Watching the amphitheater double doors swing shut behind Caspian Astora's hastily retreating entourage, Arcus leaned his back against the wooden seat of the grandstand once more. A cynical, condescending smirk formed on his lips.
He turned to Vrischil, who remained seated like a statue.
"Did you see that, Vrischil?" Arcus asked in a conspiratorial tone. "It seems Lorien Caldwell's brilliant tactic didn't unfold quite as smoothly as he thought. The threat from a Platinum adventurer, as it turns out, couldn't contain the information for more than a few hours."
Arcus scoffed softly, observing the direction in which the young noble had departed.
"'Birds die for food, men die for wealth,'" Arcus quoted with his signature theatrical flair, reciting an ancient proverb from their old world. "Information regarding a mage with a Hero-tier Talent is far too enticing. If that arrogant Young Master immediately ran off the second he heard the news, I'd bet every noble in Wealden is currently preparing to march on The Gilded Falcons' headquarters right this second."
Completely ignoring Arcus's dramatic commentary, Vrischil shifted her gaze from the protective dome toward the high windows of the amphitheater. The orange light on the western horizon was beginning to dim, slowly replaced by the dark violet hue of evening.
"The performance is over, and night is almost upon us," Vrischil stated in a pragmatic tone that cut through Arcus's nonsense. "We have witnessed the absolute limit of the power standards in this city. Now, we must locate Alphonse."
Without waiting for an answer, the Elf turned and walked out, forcing Arcus to follow her. The two exited the amphitheater and navigated the main corridor of the 4th Floor.
They hadn't walked far before they crossed paths with Alphonse, who had just emerged from the library area.
The three core members of Pioneer immediately secluded themselves in a quiet corner of the corridor to synchronize their intelligence data.
Alphonse shared his findings first. He recounted his discovery regarding the historical anomaly differentiating the Four Gods from the 10 Guardians, the cosmic threat of the Abyssal invasion that once shattered the world, and the existence of a mysterious, traceless author named Eon.
In return, Vrischil detailed with surgical precision the rigid standards of the local mage evaluation, which merely required the consecutive casting of ten spells in under five seconds per cast.
Meanwhile, Arcus enthusiastically recounted the pathetic arrogance of Caspian Astora. However, he inserted one crucial detail: Caspian's selection of the [Tier 3 - Magic Inscription] spellbook.
Hearing the words 'Magic Inscription', Alphonse's eyes glinted. He noted internally, This might prove useful for my magical dissection research later.
Feeling that the information on the 4th Floor had been thoroughly absorbed, Alphonse's gaze shifted toward the end of the corridor. There, a spiraling staircase covered in thick red carpet awaited—the sole access point to the 5th Floor.
He wanted to see the quality of the gathering space reserved for the elite mages and high-ranking officials of Wealden.
However, the moment Alphonse's party stepped toward the first stair, two guards clad in heavy steel armor and wielding spears immediately moved forward.
Clang!
The two spears were crossed harshly, blocking their ascent.
"Halt right there," one of the guards reprimanded in a firm baritone voice. "Present your identification."
Without altering his calm expression, Alphonse produced his Iron-tier adventurer plate from beneath his cloak and presented it.
The guard glanced at the plain iron plate, then scoffed dismissively from behind his steel helmet. He lowered his spear slightly, but his massive frame continued to block the stairs.
"Sir, are you lost?" the guard sneered. "The 5th Floor is a restricted area for ordinary citizens. Access is granted exclusively to holders of the Three-Circle Mage Emblem, those possessing an official Noble Signet, or, at the very least, Platinum-rank Adventurers. You must return downstairs."
Alphonse stared straight into the guard's eyes. "I can cast a Tier 3 spell right here, right now, to prove my qualifications," he offered in an incredibly cold tone.
The guard shook his head, rejecting the offer outright.
"Impossible, Sir. This is not a matter of demonstrating power. The rules of the tower are absolute. If you truly are as strong as you claim, you must register and undertake the official exam in the evaluation hall first to acquire an emblem."
Seeing his Guild Master treated with disrespect and belittled by a mere guard, Arcus's face instantly darkened. His leather-gloved right hand moved slowly toward his back, reaching for the grip of his wooden bow.
