Gathering Information

After leaving the Alchemist Association, Roger found an empty corner, took off the Mask of a Thousand Faces, and stored the badge in his system inventory.

Walking along the streets of the royal capital, Roger unfolded and skimmed the parchment Pepis had written on.

It contained several suggestions regarding catalyst ratio adjustments and a few common misconceptions in the extraction process. After reading it, he folded the paper and stored it in his inventory, then casually opened his system panel. The experience bar for his Alchemy Specialization had nudged forward slightly.

“It seems that not only hands-on practice, but theoretical study can also increase experience points.”

Seeing that it was still early, Roger pulled out his map and spread it open, quickly selecting his next destination.

In the afternoon, he arrived in front of a shop that sold alchemy equipment.

Although the system shop also sold alchemy equipment, he wasn't short on money right now.

The shopkeeper was a thin, elderly man wearing thick glasses. Hearing the door chime ring, he merely lifted his eyelids, sized Roger up, and then continued with his work. “Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything.”

Roger walked slowly through the aisles, his gaze sweeping over the various apparatuses.

A moment later, he placed his selected items onto the counter one by one, then pointed to a copper distiller in the corner. “These, plus that distiller.”

The shopkeeper spoke slowly, “That will cost quite a bit of money, sir.”

“I know,” Roger replied without haggling.

The shopkeeper nodded and quoted a price. Roger paid readily, left the address of his rented house, and arranged for the shop's porters to deliver the equipment later.

After all, performing a "vanishing equipment act" right in front of the man would be a bit too shocking.

“How is the market for materials lately?” Roger asked in a conversational tone.

“Just so-so. I heard a mine to the north collapsed, so the amount of ore shipped to the royal capital has dropped significantly. Ore-type materials have been rising in price lately, but other types are doing fine.”

The shopkeeper added, “But if you want to buy herbs, you'd better check a few different shops to compare prices.”

“Thanks.”

Roger noted this information down and pushed the door open to leave. He quickly turned down another street, stopped in front of an old shop, and stepped inside.

The shop's interior was even smaller than the alchemy equipment store, its shelves packed with various rune engraving tools and semi-finished goods.

Roger asked the old woman sitting by the counter, “Do you have any rune engraving styluses here?”

The old woman wiped her lenses with her sleeve, put her glasses on, and pulled several slender wooden boxes from a drawer beneath the counter. She opened them one by one and lined them up in front of Roger.

In each wooden box lay an engraving stylus made of a different material.

“This one is suitable for hard stone and crystals, this one is for soft stone, and this black one is for metal.” After introducing the purpose of each stylus, the old woman glanced at Roger. “Are you a beginner?”

“Just starting out,” Roger replied as he picked up the black stylus. “I'll take this one.”

In the time that followed, he also selected a jar of silver-gray ink mixed with a trace amount of magic dust.

The old woman tallied the items and gave him a price. Roger paid, stuffed everything into a burlap sack, and pushed the door open to leave.

Back at his lodging, Roger didn't have to wait long before the porters sent by the alchemy equipment shop delivered all the equipment he had ordered to his doorstep.

Once the porters left, he took advantage of the empty surroundings to put all the equipment into his system inventory. He then brought them up to the largest room on the second floor, arranging them neatly to set up his own alchemy workshop.

This workshop was smaller and had simpler equipment than the cultist's alchemy workshop in the Cliffside Mountains cave, but at least it was a proper place to work.

With this workshop, he could start accepting some basic alchemy commissions, allowing his identity as "Gerald" to leave a paper trail of activity within the capital's alchemy circles.

An alchemist who was registered in name only but did no work would eventually arouse suspicion, whereas an alchemist who regularly took orders and delivered them on time would be the most normal resident in the city.

Having finished tidying up the workshop, Roger did not stay inside.

He put on the Mask of a Thousand Faces once more, changing to a completely different face. He donned a set of old clothes, disguising himself as a low-level adventurer, and decided to make another trip to the outer city before nightfall.

The streets of the outer city were narrower than those of the inner city, and the paved stone roads gave way to potholed dirt paths. Most of the buildings lining the streets were wooden structures, some leaning haphazardly against one another, with second-floor windows so close they could almost shake hands across the alley.

