Emily was in the market for a souvenir to mail to her mother, and the post office was our final destination before returning to the campus. I was of no use to her in this business, still unfamiliar as I was with the long-winded streets of the capital and the many services. In stark contrast, Emily had learned the neighborhood like the back of her hand in the brief weeks she'd stayed in the city, and all I had to do was keep up with her. While at it, I got myself gloves from a leatherworker's stall, and a bag of rubber balls from a toy shop. Just in case.

  “You've got some surprisingly childish hobbies,” Emily commented on my purchase, deeply puzzled.

  “These are for naughty kids, not me.”

  “Huh. Wouldn't you normally give gifts only to the good kids?”

  “This will be a painful sort of present.”

  “Right. Sometimes, I've got no idea what happens in your head. Oh wait, that's pretty much all the time.”

  “You might get one yourself if you're not careful.”

  “Thanks, but I'll pass.”

  Trailing after the cheerful witch on the narrow sidewalks, an uncanny pang of nostalgia washed over me. Most of my young life was spent following Couren’s coat tails, to the point that mindlessly sticking to another person while spacing out had become the most natural, comfortable state of living for me.

  How pitiful was that? A grown adult should only march to the beat of her own drum and to the destination of her own choosing. But though I knew that, sharing my journey with someone else—It didn't feel bad.

  “Hey, Boss, check that out!” Emily stopped to point at an old-looking shop with a wide, green-framed display window across the street. The name Ars Arcanum was spelled atop the storefront in time-worn typography. “A whole shop for arcane goods! Never noticed that one before. My mom isn’t into magic gizmos, but I kind of want to take a closer look for personal reasons. For purely scholarly reasons…Not that I can probably afford anything in there…But still! What should we do…!?”

  The girl twisted and squished her soft face, unable to make up her mind.

  “We still have time, so we can go in if you want,” I said and started across the street towards the shop.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It would keep bugging you later, if you didn't go, right?”

  “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

  Our return schedule wasn’t so tight. The academy had a curfew at ten, but as long as we left the city by seven, we'd make it without cutting too close. Until then, the way we wasted our Sunday didn't really matter.

  Small bells on the door sang out as we entered, though no one came over to receive us.

  For reasons I couldn't explain, the common impression among public was that old age was a sign of quality when it came to matters of magic, and age was shown best through a disorderly mess. The shop lounge was clean enough that you didn't have to cough dust out of your lungs for the rest of the day, but the layout followed such a chaotic feng shui that it made no sense to a grounded shopper.

  We eyed tall shelves loaded with random tomes very loosely associated with mysticism and mythology, and miscellaneous accessories and tools that even non-magicians could find useful, or just aesthetically pleasing. Sundials from distant eons, foreign pagan icons, fertility statuettes, good luck charms without a scrap of mana, dragon scales made of baked clay that didn’t even repel water, cheap gemstones of many colors and sizes, amethysts and tiger eyes, meteorite shards, antique clocks and brass bells and dreamcatchers and black pearls from ocean depths. Unlordly rings of a thousand sorts and bracelets and gaudy necklaces for old women.

  “Wow, look at that,” Emily tugged my sleeve, and took out a large, glassy orb from the shelf by the wall. Inside the purplish, transparent sphere glowed a fantastical, starry light, from which small, ephemeral flakes drifted apart and faded. Her eyes shining, she asked, “Is this a real dungeon core?”

  I stared at her for a dumb moment and then burst into laughter.

  “What? It's not?”

  “It's only a paper weight!” I told her once I could breathe again. “Colored glass with a basic-grade etching.”

  Dungeon core? Pfft, hahaha.

  “But it looks exactly like the picture I once saw in a book! How can you tell? Does it have a name somewhere?”

  Emily turned the smooth glass around in her hands, looking for small print.

  I poked at her forehead.

  “Third Eye. It’s not just a magic flashlight. With enough training, you can appraise immaterial spell formations to read the caster’s intent caught in the mana. If a spell were a dish plated in front of you, then by looking at the components, you’ll be able to tell the recipe the cook followed to prepare it. And the ‘Made in Talewar’ text on the bottom of the plate. This ‘dungeon core’ has an economic light emission spell with an attached particle-generator. A competent application, but the maker is at most a Tier 3 mage. The initial mana charge only lasts about eleven months, and has no more than four left of it. It'll need to be recharged after it’s spent.”

  Emily blinked at me, agahst.

  “No way. That's the straight-up power of the gods!”

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  “It's perfectly possible for humans too, as you can see. You have the talent for it too.”

  She didn't look convinced.

  “Be honest with me now; how many mortals do you know who can read magic to that extent?”

  “Hmm, among the living…”

  I brushed my chin and spent a moment to recall the many mages I'd met. I didn't fully know each and every one's capabilities, of course, but of those I knew well enough…

  “...Four? No, five. I'm confident the Archmage can do it too.”

