The Stonemasons' Union
Unlike the raucous commotion of the ground floor, the second story was an oasis of calm.
As Reed sat quietly on a plush sofa, an attendant approached, carrying a teacup on a polished tray.
"Would you care for some tea while you wait?"
"Thank you."
Whether in his past life or this one, money seemed to dictate how one was treated all the same.
As Reed sipped the warm brew, the other patrons seated around the lounge shot sidelong glances in his direction. With his scruffy attire and boyish frame, he looked entirely out of place in such refined surroundings. The VIPs leaned toward one another, whispering in hushed, disdainful tones.
"Do you recognize him?"
"Not at all. Never seen the lad before."
"He looks like a street urchin. Did he sneak up here under false pretenses?"
"Haha. If that's the case, the staff will throw him out soon enough."
Refusing to let their stares shrink him, Reed squared his shoulders and held himself with deliberate composure.
Before long, an attendant called his name.
"Mr. Reed."
"Yes."
Following the attendant's lead, Reed was ushered into the first room on the left. Seated behind a broad desk was a gaunt, slender man with neatly combed hair and thick spectacles. Seeing Reed enter, he offered a polished, welcoming smile.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reed. My name is Smith Leak. My role is to help pioneers acclimate to life here, arrange suitable employment, and offer counsel to ensure your endeavors in the frontier proceed smoothly."
"I'm Reed."
Though a cordial smile lingered on Smith's lips, his sharp gaze dissected Reed from behind his spectacles, searching for every trace of deception. Reed met that piercing appraisal with an impassive stare. Having faced down murderous gangsters in the back alleys more times than he could count, a bureaucrat's glare hardly rattled him.
After a brief test of wills, Smith removed his spectacles and spoke.
"I understand you command a rather exceptional talent?"
"I've learned magic."
"Fascinating. Would you mind demonstrating a trick or two?"
"Nothing difficult about that."
Reed made a slight gesture with his hand. A clump of loose soil floated out of his pocket, rising and falling in rhythmic arcs like a living creature swimming through the open air, before sliding smoothly back into the fabric pouch.
Smith watched the display with keen interest, yet he showed none of the frantic shock commoners usually displayed. He was evidently well-acquainted with the arcane.
"Earth manipulation... That is a remarkably rare discipline you command."
Is earth magic really that uncommon? Reed had no idea.
Instead of answering, he simply gave a noncommittal shrug. Hadn't Harlock warned him that nothing was more precious in the West than information? Whatever else happened, a practicing mage had no reason to broadcast his own ignorance.
Taking Reed's silence as an enigmatic confirmation, Smith nodded thoughtfully and moved on.
"If you don't mind my asking, could you share the name of your master? Considering your youth, I doubt you hail from the Magic Academy... Are you affiliated with the Magic Tower?"
Reed wove a plausible lie without missing a beat.
"Circumstances prevent me from revealing that. All I can say is that I came here to the Demonic Borderlands on an assignment entrusted to me by my master... That will have to suffice."
"Hmm. I see."
It was a reasonably convincing fabrication. A part of him wondered if spinning such a tall tale just to skip a line was excessive, but revealing the unvarnished truth was far worse.
Telling him I'm a penniless orphan with no backing would do me no favors.
An orphan. A forgotten deity named Ur. A wandering vagabond.
None of those truths would grant him an ounce of respect or safety. It was far better to construct a respectable facade: a young, talented mage dispatched to the western frontier on a secretive mission from his master.
Yet as Reed kept his cards close to his chest, a flicker of doubt crept into Smith's eyes. The official was clearly weighing whether Reed was an accomplished prodigy or merely an arrogant charlatan. Inquiring after a master or an institution was standard procedure to verify a mage's pedigree, since a recognized affiliation served as an automatic guarantee of skill.
Reed needed to demonstrate genuine worth without degrading himself. Performing party tricks like a street busker would be the worst possible move. One display of magic was enough; after all, Smith hadn't seemed all that floored by the levitating dirt.
