After several hours of magical experimentation I felt as though I had a pretty decent grasp on balancing spells. More than anything it took time and thorough thinking to get a spell balanced out the way you want.

The more progress I made through slow and painstaking trial and error the more I had to agree with Albatos' previous assessment. The fact that Orelio was able to successfully put together a working projection with such terrible magical aptitude made him nothing short of a freak.

When it came to magic in general Orelio completely floundered. Not only was his aptitude atrocious, but his mana pool was rather pathetic. His migraine set in a mere two hours after we started, and before he had managed to make any significant progress with balancing.

Once I was running low on mana Albatos dismissed me, but kept Orelio around. He planned to siphon some mana back into the beastkin to get him over the migraine then continue training. With such a small mana pool it did make sense that he should be able to recover quickly, especially with external help, but I didn't envy him for the fact this would probably become routine. Being forced to have a migraine every day would seriously suck.

It'd been about five hours since we started, which meant there were likely still a few more hours to go until Morvin recovered and got to his task.

Guess I'll do some solo work.

I wanted to establish a base framework of knowledge to expand on. Even if I found out where Alice and Arnstein came from, that information alone wouldn't help me much if I didn't have a general idea of the world's structure.

Going to my room, I gather my coinpurse and guild ID slab. I briefly consider swapping out to my old garments, but decide against it for the time being. My aim is to search around the administrative district for a library, or some kind of embassy at least. Somewhere that would have someone to feed me info.

Before I leave I ask a servant to find a spare cloak. I'm hesitant to wander the administrative district in my traveling garments for fear of looking like an undesirable vagabond. With a spare cloak, one of a deep navy blue, I head out the main gates.

Wandering around the administrative district gives a distinctly different atmosphere than the surrounding city. The posh architecture contrasts the cobbled together structures of the outer loop.

After about an hour of getting an understanding of the district's layout, I find what I'm looking for. Voset's central library is a large two story building with marble statues outside guarding the main entrance.

Walking in, I'm met with a security guard who gives me a scrutinizing look before letting me pass. Looking around further inside I see scattered businessmen and nobles all dressed in well tailored clothing. I likely would have been denied entry had I decided to wear my traveling garb.

An elvish receptionist at the main desk informs me of the rules of the establishment, mainly that all materials are to be treated with care and none are to leave the premises.

Going further into the building I see the biggest difference between this library and the ones I was accustomed to. Most of the building consists of private rooms, and the actual reading materials are sorted by topic and placed on individual shelves at different locations around the building.

I'm conditioned to libraries having rows upon rows of books, so having to walk several meters between single shelves is almost depressing. I had somewhat forgotten that reading materials were considered a luxury item in this world.

After getting directions from an attendant, I find the single shelf of world history works. Selecting one about historic conflicts in Alta, the continent to the west, I pick out a room to hole up in and read.

I'm once again grateful for the power of the human brain, to translate an entire language for me automatically as I read it. That I have little literacy trouble while going through the tome once again reinforces the idea that Arnstein must have had a considerable amount of schooling, which didn't seem like it would be common considering the scarcity of books. Or maybe the church gave out free lessons. That would be another line of inquiry to look into.

Most of the conflicts in Alta seemed centered on the Bolisian Empire. It had a policy of almost open hostility to both its northern and southern neighbors, Djudiria and Kul. The only nation that seemed more or less immune to conflict was Horveria, the nation of demons. I suppose only being connected to the rest of the continent by a thin strip of land and having a history of having an ascendant as the country's leader would dissuade hostile notions.

An hour or two passed as I skimmed over the book. While a history of the continent's conflicts didn't explicitly tell me anything about the culture or theology of the nations involved, it did allow me to piece together a general picture of their ruling structure. Djudiria is traditionally a monarchy with a rudimentary feudal caste system. Bolisia is ruled by an emperor or empress who wields supreme authority. Kul is something of an oligarchy, but other than that I can't pull much info on it.

I sigh, feeling fatigued after my extended research session. The most studying I had ever done was the bare minimum required for school, and I'm finding that even in a different world old habits die hard.

