After exchanging a few polite words, Rune finally revealed his purpose.
Upon hearing him out, Tyrion smiled, the corners of his lips curling with practiced grace. "How could I dare neglect a matter personally entrusted by my lord?" he said warmly. "I've already gathered a number of suitable items. Please, come with me—I'll show you."
He turned toward the bustling tavern and called out in a booming voice, "Otta! Stop drinking and get over here!"
Across the room, a hulking Beastman had just bested his opponent in a drinking contest and was basking in the cheers and laughter of the crowd. At the sound of his name, Otta wiped the ale from his mouth and strode over, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards.
As he approached, his sharp gaze flicked briefly toward Magus. For a fleeting moment, his pupils contracted, and a faint gleam of instinctive wariness crossed his eyes. He then looked back at Tyrion and grinned. "Boss, what's up?"
"It's time to work," Tyrion replied, jerking his thumb toward the rear courtyard. Then, turning to Rune and Magus, he added with a courteous gesture, "Please, both of you, this way."
The Fire Fox Merchant Guild's carriages and goods were stored in the tavern's spacious backyard. More than a dozen armed men stood guard—uniformed, disciplined, and watchful. These weren't mere mercenaries; their gear and posture marked them as trained private soldiers of the Guild itself.
Magus's eyes flickered slightly.
In this era, few merchant guilds possessed the strength or wealth to maintain private troops. The Fire Fox Guild clearly had deeper roots than most.
Under Tyrion's direction, Otta hauled a large wooden crate from one of the carriages and set it down with a dull thud that shook the packed earth. When Tyrion opened the lid, the box revealed its contents—more than ten thick books and five smaller wooden cases nestled carefully inside.
"These are the items my lord requested," Tyrion said with an amiable smile.
To his surprise, Rune only nodded slightly and made no move to inspect them himself. Instead, Magus stepped forward, crouched beside the crate, and began examining its contents one by one.
Inside were fourteen books in total—four of which were duplicates of volumes Magus already possessed. Such overlap was inevitable. Ordinary collectors couldn't read the arcane script of Wizard tomes, so choosing specific titles was nearly impossible. Duplicates were a natural consequence.
The remaining eight books contained knowledge that did not immediately resonate with the mysterious system within Magus—none could trigger new skills. Still, he felt no disappointment. For a true Wizard, knowledge was never wasted. Every page read, every formula memorized, expanded one's understanding of the world's hidden principles.
And unlike others, Magus had a singular advantage. His "player" nature allowed him to fully master any book's contents once he read it to completion. For other apprentices, such mastery took years of study; for him, it was inevitable.
Among the collection, one book quickly caught his attention.
"The Extraction and Modification of Green Chameleon Abilities."
Flipping through the preface, Magus discovered that it detailed the process of extracting a bloodline essence from a creature known as the Green Chameleon—a lizard with the power to blend seamlessly into its surroundings—and fusing it into the human body. The result was a form of adaptive camouflage, granting near invisibility under the right conditions.
Magus's lips curved faintly. "Quite an interesting experiment," he murmured. He set the volume aside, making a note to study it thoroughly later, and proceeded to open the smaller wooden boxes.
Inside the first three, he found scrolls made of aged parchment. The moment the lids were lifted, a ripple of energy pulsed through the air. Even without touching them, Magus could sense the condensed fluctuations of elemental particles.
They were spell scrolls.
All three recorded First-ring spells—Freezing Ray, Obscuring Mist, and Summon Monster.
"Good," Magus whispered, a trace of satisfaction in his eyes.
Although his current mental strength was insufficient to learn First-ring spells directly, he could still use these scrolls. Spell scrolls required only a fraction of mental energy to activate—enough for even low-level Wizard Apprentices to wield.
Of course, using scrolls above one's level carried risk; unstable energy could easily rebound and injure the caster. But First-ring scrolls were relatively safe. In combat, their power could be decisive.
Setting the spell scrolls aside with care, Magus turned to the remaining two boxes. Both also contained parchments, though their contents differed from spells.
The first recorded the formula for an Active Potion.
He skimmed through the ingredients and frowned slightly. "Essence of Mind-Cleansing Tree sap, Phantom bone powder, Thousand Soul Grass, and Demonic Sound Flower…" He let out a quiet sigh. "All rare, and none easy to obtain."
Collecting those materials on the Starlight Continent would demand vast resources and manpower. Even with the help of his mysterious Rubik's Cube synthesis ability, finding suitable substitutes would require countless experiments. For now, he noted the formula for later study. It might be easier, he thought, to synthesize the Active Potion by refining a Sub-Active Potion instead.
