62nd of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

Newt left Blackfist's tea parlor in a daze. A hole gaped inside his chest, and didn't know what to do with himself. A townlord, a third realm knight, a man with dozens of children and over twenty wives, if rumors were to be believed, told him he was planning to go off adventuring just like that.

Newt asked the exact questions he asked himself. What about the family? They were mostly adults and had enough means for comfortable lives, with wealth to support them in their aspirations. Besides, nobody viewed him like a father, but like a financial and physical support for their dumb decisions.

What about the town? Blackfist's half-brother wanted power — why not let him? If someone was willing and plotted to take over what was in truth a burden, why stop them? Let them have it and good riddance.

Blackfist's answers seemed frivolous, easygoing, bordering dark humor, yet Newt couldn't form proper arguments against them. Worse, they made him think. What stopped him from dropping all the obligations he had to the ruined family and pursuing what interested him? Reuniting with his parents and achieving a realm higher than his ancestor.

Like Blackfist had said, the only thing shackling Newt at that moment were his own thoughts and preconceptions. He owed nothing to a family which had imprisoned him and exiled his parents. The few good men he could treat like individuals, not like members of a larger whole. The only problem with that approach were the children. Salamandra clan's youths had not slighted Newt. They were victims of their senior generations' cruelty and self-centeredness. And they were his kind. Could he really abandon them? The answer was no.

Newt had planned to go to the imperial library, but deep in thought, his feet brought him before his inn. He realized where he was too late and sighed. Fortunately, he hadn't opened the door, so he turned around and headed back towards the town square.

"Roasted hoppers," a hawker shouted as Newt neared the neighborhood which housed the library. The town was bustling. Travelers were arriving from Thunderbluff, bringing over their junior generation to take part in the tournament.

Newt guessed that was why so many people were out in the streets, but didn't really know, since he had never visited the town before. Newt drank in the sights, like he did in his dream, but things were different, more cheerful, and scented herbs overpowered unpleasant odors he vaguely remembered.

At first, Newt walked normally, then occasionally bumped a shoulder, then several, until he finally had to force his way through the press of bodies as the crowd haggled and inspected the goods local merchants had on display.

Newt saw spices, dyes, tough scaled hides of various saurians, and soft fabrics made from plants and insects. The air smelled of grilled meat and vegetables, and Newt felt his mouth water despite not being hungry. He stopped by a stall selling crescents, fried pastry filled with honeyed strawberries.

He bit into the crispy treat and his mood improved as the warm, sweet syrup soaked his tongue. He chewed the crunchy bits with zeal, then thought about Jasmine and bit his cheek. His eyes watered, and he held back a curse, almost throwing the crescent on the ground and stomping it in anger.

But the delicacy was not to blame, neither for Newt's carelessness, nor Jasmine's true nature. A part of Newt still wanted to shout that something was amiss, that Jasmine was forced in some manner, that the entire situation was staged by Blackfist. But then he recalled her eyes. They shone not with fear or lust, but pure greed. Jasmine was indeed forced, but the one doing the forcing was Jasmine herself. It was clear even to Newt.

He sighed and finished his treat, hardly feeling its taste before once more seeking the library.

The library was easy to find. The blocky two story building made of giant slabs of viridescent stone marbled with gold had four thick columns supporting the roof above a wide portico where visitors could take shelter from the elements while waiting for admission.

As Blackfist had mentioned, the portico was empty; apparently, few were interested in reading the texts which the imperial family had approved. Or, as Stronggrow had said multiple times, escaped imperial censorship, because truly powerful spells, skills, and realm-sculpting forms were kept away from the public.

Newt's tutor claimed it was to keep them out of the hands of unsavory forces, but even Newt caught a subtle undertone which hinted that the imperials were hoarding power.

"Good day, clean your hands," the librarian said when Newt crossed the threshold.

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Newt looked at his hands and saw specks of pink honey. He was about to ask for a rag or something to wipe them with when he had a better idea. Red scales covered his skin and a flash of heat turned the specs into charred motes of dust.

Neat, I can always have clean hands whenever I need it. He could bet Magmin had never considered his skill would be twisted into a hand sanitizer. For multiple reasons.

The woman wearing green and gold of imperial servants eyed Newt, her frown deepening. "No open flames, nor use of mana-fueled techniques."

