Cracking up his back, Clem spent a few good breaths making sure all of his stiff joints loosen. Whatever Rene said, talking for few bells amounted to moderately strenuous activity. Just because the brute standard was running two laps around the town perimeter, it didn’t mean his ache somehow became any lesser. Rummaging his inner pocket, he flipped and flapped series of buttons and hidden seams. Pressing and pulling certain spots as he inserted and drawn a spark of mana in concert. He blinked at the first whoosh of gust, feeling the slack —the melting tension that was his inner pocket. The first layer had been deactivated.

The layers or as he called it ‘defense against stupid bastards that trespass their welcome’ were a mechanism of protection meant to guard his coat against busybodies that not an honest innkeeper or barmaid trying to identify who was its rightful owner if he ever unknowingly forgot (or forgot he was drunk enough) to left it laying around. It was a measure against those who knew that adventurers were quite rich and decided to act on it.

The good-hearted that ‘just want to help’ would find a copy of adventurers’ card on each of the front pockets. The not-so-good-hearted would found something else; a hidden flap. The flap would be covered in brown leather, sewn almost smooth with just the barest jag of stitches. And inside it was an innocuous-looking bundle —lint and pocket bits mashed together, covering a sparkling, golden embroidery that promised more.

More.

Just a bit more, a bit more it’d promise; inviting greed to eager hands. The excitement, the promise it wove would make the tangled, chaotic stray of threads around the lint became simply a product of age —a consequence of time where dust, inevitable as it was, drawn to the fabric inside.

To the naked eye that was.

The truth was the stuff was trapped —imbued with sharp enchantment. The smallest incorrect pattern, a brute-force ripping zeal would activate the three simultaneous pebbles in full magical revenge —sharpening the threads, cutting through anything and everything below the hard resist of tempered steel.

He knew it wouldn’t kill someone who managed to steal his coat. After all, they ought to be crazy leveled to do that. But he figured, whatever bastard that loot his corpse dry at least deserved a few of their fingers cut.

Sighing, he leaned on the nearby tree. The downside of his too good of ‘protection’ that it was a pain to bypass even for him. Half a wick even at his full speed. And as his finger danced, repeating the same trained motions over and over, he took a wistful look to the raised hill, to the stone cobbled path fifty steps away from his spot —to the gate.

Its arcing door spouted and inhaled students and academics alike. In line, in laugh, in jubilant mood and proper greet, it stood. He swallowed his sigh, keeping his face in a neutral smile. Unlike him, they were allowed an express —a passing through without checking and paying. He was not. He was a lowly visitor. A two seasons class-taker that neither bore nor deserved the glowing title that was Everlight graduates. Even with Lene and Lydsie accompanying him, he couldn’t use the main one unless he got those rare, rare, rare special dispensation. Well he could. If he wanted to be struck down that was.

No, not by the gatekeeper. It’d be too humiliating if it was the case. A C that couldn’t survive three level thirty? No way. What he meant what those damn golems. The totally overkill monstrosities that the old headmaster put just to guard a gate. He clicked his teeth looking at them. Even the miniaturized version —the cheapest ones were at least a thousand. And those were students made. These were something else.

Their eyes were stones and dull and ashen and gray. Their body lifeless, stood, and towering. Towering as high as the town bell but at the same time, still. Unmoving without so much of tremble, or a shiver or the barest breathing heave that remarked distinction between dead and living. On their waist strapped a built of giant mace and sword, on their body fashioned armor of spike and steel. All ready to be unleashed in a moment of need. Which unfortunately include the very unflexible definition of intruders. Of course there were gatekeepers there to keep them in check, but checking once you had been bludgeoned into a meat paste wasn’t his definition of helping.

Opening the last latch, finally he felt the space of his pocket which contained ‘the pricey stuff’. Things that warranted additional protection but not precious enough he refused to carry it on his person. The visitor badge was one of them. Pulling the square thing out, his smile stiffen, the crystal center’s gold light was diminishing, just a touch almost unseen under the daylight shine. He paused, his mind raced —calculating how much it could be used before it inevitably needed to be recharged. Ugh, he grimaced, arriving at the number. His already failing smile, fell for just a fraction of breath. It’d be at most three. Most likely two before he needed to pay another visit to the dept and watch another of his ten gold went down —drained to the academy’s greedy pocket just to open a stupid door.

Well, there nothing he could do. All in all, this calendar what somewhat better than the last one. He did manage to cut down the obligatory visit to just one round of charging instead of the previous two. But this visit, he sighed, was inevitable. After all like Emmy said, it was prep week. He couldn’t expect the girls to do more than a weekly trip to Partov just to check the meeting result when almost three-quarters of them could be summarized in half paper page.

That why it absolutely infuriating that he was contacted yesterday. The man —at least he assumed he was— certainly knew that the girls came around the eighth bell. But no, they just had to play their games. Selling their information yesterday just before the noon bell strike. Way way way too late.

