Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

This wasn't the first time information about Nick was sold while he was in earshot. Earth's magical underworld was very skilled at that kind of thing, and although he never became a major figure, his name was known in some circles, and he'd drawn some attention by being loosely connected to certain heists.

Still, that didn't mean he had to like it. Watching Anthony spill the beans about who he was and what was suspected to be inside his spatial ring left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Miss Perry had been a perfectly pleasant woman, and while he had accepted her son's help knowing this was likely to happen, that didn't make the betrayal any easier.

Maybe that's a bit overdramatic. We aren't friends, and I knew he was a rogue. Is it really fair to blame a knife for cutting when pressure is applied? I suspected this would happen.

"And you're sure he will be participating in the exam?" The information broker asked, confident in the triple-layered privacy spell he had cast.

Nick had to admit he was moderately impressed. It wasn't enough to keep him out, but he was cheating by peering through the ether, so it wasn't really fair.

To any other patron, the conversation would have appeared as a normal exchange between acquaintances who had casually met for drinks, since the illusion layered on top was strong enough to deceive most basic sensory magics.

If that wasn't enough, a spell to keep sound from escaping and another to redirect attention away made their conversation as secure as possible.

I'm not sure I could do it better. It's just that my method of spying operates on a different layer of reality. Not much he can do about it at his level.

Before he could start feeling sorry for the man buying information about him, very likely with the intention of reselling it to the highest bidder, Nick took note of the other interesting patrons.

Being so close to the Adventurer's Guild, this tavern was built to host people from all walks of life, as shown by the eclectic crews sitting at the tables.

But beyond the exchange of information, there was another thing that interested Nick. A room at the very top of the building was currently hosting a dinner for two, and both of those people felt almost invisible to his senses, which was saying something.

Their conversation was much better protected. This wasn't a criticism of the broker, who was doing his best with what he had, but the incredibly subtle spellwork surrounding the room told Nick that he was in the presence of at least one powerful mage, and the two privacy magics couldn't have been more different.

The upper-floor ward was a web of interconnected runic spell threads, too dense to see through but too beautiful to ignore. Nick followed a single strand that felt promising, only to lose it three runes later when the pattern folded back on itself and dissolved into a haze of interference sigils.

That's how they stop the anchoring nodes from cannibalizing each other. Clever. And horribly overengineered. But then again, when you're that skilled, it makes sense to waste some mana for peace of mind.

He let his senses expand, searching for the usual signs of powerful permanent wards. By all rights, a stabilizing matrix should be carved somewhere into the furniture, a sympathetic array hidden somewhere in the ceiling, and maybe even a mundane focus crystal tucked away out of sight.

This kind of magic doesn't pop up out of nowhere.

Instead, he discovered a dense cluster of contingent sub-spells, each one waiting, coiled, and ready to activate if the dinner guests were ever disturbed. Any attempt to peer into the room would be met with overwhelming force, leading him to suspect that most of the mana he sensed was concealed there, with the upper layers serving as a trap to lure in foolish spies.

Nick's eyebrows arched. Whoever designed this ward scheme was powerful, but most importantly, meticulous to an obsessive degree and paranoid beyond sanity.

Prestige, definitely. That means whoever's having supper up there could fry me like an egg for spying, even if I somehow managed to work my way through all the layers.

The thought wasn't particularly frightening, as Nick had been around far too many old monsters lately, but it was sobering. He had gambled before, eavesdropping on spies and nobles, but Prestige mages weren't something he could face, not now.

Annoying one just for fun was a very dangerous game that he wasn't interested in, no matter how curious he was about the deeper layers of the wards, or the conversation they hid.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

From the feel of it, I can tell these are Tower mages, so I might get another shot one day. At least I memorized their signatures.

Nick let out a quiet, regretful laugh and stepped back, letting his vision return to the ordinary spectrum. The spell-structure stayed in his peripheral vision, humming with power above him, but he pushed it from his mind.

Even that glimpse was enough to tell me a lot. I never bothered stacking so many spells, let alone thinking to hide triggers within the first layer.

Admittedly, he'd never met mages skilled enough to need such subtlety to counter, but now he was in a city full of them. It was about time he upped his game.

Down in the main room, the broker's conversation came to an end. Anthony was handed a pouch so full it sagged his belt, and his shoulders tightened as the broker watched him tie it, as if he sensed some kind of moral judgment, but nothing of the sort ever came.

"Pleasure doing business," the hooded man said. The triple-layered privacy glamour shimmered and then dissipated like mist. Sound snapped back into the room: clanking tankards, off-key drunks, and the crackle of the hearth rushed in, startling Anthony enough to check over his shoulder. He muttered a farewell and slipped outside, quick but trying not to look hurried.

He is a decent rogue. This might not be his first time selling information on people he should know better than to poke.

From the far corner, a gaunt man rose, as unremarkable as plain bread. The broker flicked two fingers, and his accomplice followed the teen into the night.

Nick took a moment to assess the stalker's surface emotions, finding mostly alertness, bemusement, and the distant itch of hunger, but no malice.

That's good. I might be annoyed with Anthony, but I don't want him killed for something I purposely triggered.

