We did in fact go sightseeing at Bessie's behest, only this ended up involving more talking and snacking than walking and seeing. My fault; my nostalgic familiarity with the local foods -- my favorite were the color bubbles, small fish balls coated in different spices of rainbow coral -- revealed I'd originally come from Orinavia, albeit the far end of the war-ravaged country, prompting much curiosity. Mercifully, my friends refrained from peppering me with questions, letting me peacefully reminisce about some happier memories. To lessen my discomfort, they even swapped their own stories of growing up: Bessie and Tom in their farming village, Hannah with her parental blacksmiths, Blake in the Underworld.

This last was so disturbing I couldn't help crying in dismay, "Don't you have any positive memories?"

"That was one," he said. "I'd never eaten so much before in my life."

"Only because the baker was dead!"

He shrugged. "Not like I could've ever gotten his bread otherwise. For once I didn't have to steal or fight; we were all too busy stuffing our own mouths and pockets to bother with each other."

"Just don't ask what happened the day after," Tom advised.

I opened my mouth to satisfy my curiosity, but seeing and feeling my friends' sincere foreboding, managed for once to quash the urge. Blake just kept looking perplexed but also used to our incomprehensible behavior. I sighed and said, "One day, Blake, I hope you find more happiness than from a full stomach with a dead body in the other room."

At that, he smiled. The expression was so startlingly sweet I found myself smiling back, even before he said, "I already have."

The return caravan, thankfully sans mourners but with their prepaid amenities, saw us chatting with our wagon's sole fellow passenger. "You're not a merchant, then?" I said in surprise.

"No, just a humble woodworker," my haggard-looking neighbor said. "What you saw loaded back there were all pieces I personally crafted, plus everything else I own."

"What brings you to Wilton?" Bessie asked. "You don't seem excited for the move... no offense."

"Escaping guild trouble," he answered grimly. "Not the Merchants, they wouldn't bother with my small sales. You know their motto, 'easy money, fast money, big money,' I'm none of those. I couldn't even afford their fees, ha! No, it's the Artisan's Guild that won't stop knocking on my door, demanding I join or fold. So much for 'creation over destruction.' I told them I can't pay, but will those bloodsuckers listen? Better question, do they care?" He was growing more animated as he spoke, like a deflated soufflé filling with air. "Either I kowtow to one of their junior members and let them call me their Apprentice -- at my age! -- or they'd close me down, some rot about needing to offer quality assurance. I offer cheap and sturdy; haven't had a single customer complain about quality for over ten years! I never claimed to be no stinking artisan, just a good hard worker. Bah, the only quality they need to work on is for their lies!"

We all listened to his tirade with varying degrees of sympathy. Bessie and I were on one end, Tom in the middle, Blake predictably on the other... and Hannah, to my surprise, though I supposed she was a Journeyman Artisan herself. "But how does moving to Wilton help?" Bessie asked. "The Artisans are just as big a deal, sorry to say. No offense," she added, her eyes flickering to Hannah and away.

"I've got a friend there," he said, sighing. "Way I figure it, only way out from one of the Great Seven is with another's backing. Anyway, he's in the Mercenaries."

As one, the adventurers winced. Their reactions were so noticeable even he couldn't miss it, so I explained, "Ah, the Adventurer's and Mercenary's Guilds have some friction."

"Truly? I didn't realize..."

"Unlike the others in the Great Seven, the Mercenaries' branches can be individually quite different," I said, tactfully not mentioning the possible correlation with the Adventurers controlling the portals. "Wilton's local branch at least is, um, rather aggressive."

"They might as well be renamed the Rogue's Guild," Bessie said. "Sometimes they try to sabotage our missions, steal our clients. And what's with their dumb motto? 'Payment first,' really?"

"Their Rookies are treated like cheap fodder," Blake said, his dark eyes glittering. "Thrown into the worst missions with no real training."

