Leaving the noisy transactions of the ground floor behind, Alphonse, Arcus, and Vrischil ascended the spiraling stone staircase winding through the center of the tower's structure.
As soon as they set foot on the 2nd Floor, the atmosphere instantly changed. This floor was designed with far more elegance. Pillars supported a ceiling adorned with crystal chandeliers.
Along the walls and in the center of the room, glass display cases laced with magical fibers were lined up neatly, showcasing dozens of parchment scrolls of various sizes and colors.
The chaotic, crude haggling typical of street vendors had vanished, replaced by conversations kept at a much more guarded volume.
This area was dominated by mid-tier adventurers—evident from the silver or gold plates on their chests. Several neatly dressed civilians, likely wealthy merchants or noble servants, were also seen observing the magic scrolls behind the protective glass.
Alphonse stepped closer to one of the long glass display cases. His eyes traced the rows of parchment scrolls emitting dim magical glows from their edges.
His gaze stopped at a small copper plate beneath each scroll, displaying the name of the magic.
[Tier 1 - Cleanse]
[Tier 2 - Fire Arrow]
[Tier 2 - Wind Blast]
Alphonse narrowed his eyes slightly, his monocle reflecting the crystal light. A minor surprise crossed his mind.
In the game Orion Online, the power tier of a magic spell or skill was measured using the alphabet: from Tier F as the weakest, scaling up to E, D, C, B, A, S, and ending at the ultimate level, [Tier EX].
Yet, in this world, they used numerical digits.
Arcus, standing beside Alphonse, noticed the change in his expression and peeked at the name labels as well.
"Numbers?" Arcus raised an eyebrow.
On the other hand, Vrischil merely glanced at the row of labels from beneath her hood. her eyes remained as cold as ice, unmoved by aesthetics.
"Alphabets or numbers, they are merely symbols," Vrischil said in an emotionless tone. "As long as it can kill a target or provide a tactical advantage, the labeling is irrelevant."
Ignoring his two friends' comments, Alphonse's brain immediately went to work.
He walked from display case to display case, scanning dozens of magic names and trying to match his memory of the spell list in the game with the one before him.
It only took five minutes for Alphonse's brow to furrow deeply. There was a very glaring classification anomaly.
In the center display case, he found a wall of fire spell scroll which he knew in the game as [Tier D - Fire Wall]. The scroll was labeled as [Tier 3].
However, in the display case to his right, he found a fire lance spell which was supposed to have a destructive power one level higher, namely [Tier C - Fire Lance], yet here, the scroll was also labeled as [Tier 3].
"Their measurement standards overlap," Alphonse muttered softly.
He realized that the natives of this world possessed their own parameters for measuring and classifying magic tiers, which were vastly different from the calculations of the Orion Online system.
"Perhaps they simply measure it based on how massive the resulting explosion is," Arcus argued, touching his chin. "A strong defensive spell or a focused attack certainly wouldn't look flashy to their eyes, would it?"
Vrischil glared at Arcus sharply. "Fool. Not all magic is measured by its explosive yield. Curse and illusion magic lack destructive power, but their effects are far more lethal."
Alphonse did not interrupt the debate. His attention had shifted to something far more pressing. His gaze returned to the first display case, landing on the most basic utility magic scroll that possessed zero offensive power: [Tier 1 - Cleanse].
In the bottom corner of the copper nameplate, the official price set by the Magic Tower was engraved.
10 Silver Coins.
Alphonse's lips curved into a wry smile.
Considering their group's entire remaining wealth inside Vrischil's pouch right now hovered around fifty silver coins, that fact slapped him hard in the face.
Removing mud stains using a single sheet of magic parchment in this city would drain a fifth of their total fortune. They were truly destitute, a painful irony after losing millions of gold coins from their inventory system.
Seeing Alphonse's wry smile, Arcus threw an arm around his shoulder from the side. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
"You see the price, don't you, Alphonse?" Arcus coaxed enthusiastically. "We are poor! We have no money! This is a hint from the universe! The call of destiny for us to immediately go slaughter slimes, pick weeds, and become true adventurers to get filthy rich!"
Vrischil cast Arcus a glare as cold as a blizzard. If looks could kill, Arcus would have died many times over by now.
Ignoring Arcus's whining and momentarily suppressing the fact of their bankruptcy, Alphonse's gaze shifted to examine the physical parchment behind the glass.
He observed the texture of the yellowish paper. He noticed something strange. Unlike the Magic Scrolls in the game that always displayed intricate, glowing magic circles on their surface, the scrolls in this world possessed no magic circles whatsoever.
The center of the parchment was merely stamped with a large logo depicting the Magic Tower, flanked by the name of the magic and its tier.
In the past, producing a Magic Scroll inside the game was merely a matter of gathering materials like rare hides and dragon blood, then pressing a single 'Craft' button on the crafting menu screen to complete it instantly.
Now, standing before handmade magic scrolls crafted by the locals, his curiosity as a Mage was piqued.
