceedings. Filing in quadrant by quadrant, the teams reached the front of the circular assembly.

A troop of Mages slowly rose above the crowd, borne aloft on platforms conjured through levitation.

“Welcome! Students, advisors, and guests, to the reception for the first regional round of the 2004 IIUC. Tonight, in beautiful Yangon, thanks to the sponsorship and invitation issued by the House of M of Myăma, we are gathered here for a grand purpose.”

The man who spoke looked about in his sixties, possessing a European accent that Gwen placed in middle Europe, likely the Germanic regions.

“I am Chief Proctor and Magister, Lutz von Schlabrendorff, and I, together with Assistant Proctor Magister Evelyn Hass and our team, will be overseeing your actions in the field. For our presence here tonight, I would like to thank Miss Maymyint of the House of M, Matriarch Nanmadaw Me Nu, protector of Myăma and its Frontier provinces, and the Brussels-based IIUC Organisational Committee.”

Having heard the Matriarch’s name for the first time, Gwen had half a mind to fire off a Message to Walken, but her instructor was standing several paces behind the Chief Proctor together with the advisors from the other teams.

“I know you’re all eager to get to the food and drinks, and even more so to get to the duelling field, so I’ll keep this short.” Magister von Schlabrendorff drew a few laughs from the crowd. “The International Inter-University Competition has its roots in a union of European Universities desiring a means to facilitate cultural exchange, establish academic rankings, as well as engender friendship and camaraderie among the future leaders and Tower Mages. Here and now, each of you represents the apex of what your cities and renowned academic institutions have to offer!”

He waited for the applause to recede.

“I understand your spirit of competition— that you’re here to WIN. But winning isn’t everything. Though this old man’s words sound like sophistry, let me remind you that victory— total victory, is a rare and precious thing in the real world. Against our Demi-human neighbours both hostile and friendly, we succeed in degrees, often so pyrrhic and minute that one wonders if the cost was worth it after all. Nonetheless, such is the real world, and the solution to humanity’s great dilemma is one that requires great power, great wisdom, and great foresight.”

“The competition heralds a singular victor, but even in defeat, there is much to gain. You are in a beautiful country with creatures dangerous and people friendly. I have even been informed that up north, a Tyrant of the Draconis sub-type haunts the mineral-rich mountains! Through adventure and danger, make friends! Enjoy yourself! You are at the beginning of your lives. Remember, not even Sir Jonathan Cornwell, recipient of the Victoria Cross at the age of sixteen, Knight, and Magister at age twenty-four made it to the final round of the 1996 IIUC. So, enjoy the evening! Your quests shall be given, one week from now!”

Suddenly, as if pigmented particles freed into a gentle swirl of air, colour filled the sky and the scent of supper enveloped the crowd. A flurry of Maids dashed the teams’ formations, caramel in colour and nubile in their tropical sarongs, carrying glistening hors-d’oeuvre: from glazed cutlets to rainbow salads to burlesque splays of pork and pheasant baked until golden. Another troop of waiters followed, dark-skinned and back straight, supplying flutes of silvery gins and cordials, splicing concoctions from a colonial epoch long gone.

With Mayuree hanging from one arm and Richard and Lulan standing guard not too far away close to the buffet table, Gwen piled her plate and stuffed herself with the exotic fair, all the while thinking of Walken’s warning, sparing subtle glances at the kitten-like Mayuree meowing about the splendours of Yangon.

As the music moved from trumpet to ambience, the moist air came alive with chatter and laughter, innuendo and introductions. Guests who Gwen assumed to be local powerbrokers wandered in groups. Bodies young and old mingled and entwined, the men seeking out the women, surrounding the confident girls as the Dancing Lights painted their faces in garish hues.

Though a dozen dignitaries had made themselves known to Gwen, Mayuree’s presence seemed to act as a ward, leaving her a measure of privacy. She had abused the opportunity to work through a giant crab claw when a petite foursome from Kyoto U approached, led by a fifth. The leading girl was the Miko with the golden crown, though now she was dressed in pastel casuals consisting of a long skirt and a frilly top.

“Song-sama, Mayuree-sama, good evening, my name is Yuki Kamo, Captain of the Kyoto team and second in line to the Kamo Clan, 39th generation from Kamo no Yasunori-sama. These are my teammates and members of our Clan, Masahiro Kimura, Hiroki Hiroyama, Yamato Kamo and my Vice Captain, Ichiro Otsuki. I wanted to make your acquaintance earlier, but you were indisposed.”

