The drawing machine, a mana-powered mechanism that accepted iron coins and produced small prizes from a rotating internal inventory, was near the fountain junction. A crowd of children had claimed it as their primary interest for the festival's duration.
Isaac stood in front of it for approximately three minutes.
He fed it one iron. The first attempt produced nothing. He fed it another one. Received a small paper token printed with the festival's insignia.
As he looked at the token, he found the thin mana strand that continued to monitor him from the background. Placed the token into his pocket.
"…That's it?"
Feigning disappointment, he turned and walked north. North was the direction which this mana thread was coming from.
However, he wasn't directly walking toward the exact direction of the thread. Doing so may raise suspicion, and he couldn't allow that.
Currently, the reason why he was walking to north had an alibi.
"Map…" He mumbled as he approached a huge board that was available for everyone to see. It depicted the layout of Free Ground with the attractions thoroughly labelled. "Food… events…" He frowned as if there was nothing that suited his need. He swept his gaze over the map and landed it on top of the northern-most icon, "A theatre… I suppose this will have to do."
With a bored demeanor, he left the board and resumed the walk, through the chaotic assembly of people who have come to enjoy the festival themselves.
Festival of Foundation.
Now that he thought about it, there was no specific detail regarding how this festival has been established, except for the fact that it's meant to celebrate the day of Aetherion Kingdom's establishment.
Bizarrely, there was no special custom other than the act of "holding the festival." While other holidays held symbolisms of their own, this week of foundation was different.
Anyway, Isaac, while walking through the people, paused.
He identified that the mana thread was coming from the building visible in his sight: the capital's public library.
"Library… how long has it been since I last went there?" He mumbled, "Perhaps library is a better choice than the theatre." As if having changed his mind, he turned and walked toward the library instead. Entered through the open entrance.
Isaac looked around.
The public library was the same as he remembered—organized rows, maintained volumes, filled with quiet and people who understood the etiquette. A librarian at the entrance desk looked up when Isaac entered and returned to her ledger when she registered nothing requiring attention.
Isaac looked at the staircase beside the entrance.
Library has five floors, he recalled, it seems that the owner of this mana thread is currently in one of the upper floors.
He quickly thought of a way. Then, approached the desk and stopped in front of the librarian.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for a specific title. Eighteen Practical D-rank Skills. I didn't get to finish it in the past, and it's been a while since I was last here, so…"
The librarian looked up. "Wait for a second." She opened a thick ledger that was laid at the edge of the deck. It appeared to be the directory of all the books that the library had. Locating the alphabet "E," the librarian flipped through the pages in order to locate the exact title Isaac mentioned.
Eventually, she seems to have found it, "that would be the fifth floor. Specialty collections." She looked at him flatly as she could, as a professional would to their customers—although the gleam in her eyes suggested him that she recognized him, Isaac Nameless who has recently gotten famous, be it for the good or for the bad. "The staircase is at the back. Is there anything else that you need?"
"No, that is all. Thank you," Isaac said.
Now, he had an alibi to walk up all the way to the fifth floor. Whichever floor the enemy was located in, he would have a chance to see.
He walked toward the back staircase and walked up to the second floor. Historical records, the specific smell of old documentation in a maintained space—every passed the same way. The mana thread was heading up to the third floor. He continued.
As his foot stepped on the third floor, Isaac saw a difference.
Through the rows of volumes on practical application, technique guides, skill rank analysis texts, along with a handful of readers distributed across the floor's reading tables, [The Prism] identified the root of the mana thread that has been around Isaac for the entire day.
The end of mana thread was connected on the head of one man who was seated between the row of shelves that divided the floor's eastern section. There was a book in his hands, but Isaac knew that the man wasn't reading it, was reading him instead. The man's posture had the specific quality of someone performing reading rather than actually doing it.
Mid-twenties. Clothes… are above standard. A noble most likely.
Isaac continued walking along the eastern wall, toward the staircase to the fourth floor.
His pace didn't change. His expression didn't change. [The Prism] continued to track the man's posture. The man may not be aware, but the it wasn't just him who was observing.
And, the moment Isaac reached the shelves adjacent to the man's position, the moment he located a narrow gap between books, Isaac acted.
[Condensation].
