As if reading Victor Wang's thoughts, Ryan gave him another reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry too much. If the sky falls, the Seven Archons will be the ones holding it up. And the Wingmaster said it herself—someone will solve the border issue."
True enough. Even if one or two Archons seemed unreliable, surely if an invasion came, the Seven would protect their people.
There was also the Thrones and Celestia. The Thrones' state was unknown, and Celestia… had been asleep for five centuries. Still not doing anything? Victor itched to use an adventurer-standard waterproof boot to kick her butt and wake her up!
Then another thought struck him.
"By the way, now that people know about the border… has no one ever tried going beyond it?"
Ryan gave him a long, deep look. A vague smile curved at his lips, and his eyes glinted with something between anticipation and solemnity.
"Oh, we want to, believe me."
"But if the outside is full of monsters like the Four Heavenly Kings, who'd dare go? Only once we understand their nature, the world they came from, and we gain the power to protect ourselves… then we'll be ready to set out.
"That's why, after all the heavy talk, I'll tell you something brighter. The organization's only guiding principle is this: For a better tomorrow.
"Maybe it'll take another five hundred years. Maybe five thousand. Doesn't matter. As long as our mission is passed down through generations—destroying the Abyss, defeating the Battle Technique Hunters, and eliminating any evil that threatens ordinary life—these goals will be achieved.
"And going beyond the Teyvat border is no different. If it's for a better tomorrow, we will chase it."
For a better tomorrow… It was strikingly similar to "For all that is beautiful in this world."
Victor felt a bit overwhelmed. Ryan's ideals were almost too noble—like the mythical Foolish Old Man who moved mountains, willing to sacrifice generations for a goal.
Such men deserved respect—but not everyone wanted to be one.
He hesitated, then spoke up honestly.
"I only joined the organization to use its intel for revenge. To be honest… I'm just a regular person. I have to admit that. I've never had grand ideals about the world. I care only about my friends and family."
"But isn't that still for a better tomorrow?" Ryan scratched his head, slightly embarrassed—this was the first time his standard motivational speech had discouraged a new recruit.
After a pause, he added:
"We're not recruiting saints. Saints are people who endure all hardships for some lofty ideal—people who never give up, no matter what.
"But our group recruits ordinary folks. Not just people like you, but truly regular people—no Vision, no high status, no great strength.
"When the goal is huge, most participants don't really know how it'll be achieved or when. They're drawn together by simple, relatable desires—and they pursue them through legitimate means.
"When enough of those desires are fulfilled, so too is the organization's goal.
"Instead of demanding saintly selflessness from the start, isn't it better to work from self-interest? It's more motivating, and easier to stick with. As long as it's for a better tomorrow—and you haven't fallen into darkness—you're one of us."
"…Uncle, I didn't expect you to say something like that."
Ryan glared. "Watch your mouth, brat. What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never mind that. We're an intel organization, right? How do I actually get the info I need?"
"Follow me."
Victor expected to be led to some hidden base. Instead, Ryan took him right back to the Adventurers' Guild.
"Pay attention to this commission," Ryan whispered.
It was a limited-time request—valid for just one day. The task? "Investigate price fluctuations in Inazuma's beef market." The reward: 5,000 Mora.
That was top-tier pay for a non-Battle Technique mission, but many adventurers who saw it muttered under their breath.
Even without the closed-nation policy, there was no way to get to Inazuma and back in a single day. The one-day limit made it pretty obvious: the commission wasn't meant to be completed.
Still, the Guild placed no restrictions on these "impossible" commissions.
"Seriously…" Someone actually posted this nonsense? Was it Ryan himself?
Victor checked the commissioner's name—it was listed as anonymous. He looked back at Ryan for confirmation.
"Look closely."
He went over the commission again. It was formatted normally: task, reward, conditions, commissioner—all neatly arranged in ornate floral frames. Except for the oddly specific task, everything else seemed normal.
But following Ryan's hint, Victor scanned down to the additional description area—where extra notes typically went. It was blank—just lined spaces. But at the very bottom, between the last step and the decorative border, he noticed a row of tiny numbers.
He checked nearby commissions. Only about a dozen out of several hundred had these numbers.
When he visibly recognized them, Ryan returned to the alley.
"The organization's communication system is built into the Guild's commission board. Members post commissions—either limited-time or not, anonymously.
"These commissions contain a 'cipher key'—a deviation code, hidden in the task itself. The real message is encoded at the bottom of the sheet, in what we call numeric cipher.
"You don't have to ask Katheryne to issue the commission. You can fill one out yourself. But before posting it, you must register it with her—so the Guild can monitor payments and know who the issuer is if someone accepts or completes it.
"That's how our internal comms work. Got it?"
Victor nodded.
"The cipher refers to page numbers in a book: The Teyvat Universal Dictionary. It's an unchanging tome that's been the same for thousands of years.
"Each number corresponds to a page. Most pages have multiple similar-sounding words. Once decoded, you'll need to interpret the intended meaning.
"The deviation code—or cipher key—consists of ten rotating keywords, each standing for digits 0 through 9. So, if the cipher reads '1' and the keyword for '6' is in the task, then you look at page 1 + 6 = 7 instead of page 1.
"Still following?"
Victor nodded again. Back in his previous life, he'd seen way more complicated encryption. The North Wing's code was no worse than Teyvat's banking security.
But true security was a myth. In theory, brute force could crack any key, any cipher—if you had enough resources.
Even his old company regularly rotated randomly generated passwords to stay ahead of leaks.
What worried Victor more was social engineering—tricking someone into giving up their password. There was an old joke about stealing someone's code just by asking for the verification code.
In this world, life was far more fragile.
If someone broke under pressure, there'd be no point trying to crack the code—just ask for it.
Victor hoped the North Wing agents were made of sterner stuff.
Because he couldn't help them if they weren't.
So, he turned to a practical question instead.
"What if you need to convey a specific character that's hard to guess?"
"You add a decimal point after the number. The integer tells you the page; the decimal tells you the word's position on that page."
"Smart. One last question—what are the current cipher keywords?"
Ryan rattled off ten words. 'Beef's' was seventh—representing a deviation value of 6.
Armed with that, Victor mentally flipped open The Teyvat Universal Dictionary and decrypted the earlier commission's real meaning:
Test—please help investigate beef price fluctuations in Inazuma's market.
He stared at Ryan, puzzled. "So… the commission really was about beef prices?"
"Haha! 'Beef's' just got updated as a cipher keyword—I wanted to test it out! But wait—you decrypted it without the dictionary?!"
Most long-term members had memorized some common pages—but Victor was brand new.
"I've got a good memory. I memorized the entire Universal Dictionary."
"Damn. Kids these days really are something else!"