Fortunately, I have the perfect story for this.
Reed cleared his throat with a dry cough, carefully arranging his words. Having grown up doing brutal labor in gutters and slums, crude slang and foul language slipped out of him far too easily if he let his guard down. Letting this sharp-eyed administrator catch scent of that background would ruin everything.
Choosing his phrasing with measured nonchalance, Reed struck up a casual tone.
"By the way, this western frontier is truly as unforgiving as they say. I finally understand why it's called the Demonic Borderlands."
"Haha. It is a rough and tumble place in many respects. But once you grow accustomed to it, it has a certain charm."
"I saw that firsthand. I never dreamed fishmen would come bursting out of the dry dirt. Caught me completely off guard."
"...Fishmen?" Smith flinched.
As an official of the Pioneers Guild, there was no chance he would miss the weight of that word.
"Are you saying you encountered fishmen on your journey here?"
"Haha, yes. The merchant master was in a hurry to meet his schedule and cut straight across the wasteland. Then out of nowhere came a torrential downpour."
Reed deliberately left the details vague, but the implication was unmistakable.
He had crossed paths with a swarm of fishmen, and he had walked away alive. In Smith's mind, the natural conclusion formed on its own: this young mage's earth magic had repelled the monsters. Strictly speaking, it wasn't even an inaccurate conclusion.
He'll definitely investigate whether my story holds up. And when he does, all the better. Rumors always blow things out of proportion.
Hadn't the surviving merchants and laborers already been babbling that Reed raised mountains from the flat earth? Smith would undoubtedly fill in the blanks and mistake him for an exceptional talent.
A new glint entered Smith's eyes. Straightening his posture, he leaned forward.
"Surviving an encounter with fishmen... Impressive indeed. I understand the situation now. So, what is it you require of me?"
"I need assistance," Reed answered plainly. "I have to carve out a living in the Demonic Borderlands, but unfortunately, I know next to nothing about this place. Having a seasoned professional like yourself in my corner would be an immense help. If I adapt quickly and make a name for myself, it reflects well on your record, doesn't it? And down the line, I might be able to return the favor."
It was a request for patronage wrapped in a mutually beneficial business proposition. Just as Reed said, a pioneer thriving under an official's guidance went straight onto that official's performance sheet.
Smith Leak was an ambitious man. He set his sights on becoming the branch director of the East Gate Pioneers Guild, and beyond that, he dreamed of reaching the highest corridors of power in Morasil. Naturally, Reed knew none of this. He had simply thrown the offer out to test the waters.
If he turns me down, I'll just find someone else to ask next time.
After a moment of deliberate contemplation, Smith's professional, practiced smile returned to his lips. Only this time, the warmth reached his eyes.
"If I can assist a capable mage such as yourself, the honor is mine."
Reed smiled back. "Glad to hear it."
"In that case, is there anything specific you wish to know about Morasil? I will tell you whatever I can."
"Well... what do you think I should do first, Mr. Smith?"
To ask a proper question, one needed at least a baseline understanding of the subject. Knowing virtually nothing about the frontier, Reed had no idea where to direct his first step.
Smith tapped his fingers against the polished desk, collecting his thoughts before offering his counsel.
"First and foremost, you must affiliate yourself with an organization."
"An organization?"
"Operating as a lone wolf in the Demonic Borderlands is far from wise. That holds true even here within the walls of Morasil."
In the frontier, whether beast or man, survival demanded running in packs. It mirrored the exact advice Harlock had imparted on the road.
"Morasil hosts an overwhelming number of factions: mercenary bands large and small, merchant companies, craft unions, professional associations, and federations. Listing them all would take all day. The safest, most conventional route... yes, would be attending services at the Temple of the Sun on holy days."
The Sun Church was the empire's dominant, orthodox faith, boasting the largest congregation across the realm.
