Seeing the amphitheater doors slam shut behind the fleeing entourage of Caspian Astora, Arcus leaned back in his wooden chair. A cynical, dismissive smirk formed on his lips.
He turned to Vrischil, who remained seated in silence.
"Did you see that, Vrischil?" Arcus asked in a conspiratorial tone. "It seems Lorien Caldwell's brilliant tactic did not run as smoothly as he thought. The threat of a Platinum adventurer proved incapable of holding back information for more than a few hours."
Arcus snorted softly, observing the direction the young noble had fled.
"Birds die for food, men die for wealth," Arcus quoted an ancient proverb from their old world.
"Information regarding a mage with a Hero-tier Aptitude is far too tempting. If that arrogant Young Master immediately ran the moment he heard the news, I wager all the nobles of Wealden are preparing to head to The Gilded Falcons' headquarters right this second."
Completely ignoring Arcus's commentary, Vrischil shifted her gaze from the protective dome toward the window. The orange light on the western horizon had begun to dim, slowly replaced by the dark purple hue of the night.
"The spectacle is over and night is falling," Vrischil stated. "We have seen the standard of power in this city. Now, we must find Alphonse immediately."
Without waiting for an answer, Vrischil turned and walked out, forcing Arcus to follow her. The two exited the amphitheater and navigated the main corridor.
They hadn't walked far before they crossed paths with Alphonse, who had just emerged from the library area.
They immediately broke away to a quiet corner of the corridor to exchange information.
Alphonse shared his findings first. He recounted his discovery regarding the historical anomaly differentiating the Four Gods from the 10 Guardians, the Abyss invasion that once devastated the world, and the existence of a mysterious, untraceable author named Eon.
In return, Vrischil outlined the mage assessment standard, which merely required casting ten consecutive spells in under five seconds.
Meanwhile, Arcus enthusiastically recounted the pathetic arrogance of Caspian Astora. However, he slipped in one crucial detail: Caspian's acquisition of the [Tier 3 - Magic Inscription] spellbook.
Hearing the words 'Magic Inscription', Alphonse's eyes glinted. He noted mentally, This might prove useful for my magical dissection research later.
Feeling that the information on the 4th Floor had been fully absorbed, Alphonse's gaze now shifted toward the end of the corridor. There, a spiral staircase lined with a thick red carpet stood as the sole path to the 5th Floor.
He wanted to see the quality of the gathering space for elite mages and the high-ranking officials of Wealden city.
However, the moment Alphonse's group stepped toward the stairs, two heavily armored guards gripping spears immediately stepped forward.
Clang!
The two spears were crossed loudly, blocking access upwards.
"Halt right there," one of the guards reprimanded in a firm baritone voice. "Show your identification."
Without changing his expression, Alphonse pulled his Iron-tier adventurer plate from beneath his cloak and presented it.
The guard glanced at the plain iron plate, then snorted dismissively from behind his steel helmet. He lowered his spear slightly, yet his massive body continued to block the stairs.
"Sir, are you lost?" the guard mocked. "The 5th Floor is a restricted area for commoners. Access there is granted exclusively to holders of the Three-Circle Mage Emblem, possessors of an official Noble Crest, or at the very least, Platinum-tier Adventurers. You must return downstairs."
Alphonse looked straight into the guard's eyes. "I can cast a Tier 3 spell right here, right now, to prove my qualifications," he offered in a cold tone.
The guard shook his head, refusing outright.
"Impossible, Sir. This is not about a show of strength. The tower's rules are absolute. If you are indeed as strong as you claim, you must register and take the official test in the assessment hall first to obtain an emblem."
Seeing Alphonse treated disrespectfully and demeaned by a mere guard, Arcus's face instantly darkened. His right hand moved slowly toward his back, tracing the grip of his wooden bow.
One arrow is enough to punch a hole in this arrogant guard's chest.
However, before Arcus could draw his bow, Alphonse extended one arm backward, pressing firmly against Arcus's chest.
A single sharp glance from behind Alphonse's monocle was enough of a command for Arcus to stand down, preventing a commotion that would only waste time and expose their power to the public.
The minor dispute at the base of the stairs abruptly ceased when the faint, rhythmic sound of footsteps and bustling chatter was heard 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 stepped aside.
They retreated against the wall, then dropped down, kneeling on one knee while bowing their heads deeply until they nearly touched their chests.
Utilizing the created moment, Alphonse immediately signaled his friends. The three of them stepped back into the shadows behind a large pillar, observing the descending entourage closely.
At the very front of the line walked an old man with silver hair and a neatly combed 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 managed to filter out a name spoken with deep reverence: Zareth Caldris, the Tower Master of Wealden.
A slightly plump-faced noble walking right beside Zareth flashed a bright smile.
"It is a rare sight to see Lord Zareth descend at night," the noble coaxed. "If it pleases you, I would be deeply honored if I could invite you to dinner at my humble mansion tonight."
Zareth smiled formally. The wrinkled lines of his face continued to radiate authority and power.
"Forgive me, Baron," Zareth declined smoothly yet firmly. "There is a highly urgent matter that requires me to leave the tower tonight. I must decline with a heavy heart."
Right at that moment, the senior mage serving as the examiner in the amphitheater jogged over to the entourage. He was panting slightly. He immediately bowed upon seeing the Tower Master.
