"So, what about the difference in price?" Bairon asked, a sense of foreboding settling over him.
Merchants are always shrewder than their customers.
Selling an old mana core to upgrade to a new one would surely require covering the price gap, and Seasoft only had fifty gold coins on her.
"I covered the cost," Evelyn suddenly interjected. "Seasoft really wanted to upgrade the mana core in her bow to a new wind-element one."
Bairon recalled the thousand-gold-coin Golden Ticket he had left with Evelyn and asked nervously, "How much did it cost?"
"Not much, just two hundred gold coins," Seasoft answered.
A wave of dizziness washed over Bairon. Rubbing his forehead, he spoke in a solemn tone, "Consider this a loan then."
"That's not happening. This should count as compensation for your refusal to return the Divine Artifact," Seasoft countered, unyielding.
Bairon scoffed. "You're rather greedy, young lady."
"Then add the costs of taking care of Evelyn to it," Seasoft retorted.
Grinding his teeth, Bairon conceded, "Fine, I'll cover one hundred, and the other hundred is a loan to you."
"Stingy," Seasoft pouted.
The carriage came to a gentle halt.
"Sir, we've reached your destination," the coachman announced from the front.
The trio looked through the transparent glass windows, and before them stood a majestic, pristine white tower.
The square in front of the magus tower was bustling—magi, carriages, and peddlers selling cigarettes and newspapers filled the area.
"Wait for me here," Bairon stood up.
"Why can't we go out? It looks fun out there," Seasoft said, her eyes sparkling.
"It would be even more 'fun' if someone were to discover your half-Elf identity," Bairon said sarcastically. "This is the White Tower. There are many magi here who could see through your bloodline with just a glance."
Unless Seasoft was willing to reveal her half-Elf identity, it would be in her best interest not to leave the carriage.
Naturally, Seasoft had no intention of doing so.
Bairon was confident in his speculation, for Seasoft had never been one to hide her thoughts. She lowered her head in assent.
Stepping out of the carriage, Bairon instructed the coachman, "I'll be back shortly. Take the young ladies in the carriage to a spot where they can enjoy the scenery without drawing undue attention."
"Of course, sir," the coachman nodded, tipping his hat.
Bairon paid half the fare and watched as the carriage pulled away to a discreet distance. Then, he turned his steps toward the White Tower.
At the center of the plaza stood a massive stone sculpture of a magus ring, wrought from obsidian, its entirety cloaked in darkness.
Bairon paused before it, subconsciously touching the magus ring on his right ring finger.
At this moment, he wore two magus rings on his right hand— the one on his index finger was a common ring for storing Mindergy, while the ring on his ring finger was the Ring of the Dark Tower.
Bairon's warning to Seasoft was not without reason.
In front of the most magnificent edifice in the Provincial Alliance, the risk of discovery extended not just to Seasoft's half-Elf lineage, but also to the Ring of the Dark Tower that Bairon himself carried.
Old John had once told him that if the Dark Tower did not wish to be discovered, then it would remain hidden.
Bairon didn't know how the Ring of the Dark Tower accomplished this, but he was willing to put it to the test.
Circumventing the obsidian sculpture, he made his way into the White Tower.
According to the rules of the Provincial Alliance, all citizens who awaken a magus bloodline must register at the White Tower.
Thus, this wasn't Bairon's first time here.
A decade ago, at the age of ten, he had been brought to register by the Chief Steward of some city's magus tower.
Surveying the surroundings, he found that little had changed in the ten years that had elapsed.
The White Tower stood as stoic as ever, an unwavering sentinel of mystical authority.
Walking up to the counter labeled "New Magus Registration," Bairon veered off and moved toward the adjacent window labeled "Quite Magus Guild."
The White Tower served two primary functions.
Firstly, it was the place where all magi across the Alliance must register.
Secondly, it facilitated the formation of magus guilds.
In the early days, the rosters for both were almost identical—any magus not belonging to a guild would be treated as a hostile entity by the local magus towers.
However, with the establishment of magus academies and the Civic Hall granting academy teachers and students the right to travel across the Provincial Alliance, the lines between the two had begun to blur.
"What can I assist you with?" The clerk behind the window wore a look of cool detachment.
