ARCANE:Diary of a Zaun Lunatic

Author: Evil Little Mage

"Well... I think magic can be divided into two types. One is the elemental magic we all know about, such as Freljord's True Ice Magic. The second type is spiritual magic, determined by willpower, like the natural magic of Ionia."

"That's a good start. However, to be precise, there's actually a third type: the celestial magic of Mount Targon. Of course, it's normal that you wouldn't know about it."

Creslin interrupted Durin, frowning as if pondering something.

This bumpkin from Ionia seemed to indeed have some experience as a mage's assistant. Among the many candidates Creslin had interviewed in Zaun's undercity, this one stood out as exceptional.

Creslin coughed, walked back to his chair, and casually asked, "Let's talk about something else. Mr. Durin, do you believe demons exist in this world? Or are they just legends passed around in Runeterra? More specifically, do you think there are demons in Zaun?"

"They definitely exist, but I'm not sure about Zaun since I've never encountered one," Durin replied. "However, sailors who frequent the harbors of Zaun's inner sea often say that greed beyond limits will summon 'two coats.'"

"Doesn't Ionia hold a festival every year called the Spirit Blossom Festival? I've heard that during the festival, a lot of demon offspring called 'Yazakana' emerge. Have you seen them before?" Creslin pressed.

The Spirit Blossom Festival is one of Ionia's most important cultural celebrations. On this day, people drink spirit tea to communicate with deceased loved ones. It also inspired the Spirit Blossom skin series in the League of Legends universe, which introduced the concept of Yazakana, demon spawn.

Durin shook his head. "Sorry, my village never celebrated the Spirit Blossom Festival. The nearest town was dozens of kilometers away, so I've never seen such creatures."

"That makes sense. After all, every demon is wicked and deranged; they wouldn't populate every corner," Creslin nodded. "Mr. Durin, in your opinion, what causes the birth of demons?"

Before his transmigration, Durin had been an avid League of Legends player. He even loved diving into the lore of champions he enjoyed playing.

Thus, he naturally knew the answer: demons are born from human emotions.

However, Durin wasn't sure of Creslin's intentions. Was this just idle curiosity about demonology, or was Creslin testing his knowledge with ulterior motives?

For a moment, Durin hesitated. This was Zaun, a place teeming with people who weren't quite sane.

Moreover, Creslin's expectant expression made him even more cautious.

Besides, demonology wasn't something a supposed Ionian villager would have any knowledge of.

To most people, the concept of demons was no more than a scary bedtime story for children.

If Durin knew too much, it would raise a critical question: how did he know it?

So, Durin played it safe. Shaking his head, he put on a confused look.

Creslin wasn't surprised. Smiling faintly, he said, "Mr. Durin, let's end our chat here for today. If you have no other commitments, please report here tomorrow at 2 p.m. sharp. In addition to the usual duties of a mage's assistant, you'll need to spend at least half an hour each day cleaning my alchemy table and ensuring every item is returned to its proper place."

Durin froze for a moment before quickly nodding in agreement.

The job of a mage's assistant mainly involved helping with daily tasks and academic research. For instance, fetching books when requested, compiling academic notes into a well-organized manuscript, checking for errors, and ensuring no pages were missing.

Additionally, the assistant had to handle practical matters, such as running errands, delivering letters, booking tickets, or purchasing supplies.

In short, they had to cover all bases.

After leaving the room, Durin, now masked, sat by the roadside, barely able to contain his excitement.

He hadn't expected to land the job. Twenty copper coins a day translated to six silver wheels a month—double his salary as a butcher. However, working with a mage in Zaun was akin to dancing with a tiger.

He decided to test the waters for a couple of days before resigning from his butcher job.

Moreover, gaining proficiency in this line of work was no easy feat. Durin planned to wait until his one-handed proficiency reached 50 points before formally quitting his previous role.

At least with six silver coins a month, he could breathe a little easier. Rent and rising living costs would no longer be such a burden, and he felt a slight lift in his spirits.

Wandering along Third Avenue with his mask on, Durin decided that since he was already out, he might as well find a part-time job to earn some extra money before nightfall.

Unfortunately, most shops turned cold when they learned he wasn't a customer but a job-seeker. Some chased him out with brooms, while others ignored him outright.

After hours of effort and nearing 1 p.m., Durin gave up on finding part-time work. Instead, he headed toward Sixth Avenue to take up a night gig he'd spotted—acting as muscle for a gang.

---

In the early days, the people of Zaun lived in constant turmoil. Oppressed by numerous gangs, they struggled to survive in the cracks between rival factions.

Every day, it was one gang extorting protection money or another. Sometimes, even paying one gang wasn't enough; their rivals would take offense and demand payment as well. If you had no money, they didn't mind—beating you to a pulp worked just as well to make them feel better. People became walking ATMs, living under perpetual threat.