"I, I'm sorry to hear that," the woodworker said, clearly off-kilter from the unexpected derailment of his righteous rant, before straightening. "But everybody's got their circumstances. I know my friend hit a rough patch before, and his guild pulled him up. Same as I'm hoping he'll do for me." He leveled us a challenging look. "Or do you claim the adventurers would help me?"

Bessie shook her head, with sincere regret. "We fight monsters, not men."

"And I respect that," he said quickly, obviously aware he was sharing sitting space with people a lot more dangerous than him. "'Always another adventure,' right?"

"If you do take up with the Mercenaries, you can never leave," Hannah spoke up for the first time. "You know they're hand-in-hand with the Assassins?"

"Surely not! I've heard rumors, but they'd be closed down if they openly associated with a shadow guild. Right?"

"There's not enough proof that'll convict them in a court of law, not when they have the best defense lawyers, but at this point it's an open secret. You walk into any Mercenary's Guildhall, tell them you need a problem permanently dealt with, and make an appointment. Then later in a private room you meet someone who they have absolutely no idea is working for the Assassins. It's just a coincidence that every time the client hands over an obscene amount of money, of which they take a commission, and later someone who's a personal or professional obstacle is removed."

"They just provide the secured room," Tom said. "So secured they have no idea what manner of business is conducted inside."

"But the nobles..."

"Some of their best clients," Hannah said with vicious satisfaction.

The woodworker, by now looking quite pale, attempted to rally. "W-well, all that is unfortunate, most unfortunate, and of course I won't have anything to do with it! I'll just be making tables and chairs. My friend told me Mercenaries love cheap furniture and love breaking it, so I'm a perfect match."

"What rank is your friend?" I asked.

He hesitated, his eyes darting over the others, before answering, "Veteran."

I nodded. "Then it should be fine." Their Elites and Bosses rarely bothered with the small stuff, at least from what Senior Rubrik had told me. Though they were still more involved than our own Master Scholars, who typically wanted nothing to do with management, leaving everything to the Scholar Board comprised of Head Scholars.

"Who are you, anyway? You don't seem like an adventurer?"

"I'm a Scholar," I couldn't help boasting proudly.

To my surprise, he flinched and shrank away from me. "Not a fan of Scholars?" Bessie said.

"Of, of course not! I mean, of course I would never say anything against a Scholar... To be honest, I just find you terrifying."

"Oh, of course, we all do."

I laughed, pausing when the others stared back at me, seeming quite serious. "No, really? We Scholars scare you?" Incredulity filled my voice despite myself.

"Not you specifically, no offense, but your guild? Absolutely."

With an effort, I closed my gaping mouth. Even straining my [Advanced Empathy], I couldn't sense a joke. Was it our academic superiority? Had Executive Scholars knocked on their doors demanding they return all their books? "But... why?"

"Do you truly not realize how others see your guild?" Blake asked curiously, then answered himself, "No, I suppose you wouldn't, since you may as well live in the library."

I huffed at him. "We can't even fight. Well, most of us."

"Because you don't need to. You control the spy networks, the news, and most critically, the Skill Books. All you have to do is blacklist an offender's whole family and known associates, post an announcement in the press along with a laundry list of their dirty deeds, and if they dare to protest, or when they inevitably come begging for leniency, sic your Executive Scholars on them." As always, Blake was most eloquent when presenting a straight serving of unvarnished facts, and the others were more than happy to let him. The woodworker was nodding along, mopping his brow. "Do you think any other guild could support so many book-readers, navel-gazers, and daydreamers while guarding a hoard of some of the world's greatest treasures? Even other Names quail before the Librarian!"

"That's right!" said whatever-his-name. Woodworker, so Woody? "And you literally have someone Named the Executor!"

"...So?"

"So how'd they get their Name? Probably from executing people who don't return their books on time!"

I stared, but a wagon full of people looked back without a clue. "The word you're thinking of is executioner," I said slowly. "An executor is someone who executes actions. Our Executor is just in charge of the Executive Scholars." Dead silence. The awkward staring contest went on until I shook my head and deadpanned, "Truly, the state of our modern education is terrifying."

