My mentor was appropriately ecstatic for me, bringing me straightaway to his personal friend and lawyer in the guild, who then proceeded to douse my enthusiasm with a cold bucket of reality. "This contract agrees to provide tutors and Skill Books but assumes you will cover all other costs of your tutelage yourself. Keep in mind investing in a Skill such as [Scribe] will almost certainly cost dozens of gold coins over time, even if you are a fast learner. Are you willing and able to cover said costs?" she said in a way that made it obvious she already knew the answer.

"But Katherine," Senior Rubrik protested, "Surely we Scholars do not count coins as though we are cheap merchants."

"It's not a matter of cheapness, Andy," Learned Anderson said. "The Board is already offering a priceless service. I doubt they considered these small details, since this usually wouldn't even be an issue for anybody granted such an opportunity. Any Scholar with a paying occupation or a few publications should be able to afford the initial expenses, and from there the Skill can pay for itself. If the student devotes herself to her studies and sells every successful Scroll, rather than gallivanting off with adventurers."

Despite her critical tone, I could tell she felt mostly exasperated. I glanced sideways at Senior Rubrik, wondering just how much he'd told this relative stranger I'd only met once, discounting the times I'd approached her to inquire after his location and vice versa. "Do you have any productive suggestions," he asked, "Or do you merely wish to criticize my mentoring decisions?"

"Ask the guild for financial aid," she said, shrugging. "The contract already specifies future use of the [Scribe] Skill if and when it reaches Intermediate; the section on future repayment will simply be adjusted to account for the increased investment. Pay less now to pay more later, basically. Note this applies only to studying [Scribe], since the Skill is invaluable for creating Skill Books. You will have to promise your pupil's future some other way to pay for other Skills."

"She discovered a new Skill!" he said, his indignation mirroring mine. "A new addition to the library. Shouldn't that place her in a stronger bargaining position?"

But the Learned Scholar was already shaking her head. "By the time she upgrades [Scribe] enough to be useful, somebody else will likely have [Intermediate Universal Translation], now that we know it is possible. Frankly, I'd consider these terms generous, especially considering [Universal Translation] is nearly impossible to learn from Skill Books, as you know, and so we can expect its upgrade to be the same. I believe this offer to be as much a reward for your mentee's discovery as investment in a talented Scholar."

"I understand you might feel disappointed, Rowena," my mentor said, trying to console me after, "You have been so quiet it's a little worrying, but this is still an excellent opportunity you've been given. Why, I only have [Enhanced Scribe] after all my long years..."

"I am disappointed," I admitted, "But not about that. I just realized while Learned Anderson was explaining the contract... I've always thought the Scholar's Guild above petty politics and power plays. I thought we embodied our motto: 'to learn, to discover, to know.' But if that were true, shouldn't we encourage everyone to study [Scribe], instead of restricting the Skill? Now for this rare chance, I have to sign a magical contract swearing never to use the Skill to create, copy, or repair a Skill Book or to teach anyone else the Skill without the formal permission of a Head Scholar. I can't help thinking, in the end, our guild is as self-serving as everyone else."

I ducked my head, avoiding my mentor's gaze. I felt terrible for criticizing his -- our -- beloved institution, but it had to be said, otherwise I knew my doubts would fester in me like an infected wound.

"Rowena," Senior Rubrik said, his voice painfully gentle, "Never hesitate to voice your concerns to a Scholar. I told you, we welcome all criticism so long as it is--"

"Well-argued and well-informed," I finished with him, raising my head. "Yes, I know." Apologizing for my continual timidness was probably counterproductive, so I just waited, hoping he would have a convincing rebuttal.

He did not gather his thoughts long, telling me he had already considered the subject previously. "I believe your contract, while on its surface constraining, is designed as much for your protection. Were there no restrictions on your Skill, you would find yourself besieged by friends, merchants, and far worse as soon as you achieved [Intermediate Scribe]. Of course the guild would seek to prevent or avenge coercive occurrences, but never underestimate human, no, sapient ambition or greed. By imposing limits upon our Copyist Scholars, and now you, the Board removes such base temptations."

"Do you truly think that is the Board's purpose? To protect us?"

"To protect all Scholars, yes. I too once asked the reasons behind the restrictions on studying [Scribe]. As it was explained to me, the Scholar's Guild remains respected and allowed our neutrality primarily because we control this one Skill, and through it the vast majority of the world's Skill Books. Furthermore, the most common reason any non-Scholar and even some Scholars would devote themselves to upgrading the Skill is monetary. Even if successful, such a student would assuredly lead a miserable life, most likely feeling obligated to their family, country, or organization. At least every Copyist Scholar has a natural affinity for [Scribe] ensuring they are naturally suited to such a life."