Gwen realised that Kyoto’s Captain was referring to the fact that she’d been politely eating for the last hour, stopping only to comment on the food.

“G’evening.” Gwen quickly stowed her unfinished crab-leg before running a cleaning cantrip over her hand. “I am Gwen Song, Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team. Over there is my Captain, Tei Bai, and those are my companions, Lulan Li and Richard Huang, though they’re indisposed.”

“Hello.” Mayuree bowed her head.

The group exchanged bows, handshakes and nods.

“We are honoured to meet you, Miss Song. Please excuse my rudeness. Is it true that you are in service to a Kirin Kami-sama?”

“Say, yes,” Walken’s voice, delivered via a Silent Message, whispered by her ear. The old man was holed up across the room, speaking with the other advisors, who were undoubtedly keeping an eye on their students as well.

Gwen knew from extensive reading of Murakami and Yoshimoto, as well as her dozen or so viewings of Lost in Translation, a miscellany understanding of Japanese culture. Combined with her Mage world research, she understood that “Kami” denoted an anthropological ‘God’ framed from shamanistic spiritualism, Shinto Buddhism, dynastic Taoism and Fusui naturalism, formulating a faith system based on the Amatsukami and the ya-o-yorozu no kami, the eight million-fold spirits that reside in all things.

As such, it came as no surprise that a theocrat would find intense interest in a heavenly being.

“I am, Kamo-san,” Gwen replied with what she could recall of her Japanese honorifics from her Hokkaido vacation. “Would you like to see Ariel... kun?”

“Please!” The group bowed in tandem because politeness would get a person anywhere.

“Ariel, come out!” She gestured toward an empty patch of air, wary of the lights, the tent and the palm trees.

A jolt of Essence was enough to maximise its presence, and without disappointment, Ariel manifested in its celestial glory.

“EEE! EE!”

Stag’s horn, fishes’ scale, lion’s mane, horses’ hoof and swishing tail instantly drew every eye from across the room.

“Okami-sama!”

The Captain of Kyoto U’s expression grew instantly reverent. Possessed by a fair complexion, crystal clear eyes and pink, cherry blossom bud lips, the young Miko appeared far younger than her real age, more so in her casual wear.

All but one of the group bowed deeply, this time from the waist. It would appear their respect for Ariel was magnitudes beyond their perception of Gwen herself.

“May we interact with your Familiar, Song-sama?”

“Please, just Gwen is fine.” Gwen squirmed. Not even paying seven hundred USD per night at Suizantei had someone called her anything other than customer-sama.

“Ariel!” Mayuree cooed. “Gwen, may I?”

“Sure.” Gwen watched her companion skip away.

“EEE!!” Ariel snuggled against its companion, kissing Mayuree on the lips, drawing envious gasps from the crowd.

That’s Mia alright, Gwen’s nerves calmed somewhat. There was no way Ariel would mistake someone else for Mayuree, not when the desperate Diviner was the one who gave Ariel its first Creature Core.

“Gwen-san, I would also like to be blessed by Ariel-sama!”

While the Shintoists excitedly crowded around the manifested Kami, Gwen’s eye met with Kyoto U’s Vice-Captain, who had stayed behind to speak.

Where their female Captain had the bearing of someone used to deference, the young man with the name Ichiro Otsuki had the bearing of someone used to being obeyed, standing almost a meter-ninety and beanpole thin, the shugenja’s face had a gauntness to it that made him appear a decade older.

“Oro? Kirin-sama’s scales are patterned like the Fumishi deer-kami.”
“The horns are the same as the stag-kami in Itsukushima though.”
“Ariel-sama is licking my fingers! Kami-sama is blessing me!”

A crash of jovial sounds only Ariel could elicit added to the happy atmosphere of the reception.

“Song-san, I am told you are also in possession of another Kami, a thing of Asura,” the young man began, sidling closer.

“No Caliban until the duel,” Walken’s advice once again rang in her ear. Bloody hell Eric, Gwen halted herself from making a face. Was this harassment? It felt like harassment. The old man may as well be breathing down her neck.

