With one last infusion of mana, it was complete. As the internal circuit stabilized, the glow off the sigils grew uniform, transforming from an eyesore of jumbled parchment and runes into the breathtaking beauty of a finished Scroll. I sat back, satisfied at a job well done. Now if only the method for gaining Skills could be so respectably reproducible.

My magical contract immediately reminded me to turn over the Scroll of Mana Barrier I'd originally bought and copied. I considered this more than fair and was grateful I didn't have ominous bells ringing in my head or anything so drastic, just a light tugging like a nagging reminder in the back of my mind until successfully securing the delivery (to the library's own receptionist -- excuse me, the formidable library assistant).

I planned on starting a Scroll of Mana Dome next, but looking over the immediately available options in the emporium, was dissatisfied with the quality on display. If I was to copy a Scroll, I intended it to be a good copy, meaning I at least needed a good original. On the other hand, I did need to make one and would prefer not to have wasted my walk over.

Rather than look for a specific Scroll, I decided to perform a quick survey of the whole selection of Tier-3 and lower spells and see if there were any standouts. After eliminating most of them, I ended up picking out Scrolls of Mana Shield -- yes, I already had the Skill, meaning creating the Scroll should be easier and more importantly quicker -- Magic Hand, and Entangling Vines. I was looking forward to my next lesson in Scribe.

This was rather the opposite of my reaction to my next combat class. Unfortunately, I had ended up with Instructor Ruddick again, primarily due to two unfortunate factors. First, a pair of combat instructors were on vacation together, and he was filling in for many of their classes this week. Second, the Basic Combat 1 classes not taught by him were not-so-coincidentally filled. It seemed I wasn't the only student who didn't appreciate being yelled at and called a maggot.

"He's not for everyone, but believe it or not, some students prefer his teaching," Bessie had said loyally before patting my back. "There, there."

Desperate to avoid a repeat of last class, I asked the library assistant for advice and promptly piled up books on combat onto my peaceful table. The first book, which came highly recommended, was titled Cheating in Combat -- we were off to a great start -- by one Morgan Levince and prefaced with the warning there was no great secret to obtaining great strength.

The prologue stressed the difference between practice and actual combat, no matter how intensive the former or well-prepared for the latter. In fact, whenever possible it was best to avoid 'real' fighting, a principle I wholly agreed with. Even if the opponent seemed weaker, they may have some unexpected Skill. Even if they were defeated, they may have more powerful backers. Even if they were unsupported, a third party may take advantage of the distraction.

At this point, I wanted to shake the author's hand, nodding enthusiastically. Instead I read on: the first chapter addressed combat openings, ideally involving taking the enemy by surprise and neutralizing them in one fell swoop.

I had a sneaking suspicion most readers directly skipped the prologue.

A chapter midway through the book detailed how to throw a punch, including helpful illustrations. I recalled my friends had done their best trying to teach me the same, when really, we should have remembered to write down everything they would have taught me. Only now did I recall the thumb was supposed to be on the outside, for example.

I couldn't help thinking if a fight came down to me throwing a punch, I'd already lost. Well, unless I was against a single unarmed, untrained goblin separated from their tribe, maybe... I tried to imagine beating said goblin down with my bare fists and shuddered away from the thought. Not one of the monster races, then, but what if I were facing a monstrous pest? I still hated the thought of blood and guts splattering my skin and clothes, the feeling of warm pulsating flesh giving way to brute force...

The urge to vomit came and went. No, not unless it was to save my life or somebody else's.

Fortunately, the author agreed with my self-deprecating assessment, condemning bare-fisted fighting save in desperate need or for those with a natural affinity. Instead, the reader was advised to become comfortable with two weapons of choice, one visible and one hidden, and to never be caught without the latter, including when sleeping, bathing, or... er, bedding. For mages, the default visible weapon was the staff, while the preferred hidden weapon was a wand, perhaps stiletto-shaped and disguised as a hairpiece or strapped into a flesh-colored holster. I stared at the book in dismay; did the author think we were all made out of gold? Apparently so, as they added owning a storage item containing backup weapons was even better, obviously.