A single Piercing Arrow would be enough to blow a hole straight through this arrogant guard's chest.
However, before Arcus could draw his bow, Alphonse extended a hand backward, pressing firmly against the Sagittarius's chest.
A single, piercing glare from behind Alphonse's monocle was enough of a command for Arcus to stand down, preventing a commotion that would only waste their time and expose their true strength to the public.
The minor dispute at the base of the stairs came to an abrupt halt when the faint sound of rhythmic footsteps and bustling conversation drifted down from the floor above. A group of people was slowly descending the red-carpeted stairs.
Hearing those footsteps and recognizing the aura, the two stair guards immediately separated.
They backed up against the wall, then dropped down, kneeling on one knee while bowing their heads deeply, almost touching their chests. A gesture of absolute submission.
Capitalizing on the moment, Alphonse immediately signaled his friends. The three of them stepped back into the shadows behind a massive pillar, observing the descending entourage closely.
Walking at the very front was an elderly man with neatly combed silver hair and a beard. The man wore an incredibly elegant, midnight-blue magic robe.
Pinned to his left chest was a tower emblem engraved with five stars. Every step he took radiated the authority of a ruler.
From the conversation of the nobles trailing behind him, Alphonse, possessing sharp auditory senses, managed to filter out a name spoken with the utmost reverence: Zareth Caldris, the Tower Master of Wealden.
A slightly plump-faced nobleman walking right beside Zareth flashed a bright smile.
"It is a rare sight to see Lord Zareth descend during the evening," the nobleman coaxed. "If you are willing, I would be immensely honored to invite you to a modest dinner at my mansion tonight."
Zareth smiled formally. His wrinkled features still projected authority and power.
"My apologies, Baron," Zareth declined politely yet firmly. "An incredibly urgent matter requires me to leave the tower tonight. I must, with a heavy heart, decline."
Right at that moment, the senior mage who had served as the examiner in the amphitheater jogged over to the base of the stairs. He was slightly out of breath. He immediately bowed his body upon seeing the Tower Master.
"My respects, Master Zareth," the senior mage reported. "I wish to inform you that Young Master Caspian Astora has just completed his exam and passed as a Tier 3 Mage."
Master Zareth let out an amicable laugh upon hearing the news. "Ah, the young lad from the Astora family. A remarkable achievement for his age. His family must be incredibly proud."
"Indeed, My Lord," the senior examiner replied, not missing the opportunity to flatter his highest superior. "As expected from someone possessing a high-tier class talent, exactly like the Sorcerer talent possessed by Master Zareth."
Hearing the praise, Zareth smiled with an expression full of humility. He raised his hand and patted the examiner's shoulder gently.
"Talent is merely a seed," Zareth spoke wisely, his voice flowing like a master instructing his disciple. "No matter how grand the talent, it is utterly useless without hard work and dedication to the magical arts."
Once the pleasantries concluded, Zareth Caldris resumed his pace, leading his entourage past the pillar where Alphonse's group stood in the shadows, heading toward the ground floor.
As soon as Zareth Caldris and his sycophants disappeared down the stairs, Arcus lowered his arms, which had been crossed over his chest. The dim blue light in his eyes slowly faded as his [Sagittarius Eye] ability deactivated.
"The old man's Mana capacity isn't bad for a place like this," Arcus reported in an evaluating tone. He turned to Alphonse. "If converted to the game's standards, his power is probably around Level 45, Al."
Hearing that analysis, Alphonse's brain instantly rearranged the chessboard of Wealden. He recalled Zareth's formal smile and his reason for declining the dinner invitation due to an 'urgent matter'.
Alphonse's lips curved into a faint, highly calculating smile.
"It seems Lorien Caldwell will not be sleeping peacefully tonight," Alphonse muttered softly.
He realized one crucial fact: Lorien's tactic of psychological terror at the Adventurer's Guild had failed entirely. Information regarding Aeliana's Hero-tier Talent had leaked and reached the ears of the city's highest officials. And tonight, the Master of the Magic Tower would mobilize personally to snatch that valuable pawn.
