Chương 68: Chapter 15: The Official Tithe and the Academic's Curiosity

The Seventh Abyssal Hive Branch of the Mage Association was located at a crossroad in the very center of the hive—the flatlands of the mid-tier. It sat neither in the upper-mid tiers clustered with Consortiums, nor in the barrier zones of the lower mining tiers. Three blocks from Scrap Iron Street, the branch's synthetic marble facade gave off a cold, pristine luster under the neon lights. Rowan pushed the door open. The automatic dehumidifying magic in the lobby instantly stripped the rainwater from his clothes.

Compared to the dead silence of Scrap Iron Street, this place was alive with noise and motion. Suspended in the center of the lobby was a massive holographic bounty board, densely packed with scrolling red and green mission briefs: [Clear out mutated water rats in Drainage Pipe 4 (Apprentice-level only), Bounty: 200], [Collect fluorescent moss from the abandoned mining sector, paid per gram]...

Crowded beneath the bounty board were over a dozen underhive hunters and mercenaries, their eyes fierce, their bodies giving off the tainted mana hum of cheap magitech cyberware. Most of them were just like the old Rowan—relying on low-grade magitech plug-ins or fragmented apprentice cantrips to barely scrape together a living. They were shouting themselves hoarse over meager official bounties, occasionally erupting into crude curses. This was the daily reality of the Mage Association Branch.

In name, it was a hallowed hall for mages. In practice, within the Abyssal Hive, it operated more like a labor broker—squeezing every drop of value out of the half-baked spellcasters bound to its rolls. Rowan ignored the bickering mercenaries. Today, he was no longer a piece of cannon fodder willing to risk his life in the sewers for two hundred credits. He walked straight past the noisy crowd, heading deep into the lobby toward the deserted "Official Registration Counter."

The clerk behind the counter was a middle-aged man wearing a meticulously tied bowtie. Years of handling petty business for bottom-tier paupers had worn his eyes down to a jaded, indifferent glaze.

"Updating identity chip," Rowan stated succinctly, pressing his hand onto the sensor. The clerk nonchalantly activated the scanner.

"Beep—Identity confirmed: Rowan, resident of Scrap Iron Street, Seventh Abyssal Hive. Current Registration Level: None..." The next second, the instrument's indicator light snapped from red to green, followed by a crisp buzz. [Source-Essence Spectrum Detected. Affinity: Water Element. Status: Stable. Level: Tier 1 (Single-Phase).] The clerk's slouching posture snapped straight. A flash of genuine astonishment crossed behind his glasses. He sized Rowan up, looking at the cheap, patched hoodie.

He couldn't help but marvel inwardly: Just how monstrous is this kid's talent—pulling off a single-phase etching with resources this scarce? But immediately after, his gaze returned to its polite, apathetic default. Sitting in this position, he had seen far too many so-called "geniuses." In his eyes, this poor kid's road to fame would most likely end right here. The path of a mage was paved with money.

Entering the Tier 1 Source-Awakening stage meant meditation techniques, potions, and spell models—a bottomless pit of expenses. A pauper like this probably wouldn't make it very far. The clerk's voice remained unchanged, but his efficiency skyrocketed. His fingers flew across his terminal.

"Your identity has been updated. From this moment on, you are entitled to all basic stipends and [temporary conscription immunity] granted to Tier 1 Mages of the Terra Republic."

"Additionally," he said, producing a silver-grey metal package from beneath the counter with a practiced flourish.

"According to the Federation Codex, newly advanced mages must claim a [Novice Tactical Pack]. It contains three D1-grade mana cultivation supplements, one bottle of basic armor-maintenance spray, a copy of the Federation Mage Code of Conduct, and a copy of the Basic Mana Channeling (Manual) (Version 2. 2). A nominal processing fee applies: 80 Terra Credits." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The corner of Rowan's eye twitched slightly.

He had barely finished updating his identity, and he was immediately fleeced by the officials for the first time. He only had 88 credits left in his account. This one charge knocked his balance straight down to single digits. If it had cost any more, he would have had to take out another loan. Yet, he transferred the funds expressionlessly. He knew very well that the Basic Mana Channeling (Manual) alone would easily fetch three hundred credits on the black market.