“I am.” Gwen nodded, then quickly recalled the man’s name. “Otsuki-san.”

“May I see your other Kami? Gwen-san?”

“You shall, Otsuki-san,” Gwen fired off an amiable enough grin. “In good time.”

“I would be very grateful.”

“Trust me, Caliban isn’t good for a gathering filled with NoMs...”

Meanwhile, others had joined the Kirin quadrant of the party. A few of the students from Jiantong gave Gwen curt nods before joining the Japanese foursome. They were then joined by two prim young women in miniskirts and blazers, the iconography of their uniform possessing a Roman laurel wreath, a blazing wand and a quilt-pen over a backdrop of scrolls, indicating they were from Seoul U.

That an Asian university had a Romanised logo reminded Gwen of Walken’s earlier instruction.

According to her advisor, after the North fell to the Undead unleashed by its crazed leadership, Seoul and its surrounding cities completely embraced the Western way of doing things, going so far as to embrace Christianity in lieu of its indigenous Mu-shamanism.

Modern Seoul was thus a city with more in common with London or New York, serving as a centre of economic and magical development for the region. Unique to their geography, the Koreans enjoyed some of the most experienced combat Mages in Asia. Where China had sent its Mages to grind out the Beijing-Liaoning Front, Seoul’s proximity to the Kaesŏng-Yeoncheon Front meant it was permanently one catastrophic failure away from annihilation by the Undead horde a strategic spell’s distance away. In the decades since the nation’s American and British Mageocracy allies pushed back the tide of Undead, the peninsula has only not fallen, but prospered, becoming one of the largest manufacturers of wands, staves, and magical implements in the world.

“Which makes their magic the same as ours, only they’ve got proper military training.”

But perhaps most famously, Korean disdain for the atrocities of the Sino War and the crimes committed against the nation by the communists and the Imperial Japanese Mages had only grown, exacerbated by territorial disputes and trade routes.

When her eyes drifted from the girls, she caught two more approaching bodies.

“Song-Hubae!”
Gwen’s conversation was interrupted by a call out from across the room by one of the young men.

Ichiro continued to speak, ignoring the duo from Seoul U, though a second “Song-Hubae!” cut him off mid-sentence, leaving no doubt as to their explicit purpose.

With an expression that could chill drinks, Ichiro Otsuki stepped aside to make room.

“Hello.” Gwen tipped her chin just a mite, displeased with the men’s intrusiveness. “Gwen Song, Vice-Captain, Fudan.”

Her lack of deference seemed to rub off on the men the wrong way, as their body language instantly took on a tightness that wasn’t there when they had interrupted her and Ichiro’s conversation.

“Lee Sung,” the first young man introduced himself, likewise spartan on manners. “Captain.”

Another Magma Mage! Gwen’s brow twitched. And one far more practised than Rene. Whether because of the Mage’s absurd Affinity or style, she could sense the heat radiating from his torso. Much to her surprise, when Sung came closer, she couldn’t help but notice the man was exceedingly impressive as well, not in the stoic seriousness of Tei, but in a manner that was raw and imposing, like if Dai was descended from Mao himself.

“Lee Si-won,” the other young man introduced himself. “Vice-Captain.”

“Ask if they’re from ‘that’ Lee family.” Walken’s voice came through. “If they are, ask them for a duel.”

“You’re both from the Lee Clan?” Gwen pretended to mull over the name for a second. “From the Yooksung Chae—”

“…”

“…”

Sung’s impeccable jawline bulged.

Oh shit, Gwen bit her tongue in turn. While the Chaebol, the ten families accounting for fifty per cent of Korea’s GDP referred to themselves as such, they loathed it when outsiders used the word, regarding it as a sort of ironic insult. In her old world, when Samsung’s indicted president went to prison, the phrase Chaebol had been dragged through the Korean media as a scapegoat for the nation’s economic woes; its etymology of “wealth” and “locked gate”, inferring avarice and greed. In this world, she could only imagine what reputations the Chaebol must hold.

“— the Yooksung Group?” she finished awkwardly.

Curiously, she knew more about the Yooksung Conglomerate than the Clan behind it. When working on Nantong’s accounts, she had noted that a behemoth-tier Korean entity akin to Samsung existed across the South China Sea, accounting for almost seven per cent of Nantong’s precious mineral and Crystal exports, and twelve per cent of its Spellcraft and Imbued Material imports. That a single company possessed as much inventory flow as the top two Japanese import-exporters, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries and Tokugawa Mana-Solutions, was enough to burn the name into her mind.

