Chapter 73: Return to the Magician's Guild — "Are You from the Slane Theocracy?"

The bustling central square was alive with activity.

Lyle walked along the crowded street, and as people caught sight of the small Barghest following him, they instinctively gave way, making a clear path.

The inquiry from the middle-aged man at the Adventurer's Guild didn't linger in Lyle's mind. It wasn't unexpected. After all, the moment he decided to sell the two bone chains from the Barghest, he had anticipated that someone might guess he had ventured into the Great Tob Forest.

However, no matter how much they speculated, no one at the Adventurer's Guild would believe that the recent disturbances in the forest were caused by a single person.

The disappearance of countless monster corpses alone defied logic. Without the concept of a dimensional storage device, people in this world had no way of comprehending how such a feat was possible. With no evidence left behind, even the most imaginative theories lacked a foundation.

"Vice President of the Magician's Guild — Bellory Vanov Gregory Bertkin."

"Just the sound of that name makes him seem like someone difficult to deal with," Lyle muttered, a trace of resignation in his voice. "I wonder if the Magician's Guild has any magical artifacts capable of translating texts."

By now, it was nearly noon.

Deciding to take a break, Lyle chose a lively tavern. He ordered a simple meal, far better than the makeshift rations he had grown accustomed to in the forest. The tavern was filled with the chatter of locals and adventurers, making it the perfect place to eavesdrop on rumors.

Yet, even after finishing his meal, Lyle gained nothing useful. Whatever had disturbed the atmosphere in E-Rantel was carefully concealed, with even the local gossip offering no insight. Clearly, the higher-ups had sealed off any information.

A soft chime echoed as the large, dark wooden doors swung open on their own.

Lyle entered with a calm stride. The guild was just as cold and silent as before, a stark contrast to the bustling Adventurer's Guild. Behind the reception counter stood two attendants — a familiar young mage in a black robe and a new face clad in a light blue mage's robe.

"No wonder the detection artifact reacted. I thought it was malfunctioning."

"It's a Barghest! And a pup, no less!"

The blue-robed mage's voice was filled with amazement as his eyes locked onto the small creature at Lyle's side. Both attendants looked equally astonished, their attention completely fixated on the Barghest.

Meanwhile, the black-robed mage quickly recognized Lyle. His memory was sharp, and Lyle's distinctive jet-black hair had left a lasting impression.

"Are you here to purchase magic scrolls again?"

The black-robed mage inquired, maintaining a polite but professional tone.

"Not this time," Lyle replied evenly as he approached the counter. "I'm looking to purchase a magical artifact."

"A magical artifact?"

Both mages exchanged surprised glances. Magic artifacts were prohibitively expensive, often far beyond the means of ordinary adventurers. Judging from Lyle's appearance, neither mage believed he had the wealth for such a purchase.

"What kind of artifact are you looking for?" the black-robed mage asked cautiously.

"Something that can translate texts," Lyle answered directly.

"Translate texts?"

"Who would waste time creating such a useless artifact?"

The blue-robed mage's voice rose, his disbelief evident. "Even if magic is capable of incredible feats, not everything is possible!"

Startled by his colleague's outburst, the black-robed mage quickly tugged on the other's sleeve in a silent gesture to calm down. Turning back to Lyle, he bowed slightly in apology.

"My apologies. Unfortunately, we don't have any artifacts with the function you described."

Lyle nodded in acknowledgment. He wasn't surprised. After all, even in this magical world, the concept of text translation through artifacts was far from common.

He recalled the Nazarick Tomb guardian, Sebas, who possessed a pair of enchanted glasses capable of translating any language. However, those were classified as high-tier artifacts, leagues beyond what could be found in a typical guild.

"One more thing," Lyle said, his tone shifting slightly. He reached into his coat, producing a piece of paper that gleamed with a subtle, radiant glow. The paper seemed durable, its faint magical aura visible under the light of the guild's enchanted chandeliers.

"Do you accept materials like this?"

