ARCANE:Diary of a Zaun Lunatic

"PS: If you find any mistakes, please leave a comment."

Durin sighed silently as he unlocked the door to his small room and stepped inside.

Life was harsh. After all, they all lived in the slums of the outer district—every family struggling to get by. No one had the means to offer any extra help.

The reality was this: besides sympathy, nothing else could be done.

The room was tiny, about five square meters. It was little more than a bare concrete shell—gray, gritty walls that were damp and dimly lit. Moss even grew in some corners. The space barely fit a single bed, 1.6 meters wide, a small table with a matching chair, and a few boxes piled in the corner along with two potted pothos plants.

The pothos plants were there to filter the toxic gases in the air. Once inside, Durin took off his mask, finding the air in the room noticeably fresher than the smog outside on the streets.

The table and chair were secondhand junk he had picked up at a flea market, costing him 80 copper coins—a quarter of his monthly salary. It was the cheapest set he could find.

The boxes stored his personal belongings: daily necessities, a few sets of clothes, and such.

Once he closed the door, frustration set in. The 50% increase in rent meant that next month he'd have to pay 2 silver rounds and 25 copper coins. How could the landlord dare demand such an outrageous amount? To put it into perspective, moving to the mid-level plaza would cost about 7 silver rounds a month. After the increase, this dump was a third of that price, yet the conditions couldn't be more different.

But Durin didn't dare protest, nor could he afford to. He vividly remembered an incident two months ago when a prostitute—originally the mistress of the very landlord who had made today's announcement—was evicted violently by three gang enforcers for failing to pay rent.

Last week, he saw her corpse in an alleyway.

There was no choice—if he couldn't reduce his expenses, he had to find a way to increase his income. He had thought about switching jobs, perhaps becoming a mechanic, which paid better.

But mechanics required training, and he lacked even the basics. He'd need to find a mentor willing to teach him, and that wasn't easy.

In Zaun, even small mistakes in mechanical work could lead to explosions.

Moreover, the city was constantly flooded with outsiders while jobs remained scarce. Finding work grew harder by the day.

Last week, Durin took on a side gig delivering a coal barrel to a tavern on Sixth Avenue in the inner district. He was nearly robbed en route and earned only 4 copper coins.

A joke compared to the 12 copper coins such jobs used to pay when he first arrived.

His thoughts wandered back to a job listing on the bulletin board outside the general store—a mage assistant position. He had dismissed it at first, but today's events made him reconsider.

Getting a better-paying job was urgent now.

Tomorrow, no matter what, he would apply.

At the very least, he needed to ensure he wouldn't end up evicted by the gang and left with nowhere to sleep.

At dawn, the city of Zaun awakened.

Zaun was divided into three tiers: the Dance Corridor, the Mid-level Plaza, and the Lower District, stacked vertically.

Durin's previous mage assistant job had allowed him to live in the Mid-level Plaza.

This new opportunity, however, was in the Lower District's Third Avenue. While it was the most bustling part of the Lower District, it was still the slums, indicating that this mage was far less well-off than his former employer.

Third Avenue was mostly populated by gang members, with streets lined by taverns, brothels, gambling dens, and weapons shops.

Durin navigated out of the slums, winding through narrow alleys and streets until he reached the inner section of the Lower District.

Compared to the slums, Third Avenue was clean—relatively speaking. At least there weren't any leaky gas pipes or the constant shrieking of escaping gas. Sure, the trash bins were overflowing, and pickpocketing street urchins were everywhere, but it was better than the slums.

A few drunkards hurled curses at each other. A girl in a respirator walked quickly by, clutching a paper bag of food. A couple argued loudly about their child calling the neighbor "Dad," to the man's outrage.

Broadcasts played from speakers along the street:

"Gorask Industries reminds you that your respirator may be outdated! Visit your nearest store for repairs. Limited-time discounts on our fourth-generation respirators—reserve now for 15% off!"

"Worried about last year's Zaun explosion? Concerned about the increasing number of armed individuals on the streets? Piltover's Medarda family introduces a new anti-terrorism insurance plan…"

Durin double-checked the weapon at his waist as he walked. It was the only thing that gave him any sense of security in this chaotic city.

Buildings rarely exceeded two stories here, their façades shabby and soot-streaked.

Eventually, he found building 753.

The two-story structure was surrounded by a tall wall, charred and battered as though from a violent past. The iron gate creaked as Durin pushed it open, stepping inside.

The air was noticeably cleaner. Above him, a glowing green runic array shimmered faintly, likely a spell keeping the outside smog at bay.

He removed his mask and spotted a janitor mopping the floor. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Up the stairs, to the left," the janitor replied without looking up. "Master Creslin is upstairs."

Durin climbed the creaky wooden stairs, which groaned under his weight. Two men sat outside an office door, filling out forms.

"Hello," Durin greeted politely.

Neither responded, engrossed in their paperwork.

The door opened suddenly, and a man in a black linen shirt emerged, his expression grim. A servant in a gray robe handed Durin a clipboard and pen.

"Fill this out and wait," the servant said curtly.

Durin hesitated but complied, glancing toward the office.

He heard faint voices from inside, sparking his curiosity. He leaned closer, hoping to eavesdrop, but the door swung open abruptly. The sudden movement startled him.

A disappointed-looking man exited the room. "Next," came a gruff voice from within.

The two men outside hesitated, clearly shaken.

"Anyone there?" the voice growled impatiently.