I had to admit, from what I'd seen, he was probably right. Still: "If the Board is so benevolent, I should have no trouble receiving formal permission to use my Skill to benefit myself."

"That is rather setting the cart before the horse, wouldn't you say?"

Ah, right. I first had to finalize and sign the contract, upgrade [Scribe] at least twice, and repay all my debts.

In the meantime, I was happy to receive a response to my SES request form and even more thrilled by the verbosity and quality of said response. Admittedly, I had perhaps gotten a little carried away while filling out the original form. The issue was that my top pick wasn't in the standard list of offerings or even the general catalogue, which I supposed wasn't too surprising, since the Skill was rather obscure. Rather than risk my nonstandard request being rejected out of hand, I had carefully elucidated my entire situation except the possible anomaly and thus the reasons behind my number-one preference, for which I had included many relevant and some slightly irrelevant details. Then I'd done the same for my alternate picks, in descending order of preference, until I'd reached the eighth-ranked [Pain Resistance], since it was on the standard list. And yes, I was aware this sort of behavior was probably frowned upon... everywhere but the Scholar's Guild.

To my delight, not only was my first request granted, but the letter accompanying the permission slip addressed each of my listed preferences, also in descending order. Less fortunately, the respondent mostly emphasized the reasons each Skill had been retired from general use. Essentially the format went: "Here are the problems with #1, perhaps consider changing your choice to #2, though, here are the problems with #2..." I could tell the author, whoever they were, had not merely memorized facts and descriptions for each Skill as I had and regurgitated the key points, but genuinely knew every Skill through personal experience. Underneath #8, [Pain Resistance], they concluded: "The mortals have a saying I believe applicable here: 'no pain, no gain.'" Ouch.

Though this may seem a strange thing to fixate upon, I could say with no exaggeration it was the first letter I'd ever read with significantly more beautiful calligraphy than my own. Even the letter from the Scholar Board couldn't compare. Oh sure, that one's handwriting was gorgeous, precise and imperious; but it was not markedly superior, simply a different style than mine. Here I felt as though each and every letter had been sculpted with exquisite care to be maximally pleasing in its placement and presentation. Indeed, upon closer inspection with [Advanced Appraisal], no two letters were exactly alike. Instead of dissymmetry, the overall effect was as a troupe of synchronized dancers retaining individual embellishments. Lacking any artistic talent of my own, I could nevertheless admire true mastery when and where I saw it. The only ugliness marring its epistolary perfection was the conspicuous absence of a signature, like a gaping hole, a missing punctuation mark.

To take the time to craft such a masterpiece for a single Junior Scholar, then leave it unsigned, the author must be one supremely bored immortal. I was genuinely humbled and grateful to have received any of their pearls of wisdom.

Naturally, I opted for my first choice.

Though I had never used a Book for myself before, I had seen others do so and knew how it worked in theory. After I was led to a private room, which I noticed blocked my perception of the outside world, I turned my full attention onto one of the great treasures of the world. Even without Appraisal or mana sensitivity, I likely would have been able to sense the Book was something special. The biggest clue was the light glow coming off the pages. Next, if I listened carefully over the beating of my heart, the slightest hum could be heard resonating in the enclosed space. Finally, as I approached the magical text, the air seemed to become increasingly charged with an energy resembling static.

Then I stretched my senses, and I took in the true glory of the Book. It was more than my simple mind could withstand for a moment. I had to sit down and Meditate, circulating my mana to settle myself, before returning to my inspection. Runes upon runes formed the Book, so many that I was amazed the original creator had managed to fold them into such an unassumingly small shape. Though I had studied runes since my earliest years and known some truly great masters, the breadth and depth of their sophistication took my breath away. More than a single spell that could become a learned Skill, the Book seemed to hold an entire contained universe.

I could have stood there simply admiring the vision before me until I was forced from the room, but I had a purpose here, as shameful as that seemed before such wonder. Closing my eyes, I breathed in deep, readying myself. And I reached out and touched the Book.

I had known I was not truly prepared. So warned the stories: every person's experience with a Book was different. Sometimes even the same person with the same Book could have an entirely different experience, though this was usually because the person was not the same at all, having gone through some life-changing event. Nonetheless, I had believed I had chosen the best Book for me as I was, and that I could compensate for the notable then reemphasized difficulty of my chosen Skill.

