Although the number of books on the second floor was far less than that of the first floor...
Due to the slightly stronger security asures, it took Orsaga just as long to move them all.
It wasn't until a full month later that he finally wrapped everything up.
The Third Floor.
This was where the foundational skill books for various professions began to appear. While most of them weren't particularly rare, the price of each one was still high enough to deter the average person.
A large number of mid- to low-rank mages sat in the corners, reading through books.
This was probably the only place where such books could be rented at low cost. Otherwise, many mages without the right connections wouldn't even have a place to learn the basics of their trade.
After all, not everyone had access to a good teacher.
But even here, most of the people present ca from poor backgrounds, had never received basic education, and were essentially illiterate.
Even with a book in hand, they'd frown at every page. They were essentially learning to read and studying mage skills at the sa ti. More than half of the words were unrecognizable, forcing them to rely on the accompanying diagrams and their own interpretations.
As a result, many low-rank mages ended up creating their own unique, and often bizarre, thods.
Half based on the original material, half on pure guesswork.
What they ended up with... was a matter of luck. Sotis it worked out better for their individual style. Other tis, it was total trash—awkward and unusable even for themselves.
"Damn! What the hell does this word an?!"
Glancing around casually, Orsaga noticed that most people were wearing the sa bewildered expression.
They scratched their heads like monkeys with lice, shifting restlessly as they read.
So of them, based on their aura, were around Rank 5 or 6 mages—but they still looked like they were suffering from constipation while reading those books.
It was as if they had been slashed a few tis.
In fact, Orsaga even suspected that if getting stabbed twice could help them understand the book, most of them would happily go get stabbed.
After all, most Mages had decent vitality. As long as it wasn't a fatal spot, one or two stabs wouldn't kill them.
As Orsaga walked in, the nearby readers looked at him curiously. His aura and attire clearly marked him as a high-rank Mage—he didn't look like soone who needed to study basic knowledge at all.
Still, no one was nosy enough to ask questions. They quickly turned back to their books, continuing to wrestle with them.
The only thing they did was shift their seats, giving Orsaga a bit of distance. The gap between their respective social ranks was clear, and sitting too close made them uncomfortable.
Orsaga, unfazed, picked up a book and started reading.
[Galliet Style – Basic Swordsmanship]
Even though most of his focus was on deconstructing the security enchantnts embedded in the book, the content itself was effortlessly absorbed by him.
Although he didn't like using swords—in fact, he barely used any weapons at all, preferring to fight barehanded and crush skulls with his fists—these basic weapon techniques were too simple for him.
One glance was enough for him to grasp the fundantals. A little thought, and he could improve upon them.
Whether swordplay or other weapon techniques...
Aside from supplentary factors like parrying, defense, fitness training, or ntal discipline, the core goal of any weapon technique was the sa: to swing your weapon more effectively within the limits of your physical body.
Take swords, for instance. Human anatomy—bones, joints—naturally restricted which angles the wrist and elbow could swing a sword. So all sword techniques created by humans were confined to a limited range.
No matter how elegant or complex the variations, they were still constrained. Only the addition of supernatural power could break that limit and elevate it to another level.
Though Orsaga knew many martial arts and fighting styles, he'd never really used them.
In his view, the only thing that mattered was hitting the target with his fist in the fastest, most efficient way.
It was the most basic and brutal approach: fast, precise, and ruthless. That's it.
Fancy moves were just for showing off or bullying the weak.
When facing a real opponent, he never wasted ti with flair.
Either go head-on after sucker-punching them... or get the hell out early.
And those three options? They all suited him just fine.
---
Two Months Later.
Closing the book in his hand, Orsaga calmly returned it to its shelf.
Then he shifted his gaze to a girl standing not far away.
She had decent looks, seed to be around Rank 4, and based on her attire, likely ca from a fairly good family.
For two days now, he had sensed her secretly observing him.
But she carried no ill will, so while Orsaga was focused on gathering information, he hadn't paid her any mind.
Now that his goals were accomplished, he finally had the ti.
"Do you need sothing?"
Orsaga asked in a calm tone.
Not warm, not cold—just the kind of neutral politeness you show to a stranger.
The girl's face flushed pink. After a mont's hesitation, she lowered her head and stamred, "Um... can I ask your na?"
A textbook case of a teenage girl crushing hard.
Scratching his hair slightly, Orsaga replied, "Orsaga. That's my na."
Her eyes lit up as she heard his answer. She quickly followed up: "I'm Claire. Do you... have a wife?"
To her, that was already a very bold question.
Orsaga shook his head. "No."
Feeling the stares from onlookers around them, Claire—who had originally wanted to ask for his contact info—felt her heart pounding like crazy. Her mind went blank, and the words just tumbled out:
"Then... could I be?"
The mont the words left her mouth, she regretted it. She worried he might think she was so easy, shaless girl.
"No," Orsaga answered bluntly. "Families sound like a hassle."
"Huh?"
Though she had more or less expected rejection, hearing the word "hassle" caught her off guard. Her cheeks, already flushed, turned even redder. She didn't quite understand what he ant.
She thought about it for a second, then gave up on digging deeper. Steeling herself with a "what do I have to lose" attitude, she asked another question: "Then what about... being your girlfriend?"
"Nope. Still sounds like a hassle. I prefer the kind where we say goodbye after we're done."
"!"
Again, a brutally direct response—with zero intention to sugarcoat or hide what he truly thought.
At that mont, not just Claire but even the crowd nearby—who had been secretly eavesdropping—were all stunned by his utter frankness.
"A true powerhouse... This is the world of the strong, huh!"
In a corner, a young man muttered to himself:
"Not just powerful in strength, but ntally too!
To say sothing like that so casually in front of a crowd... what fearlessness..."
He originally wanted to use a harsher word to describe Orsaga's attitude—but in the face of overwhelming strength, he bit his tongue.
Ignoring the dumbfounded girl and the whispers around him, Orsaga simply shook his head and turned to leave the library.
After all, it wasn't just n who could be driven by lust—won could be too.
Under the influence of hormones, love often arrived suddenly... and mostly because of appearances.
_
T/N:
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