Giles's library

As expected, the Balnir Family's library was enormous. Its footprint alone was almost the size of several basketball courts, not counting the floors above. He entered and approached the front desk. "Sir, how may I help you?" The attendants here all kept themselves very neat and clean. Clearly, the Balnir Family placed great importance on the library. "May I read the books here?"

"Please show your identification." Allen took out his papers. They were extremely crude, stating only which country and place he came from. Forging something like this would take mere minutes, but these nobles did not care. As long as you paid, they would let you in; having identification or not merely determined how much you paid. Sure enough, after taking his money, the attendant gave the papers only a glance before letting him through. "You only have level-one access, so you must stay on the first floor. It costs 0 silver coins per hour. Please keep track of your time."

He paid 00 coins, enough to stay for about ten hours. Once inside, he immediately headed for the history section. He had come to learn about this country's history, culture, and geography, along with the histories and geographical distribution of the continent's nations, among other things.

Ten hours later, he had learned everything he wanted to know. He read very quickly, and although there were many books of this kind, most were largely alike, with little difference between them. He also found a book introducing professionals. Its explanations were very brief, covering only the two main categories of mage and Warrior. Mages included practitioners of various different schools, while Warriors also came in many types, including knights and swordsmen. However, the author did not seem to know much about professionals either, as many uncommon professions went unmentioned.

Still, he was no longer completely ignorant about professionals. Over the next few days, he stayed in the library, spending about 40 silver coins altogether. Together with the money from selling the wand earlier and his other odds and ends, he had nearly two gold coins, yet in just a few days he had already spent almost two-fifths of his money. Although it pained him a little, he still felt it was worthwhile.

Three days later, he went to the Adventurers' Guild, took out the badge Old Jack had given him, and said to the receptionist, "Show me the jobs going to Atlan." Without a word, the receptionist rummaged beneath the desk and took out a job list, then turned away to attend to other things. He looked over the jobs. They were all the simplest D-rank jobs. Since Old Jack was an adventurer of the lowest rank, his badge naturally only allowed him to accept the lowest-ranking jobs.

There were many jobs on the list, filling two whole pages. He carefully went through them and chose one with a fairly modest reward. His rank was too low, after all, leaving him little choice.

The caravan would probably depart tomorrow. He called the receptionist over and filled out the form, then returned to the inn. With nothing to do, he dug out the crude staff in his room and probed it with his mind. The patterns within the staff immediately appeared in his mind. Over the past few days, he had even looked it up at the library, but had found very little. All he learned was that magical items such as staves generally had magical inscriptions applied by alchemists, and these inscriptions could only be seen using mental power. Ordinary people could not see them at all. As for how to recharge magical items, the book made no mention of it. On reflection, he thought that was perfectly normal. Otherwise, the book would not have been on the first floor.

But he did not give up. Since the books had no answer, he would figure it out himself. He had no mana in his body and could not recharge it, but then he thought of that stone. He tried every method he could think of to recharge it, yet still failed. The energy vanished as soon as it left the stone, leaving him at a loss. He also wondered whether this energy could be absorbed, but that proved impossible.

By the next day, he still had no way to recharge it, so he could only give up for the time being and leave the inn for the agreed meeting place. When he arrived, he saw several large cartloads of goods. These all belonged to the Mason Caravan, though he did not know exactly what they were. He guessed they were probably supplies needed by adventurers and mercenaries. Half an hour later, seeing that everyone had arrived, the Mason Caravan's steward ordered them to set off.

The caravan had hired a dozen or so adventurers and mercenaries, but none seemed to be professionals. The only professional in the caravan was the steward. Out of respect for the strong, everyone followed his arrangements. Allen and a middle-aged man named Joey were assigned to a position just behind the middle of the group. Joey was muscular all over, with a burly, rough-hewn appearance that made him look quite reassuring.

Joey was also an extremely talkative man. From the moment they met, he kept talking, mostly boasting about his legendary experiences. He probably spoke so much to Allen because he could tell that Allen was young and just starting out. Allen did not find it annoying, however, and even considered it a way to pass the time when bored.