“I see you are acquainted with our humble family business, Song Hubae.” The Magma Mage came closer, radiating displeasure. When the man was inches away, Gwen realised he was likely twenty or twenty-one, the maximum age for the IIUC. In Seoul, males had their Mandatory Military service between the age of seventeen and nineteen.

“Perhaps Song-Hubae doesn’t think we’re worthy of her attention,” Seoul U’s Vice-Captain snorted derisively. “She’s a prodigy, after all.”

The younger companion to Seoul U’s Captain was likely a sibling, from the man’s pallid complexion and bloodless lips, she sensed he was probably an Ice Mage. From the surface, the man was at least as attuned to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice as Kitty. Unlike his taller counterpart, the man was a head shorter, barely taller than Gwen without her booties.

“Are the two of you done?” Her previous companion, Ichiro, butted in before Lee and Lee could continue.

“Does it look like we’re done?” Sung fired back, cocking his head bullishly. “Go and play with your priestesses, Jap. We have business with the owner of the Kirin Spirit.”

“Ku,” Ichiro scoffed. “You think a servant of an Okami would lower herself to traffic with bumpkins such as yourselves? Need I remind you that only four decades ago, Seoul U was called Keijō Imperial University. Maybe you should offer a proper Seonbae-nim to your betters.”

“Oh, look, Sung Hyung, the jjokbari thinks he’s funny. I wonder how he fares in the arena. They never learn until beaten back.”

“I’d think I would fare better than you, Lee-kun,” Ichiro sniggered nastily. “If you have the time, I’ll squeeze that Seonbae-nim out of you yet.”

“Don’t give up your treatment, jjokbari.” Sung’s temperament flared. “Don’t think we don’t know who you are — you’re the Kotodama User Seonsaeng-nim warned us about. But if we know your tricks, then you’ve lost already. To think they would allow a Mind Mage into the IIUC, how laughable.”

“Ha, you speak as if you know the weight and meaning behind your words, yet we both know that your reliance on Western Spellcraft has made you weak and common. Why would I be here if even a simpleton like you can ward against my kotodama?”

“See, that’s precisely the thinking that can get a fool killed in a competition like the IIUC…”

Gwen, meanwhile, realised the cocks were happy enough tossing one another that they no were longer in need of a hen to ruffle. Taking a step backwards with meticulous care, she slipped away from the group, double-checking to ensure her cocktail dress was in order, then went to check on her Captain.

“Thank you for sharing Kami’s benediction with us, Song-san,” Yuki caught up with Gwen after she was a safe distance away. “As a fellow servant of Kami-sama, we would like a chance to cooperate if our interests should be mutually beneficial.”

“Of course, Kamo-san.” Gwen found herself bowing as well, accepting her new role as Ariel’s servant. Yuki punctuated each of her statements with a cute nod of the head, making it impossible to dislike the girl. “We’ll speak again later.”

When Gwen sauntered through the grass toward her Senior Bai, her companion caught her with a glance and quickly approached.

“Gwen, we got trouble.” Tei pulled her close by looping an arm around her elbow. “I think the Emei Sect’s goading Lulan for a duel, and then there’s a cousin of some sort harassing Eunae as well—”

Just as Gwen was about to suggest that they should let their teammates resolve individual encounters to gain experience, her confidence was betrayed.

“Upstart whore! If you want to play the crafty chang-yeo, you’ll regret it.”

A Seoul U contestant, one Gwen had yet to meet, broke out in an explosive clamour while mid-way engaged with Eunae. Before Gwen could even make heads or tails of what was happening, the usually timid Eunae reached across between them, then slapped the young man across the face with an audible Pa!

The rest of the audience immediately cleared a ring of space around the scarlet-faced duo. As if on cue, a strangled violin croaked its last caw, spreading the contagion of silence.

“Gwen,” Walken’s wary voice came across as a worried whisper. “Temper…”

“You hit me!” The young man was in disbelief. “This nyeon hit me!”
Eunae appeared to be in shock as well, staring at her hand as though it was suddenly alienated from her body.

“Eunae.” Gwen started in Eunae’s direction.

