The Frugal Wizard's Handbook for Surviving Medieval England

“The man’s blade connected with my exposed wrist, and his eyes widened as his knife failed to cut me. He backed up a step. I stumbled, overwhelmed by the fragments of memories.

Flashing lights. Angry voices. I . . .”

In this moment of failed violence, the narrator’s augments and platings are revealed, symbolizing his fraught past and fractured identity. The physical invulnerability of his augments is immediately contrasted with his psychological fragility, as the event triggers painful, fragmented memories rendered in disjointed syntax. This juxtaposition foreshadows that his physical power is intrinsically linked to a trauma and a past self he has yet to consciously confront.

“How can you be so incompetent yet capable at the same time?”

Sefawynn’s question succinctly captures the protagonist’s paradoxical condition and serves as a direct commentary on the theme of The Malleability of Identity and the Power of Self-Reinvention. His amnesia has created a schism between his innate, highly developed skills—such as sneaking and combat reflexes—and his complete lack of conscious knowledge or purpose. The line highlights how identity is more than a set of abilities; without memory and context, his capability appears random and is undermined by his incompetence in navigating his new reality.

“At the very top of the page was a simple, clean question: What is your name?

Below it, handwritten in blue ink, was the name John West. […] And beneath that: What was your profession before you became an Interdimensional Wizard™?

That part of the page was burned, but I could make out a completely unexpected word. / Cop.”

This discovery marks a crucial turning point, as a single, ambiguous word found on a fragment of The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook allows John to construct an entire heroic identity. The physical evidence is incomplete, mirroring his fragmented memory, yet he uses it to overwrite his nagging fears of being a criminal with the comforting narrative of being a law enforcement officer. This act of self-definition, based on minimal information, illustrates the novel’s exploration of identity as a conscious, and potentially flawed, creation.

“The knowledge you hold from a simple high school education is vast compared to the comprehensive knowledge of some of the weightiest minds in history. You carry technological marvels that could literally topple kingdoms in your pocket, or perhaps embedded in your own body.”

This passage from the in-universe text explicitly articulates the philosophy behind the “Frugal Wizard” concept, defining power as a relative advantage in knowledge and technology. By framing the modern individual as a godlike figure in a medieval context, the handbook promotes an ethos of escapism and manufactured superiority. This rationale provides the ideological basis for John’s decision to impersonate a wizard, directly tying into the themes of The Responsible Use of Power to Build Agency and Define Worth and the clash between scientific rationality and mythological reality.

“‘It’s me,’ he whispered. ‘Aelv, your skill is otherworldly . . .’”

In this scene, Lord Ealstan reacts to a realistic sketch John has drawn of him. This quote illustrates the theme of the clash between scientific rationality and mythological reality by showing how a mundane skill from John’s world, learned through formal training in perspective and anatomy, is perceived as supernatural power in this dimension. The irony that John washed out of art school further develops the theme of the malleability of identity, as a past failure is re-contextualized into a source of immense magical authority.

“Last raid we suffered was a little over a year ago now,” he continued softly. “We lost six people. I . . . lost both of my sons. I could have prevented two of those deaths, had I been stronger. It was the first moment I understood that time was beginning to claim me.”

Ealstan confides in John, revealing the personal cost of his duty as a thegn. This moment develops the theme of the responsible use of power to build agency and define worth by defining strength not through technology or status, but through the physical ability to protect one’s community and family. Ealstan’s vulnerability and grief provide a stark contrast to John’s detached, augmented existence, grounding the narrative’s stakes in human loss and the physical limitations of mortality.

“Shame. Utter, gut-rotting shame overwhelmed me, and I flinched back, laughter echoing in my mind as I raised my hands—but not as a warrior might. More as a terrified art student would.”

As a Hordaman captain attacks him, John’s body does not react with the trained instincts of the hero he believes himself to be, but with pure fear. The diction of “gut-rotting shame” and the juxtaposition of “warrior” and “terrified art student” marks a fracture in his constructed persona, exposing the conflict between his assumed identity and his true past. This moment of involuntary memory highlights his internal struggle and foreshadows the eventual revelation of his non-heroic origins.

“At my words, thunder sounded in a sharp, demanding peal from the perfectly cloudless sky, and the rune burst aflame.

As in, the ink started on fire.

I was stunned. What was in that ink?”