[Mind Over Matter] was a three-tier Skill starting at Tier-4, the imposed limit on my SES but also much harder to learn. Simply put, it was amazing. The initial Skill not only reduced the user's pain and other physical discomforts at will but also diverted attacks starting beyond a certain range, including monsters that single-mindedly leaped or charged (though after the first failed attack, they were typically close enough to subsequently connect). The Intermediate upgrade was even better, adding self-regeneration, covering most types of attacks, and enabling the user to phase through a few hits. The Advanced self-regeneration could recover from crippling injuries, lethal poisons, and terminal illnesses.

So why was this incredible Skill less than popular? Its main drawback was its use required the simultaneous active and practiced casting of a spell. Faking, delaying, or fumbling a spell canceled out the Skill, as did finishing a spell and not immediately starting another. To clarify, using a Skill such as [Mana Shield] counted, but simply maintaining it, which did not involve continuous casting as in a runic circle, did not. The leeway here increased significantly with upgrades, but the stringency of this limitation was an obvious dealbreaker for most. Furthermore, the Skill could be rather costly by itself in terms of mana, which coupled with the active casting requirement tended to quickly drain the user. And finally, it bore repeating: it was just mind-numbingly difficult to learn.

Training Skills -- that was, seeking to gain, upgrade, or merely improve at a Skill -- could be accomplished through four methods: a teacher, Skill Book, practice, or application. Every Skill required practice or application, where the latter tended to be drastically more effective. For example, I had gained [Fireball] over a month of steady practice, instead of applying it toward frying monsters in the heat of battle, any moment of which might have earned me the Skill or seen me eaten alive. Skills could additionally benefit from a teacher or Book, though the degree to which this was the case for either or both varied from 'practically negligible' up to 'practically necessary.' I doubted I'd have gained [Fireball] any faster with a teacher, since I was qualified to teach such a beginner spell myself, but I'd probably have been able to shave a week or three off with a quality Book.

A Skill was usually best learned utilizing all four methods, though few had such resources and opportunities. [Mind Over Matter], on the other hand, was meant to be learned almost entirely out of a Book. If I had hoped to have some scholarly advantage with one, well, maybe I did, in that I knew near instantly something was wrong.

I had barely brushed the cover when I began to feel pushed -- stretched -- overwhelmed mentally and magically. I instinctively let go, stumbling back, and swayed with a sudden onset of dizziness. To my shock, the second or two of contact had been enough to drain around a quarter of my mana. That was where the sensation of wrongness had come from: when I had attempted to connect my magic with the Book's, mine had begun to leak like a broken bucket. Not a cracked bucket with a hole in the bottom, either: this was like my bucket of mana was made out of hole-riddled cheese.

No wonder the Skill was considered ridiculously difficult. Before I could possibly begin to learn anything substantial, I needed to have enough time and mana to properly study the Book in the first place.

The bored immortal had been spot-on in their advice: I would need a specifically attuned focus and robe for any chance of success. No wonder the offer to transfer my slip's remaining uses to a different Skill. I briefly considered changing my choice after all, but I'd noticed the cautionary advice had entirely been directed towards the steep learning curve of my Skill and not its suitability for my needs if I succeeded. Besides, I should invest in proper equipment anyway.

The problem was the same one I kept running into as of late. Just like classes at the Adventurer's Guildhall, or materials to repair a Skill Book to impress a Copyist Scholar, or the standard costs of tutelage in [Scribe] even after the teacher and Book were accounted for: what I wanted was expensive. And I, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but... I had no money. Or a handful of coppers, which wouldn't buy more than a cheap meal or cheaper few. I was rich in plenty of other things! Knowledge, friends, freedom... I felt fortunate enough, but I was aware of my lack of purchasing power at the moment. In fact, since I couldn't imagine investing in a shoddy focus or subpar robes -- with my mana sensitivity and constant use of Appraisal, it would be like a fastidious person wearing stained garments, a subtle form of torture -- this acquisition was likely to be the most expensive of them all.

But first things first. I only had ten tries total with this Book, and I couldn't afford to waste a single one. As much as it pained me to spoil such an otherwise profound experience, and moreover pained me in a much more literal fashion, I began the exacting, exhausting, and excruciating task of flipping, glimpsing, and releasing pages one by one.