Regardless, in the unfortunate situation where the reader was caught weaponless (the author's disapproval leaked through here) the advice was the same refrain repeated throughout the book in slightly differing ways: Adapt to the circumstances. Improvise. Use every tool. Do anything that was needed to win, including lose. Ultimately, there was no such thing as cheating in true combat. Applied in this context, that meant using any nearby object or the environment as a weapon, using other people as weapons, and in the last resort, using yourself as a weapon. Some Skills made it increasingly unlikely to be wholly disarmed -- [Hammer Space], which I'd recommended to Hannah, was one -- though the reader should judge for themselves their desirability weighed against the required investment.

Many of the author's tips were probably obvious to others, but not until I'd read and considered them did I blush in realization over my own past mistakes. For instance, the instinct to flinch away from an oncoming attack could be useful, but reflexively closing the eyes usually meant leaving yourself open to further blows (except in specific instances such as avoiding disorientation or blindness). Moving around quickly often meant tiring quickly and should be reserved for those with high stamina or to finish a fight fast. Better footwork was more important than better speed. Second-guessing yourself during combat spent time; it was often preferable to do the worse thing quickly than the best thing belatedly, and both were generally better than doing nothing at all. The exception was when endangering your own allies: mages, in particular, should endeavor not to set everyone on fire. And so on.

Later chapters walked through various scenarios purportedly experienced by the author themselves. I was distracted by my inability to pinpoint their gender, not that it really mattered, but I would've expected some hint from the numerous personal anecdotes. Instead by the end of the book I was convinced the author was being deliberately coy. How else to explain swaggering into an enemy barracks in uniform, joining a round of cards and cigars, and shooting the guards simultaneously under the table; then later in that same scene employing distinctly feminine wiles when caught out upstairs? Did they customarily crossdress, switching up roles off-page and between combat?

I wouldn't put it past them. This book was liable to drive anyone paranoid. I'd be surprised if, after its publication in 2857 and presumable popularity considering it was still recommended over a hundred years later, the prices for artifacts related to poison identification and purging hadn't instantly skyrocketed. On that note, I was fairly sure they were using a pseudonym.

After Cheating in Combat, I skimmed through the rest of the books and found none as entertaining or informative, since I had no intention of repeating drills with every single weapon imaginable to test for affinities. Even if deep within me lay the dormant potential to become a master of the naginata, I simply hadn't the time. I'd already known the traditional combat Paths for mages and was consequently building up toward [Mana Barrier], so nothing new there.

I looked mournfully at the remaining silver and large coppers from my one quest before finally, reluctantly, leaving my seat in the library to shop for exercise clothes and especially shoes. Then unable to delay any longer, I went running. The Adventurer's Guildhall had an outside track area for just such a purpose. They apparently offered other indoor options or running trails, but those weren't free.

Taking the books' advice, I slowed my pace even more than I had in the dungeon, since sustaining it for longer was stated to be more important than traveling farther. Actually, my inexperience with physical exertion meant I probably could benefit from light walking. I tried to ignore all the very many people easily passing me, some leaving wind trails in their wake, repeating to myself words from Cheating in Combat: 'The only person you should compete with is yourself.' (Thus, no coddling your ego by offering a fair fight.)

I had a hard time believing I could ever find exercise Meditative, but the books agreed with Bessie on this point. Sorting through the advice, I shelved my doubts, worked to clear my mind, and when this failed, aimed my attention where it mattered.

I focused on my breaths. Deep, rhythmic. In. Out.

On my footwork. Short steps, foot under hip, knees low.

Posture. Tall, relaxed, arms in.

Despite my best efforts, the run felt significantly harder than yesterday's. I wasn't sure if this was because I was still slightly sore, I didn't have the encouragement and distractions of my friends and the dungeon, I was imagining things... or maybe the rich mana in the dungeon or some other factor helped with exercise, rather like stretching was easier in warm water. I wouldn't be surprised if this was restricted information, since mana also attracted monsters. More research was necessary.

When I'd had enough, I went back home -- to my mentor's spare room -- and gulped down a liter of water.

My friends were full of praise for my new endeavor, but the first time we tried running together outside (minus Blake), we agreed that was fun but served little purpose besides seeing how many times they could lap me. Incidentally, Hannah and Tom managed three in less than half an hour, Bessie four, and they continued long after I'd left. In my defense, they all had Passive Skills.