After John draws a forbidden rune to intimidate the Hordamen, it spontaneously combusts. This event is the climax of his confrontation with the dimension’s magical reality, using auditory imagery (“sharp, demanding peal”) and a contradiction of natural law (“perfectly cloudless sky”) to shatter his rationalism. John’s immediate, scientific question—“What was in that ink?”—illustrates his cognitive dissonance as he attempts to find a logical explanation for an undeniably supernatural act, representing a key turning point in the novel’s exploration of science versus magic.

“The five little stones were again stacked in a perfect little pyramid. Cursing softly, I knocked them over again—then turned up my skin temperature two degrees. The chill persisted. […] Damn. I was accepting it now, wasn’t I?”

While trying to rest, John is confronted by a wight that repeatedly stacks stones in an impossible pyramid. This quote symbolizes the final crumbling of his scientific denial, as the persistent, inexplicable phenomenon forces him toward belief. His attempt to counteract the supernatural “chill” with his own technology (“turned up my skin temperature”) proves futile, demonstrating the insufficiency of his rational worldview and culminating in his rhetorical question, which signals a fundamental shift in his understanding of reality.

“For the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to remember. I knew, deep down, that I’d latched on too tightly to the memory of being a cop. It didn’t explain everything I could do, my instincts for lying and hiding.”

This moment of internal monologue marks a turning point in John’s character arc, as he begins to consciously doubt the heroic identity he has constructed for himself. The narrator’s admission of latching on “too tightly” suggests a willful self-deception, while his acknowledgment of contradictory “instincts for lying and hiding” foreshadows the imminent revelation of his true past. The passage engages with the theme of the malleability of identity and the power of self-reinvention by showing the protagonist’s dawning awareness that his current self-perception is a fragile and incomplete narrative.

“The look in her eyes made her seem hollow, like a cheap plastic toy. The kind painted to look like metal, but you knew the difference the moment you held it.”

After Sefawynn confesses that her magical “boasts” are ineffective, John uses a simile to describe her sense of shame and inauthenticity. The image of a “cheap plastic toy” painted to look like metal creates a parallel between her fraudulent life and John’s own unacknowledged deception. This description of hollowness deepens Sefawynn’s characterization and reflects John’s own internal state, exploring a shared experience of imposture before he is forced to confront his own past.

“A cop? You’re barely a door guard, Johnny. We’ve purchased real cops in the force; why would we need a dropout?”

Delivered by his former associate Quinn, this line of dialogue functions as the novel’s first major climax, shattering John’s amnesia-fueled heroic identity. The blunt, dismissive tone and the use of the term “dropout” dismantle the narrative John had created, forcing him to confront a painful reality of failure and mediocrity. This moment serves as the catalyst for John’s subsequent identity crisis and is the foundational reveal upon which the theme of the malleability of identity and the power of self-reinvention is built.

“The dive he’d ordered me to take, then mocked me for. I hated him. I hated it all. A shadow of motion. I blocked the axe from an oncoming soldier with my forearm, which turned steel grey.”

In this passage, a flood of traumatic memory is juxtaposed with immediate, decisive action, signaling a psychological breakthrough for the protagonist. The phrase “turned steel grey” links his augments and platings, a key symbol of his past, to the memory of his forced failure as a fighter, transforming them from a source of shame into a tool of defense. This moment marks John’s integration of his true past, as his repressed training and anger resurface as a catalyst for protecting others.

“‘Seven,’ he whispered. ‘All seven of my boys.’ He looked to Ealstan, who had carefully climbed to his feet. ‘Guess I’m glad you’re not dead. How are you feeling?’”

This quote captures the thematic core of the responsible use of power to build agency and define worth by contrasting Ulric’s technological power to kill with John’s ability to heal. Wealdsig’s quiet, grief-stricken confession of loss contextualizes his awe at John’s healing, establishing that the power to preserve life holds more value in this brutal world than the power to destroy it. The dialogue shifts Wealdsig from an erratic antagonist to a sympathetic figure, his motivation reframed from a lust for power to a desperate desire to prevent further loss.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. This can be further extrapolated to Bagsworth’s Law™: Any sufficiently trained modern person can become a god to those from previous eras.”

This excerpt from the in-world handbook establishes a core philosophical premise of the novel. The text uses intertextuality, referencing Arthur C. Clarke to lend its argument a false sense of scientific legitimacy before commercializing it with the trademark symbol. This juxtaposition of academic reasoning with corporate branding frames dimensional travel not as exploration but as a consumer product, revealing a worldview that defines power purely as technological superiority and directly engages the theme of the clash between scientific rationality and mythological reality.