The procedure was akin to briefly and blindly groping every single piece in a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, a pointless waste of time for most but hopefully somewhat useful with my perfect memory for what I read. I had to take frequent breaks to Meditate and recover mana in between the occasional shorter bathroom breaks, but eventually I fell into a sort of rhythm that let me increase the number of pages I could turn in one sitting, and at long last, or more specifically around seventeen hours since I'd started, I was done with my first pass. And I hadn't even needed all twenty-four allowable hours per use! Truthfully, if I were in a more coherent state I might've tried something in those remaining seven hours, but I lacked the presence of mind to announce my victory, I mean completion, before I fell asleep right there in that room.

When I awoke, the Book was long gone, and I stumbled straight home and back into bed.

This time I woke to my worried friends, who upon finding my usual spot in the library empty had immediately assumed I was ill. I sort of was from mana overuse, but thankfully the headache had mostly receded. I realized I hadn't had the chance to fill them in on my recent good and bad news and did so.

Congratulations and whoops of joy met my explanation of my recent upturn in Book access. They all agreed [Mind Over Matter] sounded perfect for me and fervently supported my commitment to learning it despite its difficulty.

On the other hand, they were shockingly unsympathetic regarding my monetary plight. "How is this news to you? You're still crashing in your mentor's spare bedroom," Bessie said in a judging voice that invited all the offense.

"Aren't you still living out of a tent?" I retorted, equally judging. I did not even want to imagine the sanitary issues. "With Tom and Blake, no less?"

"Hey, we need every spare coin for those pricey classes you've just discovered. We're off on quests all the time anyway, so keeping a room in the city's plain wasteful. Also-also, our tent is super nice now thanks to Hannah."

The blacksmith blushed. "She means thanks to my parents' friends in the Artisan's Guild."

"Yes, everybody really 'pitched' in," Tom said to a chorus of groans.

"Back on subject," Bessie said, "We are making money, we're just spending it efficiently. What's your excuse?"

"For living here?" I said, a little confused. "It's free, safe, and conveniently close to the library." In fact Senior Rubrik lived in the Scholar's Quarters, which had an indoor connection to the Guildhall. "I enjoy how we sometimes share meals, or our research, or books. He has the extra room, so it's not like he minds."

"Don't forget his stocked kitchen," Tom said.

"Right," Bessie said in an accusing tone. "You don't even cook for him. Or clean!"

I stared. "I'm thankful, not trying to poison him. And he has cleaners."

"You haven't so much as considered repaying him, have you?"

"Well, no. But he's my mentor. If he ever asked me for anything..." I paused, considering how his rare requests had all been for my benefit. "I suppose our relationship is rather one-sided... but considering our relative ages and experiences, that's only natural."

She sighed. "Missing the point. You don't see any problem with this? With mooching off your mentor and not having a paying job?"

"The problem is obviously now I lack funds. But if you mean more than that, if you mean I should feel obligated to earn a living, I must respectfully disagree." Startled expressions greeted my declaration. I met them boldly, since these were my friends, and I wanted to share my well-considered opinions. "I believe every person should seek a purpose in life, yes. We rarely feel fulfilled unless we are striving toward something. But that is separate from the issue of making money, and both are separate from what is morally preferable. The belief that work is something that should be done, rather than a necessary evil endured by most for the sake of survival, was historically indoctrinated into the working class by the idle nobility."

"Um, what?" Bessie said.

"This is only a theory, mind, from a respected Scholar, but I found the compiled evidence extensive and convincing. Regardless, you must have realized there's a double standard at work here, where most work or working at all is considered 'too common' for respectable nobles."

"I don't know what to say," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm just brainwashed like you're saying, but I can't help but think your bizarre attitude towards money is because you've never really owned any, no offense."

"But also never felt its lack," Hannah said, her gaze thoughtful.

I sighed. "Ad hominem fallacy. You're addressing my personal character rather than my arguments."

"We leave the philosophizing to Scholars," Blake said. "Aren't we getting off topic? From how you're broke, and what you're doing about it?"

"Have you considered your options?" Hannah said, more kindly.

I was a little disappointed by the lack of debate but answered, "There's always [Scribe] for quick coin."

"Isn't it like a hundred copied pages for a copper?" Tom asked.

"Well, yes, but I can also memorize and copy whole books. Unfortunately, that saves me time but not mana, so it doesn't earn much more than copying by the page. I, um, previously preferred this option because it didn't interrupt my reading."

"You'll never upgrade your Skill that way," Blake pointed out, "Since you don't seem to find it challenging."

I bit my lip and nodded, acknowledging the point. "I suppose for training [Scribe] I should create more Scrolls. It's a tiring, time-consuming hassle and doesn't pay all that much considering the cost of the materials... but if I buy in bulk and make enough of the same Scroll, I can probably cut down on the costs and time."

