Chapter Ten: On the Threshold

Zhao Xu found it hard to describe the feelings that welled up inside him as he stepped through the portal. Based on what he had gathered after listening, he surmised that players who obtained two badges would, upon arriving at the headquarters of Mystra’s Mage Guild, be offered the opportunity to become a Scriptorium Scholar and proceed down that path.

In truth, when that black-robed mage uttered the words "Scriptorium Scholar," Zhao Xu had been deeply shaken. Before this moment, it had never occurred to him that such a foundational profession—on par with mages and clerics—would be accessible to Earth’s players on their very first day. For all its popularity on Earth, Arthur was still just a game. In an environment where exposure was more valuable than secrecy, many streamers and players were eager to reveal and share game content, and thanks to the internet, there were no barriers to this information spreading. Even outsiders like Zhao Xu could stay informed.

The greatest difference between base and advanced professions was that caster levels in advanced professions could be stacked, while those of base professions could not. From what the black-robed mage had explained, Zhao Xu’s path as a mage was set. The issue was that, to become a Scriptorium Scholar, he would first need to multiclass as a level-one cleric before taking on the redundant divine spellcaster version of the Scriptorium Scholar.

Taking a level in cleric meant that his main Scriptorium Scholar progression would always lag one level behind others. A level-one mage could learn first-level spells, a level-three mage could learn second-level spells, and so on—a level-five mage could learn third-level spells. Most spellcasting professions followed this pattern. When others, as ninth-level clerics, could cast fifth-level spells like Resurrection, he’d still be fumbling around with fourth-level spells.

By the time Zhao Xu’s transit finished and he arrived in the floating city, he had calmed down. He had begun to understand a few things. The goddess’s will had been expressed in subtle fashion: it was her will that he become a Scriptorium Scholar, and it was also her will that he had to take a level in cleric.

Understanding this, Zhao Xu immediately switched his character’s faith alignment to the Goddess of Magic, Sisselvina. He was ninety percent certain that the goddess had been watching him from the moment he created his character all the way through the profession selection. Those statues, as he had vaguely suspected at the time, truly were imbued with divine power. The gods treated the Creation Halls as arenas of power, carefully selecting their followers from the very outset. Zhao Xu had been chosen—perhaps due to his dual-elite status, or perhaps for deeper reasons.

If the goddess needed him to be a cleric, it could only be because she wanted to strengthen their bond. In Arthur’s world, clerics—owing to the presence of true gods—were the embodiment of divine ideals. It didn’t matter how devoted a person claimed to be; unless one was an actual cleric of a deity, their piety was always in question. Cleric levels themselves were proof of the god’s favor, directly granted by the deity.

Thus, the churches and temples of Arthur enjoyed immense trust among their followers, and their actions were always in complete accord—almost like a true utopia. Faced with such circumstances, Zhao Xu naturally changed his allegiance to the goddess. Faith was a serious matter.

Yet the gods were tolerant of casual believers; it was only in the selection of clerics that they were truly stringent. Every cleric level gained required divine approval. A cleric abandoned by their god would lose most of their abilities, including access to divine spells. At that point, only evil gods or the forces of the Abyss and Hell would accept such heretics—for them, the souls of apostate clerics were the most exquisite delicacies.

Still, there were always exceptions; otherwise, clerics would remain forever loyal and unwavering, and gods were far from omnipotent. They could force the unripened fruit to taste sweet, but could not make sweetness seem a natural thing. Zhao Xu speculated that if he were not truly devoted to the goddess, she would never allow him to become a high-level cleric. Yet granting him just a single cleric level, as a chosen candidate, was likely permissible. That was why he had dared to make such a bold choice regarding his faith. Otherwise, he’d have simply gone straight to being a Scriptorium Scholar—why require a cleric level as well? The goddess needed him to have that single level as an anchor, and he, in turn, needed her favor to gain an edge in the coming age of chaos.

