Since Im's rune lessons began, Leon had nurtured a bold idea: programming magic like code. He'd read the trope in Earth novels, but now, with runes laid bare, it felt possible.
The problem? He was a Java coder, not a master. Runes were closer to assembly or machine language—low-level, precise—nothing like Java's high-level abstractions. But core principles still applied: modular design, interfaces, encapsulation.
Object-oriented programming (OOP) was his north star. OOP framed everything as objects—entities with attributes (static traits) and methods (dynamic actions). A sword's attributes might be material and weight; its methods, cutting or blocking. Leon wanted to apply this to magic: encapsulate runes into reusable modules, then combine them to create new spells.
He'd never finished Thinking in Java—the dry theory had bored him—but he remembered enough to start. His test subject: Blaze Hand. It was simple, weak, and unlikely to cause mana backlash if he messed up.
Blaze Hand's control module was minimal—two runes working with one manifestation rune to prevent self-burning. Leon's first goal: rebuild this module as a standalone, reusable component. Ideally, he'd create a universal control module for all his spells, eliminating the need to redesign rune structures for every new magic.
But reality hit hard. Isolating the three runes (Insulation, Direction, Temperature) was easy. Connecting them? Not so much. In the mental sea, mana and mental energy wove runes together. Outside that safe space, the runes drifted apart, their mana links fragile and short-lived.
It was like coding a function without understanding the compiler. Clients and product managers always made it sound simple—"just add this button!"—but developers knew the hidden complexity. Leon's "universal module" felt the same: great in theory, messy in practice.
He considered asking Im for help but hesitated. Im was deep in refining the purification circle, and lessons had shifted to self-study for Dahlia and Flower. Leon didn't want to distract him.
Instead, he turned to Tai Chi. The slow, deliberate movements calmed his frustration, clearing his mind without forcing breakthroughs. It was the placebo effect amplified by his mana—he believed Tai Chi enhanced his magic, so it did. On Earth, a false cancer diagnosis could trigger real illness; here, his unshakable faith in Tai Chi's power had forged a genuine mana connection.
As he flowed through the form, mana hummed in sync with his breath. It wasn't a breakthrough, but it was progress. He returned to his rune experiments with renewed focus, testing small adjustments: tweaking mana flow, rearranging rune positions, adding tiny conduits between nodes.
The module still didn't work, but it lasted longer now—proof the logic was sound. Leon smiled. OOP magic might be years away, but he was on the right path.
In the distance, Im watched, amused. Leon's curiosity and stubbornness were rare—qualities that would take him far. He hadn't interfered because failure was part of learning. When Leon was ready to ask for help, Im would be there. But for now, let the boy tinker.
The snow fell thicker, covering the valley in white. Leon packed up his rune sketches, feeling hopeful. Valoka's answer could wait. He had runes to master, modules to build, and a world of magic to reimagine—one line of "code" at a time.