The moment the paper appeared, both mages froze. The previous air of indifference was gone, replaced by pure fascination.

"How many of these do you have?"

"We'll buy them all!"

The blue-robed mage practically leaped forward, snatching the paper from Lyle's hands to inspect it closely. His excitement was barely contained as he traced the paper's smooth texture, examining the intricate magical patterns.

Lyle blinked, momentarily surprised by the intensity of their reaction.

Based on his own appraisal, the paper was crafted using a second-tier magical process. It could preserve any written text for a hundred years without deterioration. Valuable, certainly, but not something Lyle had expected to cause such a commotion.

Perhaps this world's standards were lower than he thought.

The reaction from the blue-robed mage seemed overly exaggerated.

"This is flawless," the mage declared, his eyes shifting from the sheet of paper to his companion. He nodded firmly, his voice low but filled with certainty.

The young man in the black robe showed even greater surprise.

"I recall you are a practitioner of faith-based magic, correct?" the black-robed youth turned toward Lyle.

"That's right," Lyle replied calmly.

"Who created this paper? My apologies, but we are in urgent need of a large quantity of this material. If the creator is willing, we can offer one silver coin for every ten sheets."

The black-robed youth spoke with sincere intent.

A second-tier Paper Creation spell could produce around seven hundred sheets. At this price, a single casting would yield seventy silver coins, equivalent to five gold and five silver.

Lyle couldn't hide his surprise.

If he produced paper daily for a month, he could easily earn over one hundred and sixty gold coins — a swift path to financial independence.

"There's no need to look elsewhere. I made it myself," Lyle said, raising a hand dismissively.

"You?"

The black-robed youth was visibly stunned.

Even the blue-robed mage, who had been studying the paper intently, lifted his head in disbelief.

"Impossible!"

The usually composed black-robed youth suddenly spoke in a sharp tone.

"Just a month ago, you purchased a Zero-Tier 'Paper Creation' scroll from this very guild!"

"If you already knew the spell, why would you waste money on a scroll?" His voice was laced with suspicion and hostility, the disbelief evident in his eyes.

Lyle's expression grew cold. A month of battling goblins and magical beasts in the wilderness had left him hardened. His disheveled hair partially veiled his eyes, but the sheer intensity in his gaze pierced through.

"Is that a problem?"

His voice was devoid of warmth, sending a chill down the young mage's spine.

"You... You..."

The black-robed youth instinctively stepped back, his body trembling. A wave of discomfort swept over him, though he quickly tried to mask his fear.

"Do you even understand where you are?" he barked, the flush of humiliation coloring his face.

"Enough!"

The blue-robed mage, who had earlier seemed displeased with Lyle, suddenly interrupted.

"Albert, are you certain about what you just said?" The mage's tone was grave as he fixed his eyes on the black-robed youth.

"I... What? Yes, I'm certain!" Albert stammered.

"I see."

Without another word, the blue-robed mage turned to Lyle.

"Please wait here a moment," he said before rushing toward the guild's staircase.

The vast hall now held only Lyle and Albert.

A tense silence lingered between them. Albert's complexion remained pale as he avoided Lyle's gaze, fidgeting nervously.

Lyle, however, grew increasingly curious.

It seemed that the "Paper Creation" spell harbored secrets he was yet to uncover.

Soon, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the staircase.

The blue-robed mage returned, trailing behind an elderly man dressed in a plain gray robe. The robe bore several patches, making it evident that it held no magical properties.

The elder's face was deeply wrinkled, resembling the creases of an old parchment. His expression was stern, his lips pressed thinly together. Every step he took, though aged, carried unwavering strength.

"Teacher," Albert called out anxiously, rushing forward as if to assist the elder.

The old man, however, coldly brushed him aside, his posture firm and unyielding.

Ignoring Albert, the elder first scrutinized the paper on the counter before turning his sharp gaze toward Lyle.

"Are you from the Slane Theocracy?" The elder's voice was cold, his half-lidded eyes lingering on Lyle's black hair.