As for not being a genuinely devout cleric, that would be up to whether the goddess was willing to overlook it. If not, he could always switch to a neutral-aligned faith-based cleric. In any case, in four years the entire North would be engulfed in turmoil, and with the Abyss and Hell invading again, if Zhao Xu wasn’t at least level ten, he couldn’t guarantee his family’s safety. In his previous life, it was precisely during that upheaval that Zhao Xu was conscripted; his hometown was subsequently destroyed by a passing black dragon. In that great chaos, countless people in the North perished. Many Earthlings, having crossed over as mere level-one commoners, were wiped out by the disaster. Only then did the entire community of transmigrants begin to desperately strive for adventuring professions, while non-adventuring base professions—tutors, nobles, specialists—plummeted in popularity.

As Zhao Xu finished considering all this, his teleportation was just concluding. He stepped out slowly, finding himself in a hall more than ten times larger than the previous one. Dozens of identical portals dotted the chamber, resembling a forest of stone steles. Along one side of the hall, a line of spellguards stood watch, maintaining order. People came and went from the portals at intervals.

Directly opposite the portals, a group of staff members had set up tables and were busy at work. Before Zhao Xu could ask any questions, an attendant approached him—a young woman of delicate features, awakening in him the aesthetic sensibilities honed by eight or nine years of Arthur’s influence.

"Honored mage, please follow me to complete your registration," she said, standing aside and waiting for him to move. Every portal seemed to have its own attendant like her, guiding and greeting arrivals.

Reflecting on this, Zhao Xu realized that the black-robed mage from earlier must indeed have come specifically for him—perhaps just to see what he looked like? The thought made him shudder. Still, the attendant ahead waited patiently, showing no sign of annoyance. Not wanting to keep her waiting, Zhao Xu hurried after her.

As they walked, he asked, "Surely the high-ranking mages don’t enter through these same doors, do they?"

Zhao Xu knew that entering through the gates was the safest option—for both the mages and the defense of the floating city. The cost of raising these floating cities over Mystra was enormous; besides acting as satellite cities, they were likely intended as the last bastions of civilization. Teleportation magic, for most, was a distant dream, but in high-level battles, it could not be ignored. Zhao Xu had once witnessed a group of elite adventurers descend from the sky via teleportation during a campaign.

He knew this floating city was vast, but its projection didn’t completely cover Mystra—these cities simply hovered so high that even flying creatures couldn’t reach them. Consequently, teleportation was the only conceivable means of attack.

"These cities are protected by arcane seals; only those recognized may teleport inside," the attendant replied softly, her voice pitched so Zhao Xu could hear without disturbing anyone else.

He was taken aback—he’d never heard this in his previous life. Few players were born in Mystra; they were the elite of the elite. Suddenly he recalled a forum post explaining the purpose of spellguard advancement and the significance of a “mark” that, while providing no special abilities, was said to be invaluable. Now he understood: the very ability of an advanced profession was used to bypass the floating city’s arcane seals. Professional abilities were nearly impossible to forge, far more secure than a magical sigil that could be spoofed to freely access the floating city. Every spellguard was carefully selected, and, most importantly, traitors would lose their professional abilities.

This realization filled Zhao Xu with awe. No wonder these legendary cities had endured for millennia—they each had their own profound foundation.

At last, Zhao Xu reached the registration table. After a brief check of his letter of recommendation and badges, the staff handed him a set of keys and instructed the attendant to show him to his future dormitory before turning to help the next person.

Utterly bewildered, Zhao Xu followed the attendant through a bewildering maze of corridors within the castle, never once breathing the outside air, until they reached the dormitory. The attendant offered no further explanation and left to greet the next newcomer, leaving Zhao Xu even more at a loss.

In his previous life, when he’d undergone warrior training, he’d been dragged straight to the training grounds, where a group of muscle-bound men immediately began drilling him—from correcting combat stances to teaching evasive maneuvers. After specializing, he’d begun practicing his chosen skills until he succeeded in activating them. Each step followed briskly on the last, and some players could finish their training and head out adventuring before nightfall.

Now, in contrast, Zhao Xu had been sent straight to his dormitory without any mention of classes or training. He didn’t even need to sleep in Arthur, so what was the point of a dormitory? Shaking his head, Zhao Xu pushed open the door to his assigned room and stepped inside—and then he froze.