Roger found a tavern and pushed the door open.

The light inside was even dimmer than outside, with only two oil lamps hanging behind the bar, and the air was thick with the sour smell of cheap ale.

Only a few tables were occupied in the entire tavern, mostly by porters in coarse cloth shirts and a few road-weary travelers. In the corner, several men dressed as mercenaries were drinking and playing drinking games.

Roger walked up to the bar and placed a few copper coins on the counter before the tavern keeper could speak. “Give me a cup of the cheapest ale.”

The tavern keeper glanced at the coppers, swept them under the bar, poured a cup of ale from a wooden barrel, and set it down in front of Roger.

“Has anything interesting happened in the city lately?” Roger took a sip from his cup and didn't drink any more.

“That depends on what you find interesting,” the tavern keeper replied indifferently. “If you're asking about business, the weather has been getting colder, so there are thirty percent more people drinking warm wine than last week. If you're asking about fights, a mercenary was stabbed over on Old Street the day before yesterday, supposedly because he owed gambling debts.”

“Anything a bit more unusual?” Roger set his cup back on the bar, his finger absentmindedly tracing circles along the rim. “For example, any movement in the noble district lately? I've just arrived in the capital and want to pick up some decent work, so I need to find out which families are generous.”

“The noble district?” The tavern keeper sneered, but before he could speak, a mercenary sitting at the other end of the bar chimed in: “You want to work for the noble lords? I'd advise you to save your breath. The atmosphere in the noble district has been a bit off lately. Several manors that usually hire guards have temporarily added more hands, yet they've also fired quite a few old-timers who worked there for a long time.”

“An old buddy of mine who worked for Viscount Lahn for three years was fired last week for no reason at all. Not even an explanation. When he went to ask the steward, the steward just said, ‘We have enough hands now,’ and didn't even pay out his full severance.”

“Why the sudden increase in guards?” Roger followed up, his tone carrying just the right amount of curiosity.

“Who knows.” The mercenary picked up his cup and took a deep gulp. “Some say it's because there's been some issue with the city's public security lately, but that's just nonsense. Which day in the outer city goes by without fights or stabbings? If they were really worried about security, they should have recruited more people years ago.”

The mercenary paused briefly before continuing, “I suspect something happened with the city guard. Last time, a buddy of mine who serves in the city guard got drunk and bragged to me, saying their patrol schedule had been changed several times in a short period, and the original rotation times were completely messed up, causing a lot of complaints among the men.”

He clearly didn't care much about what information he had just leaked. He drained the last drop of ale from his cup and stood up.

“Anyway, these things have nothing to do with low-level mercenaries like us. If you want to work for the nobles, you either wait for someone to retire to open up a slot, or you rely on your skills to make a name for yourself. Take your time and hang in there, young man.”

He left a few copper coins on the bar, turned to push open the tavern door, and disappeared into the night.

Roger sat in the tavern for about another half hour, listening to fragments of idle chatter here and there, but most of it was just inconsequential daily gossip.

Leaving the cup, which was still more than half full of ale, on the bar, he stood up and left.

There were no streetlights in the outer city, with only the sporadic candlelight filtering through the windows of roadside houses barely illuminating the path.

He retraced his steps, crossing the boundary line between the outer and inner cities, feeling as if he had stepped into a completely different world.

On this side of the inner city, fixed magic lamps were positioned at regular intervals along the streets, their cool white light illuminating the paved roads brightly.

Returning to the bedroom of his lodging, Roger sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes, and began running Croft's Meditation Method.

Before his consciousness sank into meditation, the words the mercenary had spoken in the tavern flashed through his mind.

The patrol schedules of the city guard being frequently changed, multiple manors temporarily adding more hands, and a minor noble firing an old guard of three years for no reason.

Separately, these things didn't seem like much, but when pieced together, they resembled a puzzle where only the borders had been assembled.

Roger still couldn't see the picture in the middle, but the shape of the edges was already hinting to him that this puzzle was much larger than he had imagined.