"Yes, Master Creslin," the servant replied quickly, gesturing for Durin to enter.

Durin stepped inside, the door shutting firmly behind him.

After entering the room, Durin began to survey its furnishings and decor. The space was roughly seventy square meters but had a dilapidated quality due to its location in Zaun's lower levels. The wooden walls appeared worn and decayed, their frames coated in dust and riddled with marks left by insects and rot.

Inside, the room was chaotic—corners piled with clutter and trash, and dozens of unbound book pages scattered across the floor, leaving only a narrow pathway to navigate through.

What struck Durin as most intriguing was a small, single-user alchemy station. It was packed with various tools and equipment meant for conducting alchemical experiments.

"Call me Mage Creslin," came a voice.

Snow Creslin looked up as he spoke. He seemed unkempt, his disheveled hair obscuring his forehead and eyes, as though it hadn't been washed in weeks. His face was covered in stubble, suggesting he hadn't shaved in a long time. Determining his exact age was impossible, though he was clearly no longer young.

"Yes, Mage Creslin," Durin said cautiously, addressing him with respect. Only after receiving a nod of approval did he sit upright across from Creslin, his posture stiff and formal.

It was hard for Durin to reconcile this scruffy, disorganized man with the image of a mage. The contrast was stark compared to the necromancer he had previously served.

Creslin gave Durin a brief glance. Upon confirming the interviewee's black hair and black eyes, he raised an eyebrow, grabbed a water bottle, unscrewed its cap, and casually asked, "What's your name?"

"Durin."

"You're Ionian?"

"Yes, I'm from a small village in Ionia," Durin replied.

Ionia, an eastern region of Runeterra composed of many islands, was known for its natural beauty and innate magic. Ionian culture emphasized harmony between humanity and nature, with traditions like militia groups and monastic martial arts. Its people often had features reminiscent of East Asians from Durin's previous world. Given his appearance, it was unsurprising that others assumed he was Ionian.

"No wonder your Noxian accent is so strange... I figured you weren't local. I visited Ionia once. I admire their philosophy—something about..." Creslin trailed off, trying to recall.

"Unity between heaven and man," Durin supplied respectfully.

"Ah, yes, that's it! A beautiful concept. If I had the time, I'd consider traveling there again—sightseeing, enjoying the scenery, unwinding. Though their facilities leave much to be desired," Creslin added dismissively.

Durin could tell Creslin, like many from Zaun, viewed Ionia with an air of condescension, as if it were a quaint but backward eastern land.

"Have you had formal education? Did you attend Zaun's Tech-Magic Academy, Piltover University, or perhaps Noxus' Ravenwood Academy?"

"I… no, I didn't attend any of those," Durin admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Of course not—he was a transmigrator. Before crossing over, the highest level of education he had completed was a vocational college, a name unfamiliar even to himself.

Creslin's brows furrowed into a deep crease, and he immediately set down the pen he had picked up. His skeptical gaze bore into Durin.

Durin recognized this attitude all too well. On Earth, he had faced similar reactions during job interviews when HR managers lost interest after discovering gaps in his qualifications.

"Well, it seems this interview might be a long shot," he thought to himself.

"So, why are you applying for the mage assistant position?" Creslin asked.

"I need the job to make a living," Durin replied honestly.

"Fair enough. Conditions in Zaun are getting harsher by the day…" Creslin took another sip from his water bottle. "Mr. Durin, I need an assistant with proper education so I'm not stuck explaining things like a chicken talking to a duck. Alchemy is a profound, complex, and dangerous field. Of course, I don't mean to discriminate; this is Zaun, and I understand the limitations of local education."

"Mage Creslin," Durin said, taking a deep breath. His tone was earnest. "I believe I can handle the role of mage assistant. I've served as an assistant for another mage before—in Midtier Plaza."

"Oh?" Creslin's expression shifted to one of mild surprise. His eyes flicked briefly toward a bookshelf in the corner. "Then tell me, what do you know about the nature of magic? For instance, what forms can elemental magic take?"

"There are many forms. Could you clarify what you mean?"

"Resonance," Creslin said, taking another sip, as if expecting Durin to be stumped.

Durin nodded calmly. "Elemental magic commonly exhibits seven forms of resonance: the Shield of Weaving, the Flame of Zeal, the Water of Healing, the Wind of Swiftness, the Thunder of Empowerment, the Ice of Destruction, and the Stone of Steadfastness."

Creslin snapped his fingers, and a heavy tome floated out from the bookshelf, suspended in midair before Durin.

"Have you read this book?" Creslin asked flatly.

Mage's Hand? Durin had seen this trick before while assisting his previous employer. He examined the book and, after confirming the Noxian text on its cover, replied, "The Origins of Arcane Magic. Yes, I've read parts of it."

His tone was firm, as if he truly had.

"And these?" Creslin gestured, conjuring several more books into the air. However, Durin couldn't recognize the texts, as the symbols on their covers were unfamiliar.

Creslin's brows knit slightly, but he made no comment. Despite Durin's limitations, the fact that he could read Noxian text set him apart from previous candidates. How an Ionian knew Noxian was none of Creslin's business.

"So, tell me," Creslin asked, "what is the foremost priority for a spellcaster?"

"Hmm… A strong physical constitution," Durin answered after a moment. "A spellcaster's magical power is nearly proportional to their physical strength. A robust body enhances their magical capacity and allows them to cast spells without injuring themselves easily."

"Let's discuss our current magical systems, then," Creslin said, leaning forward slightly.