"Still," Blake said, reddening a little, "The Scholars have so few enemies you remember well each one, with your excellent information sources and memories. There's a reason your guild is widely considered the most terrifying, even in the... where I come from."

"We have so few enemies because we don't antagonize people," I said. "The only other Great Guild as intentionally inoffensive is the Companions. Speaking of, why didn't you think of turning to them for protection?"

"It's like rolling dice with them," Woody said, "While still paying guild dues. The Companions are all about making the right friends, who mostly don't like trouble."

"But aren't they egalitarian?"

"E-what?"

"She means how they don't have official ranks," Hannah said. "Well, Rena, there's official and then there's unofficial. You know their motto, 'we're all friends here,' but some friends are more equal than others. It's the same with the adventurers. If you take your complaints to the Guildhall, they'll offer you some sympathy--"

"Maybe even some drinks," Tom said.

"But adventurers are typically expected to solve our own problems. Well, unless it's about the Mercenaries, or you catch someone in the right or wrong mood."

"You're lucky you're a Scholar," the soon-to-be Mercenary said. "No other guild is so protective of their least members. If I had any scholarly talent, I'd jump into your wagon in a heartbeat."

"You don't need talent," I started to protest, but my friends all gave me a look, and I subsided. "Well, I suppose 'to learn, to discover, to know' isn't for everyone."

"Wow, you even managed to say that with only a little judgment," Bessie said. "Please forgive our Rena, she would eat and breathe books if she could."

"Of course!" Woody had gone back to looking as though I might execute him.

"It's really too bad you don't make enough profit for the Merchants," Bessie continued, seeming resigned to her new friend turning enemy. "They're usually the ones keeping the Artisans in check."

"Merchants and Artisans, Adventurers and Mercenaries, Mages and Scholars," Tom said. "And the Companions are friendly with everybody."

"Wait," I said. "We don't have any problem with the Mages."

"No, you only both study the greater mysteries of arcane might," Bessie said in an exaggeratedly pompous voice. "But where true Scholars care only about learning..."

"'The greatest reward for learning is learning itself,'" Tom quoted me. "If all Scholars are like you, you should change your official motto."

"The Mage's Guild is also all about power, maybe more so."

"It's right there in their motto. 'Mana is life, magic is might.'"

"So we have different priorities," I said. "That hardly makes us rivals or whatever you're suggesting. And I like our motto."

"But can any Scholar join the Mage's Guild while remaining a Scholar?" Bessie said. "Or vice versa?" She nodded at my hesitation. "You're famously impartial, whereas the Mages couldn't be less so if they declared themselves an independent nation."

"Scholars are partial to knowledge," Hannah said. "But I see what you're saying about opposites. Scholars share what you can for everybody's benefit. Mages hoard their knowledge and always have ulterior motives."

"The Mages might keep a secret even when it hurts them," Tom said, "While the Scholars might do the opposite."

"Also, they're the ones least afraid of you, meaning Scholars, no offense," Bessie said, "Since they have their own Skill Books and knowledge."

"That they never let anybody else see. Or preferably even know about."

I couldn't help feeling a little ganged up on and asked Blake, "Not going to weigh in?"

He shrugged. "I've never met anyone in the Mage's Guild."

"Well, you certainly seem to have put a lot of thought into this..."

"Actually," Bessie said, "When Tom and I first signed up as adventurers, we nearly picked up a teammate already in the Mage's Guild. The nice receptionists explained the situation to us ignorant yokels. We told Jacob we were happy to go on official quests together, but if he ever asked us to help his master or his other guild, we'd have to refuse. He quit the team on the spot. Then during our abundant downtime--"

"Waiting for overpowered monsters to pass us by," Tom contributed.