Newt nodded, but the stern woman did not seem to trust him. Newt's mindcore informed him she was the most powerful person he had seen in his life, the mana coursing through her body much purer than in Blackfist's.

He stared at the woman. Her face was free of wrinkles, and she seemed young, younger than his parents, maybe mid-twenties, if he had to hazard a guess, but she was already so powerful. She would have been attractive, if not for the scowl reserved for the barbarian invading her sanctum.

What's she doing in a library?

"What brings you here?" she asked, and Newt almost said he was looking for interesting books, but stopped himself.

He had already considered what he would look for in the imperial trove of knowledge.

"Realm shaping tips for the second realm of earth and fire elements." There were other subjects which interested him, such as - 'Advice on what to do with ancient dragons hopping around your realm', 'Better healing spells than what my family has to offer,' or 'Advice on how to cope with the betrayal and loss of a girl you loved for years.'

For one reason or another, Newt kept quiet about the questions plaguing him. For all he knew, they might bring the entire empire on his back.

"Maybe something about realms beyond the four basic affinities?"

The librarian glared at him, as if trying to pierce his eyes and see what is on the other side before shaking her head, revealing a tightly bound bun.

"You are too low-realm to consider anything other than the four orthodox elements, maybe if you hit the fifth realm." She noticed his defiance the moment Newt's face twitched and kept talking even as he opened his mouth. "We don't have anything worthwhile on the subject. We could order it, but the price would be several fourth realm gems. Can you afford that?"

Newt's mouth remained open. Several pieces of fourth realm manarium. For information?

He nearly had a stroke. It was just a book someone had already written. It wasn't as if they had to write and compile one for him on the spot.

Newt gulped. "And the rest?"

"We have various books regarding the topics you are interested in. You are free to check our index, but reading a tome beyond the introductory ones requires a payment either in knowledge, treasures, or appropriate realm manarium. For second realm knowledge, it would be a first realm manarium piece."

Newt nodded. He didn't have that kind of money until he won the tournament, but even then, those gems could be better used by his family.

I could ask Blackfist. Newt considered the thought. Do I really trust him already? Why? There's something about his presence that makes you want to trust him, but it could be a trick of some sort.

"How do I pay in knowledge?" he asked, noticing the librarian's impatience.

The stern blonde shot him a frosty look. Newt fidgeted, and after several moments she sighed, deciding he really didn't know what she meant.

"You must provide a tome of equal value. Spells are tested later, but assuming they are original, we will evaluate them based on the realm in which they are useful, and provide adequate compensation. We will not take subpar spells and abilities."

Finally, it was Newt's turn to frown.

"How much time does that take?"

"Several weeks, possibly moons, if the technique is too advanced for our reviewer and we need outside consultation."

Scam! This is a scam! Newt understood why the library was abandoned. The imperial family robbed you if you dared to read their books. And they didn't even let you read the good ones.

"Your services," Newt said, unable to hide his displeasure, "are extremely expensive."

"Only in this heaven-forsaken backwater," the librarian shrugged, showing the first sign of emotion other than anger and suspicion. "To reach the peak of a given realm, you need two to three thousand manarium crystals, or years and decades of mediation. Giving a dozen stones to build solid foundations for the next realm seems cheap to me. Especially considering the manarium you pay with is nearly useless to you in your realm."

The way the woman looked at Newt changed. From professional disinterest to derisive judgment. "The great imperial family is using the proceeds for nothing but to maintain the libraries and keep them stocked with knowledge available to all. If you can't afford even this minimal fee, we have no place for you here."

Newt hesitated. He could pay with the techniques he knew, but he didn't wish to reveal his family's inheritance to strangers just to read through five books. He didn't think his family's crippled techniques were advanced or earth-shattering, quite the opposite, but they still belonged to his ancestors, and exposing them for the world to see felt wrong. Victor level of wrong.

As for Magmin's techniques, Newt wouldn't share them in his dreams. No matter what kind of knowledge the librarian had access to, it was worth less than what he would give, if they only viewed them as tome for tome exchange.

Finally, he only had three manarium crystals, and three books would change little.

"I might return later," he bade the librarian a good day and left. He already knew a man who claimed he had used the library, and he could just ask him.

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