"My respects, Master Zareth," the senior mage reported. "I wish to report that Young Master Caspian Astora has just completed his exam and passed as a Tier 3 Mage."
Master Zareth laughed amiably hearing the news. "Ah, the young man from the Astora family. An outstanding achievement for his age. His family must be very proud."
"Indeed, My Lord," the senior examiner replied, not missing the opportunity to flatter his highest superior. "As expected of someone with a high-tier class aptitude, exactly like the Sorcerer aptitude Master Zareth possesses."
Hearing that praise, Zareth smiled with an expression full of humility. He raised his hand and patted the examiner's shoulder gently.
"Aptitude is merely a seed," Zareth spoke wisely, his voice flowing like a teacher instructing a student. "No matter how great an aptitude is, it is useless without hard work and dedication to the magical arts."
After the pleasantries concluded, Zareth Caldris resumed his steps, leading his entourage past the pillar where Alphonse's group stood in the shadows, heading toward the ground floor.
As soon as Zareth Caldris's entourage and his sycophants vanished down the stairs, Arcus lowered his arms that 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 is not bad for the standards of this place," Arcus reported in an evaluative tone. He turned to Alphonse. "If converted to the game's standards, his power is likely around Level 45."
Hearing that analysis, Alphonse's brain immediately rearranged the Wealden chessboard. He recalled Zareth's formal smile and his excuse for declining the dinner invitation due to a 'highly urgent matter'.
Alphonse's lips curved into a faint, calculating smile.
"It seems Lorien Caldwell will not be able to sleep peacefully tonight," Alphonse murmured softly.
He realized one crucial fact: Lorien's psychological terror tactic at the Adventurer's Guild had been an utter failure. The information regarding Aeliana's Hero-tier Aptitude had leaked and reached the ears of the city's highest officials. And tonight, the Master of the Magic Tower himself would move 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.
Concurrent with those words, the air temperature in the corridor dropped drastically. Two shards of transparent crystal blades suddenly hovered silently beside Vrischil's shoulder.
They were fragments of his signature weapon, Fractal Ruin.
Vrischil's face showed no emotion whatsoever from beneath her hood as she offered a highly lethal solution.
"If you wish, I can clear those two guards without a sound right now," Vrischil offered, as if she were merely volunteering to sweep dust off the floor.
Arcus, who was usually brimming with arrogance, instantly felt his neck hairs stand on end. His survival instinct flared sharply, forcing him to reflexively take a step back.
Although he often mocked Vrischil, Arcus knew perfectly well how dangerous The Scorpio was once she had summoned Fractal Ruin from its scabbard.
Seeing her friend preparing to commit murder inside a mage headquarters, Alphonse's forehead twitched softly. He felt a throbbing headache approaching.
"Stow your weapon, Vrischil," Alphonse commanded with a firm tone that quelled the chilling aura 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 going home."
Hearing Alphonse's words, Vrischil nodded in silence. she retracted her aura. The two floating crystal shards merged with the blade of her sword beneath her cloak without producing the slightest sound.
Leaving the tension of the 4th Floor, the three members of Pioneer descended the tower's spiral stairs 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 instantly greeted them.
They navigated the cobblestone streets illuminated only by a few crystal lamps on street corners, heading back to their temporary base: The Black Crow Inn.
As soon as Arcus pushed the inn's wooden door open, the small bell above it jingled sharply.
Behind the cashier's counter, Otto the innkeeper instantly stiffened like a wooden board. The memory of the slaughter of a dozen thugs in the street carried out by that blonde young man was still incredibly fresh in his mind. Otto's hand, holding a rag, trembled slightly.
Taking charge of the situation, Arcus stepped forward, masking the presence of his leader. With an arrogant posture and an intimidating smirk, he stared at the terrified bald man.
"Prepare the three best rooms you possess in this inn," Arcus commanded without preamble.
Hearing that order, Otto hurriedly rummaged through the wooden drawer beneath his counter, his movements stumbling from panic. He pulled out three iron keys labeled with room numbers far more exclusive than before and handed them over with two trembling hands.
As Vrischil approached and Arcus asked in a flat tone about the rental price of the three rooms.
"How much is the price?"
Otto hurriedly shook his head vigorously. His face was deathly pale. He refused to accept a single copper or silver coin tonight, considering it a security fee to save his own neck from the blades of this mysterious group.
"Good," Arcus snorted in satisfaction, taking the three keys with one hand. "Do not forget our dinner. Deliver it directly to the rooms."
Without waiting for a reply from Otto, who was busy nodding respectfully, the group stepped up the wooden stairs toward the second floor.
Alphonse separated from his two friends and stepped inside his new room. This room felt far more comfortable. The size was slightly more spacious, the floor was carpeted, and the furnishings were far more decent compared to the cramped room he had occupied last night.
after a full day of walking the city, racking his brain, and gathering intelligence, Alphonse did not head straight for the bed.
He walked toward a high-backed wooden chair and sat facing the writing desk in the corner of the room.
Alphonse reached inside his black cloak. His hand pulled out a parchment scroll that had consumed a fifth of their group's remaining wealth today.
Beneath the dim glow of the crystal lamp, Alphonse placed [Tier 1 - Cleanse] onto the table. His golden gaze narrowed sharply, piercing through the large stamp depicting the Wealden Magic Tower.