The dense rotating waterdrop instantly sprang into the existence at his fingertip—not at full output, but with the calibration of someone who had done this before and knew the specific force required to produce unconsciousness without injury at close range.
He fired.
The sound was brief. There was the specific impact of blunt force that was absorbed by the back of the man's skull. The man's posture changed immediately, having slumped forward with the book in his hands dropped.
Then, evaporation. The traces of water dissolved—along with the mana strand that the man was in control of.
"Hm?" Isaac, as if he just noticed this abnormality, stepped around the shelf. He quickly reached beside the unconscious man.
"Excuse me," he said, at the volume of someone addressing a person rather than a room. "Sir, are you alright?"
The surrounding readers looked up out of curiosity, wondering what is going on within this quiet space.
Isaac placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Shook it gently. "Sir?"
The man didn't respond.
Isaac looked up at the nearest reader, who was an older woman by one table. She had the expression of someone who had witnessed this kind of thing before and knew the appropriate social response.
"He's fainted," Isaac said. "Is there staff on this floor?"
"There's the main desk on the ground floor," she said.
Isaac looked at the man. Looked at the staircase.
"I'll bring him down," he said. Hung the unconscious man's arm around his shoulder.
Carefully walking back down, he brought the man to the indicated main desk, which was quite visible the moment he re-entered the ground floor.
The librarian at the entrance desk—a different one from the woman who had directed him to the fifth floor, older, with the demeanor of someone who had been in this building long enough to know everyone who came regularly—looked up when Isaac arrived while supporting the unconscious man.
"Oh—Serik!" She was on her feet immediately, with the professional composure dropping into the specific concern of someone who recognized the person. "What happened?"
"He was at the third floor," Isaac said. "He just—slumped forward. He was unresponsive when I tried to wake him."
The librarian came around the desk and looked at this man named Serik's face with the attention of someone doing a rapid assessment. "He's been coming here for years. One of our regulars." She looked at Isaac. "Did he seem unwell before—"
"I only noticed when he fell forward," Isaac said. "I was on my way to the fifth floor."
The librarian looked at Serik again. Then at the desk. Then at the door behind the desk that led to the library's back section. "We have a staff rest area in the back. A bed." She looked at Isaac. "Would you mind helping me get him there? I'll send someone for a healer."
"Of course," Isaac nodded.
Maintaining his grip over the man, he followed the librarian and entered the staff rest area, which was a small room behind the main desk. There was a cot, a chair, and a window facing the building's rear alley.
Isaac helped lower Serik onto the cot as gently as he could.
"His family lives in the northern residential area," the librarian mentioned as she adjusted Serik's position on the cot. "He is part of the Clodia family, lesser noble. They sold their eastern land holdings some years ago when the border situation worsened. They've been in the wealthy section of the Free Ground since." She looked at Serik as if looking at a good friend of her. "He visits here daily. Reads. Sometimes stays until closing." She shook her head. "I've never seen him faint before."
"I hope he recovers quickly," Isaac said. He stepped back from the cot. "Should I wait for the healer?"
"No, no—I'll manage from here. Thank you for bringing him down." She looked at him with genuine appreciation. "You're from the Academy?"
"Yes," Isaac said. "Second-year."
"Well. Thank you, young man."
Isaac nodded. He turned and walked back through the main desk area. He paused for a little, before starting to walk out of the library.
"Oh? Leaving already?" The same librarian who previously resolved his inquiry asked, "did you get to find your book?"
"No," Isaac shook his head, "an unfortunate event happened just now. I am not in a mood to read; I will probably return later on for that."
"Oh, I see… have a great day!"
"You as well."
He walked out onto the street. Stood for a moment.
Serik Clodia. Lesser noble. Sold their eastern land holdings. Wealthy section of the Free Ground's northern residential area.
The northern residential area wasn't far from the library.
He looked at the roofline in that direction.
He had a window. Serik was unconscious on a cot in the library's back room. When he wakes up, he would likely attempt to resume the duty of monitoring him. The window between now and that recognition was the only window available.
He began walking.
The northern residential area's streets were quieter than the festival zone, filled with the particular atmosphere of a wealthy neighborhood that seemed to proudly claim that they were different from the rest.
It wasn't difficult to find the Clodia residence from the street. It was the largest building on the row, with the name of the family engraved at the front.
He looked at it from the street's far side.
Now what?
It was time to think.