Amidst the silence, Vrischil's voice broke the atmosphere.
"Are we still ascending to the 5th Floor, Alphonse?" the Elf asked in a flat tone.
In tandem with her sentence, the air temperature in the corridor dropped drastically. Without any hand gestures or incantations, two transparent, razor-sharp crystal blade fragments suddenly hovered silently near Vrischil's shoulder.
They were fragments of her primary weapon, the Fractal Ruin.
Vrischil's face displayed absolutely no emotion from beneath her hood as she offered an incredibly lethal solution.
"If you wish, I can cleanly dispose of those two guards without a sound right now," Vrischil offered, as casually as if she were volunteering to sweep the dust off the floor.
Arcus, who was usually full of theatrical arrogance and always searching for a fight, instantly felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His survival instincts flared sharply, forcing him to instinctively take a step back.
Even though he frequently mocked Vrischil, Arcus knew exactly how terrifying Pioneer's Assassin truly was the moment she called the Fractal Ruin out of its scabbard.
Seeing his friend preparing to commit murder inside the headquarters of the city's mage faction, Alphonse's forehead twitched slightly. He felt the throb of a headache approaching.
"Stow your weapon, Vrischil," Alphonse commanded in a firm tone that suppressed the freezing intent in the room. "Night has fallen. It seems the 5th Floor does not hold information valuable enough to trigger a bloodbath and turn us into fugitives tonight. We are heading back."
Hearing the decree from her Guild Master, Vrischil nodded in silence. She retracted her aura. The two hovering crystal fragments merged back into her main blade beneath her cloak without producing the slightest sound.
Leaving the tension on the 4th Floor behind, the three members of Pioneer descended the tower's spiral staircase in single file. They walked across the ground floor area, which was now emptying of the civilian queues, and stepped outside through the main gates.
The cold, windy night air of Wealden City immediately welcomed them.
They navigated the cobblestone streets, illuminated only by a few crystal lamps at the street corners, heading back toward their temporary base: The Black Raven Inn.
The moment Arcus pushed the inn's wooden doors open, the small bell above it chimed sharply.
Behind the cashier's desk, Otto the innkeeper immediately stiffened like a wooden board. The memory of the terrifying massacre of over a dozen thugs on the street committed by that blonde young man was still scorched freshly into his mind. Otto's hand, gripping a rag, trembled slightly.
Taking charge of the situation, Arcus stepped forward, obscuring his Guild Master's presence. With an arrogant posture and an intimidating smirk, he stared at the terrified bald man.
"Prepare the three best rooms you have in this inn," Arcus ordered without a shred of pleasantry.
Hearing the command, Otto hurriedly rummaged through the wooden drawer beneath his desk, his movements clumsy from sheer panic. He produced three iron keys labeled with room numbers vastly more exclusive than before, handing them over with both trembling hands.
When Vrischil approached and Arcus asked in a flat tone regarding the rental price for the three rooms, Otto hurriedly shook his head violently. His face was entirely ashen.
He refused to accept a single copper or silver coin tonight, treating it as a security fee to save his own neck from the blades of this mysterious group.
"Excellent," Arcus snorted in satisfaction, snatching the three keys with one hand. "Do not forget our hot dinner. Deliver it directly to our rooms."
Without waiting for a response from Otto, who was busy bowing respectfully, the group ascended the wooden stairs to the second floor.
Alphonse separated from his two friends and stepped into his new room. This space felt vastly more comfortable. The size was slightly larger, the floor was covered by a thick woven carpet, and the furniture was far more decent compared to the cramped room number four he had occupied last night.
Ignoring the exhaustion in his muscles after a full day of walking the city, wracking his brain, and gathering intelligence, Alphonse did not head straight for the bed.
He walked over to a high-backed wooden chair and sat facing the writing desk in the corner of the room.
Alphonse reached inside his black robes. His hand pulled out a parchment scroll that had consumed one-fifth of his party's total remaining wealth today.
Beneath the dim glow of the crystal lamp, Alphonse placed [Tier 1 - Cleanse] onto the desk. His golden gaze narrowed sharply, piercing straight through the massive stamp depicting the Wealden Magic Tower.