"Make your face known there and secure a place within the religious community. After that, joining a craft guild or an association aligned with your trade is standard practice. In your case, Mr. Reed, registering with both the Temple of the Sun and the Magic Tower would be the most sound course of action."
Reed remained silent.
"You seem unenthusiastic. I understand. Many mages find the Sun Church's dogma rather stifling."
That wasn't the issue at all. Having already made offerings to Ur and drawn power from her ancient grace, pledging himself to the Sun Church felt like an awful idea.
That's practically stepping out on my patron deity.
Beyond moral scruples, incurring Ur's wrath would be disastrous. Worse yet, the Sun God might take offense at an earth-worshipping heretic trespassing in his holy hall.
Noticing Reed's hesitation, Smith immediately offered an alternative.
"If the Sun Church does not suit your tastes, the Necromancers' Guild is another viable option."
"...The necromancers? You mean the people who raise corpses?"
"It may sound alarming, but hear me out first."
Reed nodded warily.
"How should I put this... In the Demonic Borderlands, pure goodness does not exist. That is the first truth you must engrave in your mind. Can you yourself claim to be wholly innocent and clean, Mr. Reed?"
He certainly could not.
Reed had survived the slums by digging graves to bury the victims of gang violence. He had picked pockets, and though his target thoroughly deserved it, he had taken a human life. He had no intention of whitewashing those deeds behind the convenient excuse that he had no other choice.
Reading the grim understanding on the boy's face, Smith nodded.
"The people living here are either stained by grime, or far filthier still. Among them, the necromancers... well, they belong to the less objectionable sort. At the very least, they don't unleash plagues upon our streets or summon demons to raze the city."
"That's... quite surprising."
Seeing Reed's eyes widen, a faint chuckle escaped Smith's lips.
"Anyone is permitted to join the Necromancers' Guild. Members gain access to cheap undead labor and advanced medical treatment. You do know that when it comes to surgical procedures, no physician can rival a necromancer, correct? However, generous benefits come at a steep price: upon death, your corpse must serve the guild for several years. Since you are a mage, they would welcome you with open arms. A mage's remains are extraordinarily rare... Though I take it the prospect still doesn't appeal to you?"
"...Not in the slightest."
Back in the imperial heartland, getting caught practicing necromancy earned you a full course of agonizing torture followed by a swift hanging without trial. The frontier's culture truly was an entirely different world, governed by a brand of lawless freedom born of pure chaos.
From then on, Smith passionately detailed the various guilds and factions active throughout Morasil, laying out the strengths and drawbacks of each. For a long while, Smith spoke while Reed listened with rapt attention, absorbing every scrap of knowledge.
By the time the teacup had grown lukewarm, Reed had committed the administrator's counsel to memory. Looking up, he finally spoke.
"Mr. Smith. I need a place where I can learn and refine skills that directly complement my magic. And from what you've described, there seems to be only one place that fits the bill."
"Ah. Of course." Smith nodded in agreement. For any mage, nothing took precedence over honing their craft. "So you've settled on the Magic Tower after all. It is certainly the most prestigious choice. However, the Tower is notoriously strict regarding an applicant's lineage and school of magic. If they deem your qualifications lacking, penetrating their inner circle will prove exceedingly difficult..."
"What? No, that's not it. The Magic Tower sounds fine, but there is somewhere else I must visit first."
"Pardon?"
Reed stated his intention with calm certainty. Upon hearing the answer, Smith blinked once, twice, his jaw slightly slack with utter disbelief.
"...Excuse me?"
The moment Reed left the room, the first thing Smith did was order a background check.
The chances were slim, but there was always a possibility the young boy was running a con. In this line of work, caution was the prerequisite for survival.
"Yes, sir. It's confirmed that the arriving caravan ran into fishmen."
"Witnesses verify an earth mage was among them. They claim he conjured an entire mountain out of flat ground."
