The guild hall's noise felt different when you returned with silver in your pocket. The murmur of conversations wasn't just background; it was potential information. The glances from other adventurers weren't just dismissive; they were assessments. I was WF-0097, the kid who'd passed Boris's test. A minor curiosity, but a registered one.
My first stop was the Quest Completion desk, where I handed over my meticulously drawn maps of the Grotto's first three chambers. The clerk, a different man from Mara, glanced at them, stamped a form, and slid five silver coins across the counter without a word. Combined with the three slime cores, I had eight silver. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
I didn't head for the request board for another job. Instead, I approached the most overlooked corner of the guild hall: the Reference Nook.
Tucked away behind a pillar, it consisted of three shelves of battered ledgers, a few stone tablets with basic monster diagrams, and a single, elderly man dozing behind a small desk. A sign read: "Archivist Jorgen. Consultation: 2 Silver per Question. Historical & Ecological Research Only. No Divinations."
Perfect.
I placed two silver coins on the desk. The old man—Jorgen—cracked one eye open. His eyes were a milky blue, but sharp with intelligence.
"Two silver gets you one answered question, boy. Make it good."
I'd prepared my query carefully. It couldn't be too specific. "I'm conducting a mineral survey in the Whitefall Grotto," I began, using my cover story. "I've noticed unusual mana absorption patterns in the Pool Room's western wall. The local cave slime residue seems to be drawn to it. I'd like to understand the cave's natural mana ecology and any known interactions with lunar cycles."
Jorgen's other eye opened. He looked me up and down, his drowsiness gone. "A mapper with actual observational skills? Rare. And you're asking about theory, not just monster weak points. Rarer still."
He took the coins and stood, moving with a stiffness that spoke of old injuries rather than frailty. He pulled a heavy ledger from the shelf. "Whitefall Grotto. E-rank dungeon. Manifested eighty-three years ago. Primary mana alignment: Earth-aspected, with Water secondary from the underground streams. The lumen moss provides minor Light-aspect mana."
He flipped a page. "Lunar influence is well-documented in dungeons. The waning gibbous moon, three nights from now, will pull the Water-aspect mana to its lowest ebb in the monthly cycle, causing a temporary dominance of the Earth aspect. Standard stuff."
"Could that cause a resonance in a mana-dense rock formation?" I asked, pushing carefully.
"Possible," Jorgen mused, tapping the page. "If the formation has a latent matrix—a natural mana circuit—a shift in ambient mana pressure could theoretically activate it temporarily. Like wind whistling through a particular crack in a cliff."
"And cave slimes?" I pressed. "Their mana signature?"
"Simple Water/Life amalgam. Unrefined. They're drawn to mana sources to feed. If your wall is absorbing their residue, it suggests the matrix is... hungry. It's using the slimes' crude mana to maintain itself, like a man eating gruel to survive when he craves steak."
His analogy was eerily close to my theory. "What would it consider 'steak'?"
Jorgen gave me a long look. "A concentrated burst of pure, Earth-aligned mana. Or, more likely, a catalyst of Living Earth mana—something that bridges the elemental gap between stone and life. That's academic, though. You won't find such a thing lying around."
Living Earth. My mind raced. Plant magic was exactly that—the bridge between the Earth element and Life. My mana wasn't pure Earth, but it was its living descendant. Was that why the novel's protagonist's Lightning mana worked? Not because it was Earth, but because it was a potent, living energy that could serve as a violent catalyst?
"I see," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Thank you, Archivist."
He nodded, already looking sleepy again. "You have a thoughtful mind, boy. Don't let the guild grunts beat it out of you. Come back when you have more silver... and more interesting questions."
I left the nook, my thoughts churning. The theory was solidifying. The lock needed a catalyst of potent, living energy during a specific mana tide. The protagonist's lightning had done it by accident. My plant magic might do it intentionally, but I'd need to be careful. A "burst" might shatter the delicate matrix. I needed a key, not a battering ram.
For the next two days, I took simple jobs: gathering herbs near the dungeon entrance (using my Plant Enchantment to ensure they were healthy and getting a better price), and clearing out another minor slime infestation in a runoff tunnel. I earned another twelve silver, and more importantly, I practiced.
In the privacy of the old cottage, I worked on mana refinement. I used Mana Control (D) not to push power, but to weave it. I tried to create a thread of my Plant mana that was as concentrated and stable as a physical root, imbued with the concept of growth and connection rather than explosive force.
It was exhausting, precise work. My Mana Eyes showed me my own failures—mana threads that frayed, concepts that collapsed. But slowly, I improved.
On the afternoon of the third day, the day of the waning gibbous moon, I made my final preparation. I visited a general store and spent five silver on two items: a small, empty mana crystal shard (a flawed, cheap thing used for beginner enchanting practice), and a vial of Earthworm paste, a low-grade alchemical reagent known for its Earth-affinity.
Back home, I performed a crude bit of alchemy. I infused the Earthworm paste into the crystal shard using my mana, then carefully "grew" a filament of my refined Plant mana through it, using Plant Creation. The result was a murky, greenish crystal that pulsed faintly with a hybrid Earth/Life signal—a crude simulation of Living Earth.
It wouldn't last more than an hour. It was a gamble.
As dusk fell, I returned to the Whitefall Grotto. The guild guard gave me a nod; I was becoming a familiar sight. "Late mapping, kid?"
"Lunar survey for the archives," I said, which was technically true.
The Pool Room was deserted. The water in the pool was perfectly still, mirroring the patch of dark sky visible through the cave entrance high above. The lumen moss seemed dimmer. Jorgen was right—the Water mana was at its low ebb. The earthy yellow mana in the walls glowed more strongly in my Mana Eyes.
I went to the western wall. The swirling pattern was more visible tonight, a lazy vortex of amber light.
I took out my homemade crystal. This was the moment. The novel's protagonist took what wasn't his by accident, triggering mechanisms he didn't understand. I was doing this with open eyes. I wasn't stealing his opportunity—he would have a hundred greater ones. I was taking a discarded tool, one that would help me survive long enough to ensure he and the others could face the world-ending threats.
That was my justification. My necessity.
I pressed the crystal against the center of the swirling pattern and channeled a tiny, sustained stream of my refined Plant mana into it, activating the hybrid matrix within.
For three long seconds, nothing happened.
Then, the crystal in my hand shattered, consumed. The swirling mana on the wall brightened from amber to a vibrant gold. The rock didn't vanish, but it became insubstantial, like thick mist. A passageway, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through, shimmered into existence.
A rush of dense, sweet air—oxygen rich with ancient, sealed-in mana—washed over me. I didn't hesitate. I slipped through.
The mist solidified behind me with a soft thump, leaving me in absolute darkness save for the glow of my own mana-veined body in my Mana Eyes.
And in front of me, set in a small natural alcove, was a fist-sized crystal. It was perfectly hexagonal, clear as water, and it glowed with a serene, steady white light. Pure, condensed mana. The Mid-Grade Mana-Gathering Crystal.
But it wasn't alone.
Beside it, resting on the stone shelf as if placed there yesterday, was a small, leather-bound journal. And on the floor of the alcove, in a neat circle, were twelve small, polished stones, each carved with a single, complex rune.
The crystal was the treasure.
The journal and the stones… those were a message.
I had unlocked the door. Now I had to decide if I was ready to read what was written inside.