On the other hand, running in the dungeon vindicated my suspicions, or rather, my hypothesis. While my friends couldn't tell any difference for themselves and complained the space was too small to run properly, they had to admit my performance noticeably improved, and I could run faster for longer and recovered sooner between exercises. My best explanation for the discrepancy was that the dungeon's high-mana environment boosted me more because I was weaker. Noncombat Skills lacked a certain weight, or put another way, a person's combative strength could be honed until they parted the world around them like Derrick's killing aura. But they could no more benefit from a single-floor dungeon's mana than a Fire Elemental stretch easier in a hot tub.

It almost felt like cheating, training my fitness this way, and I meant that in the most positive sense of the word. Besides, the dungeon liked it.

Discussing its weird approval with my mentor did not lead to any useful conclusions. I could tell he was secretly convinced it was a relocated Mature Core, at least partly because I couldn't pinpoint a single distinctive trait tidily summarizing Duni's peculiarities. Anomalous non-Planar Dungeons were rare enough I lacked many useful examples for comparison, but thus far they'd all -- well, except the ones destroyed soon after discovery -- been obvious in their anomalous natures... unlike Duni. But he also agreed there still wasn't enough evidence either way.

Entering my second combat class, I felt reassured to know Bessie would be waiting at the end and equally glad she wouldn't be here during. It was all well and good to say there was no such thing as cheating, but attempting something underhanded much less in a visible manner was still mortifying. The only greater embarrassment would be losing to the level-two golem again. (For that matter, Morgan Levince's stories were better envisioned as cautionary fiction. At least, I certainly wouldn't want to meet the author in real life, even my curiosity overshadowed by my caution.)

This time I didn't stand around listening to the assistant's speech, heading directly (after storing my book) for a golem along with the vast majority of the class. Then taking a deep breath, I crossed into the ring and said: "Stop."

The golem counted that as my first defeat, of course. I ignored it and proceeded to chalk a casting circle.

It felt incredibly wrong to crawl over the ground drawing runes while the other students were locked in noisy, fast-paced combat, especially since the twelve foot diameter circle was significantly more complex than any I'd done recently and the casting time thus significantly longer. Someone less practiced with runes, lacking a good memory, or with low mana sensitivity would have difficulty completing the spell before the class ended. It went without saying [Basic Scribe] or another drawing Skill wasn't merely expedient but necessary. Fortunately, I might not be able to throw a punch without making my friends internally cringe, but this much I could do.

I kept expecting the instructor to show up and shout at me for wasting time, but surprisingly, he was nowhere in evidence. And I soon forgot about him entirely, too busy concentrating on my casting.

Forty minutes after the start of class, I pointed at the golem and said: "Start. Level 10. Entangling Vines." And several things happened very quickly.

First, the golem reactivated, displayed '10, 0, 0,' and sprang forward. Almost simultaneously, vines sprouted from my circle, forming a dense bush between us. The golem stopped before crashing into the thicket and backed up quicker than my running speed -- which admittedly wasn't saying much -- but the vines kept growing, reaching outwards just as fast. When it reached the edge of the ring, the golem stopped retreating and instead attempted to beat back the grasping plants, but it was soon overtaken, pulled closer, and wrapped too tightly to do more than twitch.

From when I'd spoken to the one-sided finish, the whole fight took less than ten seconds. If I'd instead fought the level-ten golem directly, I would almost certainly have been pummeled in an instant. Better yet, the spell had a long duration that could be extended further, at least for a manual casting rather than simple Skill usage. Since I'd tweaked the runes to center the vines in front of me, rather than covering the whole circle as originally designed, I'd been able to extend that time further still. Hopefully, if my calculations were right, it would last through the end of class with just barely enough mana to spare.

The arrogant mage who'd previously used the Tier-3 Skill hadn't been enjoyable to watch, but I couldn't deny her tactic was effective. And as the book had repeatedly reminded me, image and propriety and such conceits didn't truly matter when it came to fighting. Of course, this was only practice, but... it was my first taste of defeating a superior opponent. Anyway, there was no such thing as cheating in combat! (Yes, I knew I could be heavily influenced by my current reading material. Malleability apparently did not require other people.)

Time passed, but I was by no means bored, discovering I could Meditate while holding the spell. Apparently my actions were flashy enough to warrant attention, as a voice outside the ring spoke: "Hello, there!" Definitely not my instructor.

Keeping one eye on the golem to ensure it stayed Entangled, admittedly more for my peace of mind than out of any rational fear, I glanced over. The speaker was a friendly-looking young woman around my age clearly outfitted as a warrior. More worryingly, she radiated anxiety and discomfort. "I haven't seen you around here. I'm..." She introduced herself; unfortunately, it was not socially appropriate for me to Scribe her name on the spot, not to mention I was a little busy.

