Mayfield

Early the next morning, before the sky was fully bright, Lu Mao led his party out of the inn.

He couldn't help but chuckle when he imagined the scene of Erich bringing a High Mage to the inn only to find an empty room—that fellow probably thought he would sleep in until noon waiting to get beaten up.

Actually, it wasn't that he particularly wanted to wake up early; it was just that he had been sharing a room with the troll.

The moment the latter lay down on the bed, he fell straight asleep and began to snore. It would have been fine if the snoring was just like thunder, but he also ground his teeth and passed gas at the same time.

Who could possibly bear that?

Just as Lu Mao was about to cross the line from mental exhaustion to a complete nervous breakdown, a sliver of sunlight shone through the gap in the curtains and into the room.

At that moment, Lu Mao felt as if God had descended along that holy light to save him...

...

It wasn't that Lu Mao was afraid of the forces behind Erich; he simply felt that since they had a mission, there was no need to stir up trouble.

It wouldn't be too late to settle the score after the mission was complete.

...

After walking for about half an hour, Lu Mao's group arrived at the White Tower located in the center of Falan City.

The White Tower was even more spectacular than when they had glimpsed it from afar outside the city the previous night.

The entire tower was snow-white, with a massive base that occupied a vast area. The main entrance was an arched gateway standing three stories tall, with a statue of a mage holding a staff erected on either side.

A continuous stream of people bustled in and out of the White Tower, mostly apprentices wearing various colored mage robes and official mages with guild badges pinned to their chests.

The reception hall inside the tower was several times more spacious than the lobby of Rhode City's First Hall. A massive magic crystal hovered beneath the domed ceiling, radiating a gentle warmth.

Lu Mao walked up to the reception desk. A young female receptionist wearing black square-framed glasses looked up and smiled slightly.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“I'm looking for President Mayfield. I have a letter to deliver to him.”

“The President is currently busy preparing for the Elite Spell Formation Tournament, so he probably cannot spare any time at the moment.”

She glanced at Lu Mao and the group behind him. “However, if you have a letter that needs to be forwarded, I can pass it along for you. If there are no issues, the President will naturally arrange a meeting once he sees it.”

Lu Mao thought about it. The contents of this letter were likely quite important, so it would be better to hand it to Mayfield in person.

After declining the receptionist's offer, the group sat down on the sofas in a corner of the hall to wait, while Lu Mao took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep.

After waiting for about half an hour, a familiar clamor suddenly echoed from the entrance of the reception hall, waking Lu Mao from his sweet dreams.

He looked up and saw that it was indeed the blonde playboy from last night.

Talk about a coincidence.

Erich had changed into a dark green academy uniform today. The smell of alcohol was gone from his face, but his arrogance hadn't diminished in the slightest.

He was followed by two people—one was his tall, thin companion from last night, and the other was a middle-aged man wearing a dark gray mage robe. Pinned to the man's chest was a gold badge engraved with the number "8."

An Eighth-Circle mage, whose strength was roughly equivalent to a Gold Rank adventurer.

The man stood in place, his gaze sweeping over Lu Mao's party one by one, noticing how out of place they looked in their surroundings.

Erich was a beat slower, but he also spotted them in the corner.

“Oh, isn't it the folks from last night?”

Erich strode over, a textbook punchable smile plastered on his face. “I went to the inn specifically to look for you this morning but came up empty. I thought you'd run away overnight. You acted so tough last night, so why did you slip away first thing in the morning?”

The goateed mage ignored Lu Mao's group of six and tilted his head to ask Erich, “Are these the ones you said stole your rooms last night?”

“That's them!”

Seeing that Lu Mao remained silent, Erich grew even more excited. He quickly leaned in close to Gerunt and lowered his voice. “Uncle Gerunt, these people stole my rooms last night and insulted me to my face. Could you—”

Gerunt frowned slightly and did not respond immediately.

Lumu sat up on the sofa, sized Gerunt up, and curled her lips slightly as she looked at Lu Mao.

“An Eighth-Circle mage. He's somewhat capable for a human. Do you want me to send him packing?”

“No need for now,”

Lu Mao replied in a low voice and stood up.

