The bustling central plaza hummed with activity.
As Adam walked the streets, passersby noticed the Invisible Hound cub and instinctively cleared his path.
The middle-aged man's questions at the Adventurer's Guild didn't faze him.
Selling the Invisible Hound bone chains had invited speculation about his ventures in the Great Forest of Tob.
But no matter how they guessed, the Adventurer's Guild wouldn't believe a single person caused the forest's upheaval.
The disappearance of countless monster corpses was unimaginable to this world's humans, who lacked the concept of an item box.
Without traces, no theory could take root.
"Vice President of the Magician's Guild, Berolay Wannov Grigori Bertkin." Adam muttered. "Just saying the name screams difficult."
He sighed helplessly. "I wonder if the Magician's Guild has any magic items for translating text."
It was nearing noon.
Adam ducked into a lively tavern, ordering food and hoping to catch rumors in this hub of gossip.
He'd noticed E-Rantel's atmosphere hadn't changed much since a month ago, yet the gate soldiers' behavior suggested something was afoot.
Most likely, the authorities had suppressed news of an incident.
If so, buying intel at the Adventurer's Guild was futile. Tavern rumors might yield more.
Yet, after leaving, he'd gained nothing but a decent meal, a welcome change from the forest's crude fare.
At the Magician's Guild, a bell chimed as the heavy brown doors swung open automatically.
Adam stepped inside, finding it as quiet as ever compared to the Adventurer's Guild.
The front desk staff had changed since his last visit. The young Magician was still there, but the middle-aged one had been replaced by another young Magician in a light blue robe.
"No wonder the monster-detection item reacted. I thought it was broken." The blue-robed Magician said, voice lively with surprise. "A Invisible Hound, and a cub, no less?"
Both casters fixed their attention on the cub, faces alight with curiosity.
The young Magician in the black robe recognized Adam as the one who'd bought a magic scroll a month ago. His jet-black hair left a lasting impression.
"Here for more magic scrolls?" The black-robed Magician asked.
"No, I'm looking to buy a magic item." Adam replied, approaching the counter with a gentle tone.
The guild's scrolls, mostly auxiliary, held little appeal for him now.
The only exception was lifestyle magic with tier upgrades, but with limited skill points, he had no plans to buy them yet.
"A magic item?" Both Magicians exchanged surprised glances.
Magic items were exorbitantly priced.
From Adam's plain attire, they doubted he could afford one.
"Any magic items that translate text?" Adam pressed.
"Translate text?" The blue-robed Magician's head snapped up. "Who'd make something so useless?"
"Magic items are amazing, but they can't do everything!"
The black-robed Magician tugged at his colleague's sleeve, offering Adam an apologetic smile. "Sorry, we don't have anything like that."
Adam nodded calmly, unsurprised.
He recalled Sebas, a guardian of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, possessing glasses that translated text, a high-tier magic item.
Few human-made magic items intrigued him.
"Oh, right." Adam said, as if struck by a thought. He pulled out a glossy, durable white sheet of paper from his cloak. "Do you buy magical materials like this?"
Under the eternal glow of the ceiling's cylindrical light, the paper shimmered with faint white magical energy.
The two Magicians, one irked, the other sporting a professional smile tinged with arrogance, were instantly captivated by the paper.
"How many do you have?" The blue-robed Magician demanded, leaning forward excitedly. "We'll take them all!"
He snatched the paper from Adam's hand, inspecting it closely.
Adam's eyes flickered, caught off guard.
According to his Item Appraisal, this paper, crafted with second-tier magic, preserved written text for a century.
Valuable, perhaps, but not enough to warrant such fervor.
"It meets the standard perfectly." The blue-robed Magician said, glancing at his companion with a firm nod.
The black-robed Magician's surprise deepened.
"You're a divine type magic caster, right?" He asked, turning to Adam.
"Correct." Adam confirmed.
"Who made this paper? We need large quantities. If the maker agrees, we'll buy at one silver coin per ten sheets." The black-robed Magician said earnestly.
Second-tier Papermaking could produce 700 sheets. At that rate, a caster could earn 70 silver coins, 5 gold and 5 silver, with minimal mana.
Adam was stunned.
Producing daily for a month could yield over 160 gold coins, easily securing financial freedom.
"No need. I made it." Adam said, waving a hand.
"You?" The black-robed Magician gaped.
Even the blue-robed Magician, engrossed in the paper, looked up.
"Impossible!" The black-robed Magician snapped, his usual calm replaced by a sharp edge. "A month ago, you bought a zeroth-tier Papermaking scroll here."
"If you knew Papermaking, why would you buy it?"
His agitation was palpable, pride and hostility surfacing.
Adam's gaze turned icy, the chilling aura from a month of slaughtering goblins and monsters in the forest seeping out. His untrimmed hair half-covered his eyes, which glinted coldly.
"Is that a problem?" He asked, his voice devoid of warmth.
"Y-you…" The black-robed Magician flinched, a chill creeping up his neck, and stepped back.
Realizing he'd been cowed, his face twisted in humiliated fury. "Do you know where you are?"
"Enough!" The blue-robed Magician, previously annoyed about the magic item, now spoke sternly.
"Albert, is what you said true?" He asked the black-robed Magician gravely.
"What? True?" Albert stammered, caught off guard.
"I understand." The blue-robed Magician said, turning to Adam. "Please wait a moment, sir."
He hurried toward the guild's staircase.
The hall fell silent, leaving only Adam and Albert.
The atmosphere grew tense.
Albert's face paled, and he turned away, avoiding Adam's gaze.
Adam's curiosity deepened.
Papermaking clearly hid secrets he hadn't uncovered.
He didn't wait long.
Footsteps echoed down the stairs.
The blue-robed Magician trailed cautiously behind an elderly man in a patched gray robe, clearly not a magic item.
The old man's white hair framed a stern, wrinkled face, taut as folded parchment, exuding an air of rigidity and unapproachability.
"Master." Albert said, rushing to assist, but the old man brushed him off with a sharp gesture.
Despite his age, his steps were vigorous.
He glanced at the paper on the counter, then fixed his gaze on Adam, noting his black hair.
"Are you from the Slane Theocracy?" He asked coldly, eyes narrowing.
***
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