How do the denizens of this world produce these items? What process must they go through? Alphonse thought.
Do they brew their own ink using magical ingredients? Do they draw the magic circles manually using special brushes, then lock the mana inside with magic?
"Why do you suppose they do not display the magic circles?" Alphonse murmured softly, more to himself.
Vrischil stepped forward, staring at the tower logo covering the center of the scroll.
"Perhaps it is a monopoly," Vrischil analyzed coldly. "They cover the original magic circles and rune structures with the large Magic Tower logo. It is a preventive measure so that other mages or adventurers who buy these scrolls cannot dissect the patterns to illegally copy or produce them on their own."
"Or perhaps these are all just useless display items," Arcus chimed in dismissively.
Ignoring Arcus's nonsense, Alphonse made a decision. He could not merely guess how this world crafted magic. As a Mage, he needed a sample to dissect.
Without hesitation, Alphonse walked up to the counter.
"One [Tier 1 - Cleanse] magic scroll," he said flatly to the clerk behind the protective glass counter.
Vrischil stepped forward. her gloved hand reached into the leather pouch at her waist, slowly pulling out ten silver coins, and placing them onto the wooden counter. her eyes looked hesitantly at the silver pieces changing hands.
Behind him, Arcus's eyes widened. His mouth fell open, nearly screaming upon seeing Alphonse just throw away a fifth of their remaining money for a piece of cleaning paper.
But before Arcus's protest could escape, Vrischil swiftly clamped a hand over his mouth from behind, refusing to let a foolish commotion embarrass Alphonse in public.
The counter clerk handed the scroll over politely. The moment the item changed hands, Alphonse squeezed it gently. He could feel the texture of the parchment and the pulse of mana flowing beneath the large Magic Tower stamp.
"An investment," Alphonse murmured briefly to his two comrades, brushing off any protests before they could even voice them.
Carefully stowing the magic scroll inside his cloak, Alphonse led the way up the spiral staircase to the 3rd Floor.
Upon arriving, Alphonse noticed that the demographic of the visitors hadn't changed much from the previous floor; the room was still filled with mid-tier adventurers, though more dominated by the Mage class and luxuriously dressed civilians.
However, the crowd was much thinner and the atmosphere felt far more silent and formal.
On this floor, the items displayed completely changed. There were no more rows of paper and parchment. The 3rd Floor showcased magical items.
Alphonse's eyes caught sight of crystal lamps radiating bright light without the slightest spark of fire, thick metal chests emitting freezing temperatures to preserve food ingredients, and rows of intricately carved wooden magic staves. In another corner, silk robes were displayed, their fabric fibers softly pulsing with the magical elements injected into them.
However, his awe of those artifacts was immediately snuffed out by a currency-scale shock. A second slap landed squarely on the Pioneer leader's face.
If on the lower floor he could still "buy" something, on this 3rd Floor, the currency standard had shifted entirely.
Alphonse's steps halted as he passed a glass display case showcasing a beginner's magic staff. His eyes caught the label on the copper plate beneath the simple wooden staff: 5 Gold Coins.
Alphonse's jaw tensed behind his cloak's collar. His gaze turned cold. The remaining forty silver coins in Vrischil's pouch were truly worthless in this place.
The fact that he—the Guild Master who used to sweep treasure vaults clean—now had to face the crushing pressure of poverty, felt increasingly infuriating.
"I told you, didn't I?" Arcus whispered from behind, capitalizing on Alphonse's moment of silence. "We have to work! Become adventurers, dive into danger to get filthy rich!"
Vrischil turned and glared at Arcus sharply. "Can you stop whining and coaxing Alphonse to become an adventurer?" Vrischil responded in an annoyed tone. "If you are so desperate to scavenge for pocket change, go and become an adventurer yourself."
Arcus snorted arrogantly, puffing out his chest. "Oh? And leave Alphonse crying because he's abandoned by my protection? Look at his fragile body. If I'm not the one protecting him, who else will? You? A foolish Elf who can only sob heavily in an inn?"
That mockery pierced Vrischil's defenses. her face instantly flushed red from embarrassment as well as exploding with anger, recalling her moment of weakness witnessed by Arcus.
Vrischil's eyes flashed sharply. She ground her teeth, and her hand immediately shot forward, intending to choke the collar of the arrogant archer's cloak.
Amidst that childish squabble that nearly erupted into a brawl, Alphonse turned around.
Instead of feeling annoyed or disturbed, a faint, warm smile bloomed on the leader's face. Seeing Arcus and Vrischil bickering and throwing insults at each other again—exactly like they used to do in the Starlight Castle meeting room in the past—brought a strange sense of relief to his heart.
Amidst this real world full of threats and the pressure of poverty, this sliver of normalcy from their bond actually became the shield for his sanity.
"Enough, save your energy," Alphonse intervened, his voice flowing calmly accompanied by a contagious, happy smile. "At least now we know that poverty hasn't succeeded in killing our spirits."