This 80-credit charge was more like an official "initiation fee" and genuinely counted as a welfare benefit. Just as Rowan grabbed the package and prepared to leave, the revolving door was pushed open. A dense, slightly pungent scent of medicinal chemicals, accompanied by a gust of cold wind, drifted inside. The person walking in was a scrawny young man wearing magitech glasses as thick as bottle bottoms. Faint traces of blue chemical residue stained his fingertips.

His head was practically buried in the datapad he was holding, entirely disinterested in everything around him, including Rowan. Simon. That alchemy fanatic. He was here today to register his identity as a Tier 1 Apothecary. Forced by his mentor, he had to interrupt a critical experiment regarding a new marrow-cleansing potion to make the trip. The two brushed past each other in the center of the lobby. Simon, who had been shuffling along like a block of wood, stopped dead.

A specific data metric on his D3-grade magitech glasses had spiked. He turned his head, casting his gaze at Rowan from behind those thick lenses.

"A newly advanced Tier 1," Simon's voice was flat, as if he were stating a physical constant.

"The mana surrounding you is exceptionally stable. The structural stability of your Source Rune is at least ninety percent or higher. What buffer variable did you use?" He spoke rapidly and bluntly. He was a pure nerd, fully immersed in the logic of his own little world.

"Do you need something, Simon?" Rowan stopped, his tone even. Simon stared at him, his eyes filled with bewilderment, as if looking at an unsolvable equation.

"Under the condition of lacking high-purity etching fluid and a Mana Primordium, it's impossible for it to be this high. How did you do it?" He pushed his glasses up. That fanatic gaze—as if he were looking at a rare medicinal ingredient—gave Rowan goosebumps.

"Just luck," Rowan said casually, a hint of a nonchalant smile playing on his lips.

"Popped open a wilderness blind box and pulled exactly what I needed."

"A blind box?" Simon's curiosity guttered out like a flame doused in cold water. The light in his eyes dimmed.

"A random probability event. What a pity." He shook his head, looking back down at his datapad, preparing to continue on his way.

"Simon." Rowan called out to stop him. He knew Simon was a rare genius. Although the guy was a nerd who only recognized data and materials, he might be exactly the person to process some of the alternate world's resources in the future.

"You're an apothecary. Help me appraise this. Have you ever seen this thing?" Rowan tapped his terminal, projecting a high-definition photograph of the half-severed tree root he had brought back from the alternate world right in front of Simon. (He had, of course, taken the photo in the Terra world.) Simon, who had been ready to leave, froze the instant he saw the photo, as if struck by a paralyzing spell.

Within the high-def pixels, the veins of the root displayed visible mana circuitry; every single fiber was brimming with primal, pure mana. Simon's fingertips trembled. He stared at the image, a sharp glint flashing behind his lenses.

"This... is this a plant from a nature reserve? It looks like a [Radiance Root], but the cross-section doesn't match. This level of purity and microscopic arrangement..." He snapped his head up, looking ready to grab Rowan by the shoulders and demand answers.

"Where did you get this? Where is the physical specimen? Give it to me, I am willing to buy it! No, I can trade you my lab credit quota for it!"

"Give it a few days." Rowan shut off the projection. Watching Simon looking as though his soul had been snatched away, Rowan chuckled inwardly. The bait had been cast. Given Simon's obsession with alchemy, there was no way he was getting a good night's sleep today.

"I might need you to concoct a few special potions for me in a couple of days. Once I'm done with my business, we can sit down and have a proper chat about the 'origins' of this half-root."

"Don't leave! At least tell me its active properties first..." Simon was just about to chase after him, but Rowan simply waved his hand and walked out into the curtain of rain outside the front doors without looking back. He left the newly minted Tier 1 Apothecary standing in the center of the lobby, leaving him standing there as if a thousand ants were crawling through his chest.

Walking down the street, Rowan felt the last 8 coins left in his pocket, then patted the heavy Novice Tactical Pack tucked under his arm. Debts: 700 credits. Balance: 8 credits. If he didn't make some money soon, he wouldn't even have money to eat. Rowan checked the Möbius ring on his right wrist; it had long since regained its luster.

"It's about time I head back over there and grab some 'goods'." He quickened his pace toward the alleyway, his eyes gleaming in the night.