Eventually, the Chem-Barons, the most powerful figures in Zaun, decided this chaos had gone too far. To bring some semblance of order, they formed a loose coalition and devised a plan: encourage these "specialized laborers" to join gangs under a regulated system. Gangs would promise protection and benefits but require members to pay taxes.

This tax was income-based: earn more than six silver wheels a month, and you paid 15% to your gang. Those earning below this threshold were left alone, as they were already struggling to survive. Most properties in Zaun were gang-owned, so paying rent essentially counted as paying taxes.

In exchange, gangs offered various perks: discounts at gang-affiliated establishments, priority access to resources like fresh fish caught by gang-owned ships, and more. This carrot-and-stick approach led many workers to join gangs, rapidly advancing Zaun's grassroots economy.

When a gang sought to expand its territory, clashes with other gangs were inevitable. To minimize losses, they adopted a new custom known as "Street Showdowns."

Two gangs would agree on a time and place, bringing their members to flaunt their numbers, ferocity, and intimidation. Negotiations followed, with violence typically avoided—killing someone meant paying compensation, which cut into profits. Without payouts, morale plummeted, and gangs risked disbandment.

Thus, street showdowns became the preferred method of settling disputes.

1 PM, Sixth Avenue

This street was a hub of vice—gambling dens, opium houses, brothels, and even dog meat restaurants. The profits from this strip were substantial.

When Durin arrived, the two gangs had already gathered, each with about 40 members, including temporary recruits. Durin was there with the Claw Gang.

The Claw Gang was a small-time group of about 30 members, too few to bring everyone to a showdown. They still needed members to patrol other streets, so they hired temporary muscle to bolster their ranks.

Their opponents were the Centipede Gang, another small faction of similar size.

Durin first reported to a stocky lieutenant with a scarred face and a tattoo of the Claw Gang emblem on his arm. He stood surrounded by nervous young recruits, likely first-timers, buzzing with excitement.

Holding a clipboard, the lieutenant nodded at Durin. "Back for more, eh, Durin?"

Durin, masked and standing at the back, replied, "Gotta make ends meet somehow."

The lieutenant chuckled knowingly and added Durin's name to the list. Turning to the recruits, he instructed, "Stick to the back, don't act rashly, and follow our lead. This is an easy job—just stand there and look tough."

Durin scanned the opposing gang. Among them were unfamiliar faces—burly, tattooed men armed with pipes, knives, and wrenches. Their menacing presence dwarfed the Claw Gang's contingent.

Uneasy, Durin discreetly secured his short blade, binding it tightly to his hand with a torn sleeve.

At the forefront of the Claw Gang stood their leader—a stocky man with a receding hairline, a respirator mask, and a brass-and-gear prosthetic arm. He spat on the ground, growling at the Centipede Gang's leader.

"Who the hell do you think you are, smashing up my protected establishments? You're stepping on the Claw Gang's turf, you piece of shit! I was running these streets when you were still in diapers!"

The Centipede leader, a one-eyed man with a tattoo of a centipede coiled around his bald head, remained unfazed. He took a final drag from his cigarette, stomped it out, and calmly retorted, "Done talking? I'm not here to waste time. Give up the first five shops on Eighth Avenue, or start planning your funeral."

The Claw leader barked back, "Not a chance in hell! Go dream on!"

Without another word, the Centipede leader drew his machete and charged. "Kill them all!"

The Centipede gang surged forward, weapons raised.

"Shit!"

Durin froze, instinctively wanting to flee, but it was too late.

In the chaos, the Claw lieutenant barked orders. "New terms! Each takedown gets you 80 copper rings—ten times the original pay! But desertion means nothing—no pay and no safety later!"

The promise of extra money ignited the recruits' fervor, and they dove into the fray.

Durin, however, was cautious. He knew survival was paramount. 80 copper rings wouldn't cover medical bills if he took a hit. With the melee swirling around him, he focused on dodging and parrying.

Suddenly, a towering bald man with a centipede tattoo and a steel pipe blocked his path. The thug lunged with brutal speed, but Durin's honed reflexes saved him, narrowly evading the blow.

Years of experience kicked in. Durin countered swiftly, slashing with precision. His blade struck true, leaving the thug bloodied and disoriented. With a powerful kick to the stomach, Durin sent him sprawling.

[One-handed Weapon Proficiency +3: Current Proficiency 51/75]

[Street Smarts +2: Current Proficiency 7/25]

[Gained 1 Specialization Point in One-handed Weapons]

As the brawl intensified, cries of pain echoed through the street.

"Stop!"

"Everyone, stand down!"