The moment they stepped inside—
the noise of Blackwater dulled instantly behind them, as though the city itself had been shut behind thick glass.
Warm lighting washed across polished dark floors while soft instrumental music drifted through the air from hidden mana speakers embedded overhead.
Compared to the streets outside—
the store felt almost unreal.
Rows of long coats, fitted combat wear, reinforced noble attire, and travel garments lined the walls beneath gently hovering display runes that illuminated each piece with soft, controlled light.
Several customers glanced toward the entering group briefly—
then immediately looked away again.
Blackwater survival instincts.
Very healthy.
A well-dressed human attendant approached first, only to pause halfway through his step.
His professional smile twitched slightly as his gaze landed on Aldric.
More specifically—
the bottle.
Then the sword.
Then the coat that looked like it had been stolen from someone who had lost a very bad argument with life.
"…Welcome."
A brief hesitation.
Then a professional recovery.
Impressive.
Aldric spread his arms slightly.
"See?"
He gestured broadly at the interior.
"This place understands civilization."
The cultist muttered quietly beside him—
"…You are the least civilized person here."
Aldric ignored her completely and walked deeper into the store without slowing.
Long coats floated subtly beneath faint mana currents as he passed several displays.
Then he stopped abruptly.
"…Now THIS is a coat."
He pulled a long black combat coat from the rack.
Dark fabric.
Silver-lined interior stitching.
Heavy reinforced shoulders.
Subtle mana-thread engravings running along the sleeves.
Honestly—
it looked expensive enough to financially ruin an ordinary person just by being worn incorrectly.
Aldric held it against himself, glancing toward Draven.
"Well?"
The attendant immediately stepped forward.
"That particular piece was imported from the northern capitals—"
Aldric cut him off instantly.
"Did I ask you where it came from?"
"…No."
"Then I'm fine."
The cultist rubbed her forehead slowly.
Nearby—
Draven moved through the store without any interest in most of the displays.
Simple black clothing.
Dark fitted coats.
Practical combat wear.
That was where his attention stayed.
Nothing ornate.
Nothing unnecessary.
Nia quietly followed beside him while still holding a remaining piece of bread.
The cat's eyes drifted lazily across the staff and customers.
One attendant suddenly froze when it looked directly at him.
A perfectly reasonable reaction.
Draven eventually stopped near a darker section of clothing at the rear of the store.
Long black coats.
High collars.
Layered inner linings designed for concealed weapons and mana storage.
One attendant immediately approached, careful and measured.
"That collection is reinforced against elemental mana exposure and low-grade spiritual corrosion."
Draven picked up one of the coats without a word.
The fabric shifted smoothly through his fingers.
Light.
Durable.
Balanced.
He held it for a moment before speaking calmly.
"Pick whatever you want."
A pause followed.
"For yourselves and the others."
The nearby attendants visibly brightened at that instruction.
Aldric reacted immediately, grinning.
"See? That's leadership."
He swung the expensive combat coat over one shoulder dramatically.
"Then I won't be polite."
His grin widened.
"I'll be shopping for myself *and* my little sister."
The cultist glanced sideways at him.
"…Since when have you ever been polite?"
Aldric ignored her entirely.
Entirely expected.
The cultist exhaled softly and turned toward another section of the store.
"Then I will choose for the rest."
She moved toward the darker travel garments, clearly prioritizing function over appearance.
Reinforced inner layers.
Hidden storage compartments.
Defensive stitching and mana-resistant seams.
Very cultist behavior.
Meanwhile—
Draven turned toward an attendant standing nearby.
"Find coats that fit her."
His gaze shifted briefly toward Nia.
The attendant blinked once, then quickly bowed.
"O-Of course."
Nia froze slightly as multiple attendants immediately moved toward her.
One brought smaller dark coats.
Another carried fitted travel wear lined with soft inner insulation.
A third carefully presented a thick hooded winter cloak that looked like it cost more than most people earned in several years.
Nia stared silently at the sudden pile forming around her.
Still holding bread.
One attendant asked carefully,
"…Would you prefer darker colors?"
Nia glanced toward Draven first.
Then quietly nodded.
"Mm."
The attendants immediately filtered out anything bright or unnecessary.
Efficient adaptation.
Aldric watched while browsing nearby racks.
"…Damn."
He glanced toward Draven.
"You spoil people fast."
Draven did not respond.
He continued inspecting darker combat coats along the wall.
The black cat remained perched beneath the hood, half-lidded eyes observing the staff who were all carefully pretending it did not exist.
A wise survival strategy.
Nearby—
the cultist held up a dark gray reinforced coat, examining the stitching closely.
"…This one should fit Lyriana."
Aldric immediately pointed toward another coat.
"Get her the black one."
The cultist frowned slightly.
"Why?"
"Because she already looks like she came out of a funeral procession."
A pause.
"The black matches better."
The cultist stared at him flatly.
"That may be the worst reasoning I have ever heard."
"Still correct though."
Unfortunately—
difficult to argue with.
Across the store, Nia was now being carefully measured by increasingly nervous attendants while still occasionally taking bites of bread between adjustments.
One attendant held up a long dark coat beside her.
"…This may fit."