Leaving the study room I go to put my book back only to run into someone unexpected.

"Vanderburst?"

"Oh!" The tink says, surprised, "Hello there young one, I hadn't expected to meet you here."

"Was doing some research," I say, holding up the book in my hand, "What're you here for?"

"The noble mistress requested I pull some historical records," He responds, pulling a book off the shelf. Once the book is tucked under his arm he says, "You know, the manor has a reading room with various study materials if you should need it. I could also pull a few items of interest from the collection here temporarily for personal use as well."

"Really? But I thought books weren't allowed to leave the library?"

He scratches his nose and gives a sly grin, "You should be aware, young one, that in high society everything revolves around who you know."

I give a little chuckle, "Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Could you show me the room later?"

"Certainly."

"Great, thanks," I say as I put my book back where I found it, "See you later then."

Heading back to the manor I swap out my fine clothes for the worn traveling clothes I arrived in. Following the path Vanderburst had guided us through earlier, I head into the lower level of the administrative district. I remember somewhere along the path he had taken us was what seemed to be an exit.

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After half an hour of trial and error navigating the maze of twisting corridors, I finally find an exit. Irritatingly, it isn't actually the one I was searching for, but it's an exit nonetheless.

The door was built like a watertight contraption you would find on a naval vessel. On the wall next to it was a lever, and above the lever was a code, 78614.

Pulling the lever releases the seals around the door with a thud. I pull the door open and find that it swings inwards, with what seems to be a maintenance tunnel beyond.

Stepping out into the derelict passage I turn to pull the door shut behind me. When it closes I hear a dull thud from the other side to indicate the locks reengaging.

If I hadn't just come from inside, I never would have known there was a door here at all. It blends into the wall perfectly, with the cracks between the door and wall being covered by a myriad of pipes and other random bits.

I look around, trying to spot somewhere that I can maybe put the code into to open the door back up, but find nothing. The only thing that stands out is a small notched valve off to the left of the door on a pipe. Twisting it results in a small clink as it snaps into its next position.

I see, it's like a lock on an old safe. You turn it back and forth to enter the numeric code.

It takes a few attempts, but after fiddling with it for a while I'm able to get the door to pop back open. Closing it, I feel much more confident in my ability to come and go incognito.

After loitering in the dusty maintenance passage for a while, I feel it's time to pick a direction and figure out where it takes me. For no particular reason, I choose to follow the passage going right.

After a few minutes of wandering I come out onto a mostly empty street. Unlike the bustling cityscape above, it seems the lower streets aren't as popular with the excessive amount of tourists. Almost every person I see is either a dwarf or has the tired expression of someone returning home from work.

The buildings, if they can even be called that, that line the street are much more ordinary than the buildings of the surface. Grocers, handyman shops, and eclectic shops line the street. Gas lamps fastened to poles hanging from the ceiling provide orange tinted illumination to the subterranean world.

I take a survey of the surrounding area, trying to memorize the location so I can easily find my way back into the belly of the administrative district.

Once I feel I've got a good grasp on the location I move on, looking for some way to ascend. While I'm sure there are fascinating oddities to be discovered in the depths of civilization, that's not what I'm here for. If adventurers don't linger below the surface then I need to return to the light of day if I'm to learn anything useful.

Soon enough I spot it. Unlike the ramped staircases at the edges of the upper strata, the staircases for the lower levels are spiraled around a central pillar.

The day's warm light greets me as the stuffy atmosphere of the underworld gives way to the humid air. It occurs to me that the humidity is likely what causes much of the strange warping of the wooden architecture up here.

I spend an hour or so trying to find the guild, as I'm sure it will be the largest source of adventurer activity. When I do find it I'm surprised to find it nearly deserted. I hadn't actually meant to step foot inside, but my curiosity drives me forward.

Before I can even greet the receptionist my presence is met with a flat, "There are no quests and we do not sanction the transfer of rumor of the supposed 'treasure.' Unless you have official business or wish to register a quest I'll have to ask you to leave for the time being." The exhausted face of the receptionist tells me this isn't the first time she's given this speech today and it likely won't be the last. With a small bow, I leave without even fully entering the building.