"What Scroll are you thinking?" Bessie asked with interest.

"Teleportation? I hear those always sell well, and if the price dips I don't mind stocking up on more myself. Still, I'd need to invest around five silvers to make a silver or so in profit, and each takes me two weeks. I could probably earn more as a letter writer or calligrapher."

"Our Escape Scrolls cost us a large silver for the four. Are they cheaper or faster to make? Because most adventurers just use those, even the Gold-Rankers I know."

"Escape...? Oh, you mean short-distance fixed-location teleportation? Yes, I could probably make one for less than two silver and within a week. A large silver? Hm... Are you sure you didn't overpay?"

"Pretty sure. We saw a lone adventurer pay three silver for his."

"That does sound more promising. Though even if I make over a silver every week, I'll never be able to afford a decent focus."

"Depends what you mean by decent," Tom said. "What price range are we talking?"

I raised a hand to my chin in thought. "Erm... based on prices in Bhizdom... maybe a gold and a half?"

All four of them choked. "Gold?" Bessie said. "For a losable, breakable wand or staff? I'm planning to spend half that on my gauntlets when I can finally afford them."

"Never invest your life savings into a single artifact unless you're asking to get robbed," Blake said.

"But..." I wilted, my dream equipment vanishing into smoke.

"Shouldn't you be saving up for good mage robes?" Hannah said, shaking her head. "That's usually more important than the focus."

"About that, I plan to try making my own," I said. "Still expensive, maybe a few large silvers? But more than cutting costs, robes made with my own hands should conduct my mana more efficiently. I just need to learn..." I grimaced. "Sewing."

Hannah said accusingly, "You advised me not to make my own armor."

"Yet," I corrected her. "And you have beautiful armor made by your parents, who clearly put a lot of time, effort, and resources into their labor of love. When you one day work up to making your own, though, it should be even better."

"What about a Flight Scroll?" Blake said. "I've seen those sell for large silver. The rich twits who can afford them probably don't bother to haggle."

"I haven't studied flight much," I admitted. "I'd like to, but it's a specialized and complicated area. Still... for more coin... I'd probably be better off trying again as a Path Advisor," I concluded glumly.

"You were great at that for us," Hannah said. "Last time the problem was all the people who didn't even know what they wanted, right? Could you ask specifically for people looking for Skills, maybe there's a Skill Advisor?"

"Maybe," I said dubiously. "There were also a lot of complaints because of my age. Still, it paid a large silver a week."

"Wear a mask and a white wig," Tom suggested.

"...And it took up nearly four hours a day..."

"See, this is why it's hard to sympathize when you're whining," Bessie said, "But you know what? There's another idea you haven't considered yet." She grinned. "Joining us on a quest!"

I waited for the punchline, but Hannah said, "Actually, she would be super helpful for that one we saw. Do you think it's still open?"

"For that particular client? I'd bet on it," Blake said.

"Wait, what quest?" I asked suspiciously.

"Just some neighborly dispute," Bessie said. "Everybody's skipping it because the poster is marked as a difficult client, screening takers, and withholding half the payment. Plus they sound seriously snooty; they have 'no gratuitous or disproportionate violence' and other multisyllabic words squeezed into their small space for posting. It's not even clear what they need, finding a lost pet or something? We'll ask tomorrow. And let you handle all the talking, since we don't want them to ruin our rating."

I stared blankly. "You want me to join your quest for my conversation?"

"Our quest now, and there's also that our client we're escorting--"

"Potential client potentially escorting," Tom said.

"--is a mage and so is the douche neighbor, there will probably be magical shenanigans all over the place, and if possible we want to talk instead of fight our way out of said shenanigans. Look, we could just end up escorting the potential client around some aggressive shrubbery, but we'll feel better with you there. It will be fun! Even if you don't join our team officially, we can still go on adventures together!"

"And divvy the loot," Tom said.

"You should live out your motto 'to learn, to discover, to know,'" she said, seeing my reluctance, "But you've never even tried."

I shook my head. "I don't think..."

"He's offering two large silver. That's four silver each for a morning's work."

I paused. Alas, how the high-minded had fallen. Four pairs of eyes stared back at me expectantly while I toed the trap's jaws. Or maybe I was dipping a toe in from the kiddie side of the pool?

I asked, "No monsters? Nothing crazy?"

"It will be simple," Bessie said, her teeth flashing and hand over heart. "And good fun! I promise."