"He buried every last fishman alive, sir."
What Reed had actually raised was an adorably modest mound barely fit to be called an earthen wall, and burying the monsters had merely been the preparatory work for offering them to Ur. Yet rumors, by their very nature, always gravitated toward the sensational.
Collating the reports, Smith pressed his thumb hard against his brow, murmuring under his breath.
"A mage who commands mountains..."
There had to be exaggerations mixed in, but the lad was undeniably a mage of formidable caliber. Smith recalled Reed's appearance. The boy looked remarkably young—fifteen at the absolute oldest.
For someone so young to wield magic of that magnitude was not a detail one brushed aside lightly.
He must have undergone rigorous training since early childhood. Perhaps he carries the bloodline of a prestigious noble house. Magic of that tier isn't mastered overnight.
Yet Reed had, in fact, acquired it in a single night.
Moreover, he remains unnervingly composed for his age, with a mind sharp enough to calculate every advantage. He even knows how to strike a bargain. Is he truly just a teenager?
He was not. Counting his previous life, Reed was practically Smith's peer.
In any case, an aristocratic scion has arrived alone in the West, tasked with an assignment handed down by his master. I can't begin to fathom what that mission entails... but it must be something of monumental consequence.
There was no such mission.
After letting his imagination run wild through these convoluted deductions, Smith arrived at a firm, unwavering resolution.
"I must forge an ironclad bond with that boy."
Years later, Smith would look back on that singular decision as the greatest, most brilliant choice he ever made in his life.
At that very hour, Reed stood before a three-story stone edifice situated not far from the city's East Gate.
Though Reed was entirely illiterate, the carved signboard depicting a crossed hammer and chisel made it abundantly clear he had arrived at the right address.
The Stonemasons' Union!
The guild of craftsmen who carved rock and erected great stone monuments. During his desperate struggle against the fishmen, Reed had realized that technical knowledge and practical craft wielded immense influence over magic. Earth magic, in particular, excelled at reshaping terrain.
What if, during the ambush, he had possessed the knowledge to raise an interlocking, load-bearing rampart instead of an unstable mound of loose soil?
Without question, more lives would have been spared.
That was why Reed intended to learn from the veteran craftsmen gathered here. Stonemasons understood stone, mortar, and soil better than anyone alive. Learning their craft was bound to elevate his mastery over the earth.
Of course, personal longing played no small part in his decision.
I've always wanted to learn this properly.
Ever since his past life, Reed had yearned to formally study construction and agriculture. Though a cave-in had buried him beneath a trench before he could ever set foot on a university campus, the chance to finally study the trade set his heart racing with anticipation.
"Whew."
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Reed stepped forward to knock on the union's heavy timber doors.
BAM!
Before his knuckles could graze the wood, the doors burst wide open. A swarm of hulking, muscle-bound men came storming out in a frantic rush. Every single one of them was stripped to the waist, brandishing heavy iron hammers, their bloodshot eyes brimming with raw, unadulterated bloodlust.
What in the world? Did I accidentally stumble into a mercenary company?
"Hmph?! Who the hell are you?!"
A stout, grizzled dwarven master with an unruly beard roared directly in Reed's face. The dwarf didn't seem particularly angry with Reed; he just appeared to be the sort of man who operated exclusively at maximum volume.
Sweating cold drops, Reed pulled a folded document from his coat.
"I came to join the Stonemasons' Union. I have a letter of introduction from Mr. Smith Leak."
"The new recruit! Perfect timing! Grab your tools and fall in line right this instant!"
"Master, this lad's already carrying a shovel!"
"Good head on your shoulders! We're moving out!"
"...Wait, what?"
Before Reed could voice a coherent objection, he was swept up in the surging tide of shirtless stonemasons. Running at a frantic clip with heavy hammers held high, the mob soon converged on an active construction lot.