  “You need to be an Archmage!?” Emily wailed.

  Fortunately, there weren’t too many other customers around.

  “I didn’t say that,” I told her. “You just need to analyze a lot of spells of different types, while training your sensitivity. But don't trust what you sense too blindly. When you get the hang of it, you'll also learn to disguise the origin of your own spells, so others can't read it so easily. The truly dangerous opponents can take advantage of that to trick you.”

  “Please stop talking now,” Emily said. “I've had my fill of ‘Hope’s magic’ for one day. So is there anything in this shop that's actually worth a crown?”

  Now that she asked...

  “…You know, Emily, shops like this are mostly for tourists and ordinary people. A mage buying magical tools and accessories is just openly confessing that you can't make them yourself. By owning them, you're broadcasting your incompetence to everyone around you. Kind of kitschy.”

  “Why didn't you tell me that before we came in!?”

  “Because you wanted to come.”

  “Yes, I wanted to!” she replied. “And you know what, I'm actually going to buy this frigging fake dungeon core! It may not have any real power and I might not need it for anything—but I like how it looks! I think it's beautiful! I can use it as a reading light in my room at night! It doesn't matter what that says about me! I will stay true to my tastes and enjoy my life!”

  “Go right ahead. It's a free world. But are you sure can you afford it?”

  On the shelf by the orb’s brassy stand was a price tag quoting 230 crowns. The number appeared to deal critical damage to Emily's intentions. She placed it carefully back on its holder on the shelf.

  “I'll…look at it here a little longer.”

  “...”

  Guess I'll ask to have it gift-wrapped.

  Emily abruptly paused, her gaze shifting to the shop window. Or rather, the view outside.

  “Oh? That boy’s in our class.”

  “Hm?”

  What time was this to start checking out guys?

  I reluctantly turned to look and saw a pair of young men pass by the shop, one of our age and another one older and taller. The younger wasn't in uniform, though neither were we. Students were expected to show their status in public and behave accordingly off-campus too, but the rule wasn't very effectively supervised.

  The fellow had short, sun-bleached hair standing haphazardly upright on his scalp; red-brown complexion and a tough, athletic build, unusual for mages who traditionally loathed physical exercise. The other man half a stride ahead of him was even brawnier, his broad shoulders veiled in a hooded, dark green cloak. His long hair as well, tied in a tight tail, was dyed a curious shade of natural green, and his sharp eyes surveyd the streets like those of a hunting eagle.

  I couldn't help but note they weren't Calideans. Their looks were very typical of the native inhabitants of the western Arbusia.

  Yes. Those men were very clearly Tarachians. Moreover…

  “...Are you certain he's your classmate?”

  “Of course,” Emily replied. “My eyesight is 20/20, you know? His name is Rafel. He came to Belmesion to study wind magic, or so he once said.”

  “The man with him is a Swordmaster.”

  “Really?”

  Emily headed to the window to peek after the pair who'd just passed out of sight. I caught her shoulder to stop her.

  “Yes. Really.”

  “How can you tell? Can magic see that too?”

  No. Experience can.

  He may not have been armed or using unnatural powers, but there were other signs. Fencers tended to be the buff sort, but Master-level warriors had a very distinct physique that couldn't be gained through an ordinary workout routine. They’d shed everything superfluous from their being, only the essential fibers honed and expanded to an extreme degree by endlessly and flawlessly rehearsing their techniques. As such, they were like dolphins on two feet, adapted to swim in steel, figures streamlined for maximum efficiency and lethality.

  That man wasn't even thirty yet, but he was powerful.

  A foreign mage posing as a novice and a veteran swordsman, strolling merrily together in the middle of the capital...It was way too suspicious.

  Travel between Calidea and Tarachia was no longer blocked, even if carefully monitored, but I couldn't help but wonder what such peculiar tourists were doing out here. Or if they got into the country by legal means. Surely they weren't with the alleged commando unit lurking in the Wood? Could they have made it this far already? Was the CI aware of their presence?

  Emily watched my uneasy expression from the side.

  “...Wanna follow them?”

  I wanted to, but ended up shaking my head. “No.”

  Swordmasters had senses comparable to elite mages. I could suppress my presence to an extent, but Emily had no such training. He would notice us for sure. And if it turned out they were up to nothing good, or misunderstood our intentions…I wouldn't be able to deal with a beast like him without removing the rings. And doing that in the middle of a major city—things would get messy. But there was no need to get reckless.

  “There's a safer way to learn more about them.”

  “Like what? Telepathy?”

  I gave her a look and turned to go.

  “We’ll ask your classmate at school, genius.”

  I didn't get too bad a feeling from the younger fellow. He looked like someone who had trained his body more than his sorcery, but had no mastery with either. An average war mage. I knew how to deal with his type. Mr Rafel might not share his story with us willingly, but without his beefy guardian around, we could afford to question him, if necessary, less gently.