The second scroll, however, drew his full attention. It contained a technique known as Energy Rune.
Magus immediately recognized the term. Energy Rune was a specialized branch of enchanting—an advanced art that manipulated elemental particles to form temporary runic imprints. These runes could be attached to weapons, armor, or even one's own body, granting various elemental effects.
For example, a Lightning Rune could imbue a weapon with crackling thunder, adding paralysis and shock damage. A Gale Rune might lighten the caster's body, enhancing agility and speed.
In essence, Energy Runes allowed ordinary objects to temporarily become magic items, or bestowed "buffs" on the user's body.
The technique's greatest appeal lay in its efficiency. It consumed very little mental energy, yet could dramatically increase combat capability—especially when paired with close-quarters fighting.
However, the requirements to master it were steep. The technique demanded extreme precision in manipulating energy particles—something beyond the grasp of beginners. By standard measures, only a Third-level Wizard Apprentice or higher could use it effectively.
But Magus's thoughts drifted briefly to memories from his past life. He remembered that, back then, a certain player had discovered an ingenious workaround—a modified method that allowed even First or Second-level Apprentices to cast Energy Runes.
"If I can reproduce that method," Magus mused, "I might be able to use Energy Runes ahead of time."
The thought filled him with quiet determination. He closed the scroll, placed it carefully back into the box, and rose to his feet.
Tyrion, observing from the side, had already realized that it was Magus—not Rune—who had a true interest in these arcane items. With a shrewd smile, he asked, "Do these meet your expectations, Your Excellency Magus?"
Magus gave a small nod. "Not bad."
His tone was calm, but inwardly he was pleased. Between the spell scrolls, the potion formula, and the Energy Rune technique, the trip had been more than worthwhile.
Rune, noticing his younger brother's satisfaction, gave a faint smile of his own. He gestured to two of his guards. "Take these back to the inner castle," he ordered. The soldiers quickly moved to obey, lifting the crates and disappearing into the manor's courtyard.
With the transaction complete, Rune and Magus exchanged farewells with Tyrion and departed.
Tyrion watched them go, thoughtful.
Books and scrolls related to Wizardry were indeed valuable—collectors, scholars, and nobles often sought them for display or study. Yet the Rune brothers' circumstances were not exactly prosperous. By all accounts, they lacked the wealth to indulge in such expensive hobbies.
Why, then, would they go to such lengths to gather Wizard materials?
He pondered for a while, frowning slightly. Each of those tomes could fetch dozens of gold coins—enough to equip several knights in full armor. There had to be more to it than idle curiosity.
After a moment, Tyrion shook his head and let out a quiet chuckle. "Perhaps I'm overthinking," he muttered. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.
He turned, only to notice Otta still standing where he was, staring intently in the direction Rune and Magus had gone. The Beastman's usually carefree expression had turned grim.
"What's wrong?" Tyrion asked, his brow arching.
Otta hesitated, his instincts warring with reason. Finally, he said in a low, gravelly voice, "That noble named Magus… gives me a very dangerous feeling."
"Dangerous?" Tyrion repeated, his expression tightening.
Otta nodded slowly. "My bloodline grants me a kind of intuition," he explained. "When someone's strong enough to threaten me, I can feel it. It's not magic—just instinct. But that man…" His eyes narrowed, recalling the quiet figure in the courtyard. "He felt… lethal."
Tyrion's thoughts quickened. Otta's senses were not to be dismissed. As a Beastman and a seasoned warrior, his animal instincts bordered on the supernatural. And as the Guild's guard captain, Otta was no novice—his strength was equivalent to that of an Intermediate Knight.
For him to feel endangered by someone meant that person's power was at least on par with a Peak Knight—perhaps even beyond.
But Magus didn't look the part. He was calm, polite, and unassuming—his build lean rather than imposing, his aura subdued rather than fiery.
Yet, Otta's instincts rarely erred.
A chill ran through Tyrion's spine as realization dawned. "So the boy hides his strength…" he murmured under his breath.
He glanced once more toward the road where Rune and Magus had vanished. The air there seemed still, but for some reason, the faint scent of danger lingered—like a spark waiting for the right wind to ignite.
Tyrion's expression turned solemn. "Keep an eye on them," he told Otta quietly. "But don't provoke."
Otta grunted in acknowledgment. "Understood."
As the courtyard settled into silence, Tyrion looked toward the setting sun. His merchant instincts whispered that today's encounter would not be easily forgotten. Those two brothers—especially the quiet one named Magus—were destined to stir far greater storms than any merchant guild could imagine.