Another shook his head.
"The sleeves are too long."
A third added quietly,
"The hood size is appropriate, though."
Nia stood there silently while being assessed like a rare, delicate specimen.
She looked increasingly unsure what was happening.
Draven glanced over once.
"Pick what you like."
Nia looked back at the selection.
Then slowly pointed toward a simple dark hooded coat with soft inner lining and reinforced seams.
"…That one."
The attendants collectively relaxed.
A decision had finally been made.
Aldric, meanwhile, had already gathered an unreasonable number of expensive coats over one arm.
"…You know," he muttered, inspecting another silver-threaded coat, "being rich is actually pretty relaxing."
Time passed quietly inside the store.
Attendants moved with careful, increasingly strained efficiency as piles of selected clothing accumulated across the central counter.
Long combat coats.
Reinforced travel wear.
Dark fitted uniforms.
Cold-weather cloaks.
Multiple outfits for Lyriana.
Additional supplies for the crew.
And somehow—
Aldric alone accounted for a significant portion of the total cost through sheer enthusiasm for expensive materials.
The cultist stood near the counter, holding neatly folded formal wear while watching the growing pile with visible concern.
"…This feels excessive."
Aldric immediately pointed at the mountain of clothing.
"No."
Then at himself.
"This is excessive."
He lifted another expensive coat.
"But this?"
A pause.
"This is self-care."
The cultist looked tired again.
Draven remained near the front counter while attendants finalized calculations through floating projection arrays.
Soft blue numerals flickered continuously above the polished surface as each item was scanned through embedded mana inscriptions.
Nia stood quietly beside him, now wearing the dark hooded coat she had selected earlier.
It fit well.
Simple.
Comfortable.
Practical.
The oversized sleeves slightly covered her hands, making her appear even smaller than before.
The black cat rested beneath Draven's hood again, only its glowing purple eyes occasionally visible through the shadows.
One attendant accidentally made eye contact with it.
He immediately looked away.
Survival instincts: intact.
Meanwhile—
three attendants were visibly struggling to process Aldric's selections without emotional collapse.
"…Imported northern stitching…"
"…High-grade mana reinforcement…"
One slowly looked up.
"…Sir, did you intentionally select the most expensive items in every section?"
Aldric looked genuinely confused.
"…Was I supposed to avoid them?"
Silence.
The attendant quietly lowered his gaze again.
A graceful surrender.
The cultist rubbed her forehead.
"You are doing this on purpose now."
"Of course I am."
Aldric leaned casually against the counter.
"If I'm pretending to be nobility, I need the emotional damage to match."
Consistent logic, at least.
After several more minutes—
the final calculation stabilized above the counter.
A soft chime echoed through the store.
Total:
**74 Gold, 62 Silver**
The attendants collectively held their breath.
Even nearby customers glanced over at the sheer magnitude of the total.
Aldric let out a low whistle.
"…Damn."
A brief pause.
"Blackwater really is criminal."
The cultist stared at the number.
"…That is enough money to purchase a small house."
Aldric nodded.
"Yeah."
Then gestured toward the pile.
"But look how warm we'll be."
Draven did not react to the price at all.
He simply retrieved the black card once more.
The moment it appeared—
several attendants instinctively straightened.
Aldric leaned slightly against the counter.
"…At this point I'm starting to think you robbed a noble."
No response came.
Draven calmly traced a faint crimson pattern across the card's surface.
Numbers formed:
74 Gold
62 Silver
Then—
Tap.
The payment array flashed brightly.
**Payment Confirmed.**
The tension in the store released instantly.
Several attendants looked as though they had narrowly survived something far more dangerous than retail work.
Draven immediately began collecting the items.
One by one—
coats, travel wear, cloaks, and equipment vanished into his storage ring under soft pulses of mana.
The cultist followed suit, storing the remaining piles carefully.
Lyriana's garments.
Crew supplies.
Additional combat pieces.
All of it disappeared in orderly sequence.
Aldric watched the emptying counter and exhaled slowly.
"…Storage artifacts really are the greatest invention civilization has ever produced."
The cultist glanced at him.
"…Not magic?"
"No."
"…Formation circles?"
"No."
"…Transportation arrays?"
Aldric pointed at the empty counter.
"You didn't have to carry any of that."
A pause.
"That's progress."
Difficult to argue with.
The attendants bowed respectfully as the group prepared to leave.
"Thank you for your patronage."
"We hope to see you again."
"Please enjoy your stay in Blackwater."
The black cat slowly blinked from beneath Draven's hood.
One attendant immediately lowered his gaze again.
Excellent decision.
Then the group stepped back outside.
The calm warmth of the store vanished instantly.
Noise crashed back into them.
Steam hissed overhead.
Voices layered through the crowded streets.
Metal groaned somewhere deep within the city's industrial levels.
Blackwater swallowed them once more.
Aldric adjusted the collar of his newly purchased coat as they walked.
"…Much better."
The long black combat coat shifted cleanly around him now, silver-thread lining catching lanternlight.
He looked noticeably more dangerous.
Which, in his case, was saying something.
The cultist glanced at him once.
"…You somehow look even less trustworthy now."
Aldric grinned faintly.
"Good."