"Allen, do you know the legend of Tirisfal Glades?" Allen's interest was immediately piqued, and he turned to ask him, "Oh? What do you know?" Seeing his curiosity, Joey instantly perked up. "Have you heard the stories about Tirisfal Glades being haunted?" Hearing him mention the haunting rumors, Allen nodded. "If that's what you mean, never mind." The muscular man immediately grew anxious. "Let me finish! You don't know this, but those rumors are true. I saw them with my own eyes." "I'm sure plenty of people say that, Joey, but you need evidence for these things. Otherwise, it's hard to convince anyone."

Allen shook his head as he spoke to the muscular man. Seeing that he did not believe him, Joey scratched his head anxiously. "Well, well, well... right! I've got proof. I have! Look." As he spoke, he hurriedly began pulling off his shirt. Allen quickly stopped him. "What are you doing? There are women and young ladies here!" "Oh, look at me. I just wanted to show you the wounds on my back. I got those when I encountered Evil Spirits." Allen replied unhurriedly, "You could have gotten those wounds through some careless accident one day, or been clawed a couple of times by a wolf. Who knows?"

"You, you... why won't you believe me? Look, I've got wounds like that on my hand too." He raised his hand for Allen to see. Allen said nothing, lowering his head to examine the wounds. He found their shape very strange. They were very thin, but there were several of them, as though someone had carefully cut them with a razor, arranged in extremely neat parallel lines across his hand. He had never seen wounds like these, but they certainly had not been made by some wild beast. As for whether Joey had inflicted them himself, he believed this rather straightforward muscular man would not be that bored.

"Joey, tell me how you got these." The muscular man withdrew his hand. "Well, of course, that starts three years ago, on Bob's birthday." "Enough showing off. Keep it short." Allen's impatient demand made the muscular man scratch his head awkwardly.

"All right. That day, I was with the Banir mercenaries. They wanted us to find the hidden Magic Source. Although there were some rumors about ghosts at the time, nobody took them seriously. Just like you now, they didn't believe a word of it. At first, we all stayed together to prevent any accidents. But after three days, there was still nothing in that damned place. No beasts, no birds, probably not even many bugs. Eventually, the Banir bigwigs lost patience and split the group up. That's when strange things started happening. Lots of people disappeared. I knew the Evil Spirits must have taken them. Poor Bob had only just turned 1 and hadn't even enjoyed the pleasures of beautiful women and strong liquor."

Allen had to interrupt his lament. "Could you hurry up? I asked how you got your wounds. What does Bob have to do with it?" "Hey, Bob was my good friend, after all. Can't you let me mourn him for a moment? Ah, fine, fine. Actually, those Evil Spirits gave me these wounds. You couldn't see or touch them. I didn't even know where they were. Then I escaped with these wounds. That's it."

Hearing Joey describe those Evil Spirits as invisible and intangible, Allen felt they sounded much like the descriptions of ghosts from his previous life. Perhaps he really had encountered Evil Spirits. Allen could not help becoming wary of eastern Tirisfal Glades.

After that, Joey stayed beside him and talked nonstop about his legendary life until evening. In truth, most of it was exaggerated. Allen could not help reflecting that all the adventurers he had encountered seemed to have maxed out this skill. Perhaps only those who had maxed it out could count as veteran adventurers.

That evening, the leader of the Mason Caravan ordered them to stop there and rest. Allen took the things he needed for camping out of his large backpack. Joey came over too, carrying some wire. Noticing Allen looking at his hands, Joey said mysteriously, "This is a real treasure for camping."

Allen ignored him and continued what he was doing. Since there were more mosquitoes and other insects at night, he had to get the insect-repellent powder ready.

Night always fell quickly in Lordaeron. By the time it was completely dark, many campfires had been lit throughout the camp. Since they were near Tirisfal Glades, the temperature difference between day and night was quite large, and the people in the caravan gathered around the fires for warmth. Allen also made a campfire to share with Joey. Joey assembled his pieces of wire into a grilling rack about the size of an adult's palm.

Joey's hands kept moving, and his mouth did not rest either as he continued sharing gossip about the caravan's mercenaries. Allen occasionally responded, but mostly listened. Joey knew the most about the adventurers. He could even name the hobbies of every adventurer in the caravan. Next came the mercenaries. The distinction between adventurers and mercenaries was often not very clear, and the two groups both competed and cooperated, so he knew quite a bit about them too. Finally, the person he said the least about was the caravan's steward. Perhaps because the steward was both a noble and a professional, an insurmountable gulf lay between him and the rest of the caravan.