“S-Seonbae-nim-” Her mouth opened and closed like that of a fish’s.

Pa!

A resounding slap echoed across the room.

Eunae staggered backwards, disorientated by the blow until she ran into a table laden with fruit and desserts. Tripping over her own feet, she was on the verge of making a spectacle of Fudan when Richard’s Undine appeared suddenly behind her, catching the girl in her arms.

A split-second later, Lulan appeared beside the healer, having expertly Misty Stepped beside the wide-eyed girl, joined by Rene, Anita and Jiro, who had bull rushed through the crowd, lacking the finesse possessed by the Sword Mage.

A dash of blood trickled down the corner of Eunae’s mouth. The slap had cut her lip.

Were this any other time, Gwen would have enjoyed the fruit of her team building labour, but for now, all she could do was drift toward the red-faced young man with a terrible expression on her face.

“Gwen, this is a good opportunity-” Walken’s voice was the last thing she heard as she tapped the young man on the back.

“What do you want?” It took the young man a second to realise it was Gwen Song, the Vice-Captain of the Fudan Team; a visage that had been circulated to all his team members, that he now faced.

“You have two seconds to apologise to Eunae.” Gwen’s voice drifted as though in a trance. “Go on, chop chop.”

“Are you crazy?” the young man scoffed, his face twisting with equal parts disbelief and disdain. “Hey— Sung Seonbae-nim! Is this nyeon slow in the head?”

“One.”

“You-”

PA!

Gwen’s blow was quick, too quick for the naked eye to follow. Empowered by her Almudj’s Essence, her irises blazed viridian as her palm struck the offender’s jaw, snapping his head back so far that for a second, the newly recovered Eunae screamed, thinking that Gwen had decapitated her victim.

Thankfully, Mages were a hardy lot, and it only took a single pirouette of the lad’s body for his head to catch up.

It was only then that Newton’s laws caught up to speed. Gwen’s victim was lifted off his feet and sent half-flying, half staggering backwards into the very table Eunae had almost encountered. Unfortunately for the displaced member of Seoul U’s team, Fudan’s Mages had no wish to cushion the fellow before his face connected with the table, his body cannoning onto the fruit and juices, turning the man into a harlequin coleslaw.

As if on cue, the Yooksung duo appeared to inspect the scene with frigid miens.

“Gwen, I am sorry—” Eunae began, on the verge of tears. “Sung Seonbae-nim—”

“That’s my cousin.” Captain Lee pointed a thumb at the groaning young man buried in fruit, ratifying their existence as the Yooksung trio. “He’s a LEE... You’re a Lee. So what’s the meaning of this? Eunae Hubae, does Uncle Jae have a death wish?”

“Sung Seonbae-nim, I am so sorry— I- I wasn’t thinking— Gwen Seonbae-nim’s not herself— she has a high Affinity, and she is a Lightning user and—”

“I asked you.” Sung’s eyes were two clinking beads of coal. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Eunae?”

Globs of panicked moisture finally escaped Eunae’s eyes.

Gwen pulled Eunae behind her, cutting the girl’s plea before she could finish her blubbering.

“It’s not like I didn’t give your dickhead a chance to apologise.”

With another deft move of her hand, she brushed off Walken’s mosquito voice buzzing at her ear, a plan formulating in her mind even as the words left her mouth.

One... Two... Three... perfect.
She could do it. With Eunae’s help, it was possible.

“Let’s make this easy. YOU and YOU and this prick, assuming he can get back up. We'll take it in the arena. We settle this as Mages, leaving our families out. Are you game, Sung Seonbae?

 

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A note from Wutosama

Chapter Ref :: 

Bonus ::  Gwen's Outfits 
Glossary and Magic System :: Glossary 

Voting for the novel :: Voting button  

Ebook Update :: I am sorting out taxes with Digital2Draft at the moment. It will be $3.99 USD on all platforms cross all avilable countries. Unsure how much physical copy is at the moment as I need to submit to get minimal printing cost, but can't submit without my taxes been done. 

I am submitting the book under my Family Trust, which will allow me to deduct Editing + Cover + GST + Foreign Tax from as outgoing + offse income from other sources. I highly recommend anyone who can be bothered to sort out this stuff with a good accountant ^^. 


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Wutosama

Bio: I write on the phone and edit at home. Times are tough!

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