"We couldn't help noticing certain similarities and differences between you two. For instance, you both like to talk about magic using big words that go way over my head, then say something like 'this is one of the most basic concepts' and stare at me like I grew up on a farm. No, don't apologize. At least I can tell you're actually trying to teach, instead of just showing off. On the other hand, Jacob was great to have at your back in any monster fight, but not any other time, and, er, you're sort of the opposite... no offense."

"I know you don't mean offense, Bessie," I said with just a bit of a bite to my voice, "But it's a little worrying how often you don't mean it."

She grinned. "See, Jacob was witty too, but meaner."

"We're insufferable gossipers," Tom said apologetically. "Comes from growing up in a small village."

"Speaking of gossip, we've gone through all the Great Seven, but what about the smaller guilds?"

"You mean the ones that are left?"

"Thinking of joining the Cook's or Eater's Guilds, Tom?" Hannah teased. "No, I forgot, the Cooks joined the Companions."

"I wish. If only I could afford the extra fees and time..." He stared off into space dreamily.

"There are more guilds still around than you might think," I said, glad for the change of subject. "Some are even pretty powerful, like the Alchemists."

Hannah nodded. "I'd give them good odds against the Assassins."

"They're sort of their own opposites," I noted, "With the Assassin's motto 'nothing cannot die' and Alchemist's 'prosperity, virtuosity, immortality'..."

Like that, the rest of the ride passed in a blur of gossip. It was fun and informative, and I returned to the Scholar's Guildhall eager to continue my studies. My mentor was surprised to see me back early, but readily made time for me to review my recent findings and present the current state of my research. "Since I do not know of a method to check if a dungeon is anomalous, it might be easier to either confirm or disprove the alternative that it is an older, relocated dungeon. However, if it is an Elder Dungeon, why doesn't it communicate? If..."

Senior Rubrik heard out my arguments in favor or disfavor of the dungeon's Elder or Mature status, before pointing out, "No Elder Dungeons have been reported as destroyed recently."

I froze, realizing he was right. That would have immediately made worldwide news. "Oh," I said, "I should check if any Mature Dungeons recently have been!"

As he watched indulgently, I hurried to the news reading room. The Scholar's Guild did control pretty much all news these days, which was less due to our own efforts than everybody else's, namely the readers who preferred our unbiased reporting and the various factions who'd pressured papers without the protection of our backing. This meant the room had neatly organized stacks of every newspaper that mattered in the world, starting from the most recent prints and dating backwards. I made a beeline toward The Dungeon Chronicle, the go-to source for everything dungeon-related, the one paper all adventurers read religiously, the ultimate arbiter of dungeon rankings, when another title caught my eye and I paused.

I tried to browse a few papers every day or so: Scribe Daily for global news, Namasia News for continental, Grimmark on the Go for national, Scholastic and The Journal for scholarly, and the internal Scholar's Notes. But a few others occasionally earned my attention, usually thanks to a polite notice in the Notes, which after all catered to absentminded, work-absorbed Scholars.

Thus was I familiar with Guild News, a one-page weekly with its signature eight-post layout, one from each of the Great Seven artistically rotated around the central winning article by a small guild. My eye was first drawn to the latter, since stiff competition for the coveted spot guaranteed an interesting read. And indeed, the Herbalist's Guild announced the discovery of a new plant in Ticamira's A-Ranked Woodland Dungeon with potentially revolutionary properties and already several useful applications. No doubt many Scholars would be scrambling to investigate, if they weren't there already.

The Adventurers had a complementary story of the intrepid party who'd inadvertently stumbled upon the plant and barely left the dungeon with their lives. I couldn't help but notice how many of their weekly tales of heroism included this ending, sans plant; I supposed dead adventurers were too depressing, while easy victories were too boring.

Meanwhile, the Mercenaries were declaring neutrality in the latest border war in Drameria. Neutrality, Senior Rubrik had previously explained, actually meant they'd been paid not to fight, a cheaper prospect than securing Mercenary support and a surer bet than outbidding the opposition. I wondered if once again they'd managed to get paid by both sides to do nothing. They'd also posted a recruitment ad for those escaping the conflict, conscription, or persecution, conveniently omitting their own comparably high attrition rates. Personally, I thought I might prefer to take my chances in a dungeon.