The broker, on the other hand, paid for three drinks with a handful of copper coins, refused any change, and strolled toward the kitchen door that led out to the alley with great familiarity.

Nick followed him quietly, slipping out of the tavern and floating onto a rooftop. The night air carried the smells of baking bread and chimney soot, telling him Alluria never really went to sleep. Lanterns along Guild Row cast a golden and indigo glow on the slate tiles as drunk adventurers wandered in and out of the establishment.

The broker's silhouette outlined the cobblestones below, and he pulled back his hood, slipping on a hat and tilting it rakishly to hide the stump where his left ear should be.

He moved smoothly, eyes never wandering, attracting no attention to himself despite his clearly mysterious look.

Nick kept pace with him from rooftop to street, gliding from dormer to dormer. Whenever the broker checked a reflection, Nick moved behind a chimney. When he paused to study the sky, Nick dulled his mana to a low hum of indifference, trying to blend in.

The deeper they traveled, the richer the mana in the air became, as runic forges lit up the streets with their glow. Nick glimpsed student mages in ink-splattered robes arguing outside a shuttered theater. A drunken opera chorus floated from somewhere to the east, noodling scales at the moon.

The alleyways narrowed. Roofs slanted together, making it easier for those on the streets to slip out of the chaos. Nick descended once, twice, then finally to cling to a cornice just above the broker's head.

The street ended abruptly at a moss-covered wall, with stones fused together by ancient mortar. The path beyond it was protected by powerful wards, which Nick was surprised to discover, since he had completely overlooked them until he turned the corner.

They are part of the city's ward scheme. Either an abandoned deposit, or this man is even more interesting than I thought.

The broker planted his boots, shrugged his shoulders, and turned around, his good ear tilted upward.

"The rooftop's drafty tonight," he called, voice conversational. "Come down afore you catch a chill, little tom-cat."

Nick stepped beside the man, his boots quietly crunching on the gravel. Up close, the broker's face was less plain than he'd initially thought. A scar ran across his brow, dipping beneath a brass monocle that had many tiny circular thaumaturgic inscriptions on its frame.

"You saw me," Nick half stated, half complimented.

"Smelled you, more like." One-Ear tapped the metal circle. "Enchanted to enhance every scent. It can pick up trails that even hunting hounds can't, and it has the benefit of making people focus on visual illusions rather than the other senses. It's hard to get rid of every odor when the air is so damp from the river's humidity." He offered a gloved hand. "Call me One-Ear. Most do."

Nick clasped it, sensing nothing threatening under the man's practiced neutrality. "Nick."

"Oh, I know." The broker's grin showed a sliver of golden teeth, again changing how he looked. "Information's my temple, friend. And you, tonight, were a fine sermon."

A gust shook the shutters behind them. Nick pulled his coat tighter, more out of habit than for warmth. "This is the part," he said, "where you hint that sermons carry a collection plate."

"Only if the congregants want to contribute to the good word." One-Ear leaned against the wall, his gesture perfectly casual, yet keeping his dominant side hidden. "Truth is, most of what the lad sold me is piddle. Unverified rumors, wild exaggerations. Worth the coins to satisfy my curiosity? Sure, but not because I think I can sell it for profit, even if I've already been getting requests on you."

"Yet you dispatched someone to tail him."

"Of course." He shrugged. "Sometimes the story that matters isn't the one being told, but why the teller's in such a rush to share it. Young Anthony owes money in three districts and has a bad habit of falling in with the wrong crowds, despite his mother's best efforts. I'll keep him alive long enough to waste that purse, and then we'll see where the ripples spread."

Nick exhaled a laugh. "That's almost kind."

"Economical, is what it is." One-Ear pulled a flask out of his coat and offered it. Nick sniffed the juniper and smoke, then politely declined, not interested in getting drunk with a dangerous stranger.

The broker took a sip, wiped his mouth with the side of his sleeve, and then lowered his voice. "Now. You might think I brought you here to squeeze hush money."

"You didn't?" Nick feigned disappointment.

"Tempting, but no. Some secrets taste better when they ferment openly." His gaze sharpened. "Still, courtesy demands I inform the subject before I peddle his story. Consider this a professional courtesy for the newest prodigy that will grace our Tower."

Nick grinned, pleased that the rumors were heading in the direction he wanted. "Professional courtesy usually comes with a favor attached."

"A favor, aye, but not a bill." One-Ear flicked a small wooden chit between his fingers with such skill that Nick almost missed the rune pulsing on its grain, drawing a sympathetic resonance with another chit much like it. "Names of buyers. Dates, amounts paid. That's what I imagine you're after, since you went through the trouble of coming all this way. I'll keep you informed, and you keep me fed. Having contact with an up-and-comer in the Tower is always worth the initial investment."

It was less of a bribe than a game, and Nick recognized the flavor instantly. This was the carrot, and if he refused it, the stick would come out. "Fine," he said, smiling broadly. "Spread the tale. Embellish where necessary to make sure people are interested, and loop me in when someone bites."

One-Ear flicked the chit to Nick, who caught it in mid-air. "It's a pleasure to play. I'll make sure someone high up in the tower gets word before the exam."

Nick smiled, pleased that the man had understood his meaning, and nodded. "Let's play this game."