And the oaf thought they could keep their meeting secrets. Ha! Of course not! The fact that his team would know about the potion was a foregone conclusion. What wasn’t whether they would act on it. And he needed them —the damn stairs to thought they weren’t going. After all delving to unknown sixteen was dangerous, ogre-dangerous. So as Rene said, it made sense not to go.

Still, he could only hope with all the B-ranked teams he bet his contact sold the information around, he hoped his flimsy attempt tiring that boy out would buy them a day. Just a day. A day would be enough to let them arrive at fifteenth —greater possibility reaching sixteenth.

That why right now, despite his grudging, bleeding heart, he let the gold-sucking slate touched his precious badge instead of waiting next week. He watched and pressed with conviction until the moment was right —when the slate absorbed enough sliver to activate the door mechanism, but just before—

PING.

Ha! He pulled his badge at once. Away from the now pulsating red slate. Smirk wide as grin plastered his face. No tips for you, you greedy thing!

The slate pulsated red for three more breaths in anger. But at last, on the fifth breaths, it acknowledged its defeat and light up with blue-yellow blaze, slamming it to the door.

The door whirled. A golem walked out.

"Hi, Ger! How is my favorite doorkeeper?" he waved his hand, saying his hello to the approaching human-sized golem-man greeting him with vivacious joy every living deserved. The golem though, questionable on both ends, kept what he called ‘a boorish mannerism’ upfront —responding his nice niceness with ever the same regurgitated line.

"Visitor-designate AD 055-0023, state your business," it said.

"Oh come on Ger. Must we always do this?” he pretended to roll his eyes, hiding his full-blown chuckle trying to escape from his lips’ corner. “You know what I'm here for right?"

"Visitor-designate AD 055-0023, please state your business. This is your first warning."

"Again with that warning thing.” he shook his head, fashioning a pout. “I've been here what? Twenty, thirty times, come on, Ger!"

To his not-surprise, the golem spoke the warning again. But this time with variation when he admittedly stepped off his bound a tiny bit. "Requesting town representative confirmation. Requesting guild representative confirmation. Visitor-designate AD 055-0023 had ignored the first warning. Please state your business. This is your second warning."

"Clem, You know you shouldn't mess with Ger! It's hard to fix him!” Trailing behind the unblinking golem were two disgruntled men, stepping out of a barrack-like outpost. The lanky one, Jones, gave him a folded arms and a chill stiff stare that promised revenge. The second, Tor, simply wore a scowl of exasperation before speaking —confirming the golem judgment. “Town Representative confirms the Academy Doorkeeper Judgment."

"Guild Representative confirms the Academy Doorkeeper Judgment.” Jones followed. “Really Clem, stop bothering Gerald. Should I tell Mira to fine you again?"

"Sheesh, you guys are no fun!” he pouted. “Fine, I'm here to talk to Arlene and Lydia. And perhaps others if they want to. Dungeon stuff."

"Intent confirmed. Visitor-designate AD 055-0023 is in business of 'Adventure Solicitation'. Adventure Solicitation requires active membership of Adventurer Guild. Guild Representative please confirm this."

"Card."

Mumbling, Clem gave the carved crystal, the real one, not the copy to Jones.

"Honestly just one day…. [Appraisal]! [Detect Forgery]!"

The man blinked. One time. Two times. Before he sighed and confirmed Clem’s affiliation. "Clement Marri-Pattel. Ranked C+ of Adventurer Ranking. Equivalent Adventuring Point: 9853. Currently in Trial of Persistence to be promoted to B-rank. Intra adventurer guild dispute: five archived, status: resolved. Issuing Client dispute: none archived. Overall assessment: adequate. The guild hereby declares Clement Marri-Pattel to be in good grace."

"Confirmed. Adventure Solicitation requires the student to be at least on their second semester of their first calendar. Attache student Arlene Krismoira and Lydia Qallan confirmed to be second calendar and second semester students. This requirement is passed."

"Gee, Gerard, now can you—"

"Visitor-designate AD 055-0023 extend their 'Adventure Solicitation' to new volunteers. Per Year 334 Revision 7, Article 6, Paragraph 15. The visitor would be subjected to an initial Solicitation fee—"

"Of course..."

"—of 3 gold. With an additional fee of 15 gold per new solicited volunteer."

"Urgh, my coin. Can I pass now?"

"Stepping in the academy ground requires proof of good citizenship. Requesting town representative to confirm Visitor designate AD 055-0023 outstanding ob—"

"Yeah, yeah Ger. It's Clem. He's confirmed."

"—ligation. Very well. It's confirmed. Welcome to the Everlight Visitor designate AD 055-0023. Truth will liberate us."

Nibbling the fried mix nut. Clem took a fifth look at the cafeteria entrance —gulping water from his own waterskin in between. It had been a half-bell since he arrived and because visitors weren't allowed at the student dorm, he was waiting inside the cafeteria.

Looking at the table left of him, he shook his head. It was another mark, another victim; a young man in their late teen, maybe early twenty that keep looking to the entrance door. On his table, several platters of empty plates and cups could be seen lying around. Piling and piling in clutters.