The similarly mercenary Merchants used theirs as advertising space for individuals and goods. By contrast, the Artisans listed their best recent sales, which I'd previously considered pointless boasting, but now thought might be intended to intimidate or inspire unaffiliated or prospective artisans.

The Companions welcomed their newest members. At the very top of a long list was an apparently wealthy and famous lawyer who was leaving the Mercenaries with their blessing to join his children in his new guild, and also take a long vacation. My eyebrows lifted, as the two guild's lawyers couldn't be more opposite in reputation; while the Mercenaries were ruthless and expensive, the Companions were known as the friendliest and cheapest, often working long-term with the same family or organization, and the Scholars somewhere in the neutral middle of the three guilds preferred for lawyers.

Other new Companions also included generous descriptions, and they'd made some effort not to obviously rank them, but those with valuable abilities, connections, or experiences tended to be nearer the top or afforded longer characterizations. I'd never even noticed before, just finding the mini-anecdotes quaint.

Then there were the Mages. I didn't see them as rivals or anything, but they were self-evidently full of themselves, dedicating their entire article to arguing the word 'mage' should be reserved for members of their guild. No, seriously, I could not have made this up.

In the author's opinion, whenever anybody referred to adventurers, artisans, mercenaries, merchants, scholars, etc, they either meant guild members or clarified if they did not, with the sole isolated exception of the poor mistreated Mages. And the Companions, but they were bohemian enough to permit general use of the word 'companion.' Thus the Mages merely campaigned for the same treatment, with varying suggested alternatives for others who used magic, such as, but not limited to: Caster, Hedgewitch, Magician, Warlock, Wizard, mage-practitioner, unlicensed mage, or subdivisions like Shaman or Sorcerer. The True Mages were willing to accept votes on which would be preferred.

Finally, the article concluded with a very serious warning the guild was considering casting a curse on misappropriated use of the word 'mage.' Upon reading this, my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. Any mage with actual talent would know better... wait. No, Bessie wouldn't be taken in, would she? I supposed the point was moot, since she only ever called herself a spellsword.

Having saved the best for last, I turned eagerly to the Scholar's section. Oh, it was an excerpt from a newly published work on Anomalous Skills. For convenience, the author, one Jonathan Clements, chose [Scribe] as the classic anomalous example. While Skills typically could only be used in a single predetermined fashion, with highly limited flexibility and versatility, the initial Tier-2 Skill [Basic Scribe] could be used to copy a page's contents onto an unprotected page; or to reproduce a mental image onto an unprotected page; or to assist with reproducing a mental image, most notably used for drawing the perfect circles and straight lines required in runic formations. The upgraded Tier-3 [Scribe] could fully copy an entire page, including the page itself, assuming only simple paper was used; or reproduce a mental image on Skill-created paper; or copy a single magical rune; or repair an existing magical rune; or, though this use was rare, copy an entire book from memory onto an equally-sized unprotected book. The Tier-4 [Enhanced Scribe] had ten possible uses...

After the excerpt, Senior Clements claimed their book collated all the known Anomalous Skills, their variable uses, and their complications; detailed general commonalities these Anomalous Skills shared, including two original discoveries, and any notable exceptions; and finally, presented possible conclusions that might be drawn therefrom. As something of a Skill Scholar, the whole thing made my heart pump faster. I was bound and determined to read the publication, just in case I could learn anything new.

Satisfied and invigorated, I put down the paper and recalled my original purpose in the reading room. Whoops. But I couldn't consider the time wasted, just as going out and gossiping earlier had surprisingly informed and enriched my recent reading. Perhaps I should continue this more adventurous trend. As I straightened the stack and took one last look at the eight represented guilds, a small, pleased smile curled up my lips.

Yes, my guild was definitely the best.