"Ah, hello? I'm Rowena Loress," I said, not bothering to hide my confusion. Glancing around, I couldn't help noticing through Empathy at least two of my nearest neighbors were eavesdropping with interest even as they pretended otherwise. "Um, is something the matter?"

"Right, well, that's some impressive magic you have?"

"Thank you?" Was she looking for tips?

"It's just... do you already have a team...?" she finally asked with maximal awkwardness.

I was so surprised I nearly fumbled my spell. Since I didn't have the Skill, it took concerted effort to hold and my mana sensitivity was an incredible blessing managing it. My distraction while I reasserted my control only heightened the warrior's embarrassment and nerves, thankfully reminding me of her. "Oh, I... that is to say, I'm not really an adventurer," I said, trying to outdo her in awkwardness.

"Oh, that's fine," she said, looking and feeling like she didn't really believe me and also wanted to bury herself alive to escape the conversation posthaste.

"But um... if I were, I do already have a team I'm with, sorry."

"Sure, sure," she said, tripping away. The two eavesdroppers had also twinged with disappointment when I'd mentioned a team. Surely not. I was blatantly terrible as a combat mage, couldn't they see? Or did they imagine I was hiding some secret Skills I simply hadn't used to show off casting a higher-tier spell?

The class ended not long later, and Bessie skipped in right on cue and over to my ring, whistling as she took in the incapacitated level-ten golem and remaining vines. I smiled in relief, basking in the best part of cheating: the end result. "So," she said, "Did anybody ask you to join their team yet?"

I stared at her. "How'd you know?"

"Rena, you realize you're pretty desirable?" She grinned. "Yes, even despite your weird aversion to combat."

"Um, why?"

"Because you're a mage," she said simply. "You have a skewed perspective, since you've mostly met Silver-Rankers and up, and successful teams tend to have the whole set: warrior, ranger, rogue, and mage. But not that many people know magic, much less with your obvious competency, and aren't already committed to some faction." She coughed, somehow contriving to make it sound like: "Mage's Guild."

"Is that why you keep trying to recruit me? So it's not really about me, any mage will do?" I wasn't offended, just curious.

"Any mage who already gets along fabulously with the whole team, who isn't affiliated with a faction or otherwise likely to entangle us -- pun intended -- with unreasonable demands, and who preferably has your phenomenal talent plus brings along your unusual Skills, abilities, and knowledge," Bessie said. "Lots of teams have four members, and we're fine with ours. The purpose of a fifth teammate would be to fill in for our weak points without adding friction, which you succeed at in spades. Sure, it would be nice if you could hold your own in a fight too, but well, even if you just hide behind a shield, we still want you on the team. At this point I don't think we could accept anybody else as our mage."

I couldn't help feeling touched, though I still wasn't keen on becoming an adventurer. "Alas, I prefer my books."

"We wouldn't have you any other way. But you'll join us on adventures sometimes, yeah?"

"Maybe. Depends on the pay," I said, only partially joking.

She just grinned. "Come on, let's talk to Instructor Ruddick."

I managed not to sigh, groan, or wince with an effort. Who knew how much he could sense; I didn't want to leave even worse of an impression if that was possible. Bless Bessie for staying by my side as we approached the looming man, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed his assistant demonstrating evasive footwork.

He turned in our direction as we drew nearer. His aura pressed down on me as aggressively as ever, and no matter what Bessie said, it felt like a personal condemnation of my abilities and mentality. I expected him to comment on her presence and be displeased or at least mocking over my choice of tactic, but instead he said, "Are you aiming for the Runecaster Path?"

"Oh, no." I flushed. Truthfully, that would be my first choice if I were turning combat mage. But that would never happen.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss a possible Path. You cast a Tier-3 spell from a circle all on your own without pause; I have rarely seen the like. If you do choose to focus more on active casting, you should consider testing for the Academy."

If I'd been flattered before, this was almost too much. Only extraordinary talents were accepted there, but sadly the emphasis was on applied magics rather than research or theory. I gaped at him until Bessie nudged me, then remembered to thank him, summarize my current situation, and ask for advice on the best common low-tier Skill to learn from a Book.

He didn't have to think long. "[Magic Hand]."

