Before the sky brightened again, the group returned to the guild headquarters.

Noah had been pondering Aelia’s situation the entire way and finally decided not to hide it from Monica.

Not that secrecy would’ve worked anyway.

Setting aside Anna and Pascal, deceiving Monica with Shirley’s intellect? Harder than getting her to quit french fries.

Since the truth would surface eventually, better to be upfront and explain everything clearly.

Besides, Monica was one of only two sane people in the guild—she might even help analyze things. After all, the bizarre events inside the Spire today were plentiful enough for a fantasy *Strange Tales*.

By the time they reached the guild, Monica was still awake.

The elegant maid in a black dress and sheer stockings stood guard at the entrance, as if sensing their return from afar. But when she saw Noah carrying a skeleton, even the ever-composed Monica froze, staring fixedly at skeletal Aelia for a long moment.

Noah then used his lifelong talent for concise summarization to outline the events, followed by Aelia introducing herself. Only then did Monica grasp the full picture.

“So she’s a memory from within the Spire, granted a soul, and you brought her out?”

“For now, yes.”

“And she’s also an Undying One—a figure from over nine hundred years ago?”

“Correct.”

“You really are…”

After a thoughtful pause, Monica chose a layered phrase: “...extraordinary.”

Look at that—even Monica was left speechless. Normally, she’d effortlessly toss Noah two or three polished compliments.

Exhausted in body and mind, Noah sighed and shifted focus to practical matters. “Aelia’s situation mirrors mine. To settle peacefully in town, a guild certificate is essential. So…”

Monica nodded. “I’ll handle it promptly.”

Done. Noah trusted Monica’s efficiency.

Though shrouded in mystery, she was an impeccable maid—every task Noah assigned was executed flawlessly, down to the last detail.

He glanced back at Shirley and the others, already dozing. Noting the late hour, he dismissed the group to their rooms.

Monica led skeletal Aelia to an unused chamber deep in the guild—former member quarters, she said, needing only light tidying.

Noah returned to the guild master’s office, sat at his desk, and meditated eyes closed for ten minutes.

Energy restored, he opened his eyes. His gaze settled on a thick ancient tome resting on the desk, bookmarks peeking out, dust lightly dusting its cover. Bold, dignified characters marked the center:

*The Climber’s Handbook*

Thick enough to knock someone out—calling it a “handbook” was a joke. Noah usually had to cradle it; only a giant could flip it like a real manual.

His thoughts drifted to the Spire. Straightening his posture, he reopened the kingdom’s standard Spire guide.

...

...

Between historical records and the Spire, one had to be false.

Accounts of the Xidel Plains in the handbook closely matched other documents, with only tiny discrepancies dismissed as scholarly embellishment or the Spire’s hazy illusions.

If history was forged, then the Spire showed truth:

The Mage Tower sacrificed to summon the Sacred Flame.

Four white-robed priests of the Sacred Flame Sect chanted loudly, “purifying” the entire battlefield—friend and foe alike—in merciless annihilation.

Aelia, as an Undying One, shielded Aether. Later, to save all beings, she let the Sacred Flame consume her, enduring centuries of multiplied agony, willingly burning for eternity.

Makes sense. The kingdom needed stability; this truth could never surface.

As Pascal said, the Sacred Flame Sect was later branded heretics and eradicated by the First and Third Churches.

Unless the kingdom wanted to ruin its reputation, suppression was inevitable—mass falsification of records, even altering the Spire’s illusions through unknown means.

Logically sound.

“...Assuming the Spire showed truth,” Noah murmured, staring at the handbook, then considered the opposite.

What if the Spire’s vision was the lie?

What if the kingdom and records were truthful, and the Spire deliberately fabricated an illusory battlefield—and even a fake Aelia? Her memories, past, will—all counterfeit.

Possible? Noah couldn’t rule it out.

The Spire held too many secrets. So did he.

He’d only just arrived in this world. With scarce clues, jumping to conclusions risked bias—a critical error.

“Both possibilities remain. More observation needed.”

He closed the book, exhaling deeply.

Moonlight outside had faded. Dawn’s faint blush rose at the street’s end. Sunrise and moonset continued their flawless cycle.

He turned to the window, catching his distant reflection.

Today’s “Noah” in the glass remained unresponsive.

That night’s sudden ascension? Still unreproducible.

So many unknowns lingered.

After a long stare, he summoned his guild certificate. A line of deep black text had updated:

[Aether Spire Progress: Floor 5]

Proof of trial completion.

At sunrise, he’d take it to the assembly hall for the Azure Round Table’s first reward.

Per the handbook: 80,000 Ayn Coins upfront for first-time Floor 5 clearance, plus 1,500 monthly stipend.

Sounded decent—until deducting meals, ritual materials for Anna, outfits for two Undying Ones… miscellaneous fees. Barely 40,000 would remain for debts.

The revolution is not yet complete.

Comrades, we must persevere.

Noah picked a random book from the shelf to pass the time.

Hours later, rustling street voices reached him. He checked the wall clock—assembly hall open. He set the book down and left.

...

...

The assembly hall buzzed with activity.

A steady flow of people moved through the spacious, enclosed space. Receptionists behind counters distributed rewards based on guild certificates.

Unlike banks from his past life, this place teemed with non-human races.

He’d wondered about the two entrances—one absurdly massive. At first glance, Noah felt like a Lilliputian.

Soon, a burly old orc nearly three meters long and weighing over 600 pounds strode through, thick fur obscuring its face.

Other races resembled humans but with slender frames, flawless features, and smooth skin—they called themselves elves. Strangely, Noah saw no non-human traits beyond bone structure.

After taking a queue number, a scale-covered receptionist with a slightly pointed head offered a practiced smile.

“Hello, please present your guild certificate.”

Her voice was gentle, professional, speaking flawless Common Tongue.

Noah saw no mouth movement—like ventriloquism.

*Definitely a diverse fantasy world.* Stunned for seconds, he handed his certificate to the lizardfolk receptionist.

“Mr. Noah? No prior records—this is your first Floor 5 clearance. Here’s your 80,000 Ayn Coin bonus. Return monthly for stipends.”

She smiled. Her tail shot backward, vanished through a rear door, and returned coiled around a cloth bag.

Noah peeked inside. Golden coins gleamed—his first pot of gold. A flicker of emotion was only natural.

He tightened the drawstring. “If I may… your Common Tongue is surprisingly…”

“Hm?” She blinked nervously. Scales on her cheeks rustled, then flipped to reveal deep crimson undersides.

“Did I speak poorly?”

“No, no!” Noah waved. “It’s *too* good. I was surprised.”

“It’s required,” she said, relief softening her posture. Her tail drooped. Scales flipped back. “We undergo professional language training. No formal employment until Level One certification in multiple languages… I thought I’d messed up and would get docked on performance review.”

A twitch at Noah’s eye. “Certifications? Performance reviews?”

What kind of world *is* this?!