They must be under serious pressure from the city to try and disperse the masses of adventurers gathered here. It does seem like an effective strategy. If the backlog of quests has already been run through then there's no easily accessible way for them to make money.

Next step is to figure out which bars were frequented by adventurers. My general plan is to use my age to my advantage and act like a starry eyed kid fishing for stories of adventure, then weasel out what they know of specialized sword techniques. It's a pretty roundabout method of information gathering, but I want to leave a neutral impression so as not to stand out as that kid looking for info on Djudirian Flow. Even in my search for clues I can't forget we're trying to keep our heads to the ground here.

I travel the streets, going from bar to pub to tavern and back again looking for places that look optimal. The goal is places that have about a medium level of activity and aren't dominated by foreigners. The adventurers are the target, but if there's no local presence then things tend to get rowdy. Eventually, I settle on two pubs and a tavern as ideal locations.

Going back to the first I judged to fit my needs, I again read the signpost over the entrance. The Rusty Hammer, seemingly aimed at providing service primarily to blacksmiths, had drawn the eyes of some opportunistic adventurers looking to curry the favor of blacksmiths so as to net themselves the chance to get custom tools ahead of the line.

Walking in I see several groups of people, all having conversations of their own. In an attempt to act natural, I buy a simple meal and take a seat at a table next to an ongoing conversation before listening in.

"You hear what happened to Jimmy?" One man asked.

"What? He didn' get hurt, did he? Ain't his wife due next week?" The second man says.

"Nah, he got caught stealin' some mats for his current project." The first man replies.

"No way. You're saying Jimmy, that Jimmy, was tryin' to steal somethin'? That's hogwash, he'd never."

"Aye, don't I know it. But them's the facts. Apparently, the shadow brigade caught 'im swiping stuff off the transports."

"But why? I'd never think it of 'im."

"Apparently he says his current customer wasn't happy with the quality of work or something and threatened his family if he didn' do it over again. Evidently when they looked into the matter the supposed customer had disappeared into thin air."

"That's mighty strange. Still, until I see it in the papers that he's guilty I won't believe it."

Damn it, I picked the wrong kind of group. I figured humans would be adventurers, but I guess I shouldn't have let preconceptions cloud my judgment.

I cast my gaze over the room, wondering if there are actually any adventurers in here at all.

Still, just because they aren't my intended sources doesn't mean there isn't still information worth learning.

"Um, excuse me," I say bashfully to the man behind me. If I'm not mistaken it's the second man. He's got hair with some wisps of gray in it and a crooked nose. The other man, the first who had spoken, is about half the second's age and has freckles and a rather noteworthy cleft chin.

"Mm? What's up, laddie?" The older gentleman asks.

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation and was wondering if you could tell me about the, what was it, the shadow brigade?"

"Oh, that's something of a local legend," The younger one says with a smile, "I'm guessing you're from out of town if you haven't heard of them."

I nod, pretending to have a curiosity that overrides an ever present nervousness.

"Heh heh," The old man chuckles, "They say the shadow brigade is the remnants of an old order, founded back before the city became stacked upon itself. Whether there's any trace of their old ways still…" He shrugs.

"That stuffs old old legend, Orl. Nowadays everybody knows them as the silent protectors, eternally watchful from the shadows. They're said to roam the lower levels, ensuring the base of the city doesn't fall into the hands of those level 9 scum."

"Now now, let's not bother the boy with real troubles."

"What's on level 9?" I ask.

"It's where Don Yerman operates. He runs his crew and produces illegal goods on the ninth."

"Hey!" The old man reprimands the younger. With a sigh, he turns to me, "Listen laddie, just don't go lower than level 8, alright? There's always trouble brewing below eighth." He holds his arms above his head like a mock zombie, "There's things worse than the shadow brigade down there, mark me."

"Mind if I ask what's going on?" A new voice cuts in.