I brightened. "I had the same idea!" I supposed I should've felt more disappointed that I'd spent all this time to come back to the same Skill I'd originally chosen, but I was more delighted at the independent confirmation of my judgment. "Because of the flexibility, right?"

The Skill was incredibly versatile in its use: it could carry objects, slow down or stop somebody from falling, or be leveraged in combat in any manner conceivable for a giant floating hand, such as by tripping an opponent up, punching or slapping, or blocking attacks.

"That too," Instructor Ruddick said, staring at me stonily. "More important is your squeamishness. Based on your performance against the training golems, you shy from getting your own hands dirty, but I suspect you will have no such trouble directing your magic to achieve your tasks for you. If you are ever forced to defend yourself, you will likely hesitate to seriously injure or kill, where a single moment of hesitation could cost you your life. [Magic Hand] can neutralize attackers simply by swatting them hard enough and without creating a gory mess."

Though I didn't particularly care for his phrasing, I had to admit he had a point. No, he'd nailed me down with disconcerting accuracy. Hadn't I flinched from my earlier grisly imaginings? But when I considered casting [Magic Hand] to clobber a goblin or crush a pest, I felt more triumphant than traumatized. Was this terribly wrong of me?

No more than cheating in combat, arguably. I was simply leaning on my advantages and admitting my weaknesses, and there was nothing to be ashamed of in that. Frankly, as a mage, my hands should be used for casting spells anyway.

Before I could lose my nerve, I asked my second preplanned question: "I've just started exercising, and I heard... well, some people say I could improve faster in a higher-mana environment?"

Predictably, Instructor Ruddick scowled. "Which fool's been talking out their beeswax?" No, he didn't actually say beeswax. "That only works if you're so much weaker than your surroundings, you'll need to be constantly guarded or soon turn into something's chew toy. Unless you're secretly some noble's brat, you should forget about your chances. Even then, you'll likely get yourself killed."

"So it is possible?" Bessie said, eyes sparkling.

He frowned at her, though she remained undaunted. "Seasoned adventurers learn to manage risks. This one's not worth it, especially since learning proper form and investing in a solid daily routine is more important and reliable."

"Wow, Rena, Duni has done it again!" she exclaimed after. "Aren't you glad you went to the class? Instructor Ruddick's not so bad, right? Though I still say he should've passed you through to Combat 2!"

I shrugged a little. I was definitely not taking that class again unless and until I had more combat Skills. "Duni?"

"I've decided I'll keep referring to it by different names until one sticks. But yes, don't you see how crazy this is? Wizm has changed your life and still keeps coming up with new surprises!"

"Um, it doesn't really help you, though?" I pointed out. "You'd probably need at least a C-Ranked dungeon... No, since he said you have to be significantly weaker, you'd need a B-Ranked dungeon." I shuddered at the thought.

Bessie burst out laughing. "Rena, you don't think I'd be so daft as to train in a dungeon like that? No, Lor is an exception, not just because it talks to you either. Thanks to Grimmark's paranoia it's off limits, remember? Unless you impress a receptionist, are weak enough in combat to benefit, and have friendly Silver-Rankers to cover you. Oh, and cooperative Gold-Rankers. In any other case, we'd be tarred and feathered for hogging one of Denny's folk."

"Huh. You're right," I said in some surprise. "I hadn't considered how unique our situation is. I've really gotten lucky with Duni, haven't I?"

"Not Dungy?"

"I thought Hannah intended that as a joke at first."

"Well, she got the ball rolling." Bessie grinned. "Sometimes it just takes one to start."

Right, now I had my request ready, it was time to see if I could cash in. The morning of, I was discussing with my mentor our upcoming appointment with the Senior Copyist Scholar when Blake appeared next to us, doubly startling me as he rarely visited the library anymore. "Come quickly. Adventurer's Guildhall."

I stared at him. This had never happened before. "What for?"

"Emergency quest."

And what did that mean? "Um, will this take long? I have a meeting--" I started to say, but he was already gone. Rude. I went through my mental checklist but couldn't think of any significance to the date, and he'd been serious enough I could eliminate him pulling some out-of-character prank. Shaking my head, I turned back to my mentor. "Sorry, I'd better go investigate."

He frowned but said only, "Stay safe."

"Maybe it's just the last client making trouble again," I said, trying to school my face not to mirror his worried expression. But somehow, I doubted the quest this time would be so simple.