"Quiting the guild."
Bairon removed the magus ring storing Mindergy from his finger and slid it across the counter, into the sterile bureaucratic realm beyond the window.
The clerk handed Bairon a form and a box of red ink. The form was straightforward: "Name, Age, Race, and Mentor."
With a swift flick of the pen, Bairon wrote, "Bairon Stewart, 20, Human."
His pen hesitated over the "Mentor" section.
After a moment's consideration, he scribbled down "Catherine Latovia."
Completing the form, he pressed his thumb into the wet ink and left a red thumbprint in the blank space.
He returned the paper to the clerk.
The clerk gave it a cursory glance before placing it along with the magus ring into a contraption that appeared to be a blend of metal and spellwork.
Five minutes later, the box was reopened, and both the paper and the ring were handed back to Bairon.
Noticing the clerk had no intention of further communication, Bairon asked, puzzled, "Is there no need to return the magus robe?"
While robes for Novice Magi and above required an additional gold coin purchase, the gray robe of an Apprentice magus was usually distributed freely by the magus guild. By all accounts, it should be returned.
The clerk responded with stoic indifference, "No need."
"Because of the war?" Bairon inquired.
"Yes, sir," the clerk replied, a cold smile gracing his lips.
"Thank you for the reminder," Bairon said, pausing to tear up the paper and toss it into a nearby wastebasket.
He slid the magus ring back onto his index finger and turned to leave.
What Daniel Jona had said about the Alliance suffering losses on the front lines seemed to be more than just rumors.
Only in times like these would a miserly magus guild not demand the return of a magus robe. Robed magi were more easily conscripted, after all.
Approaching the main entrance, Bairon suddenly halted and looked up at the tower's pinnacle.
The layout of White Tower, the grandest magus edifice in the Provincial Alliance, was not drastically different from that of Sailport's magus tower.
In truth, magus towers in other cities throughout the Provincial Alliance were modeled after White Tower.
The first floor dealt with task assignments and miscellaneous affairs; the second housed the Heritage Hall; and the third was the Contribution Points Exchange Hall.
The layouts from the fourth to the seventh floors were confidential, but these included the council chambers for major decision-making and vaults for invaluable items.
At the tower's peak was the Bloodline Clock.
"The vault should contain some Elf Legacy Treasures," Bairon mused internally.
Despite the thought, he had no intention of pilfering any.
Shaking his head, he exited the towering doors of White Tower.
"Sir, are you interested in joining the army?" A man in a military uniform approached, an armband reading "Recruitment Officer" bound to his sleeve.
He waved a recruitment flier so zealously it nearly hit Bairon's face.
Pushing the flier away, Bairon replied, "I'm sorry, I already have career plans."
"The Alliance needs you," the officer called out.
"I've been serving the Alliance continuously; I've never stopped," Bairon retorted, his face unchanging.
"Then join us. The army needs brave and powerful magi like you," the officer implored, eyes ablaze with fervor.
"I'm better suited to contribute to the Alliance in other fields," Bairon said, sidestepping the officer and walking toward where the carriage was parked.
"Coward!" the officer spat out.
The officer's scathing rebuke echoed in the distance.
Bairon shook his head.
In Sailport, he had hunted down more dark magi than all the other magi combined, Chief Steward Rueel included.
No one had the right to label him a "coward," least of all that recruitment officer.
Bairon saw no resolve in his eyes.
The officer's outward zeal only proved that, when faced with crisis, he would reveal his true timorous nature.
In contrast, Bairon had more respect for Lieutenant Reno Regava of the White Gull Navy.
With a sense of calm, Bairon returned to the waiting carriage.
Evelyn pushed open the door, and he climbed in.
Unbeknownst to anyone, his back was soaked in cold sweat.
The Dark Tower ring had gone unnoticed by the White Tower.
Old John had told no lies.
Stealing a glance at the Dark Tower ring on his nameless finger, Bairon heaved a sigh of relief.
"Where to now, sir?" the coachman inquired.
Seasoft replied, "Back to the Goethe Hotel."
"No, let's make a detour to Maple Lane first," Bairon corrected.
"Very well, sir."
With a flick of the reins, the coachman set the carriage in motion.