Framed by rough timber was a single-story estate under construction. Arrayed before it stood several dozen burly men armed with wooden mallets and felling axes. Reed nudged the mason beside him.
"Who are those people?"
"The Carpenters' Guild. Sneaky, shameless, faithless bastards—our sworn, eternal enemies."
"Ah... I see."
The bellowing dwarf who had roped Reed into the march strode to the vanguard. From the opposing ranks, a carpenter with thick, bristling eyebrows stepped forward. He was evidently the leader of the woodworking crew.
"Look who's here—the stoneheads have crawled out of their quarry again. What absurd grievance are you whining about this time?"
"We received reports that you tree-chopping bastards are willfully infringing upon our trade rights!"
"Infringing?! The right to erect residential dwellings belongs equally to our Carpenters' Guild! Furthermore, every beam in this frame is pure timber! What trade rights could we possibly have violated?!"
"Ha!"
The dwarf shoved past him and yanked open the unfinished front door of the mansion. Scattered across the entryway floor were a handful of fired clay bricks.
"Look at that! Bricks!"
The carpenter sputtered defensively. "The client specifically requested a few bricks for the interior hearth trim! Kicking up a fuss over a handful of decorative stones is completely—"
"Listen to me very carefully!" The dwarf leaned in until his nose was practically touching the carpenter's ear, snarling with absolute conviction. "Bricks... are stone."
"..."
"Stone is our territory. Therefore, you have violated our jurisdiction!"
It was a line of logic so painfully simple a toddler could follow it, yet the carpenter was not about to yield an inch. After a heated exchange of spit and curses, the dwarf stalked back to his men, his face flushed red and his veins bulging.
Glaring back at the rival guild with eyes gleaming with violence, the dwarf barked his orders.
"Alright, lads. We settle this the usual way."
Reed raised a hesitant hand. "Excuse me... what exactly is 'the usual way'?"
The dwarf grinned, revealing a row of crooked teeth.
"We beat every last one of them half to death."
Reed began seriously contemplating whether it was too late to withdraw his union application. Regardless of his reservations, the two rival factions began advancing toward each other with murderous momentum. Tools meant for splitting logs and shaping masonry were being hefted with the clear intent of crushing skulls.
People are actually going to die here...
As Reed swallowed hard, a carpenter broke ranks and charged.
"RAAAAGH!"
He was young, broad-shouldered, and entirely swept up in the adrenaline of impending violence. Raising a thick wooden club overhead, the youth aimed a vicious, bone-shattering blow straight at a stonemason's shoulder.
Reed couldn't just stand by and watch a bloodbath unfold.
CRUMBLE!
With a sudden heave of compressed earth, a massive hand of packed soil surged out of the ground, locking its thick earthen fingers tightly around the young carpenter's raised arm.
"W-What the...?!"
Startled out of his wits, the young carpenter yanked desperately to free himself, but the Earth Grasp held him fast like an iron vise. The carpenters froze in mid-charge. The stonemasons halted in their tracks, staring at the bizarre sight with their mouths agape.
Taking advantage of the stunned silence, Reed raised his hands placatingly.
"Come now, everyone take a breath and lower your weapons. Let's resolve this through conversation."
Every single set of eyes snapped toward Reed.
The carpenters blinked, looked at the earthen fist holding their comrade, looked back at the scruffy boy, and then, as if coordinated by a silent signal, turned tail and bolted in sheer panic.
"You underhanded cowards!"
"Hiring a bloody mage over a few bricks?!"
"You haven't seen the last of us!"
"H-Hey, wait! Don't leave me behind!"
Reed released the spell, letting the soil dissolve back into the earth, and the terrified young carpenter scrambled after his fleeing guildmates as fast as his legs could carry him.
Within moments, the construction site fell dead silent.
"..."
Dozens of wide, reverent eyes slowly shifted to rest upon Reed.
On that fateful afternoon, Reed became the living god of the Stonemasons' Union.