“When my mind had been blank, I’d imagined I was Ryan’s partner, a heroic detective. Now I knew the truth: I was the proud owner of a zero-out-of-five life. […] Without my nanites, was I worth anything?”

After regaining his painful memories, John’s internal monologue contrasts his idealized, amnesiac identity with his true, failed past. The self-deprecating metaphor of a “zero-out-of-five life” reflects his habit of rating his experiences, turning his critical lens inward to quantify his lack of self-worth. The concluding rhetorical question connects his value to his technological augmentations, highlighting his struggle with the theme of the malleability of identity and the power of self-reinvention as he questions whether his worth is inherent or merely a product of his enhancements.

“Ha! Nobody believes I’m a regular old woman, walking the roads. Too suspicious.”

In this moment of dramatic irony, Thokk reveals that she consciously exploits the locals’ mythological worldview for her own safety and amusement. Her statement underscores how reality in this dimension is governed by belief, where the mundane is so unexpected it becomes suspicious. This inversion of logic highlights a key aspect of the clash between scientific rationality and mythological reality, showing how folklore and narrative have a tangible power that shapes social interactions.

“‘It’s not only you,’ the wight explained. ‘It’s everyone from the other world. You carry an aura that hurts us, slowly kills us. Your world bleeds into ours, and it poisons the wights.’”

This revelation from a wight, a key symbol, reframes the central conflict from a personal struggle to a metaphysical one. The metaphor of John’s world being a “poison” that “bleeds” into this dimension literalizes the destructive impact of one reality upon another, providing a tangible consequence for the presence of the dimensional travelers. This moment solidifies the novel’s exploration of the clash between scientific rationality and mythological reality, confirming that the conflict is a matter of fundamental existence rather than merely perception.

“Killing is desperation, not strength. To live without killing . . . that is a strong society.”

Ealstan offers this observation after hearing John describe his modern, largely non-violent society by comparison. The statement uses antithesis to contrast “desperation” with “strength,” challenging the violent, power-centric ethos of both the Hordamen and Ulric’s cartel. Ealstan’s words serve as a thesis for the novel’s concept of the responsible use of power to build agency and define worth, defining true strength by a community’s ability to achieve peace and stability in the face of violence.

“Ryan was wrong, I realized. Ulric doesn’t have a second beacon. He needs one, though, to get people to this dimension. So he . . . The pieces clicked into place. That was why Ulric had gone to Stenford to investigate my arrival himself. That was why Quinn had been so excited to take information about Ryan to Ulric. Their only way out of here was Ryan’s beacon.”

This moment of anagnorisis marks a critical shift in John’s perception and agency. The narrative uses internal monologue and fragmented sentences to dramatize the sudden, paradigm-altering realization. Previously operating under the assumption that he was a subordinate in Ryan’s heroic plan, John now understands the true strategic landscape, recognizing that Ryan has been manipulated into a trap. This insight elevates him from a follower to an independent actor, forcing him to make his own decisions about the escalating crisis.

“You didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so you let me think you were dead?”

Confronting his supposedly deceased ex-girlfriend, Jen, John delivers this line of dialogue as a rhetorical question dripping with bitter irony. The absurdity of her justification for faking her death serves to deconstruct the last idealized element of John’s forgotten past, severing his emotional connection to the man he used to be. This painful revelation is a catalyst for his character arc, forcing him to abandon his flawed memories and fully engage with the theme of the malleability of identity and the power of self-reinvention by confronting the lies he was told and told himself.

“I defy you!

I will not worship a worm named Woden!”

During the Hordaman invasion, Sefawynn shouts this defiant boast at the god Woden. The use of alliterative verse, mimicking the poetic style of the Anglo-Saxon world, positions language itself as a source of tangible power. This act is the climax of the motif of runes and forbidden writing, demonstrating that belief and expression can directly challenge and reshape a mythological reality. The wights’ subsequent turn against the Hordamen confirms that Sefawynn’s words have a real, world-altering force, validating a reality governed by myth over technology or physical strength.

“‘What are the chances,’ I said, ‘that I’ll get the same code you put in if I hit a bunch of numbers in here? Think I’ll unlock my powers again?’”

In his final fight with Quinn, John uses this question as a psychological bluff, turning his greatest vulnerabilities—his disabled augments and platings and his past as a ‘liar’—into a weapon. By invoking the dimension’s probability-altering nature, he creates a sliver of doubt in his opponent’s mind that he can exploit. This moment is the culmination of John’s transformation; instead of lamenting his failures, he weaponizes the skills he learned from them, proving that his ingenuity and the choices he makes in the present defines his identity.