Even though the academy was mainly concerned with teaching [Mage], Clem had a sneaking suspicion that it was helmed by a merchant. Or at least one of the board members was. He wasn't sure. But what he sure that the whole system was designed to fleece the maximum amount of coin from non-student.

And it was devious. Evil. The door and solicitation fee? Ha! That was just Erwee playing in the green grass —obvious. What you should watch were those that not immediately obvious. Which the young man had fallen into. Badly.

Since attendants wouldn't dare to bother a teacher’s class for one student message. A non-urgent message that was. Any first to third year attached student —the only one relatively idle enough to do adventuring commission— had to check their room where the attendant would post the message at their door. Which if the visitors were truly unlucky, that meant waiting a whole day until the students finished their course, which could amount to four or five courses depending on how busy they were. That still not to account the oftentimes student had an outing or independent project.

At that point, a rookie solicitor like that young man might already ten drinks down before finally calling it a day. Clem shook his head, half-disgusted, half-marveled at the amount of cafeteria snacks and the recurring door fee the man must again pay next time. He though, wouldn't make such a low-level mistake. He and the girls already agreed on a set of designated days. Three times a week. On the fourteenth bell, both of the girls would check their door for messages. Which meant he only needed to wait half to a full bell before—

"It better be important! Calling me in the middle of translation!" Banging a pile of loose sheaves. A bleary-eyed young woman sat herself down with a plop. Unfastening her sleeves she took a white-feather quill and began scribbling. "[Activate Enchantment: Flowing Ink]."

Drat. He forgot Lene often had a translation project around first. Emily not gonna like it, he grumbled. Lene had made it very clear that lost points due to adventuring work must be compensated one-third more than the market rate of points.

"Sorry, sorry. How is your work?"

"Could be better,” the young woman said, sighing as she scrutinied what he perceived as nonsensical scribble. “Fami got matching phonemes paralleled to old Gherlkin,” she said pointing to the second line of her nonsensical scribble, circled in red. “But since the only consulting prof for old Gherlkin is Prof. Erelta which of course, went to one of his famous sabbaticals. It could be weeks before he comes back. So we’re stuck with mapping right now."

"I'm not gonna pretend I understand any of that."

“Hah!” she laughed, returning to her sheaves, circling, underlining, jotting. All the stuff. Then, just as he wanted to further ask her about her day, a rapid incoming footstep echoing from the cafeteria corridor.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm late!" A young woman barraged into the room. Ragged, her robe’s bottom was smudged with dirt.

"Hi, Lydsie.” he smiled, nodding at the green-haired girl. “It's okay we're just starting."

"I'm sorry.” she sat down. “Woolie's been refusing to go out of the room lately. I think he a little depressed."

"You should really ditch that useless rat, Lyd. By Ararkan light! Get fliers, walkers, a knight even. Anything else!"

"S-sorry..." the mage replied, casting her eyes down.

"Look I don’t mean—” his friend paused. “It just the rat wouldn’t help you pass the walk. You know it’s one-fifth of our end-year grade.”

"S-sorry..."

"Hah. Whatever then...” the enchanter sighed. “Anyway, what's the business, Clem?"

"There’s a big news,” he whispered. “But, we can't talk here."

“Big news?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I told you, we can’t here.” he folded his arm, his right one plucked two slips of paper from his inner pocket. “Meet me at this place.” he slid one of the papers to each woman.

The brown-haired enchanter looked at the offered paper and put her quill down before slipping the paper between the stack of her sheaves. He nodded, the secrecy lesson at least wasn’t wasted on Lene. Also on Lydsie, he saw her put it inside her staff’s secret compartment. Although looking at both of their expression, the former was clearly unimpressed by his lack of explanation while the latter thought he was too paranoid.

"Seriously,” his enchanter friend said, looking up into his eyes. “If you're that afraid, just bubbles—"

"Not even with bubble."

Her jaw hung down, muttering silent ‘what’. Three breaths later, she caught herself. "...is it that serious?"

"Yeah.” he nodded, putting a grim face of determination —telling her what at stake. “Emily even asks you if you know some trusted friends."

"...I know Fami is good. But she's not what you call ‘dungeon-material.’” she clicked his teeth. “John will kill me if I ask him do dungeon run on prep week and Dane obviously unavailable. Nothing. Lyd?"

"...my roommates don't like delving."

"Oh yeah, the digs' kids. Are you sure about that though? How about that short one. The blond boy that met us before on the guild. He looks good."

“N-no. He… he can’t”

“Are you sure, Lyd? We need people. Probably. I mean we could do it alone. But It’d be better if we have more people.”

“Yes...”

“We just have to make do, then.” he sighed. “Read it.” he turned to the enchanter. “Don’t be late. Do your translation later.”

"Fine.” the enchanter sighed, stacking all her sprawled sheaves, getting up from her chair. “I'll speak to Harold,” she said. “Ugh, he’s going to cut my point again."