The path leading from the forest to the gates of Phalanx was a well-trodden dirt trail, worn down by the constant coming and going of the villagers from the surrounding areas. Carts laden with goods from distant towns, farmers hauling freshly harvested fruits and vegetables—everyone was waiting for their turn to enter the city and partake in trade.

In this world, magic was an inherent part of everyday life for everyone. But the extent of each person's magical prowess varied greatly. A farmer, for instance, might use his modest magical abilities to till the soil, water his crops, or even speed up the growth of plants. However, these abilities were often limited to lower tiers of magic. Real magical training was a privilege of the wealthy, too expensive for most common folk. Consequently, the divide between rich and poor was also reflected in magical capabilities.

Everyone started as a Tier 1 magician, but while most people could achieve Tier 3 or 4 through the course of their lives without formal training, only those with wealth and resources could advance quickly. The talented young nobles often reached such levels before the age of twenty, having been trained rigorously. This contrast between privilege and struggle was ever-present.

Amidst the bustling crowd of traders, farmers, and townsfolk, an old man—Mr. F—walked toward the city gates. He was still covered from head to toe in a thick layer of soot and grime. Along his journey, he had found no river to wash in, and his spare clothing had been destroyed along with his spatial pouch during the ritual. With no other option, he approached the city gates looking like a man who had crawled out of the depths of the earth.

…

In a richly decorated carriage, two young apprentices—a girl and a boy—sat alongside a middle-aged woman named Emma. Their fine robes, embroidered with symbols of swords and flowers, reflected their noble status. The three swords emblazoned on the chests of the apprentices marked them as Tier 3 magicians, while the six swords on Emma's attire signified her higher standing as a Tier 6 magician.

Inside the carriage, a conversation unfolded:

"Aunt Emma, why didn’t we use a griffin for this trip? We've been in this carriage for hours!" the girl complained. "I can smell the farmers’ stench from here, and I just saw a donkey doing its business right on the road. Disgusting."

Emma responded calmly, "You may not be aware of this because you usually travel by air with your father, but only Tier 7 magicians and above are permitted to fly magical creatures into the city. Otherwise, the sky would be congested with them, leading to aerial disputes. Flying creatures are highly territorial."

The girl pouted. "But can’t we at least go faster? I’m tired, hungry, and my back hurts from sitting here so long."

Emma sighed. "We’ll get there soon. Speeding up now would endanger people on the road and upset the balance. You must learn to be patient, my dear."

With a huff, the girl crossed her arms and leaned back, closing her eyes. Yet her anticipation grew as the city of Phalanx came into view, sprawling across the horizon. A smile curled on her lips, knowing the journey was nearly over. A long line of common folk awaited their turn to enter the city, but their carriage bypassed the queue, as was the privilege of the wealthy. The girl smirked, pleased with their special treatment. Why should they wait like everyone else when their status allowed them to move ahead?

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However, as they neared the exclusive gate reserved for the rich and powerful, their carriage came to an abrupt halt. Ahead of them, a single figure stood in the middle of the road—a man, blackened like coal, engaged in an argument with the guards.

Peeking out the window, the girl chuckled to herself. After such a long and tiresome journey, she thought, a bit of entertainment would do her well. It wasn’t every day that someone tried to force their way through the noble entrance looking like they had just lost a fight with a chimney.

"Will he fight them?" she mused. "Will they beat him up and throw him into the dungeons, or maybe he’ll overpower them and storm into the city?" The possibilities thrilled her.

But her amusement turned into curiosity as she strained to hear the man’s words.

…

A few minutes earlier, as Mr. F approached the city gates, he observed the long line of commoners growing as they patiently awaited entry. He calculated that entering the city this way could take several hours, depending on the mood of the guards and how thoroughly they inspected the goods being brought in.

Shaking his head, Mr. F veered toward the left entrance, the gate reserved for nobles and high-tier magicians. There was no line here, just two guards lounging against the city walls, half-asleep from boredom.

As Mr. F approached, they glanced up lazily, expecting to see yet another well-dressed noble. Instead, they were met with the sight of an old man, covered in black soot from head to toe. He looked less like a magician and more like a beggar who had rolled through a chimney.

The guards exchanged confused looks before drawing their weapons. "Halt! Don’t come any closer!" one of them barked.

The crowd turned to watch the commotion, curious to see how this unusual situation would unfold. It wasn't every day someone tried to use the noble gate while looking like they had crawled out of a coal mine.

Mr. F paused, his eyes narrowing. He glanced down at his robes, realizing that the once-visible symbols marking him as a Tier 6 magician had been completely obscured by the soot. Reaching instinctively for his magical pouch, he then remembered with frustration that it had been destroyed during the ritual.

The guards grew suspicious, and they were ready to chase him off or arrest him. But Mr. F, tired and frustrated, decided to speak.

"My dear friends, I have lost my magical pouch during a life-and-death battle. I may not look it, but I am a Tier 6 magician. Let me through."

The guards hesitated. They had dealt with all kinds of imposters in the past, and this situation seemed dubious. Anyone could claim to be a high-tier magician, after all.

"We're sorry, but without proof of your status, we cannot allow you to enter through this gate," one of the guards said firmly.

Mr. F's patience wore thin. "Are you sure you want to risk angering a Tier 6 magician?" he warned. "The consequences could be... unfortunate."

Before the situation could escalate, the sound of an approaching carriage drew the guards' attention. It was Emma's carriage, adorned with the emblem of a powerful family. The guards knew they couldn’t afford to upset these people, so they quickly stepped aside to allow the carriage to pass.

Inside the carriage, Emma, having heard the commotion, stepped out to assess the situation. The guards quickly explained the situation to her.

Emma's eyes narrowed, and in a clear, authoritative voice, she announced, "I am a Tier 6 magician. I can use an inspection spell to verify this man's claim."

The next moment, Mr. F felt the magical energy begin to surround him, but he allowed the spell to proceed, knowing it would reveal the truth. As the spell finished, Emma's face shifted from suspicion to surprise.

"This man... is indeed a Tier 6 magician," she confirmed.

The guards, now pale with regret, quickly stepped aside. "You may pass, sir," one of them stammered.

As Mr. F walked past them, he casually reached for the coin pouches hanging from their belts. "I'm sure you won’t mind," he said, pocketing the money without breaking stride.

Emma, still standing by her carriage, watched with a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "Who is this man?" she wondered silently. "And what is he really after?"