Since the other party hadn't taken action yet, he didn't want to actively start trouble inside the White Tower. However, if Erich insisted on pushing his luck, he wouldn't mind stomping him down a notch.

Gerunt met his gaze, his tone neither warm nor cold.

“On the Guild's territory, I indeed cannot do anything to you. However, with my modest reputation, I can still manage to have you escorted out—

“Once you step out of the White Tower's doors, what happens next will not be up to you.”

Hearing this, Erich's posture straightened with newfound confidence. He pointed at Lu Mao and sneered:

“Did you hear that? Get lost on your own while you still can, lest you get carried out. That wouldn't be a pretty sight.”

The commotion here had already alerted many apprentices and mages passing through the hall. They stopped in groups of two or three, peering toward the corner.

Gerunt seeing this, said no more. He raised his hand, preparing to summon the guild stewards to throw them out.

Before his hand was fully raised, an old yet resonant voice echoed from deep within the hall:

“What is going on? What is all this clamoring about so early in the morning?”

Everyone's gaze turned toward the source of the voice at the same time.

An old man wearing a gold-patterned white robe was walking down the spiral staircase. His silver hair was meticulously combed, and the Alchemists' Guild President badge on his chest was particularly eye-catching under the crystal chandelier.

The newcomer was indeed Mayfield.

He had originally intended to go downstairs to the tournament venue to inspect the spell formation layouts. Seeing a crowd gathered as he passed through the hall, he stopped by to inquire about the situation.

The mages in the hall bowed in respect one after another, automatically parting to make way.

Gerunt likewise bowed respectfully:

“President Mayfield, it's just a minor dispute. These out-of-towners stole Count Hagen's eldest son's room last night, and today they are loitering in the Guild hall. I was just about to have them escorted out so they don't disrupt the Guild's normal order.”

Mayfield swept his gaze over Lu Mao's party following Gerunt's gesture. His eyes paused for a brief beat when they passed Novia and Sorge. He asked in a flat tone:

“Are you adventurers from out of town? What brings you to the White Tower?”

Erich took a step forward, pointing at Lu Mao with a cold sneer:

“Lord Mayfield is asking you a question! You filthy out-of-towners, running to the White Tower first thing in the morning—who knows what you're plotting—”

“We are here to deliver a letter.”

Ignoring him, Lu Mao retrieved the wax-sealed letter from his storage ring and presented it with both hands. “Someone asked me to hand this to you.”

Mayfield's brow twitched. He tore open the letter and scanned a few lines. The sternness on his face melted away, replaced by a slight smile.

He immediately turned his head to instruct his attendant:

“Arrange for them to stay at the Guild's guest house. It is close to the White Tower, so I can reach them at any time if something comes up.”

Then he looked at Lu Mao's group:

“With the tournament finals these few days, the Guild is extremely busy. I won't be able to set off for the matter mentioned in the letter until I'm finished. Please excuse me.”

Seeing Mayfield's attitude toward Lu Mao's group, the smile on Erich's face froze. Beside him, Gerunt's expression looked even more uncomfortable than if he were constipated.

This guest house was specifically reserved for foreign VIPs and Guild executives. Even Count Hagen himself might not get to stay there upon visiting, yet Lu Mao's group was allowed to move right in.

Didn't that mean their status was even more honorable than a Count's in President Mayfield's eyes?

With the tables turned, Lu Mao showed no mercy to Erich and directly lodged a complaint:

“President Mayfield, just now this esteemed mage said he wanted to kick us out of the White Tower, and even threatened to show us what's coming to us once we step out of the Guild's doors.

“Since our presence here is apparently causing trouble for your Guild, perhaps we should...”

Mayfield raised his hand to stop Lu Mao from continuing and turned to look at Gerunt:

“Who gave you the authority to expel people from the Guild at your whim?”

Gerunt's Adam's apple bobbed, and he let out a dry cough:

“A misunderstanding, it is all a misunderstanding.”

With that, he dragged the dazed Erich along and walked toward the entrance without looking back.

The tall, thin companion stood stunned for a moment, then hurriedly caught up, jogging out of sight into the morning light.