After a brief moment of waiting in the dimly lit interior of the shop, the worker finally emerged from the back room. His hands carried two exquisitely crafted wooden boxes, their polished surfaces catching the soft glow of the lanterns that hung from the ceiling.
"These rings are special items made by the famous blacksmith Malagir," he announced as he presented the boxes to the brothers. His voice was steady but carried a hint of pride. "They can enhance casting speed by ten percent."
Faera's eyes flicked toward the boxes, then calmly nodded. The quiet confidence in his demeanor suggested he was already weighing their worth. He reached out with a steady hand, gesturing toward the swords and daggers he and Edmund had selected earlier.
"Good, good. Give me information about these."
The worker's gaze followed Faera's gesture and landed on the long sword in his hands. He straightened slightly and began, "This sword is made of Sironium metal by Mr. Malagir himself."
Faera nodded again, his calm expression unchanging as the worker sensed he wanted more details. The man continued, pointing toward Edmund's weapon.
"This sword is a mixture of Haltonus metal and Mentorionium metal and is similarly crafted by Mr. Malagir." His voice carried the deep respect craftsmen had for this legendary blacksmith.
Then, his finger shifted to a pair of battle daggers resting on the counter. "These are forged from magmarium metal and, like the others, are the work of Master Malagir's hands."
The brothers listened silently, absorbing every word. Malagir's reputation was well-earned, his name alone promised quality and power.
The cold steel gleamed under the shop's soft light, reflecting the centuries old craftsmanship.
Suddenly, another worker appeared beside him, carrying a set of leather armor. The strange gray color of the armor caught Faera's eye immediately. It was unlike any armor he had seen before, matte, yet somehow gleaming with an otherworldly sheen.
The second worker handed the armor to the first, who lifted it with some effort and placed it carefully on the counter. "This armor was made by the famous armorer master Pierre," he said with a note of reverence.
Faera's gaze lingered on the armor, tracing the intricate stitching and the supple leather that seemed both light and durable. 'Pierre's work is always impeccable,' he thought, appreciating the quiet strength the armor projected.
After a brief pause, Faera asked, "How much does everything sell for?"
The worker's tone became respectful and precise as he replied, "All the items will cost 55 thousand pounds."
He broke down the prices carefully. "A long sword costs five thousand, a curved sword costs five thousand, a pair of battle daggers costs five thousand, and each of the rings costs fifteen thousand. The armor is five thousand."
The numbers hung in the air, but Faera showed no surprise. He was accustomed to the value of such fine craftsmanship. His eyes scanned the items once more, memorizing the details.
"Do you accept platinum coins?" Faera asked calmly.
The worker's eyes brightened instantly. "Of course, sir, we accept them."
Faera knew the rarity of platinum coins. Each one was worth one hundred thousand pounds, rarely seen outside the hands of nobles or the wealthiest merchants. The very sight of one could silence a room.
Without hesitation, Faera reached into the folds of his cloak and produced a single platinum coin. He placed it on the counter with the quiet confidence of a man who had no need to haggle.
The worker's eyes widened in surprise and gratitude. He carefully took the coin and, after a moment, handed Faera a large block of gold coins in exchange. The clink of the gold echoed softly in the quiet shop.
Faera's gaze drifted toward the corner of the room, where a small, curtained space might have served as a changing area. He asked quietly, "Do you have a changing room?"
The worker's face fell slightly, regret flickering in his eyes. "I apologize, sir, but unfortunately, we do not have any changing rooms in this branch."
Faera nodded, unfazed. 'No matter. We can manage.' The thought passed through his mind like a calm breeze.
He slipped the gold coins carefully into his pocket, then tucked the small block into the ring. "Then we will not stop you from your work any longer," he said politely. "Thank you for your services."
As he wrapped the cloth around his head in preparation to leave, Faera reached into his pocket once more and withdrew a silver coin. He placed it on the counter as a tip, a small gesture of gratitude for the man's patience and professionalism.
The worker accepted it with a grateful nod, his eyes shining faintly under the shop's warm lights.
Faera turned and stepped toward the door. His brother followed quietly behind him, their footsteps muffled against the worn wooden floor.
---
After they left the store, Edmund's mind churned with quiet doubt.
'Why did you give him a tip?' he wondered, the question lingering like a shadow. 'He takes a percentage of the sales, even though it is small.'
The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the cobblestones, the city bustling around them. People hurried past, oblivious to the small exchange that had just taken place.
Faera glanced at his brother with a slight, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Our base will largely be in this city, if not in the capital," he said softly, "so I consider it an investment in building a relationship with someone from the city."
Edmund looked at him, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
Faera's voice remained calm, as usual, carrying an undertone of quiet command.
"Do you know why I didn't use the armor and weapons that we took from the storeroom at home?"
Edmund paused, the gears in his mind turning carefully.
"It must be because the least thing there is gold ranked weapons, armor, and tools," he said slowly. "And that would attract unwanted attention."
Faera's smile deepened, approving of his brother's insight.
"You're right, Ed," he said gently. "Silver weapons are popular, widely available, and are owned by many, so their attention-grabbing is not that great."
He paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, thoughtful.
"Unlike gold rank weapons," he added, "which will simply become like the smell of blood that attracts ferocious beasts."
His voice carried a calm and melodious tone, each word carefully measured.
"It is also a matter of concealment," Faera explained. "No Hunter goes out on missions without weapons and armor. We should not show off our rank's strength, as that will undoubtedly attract major noble families to recruit us."
Edmund nodded, the logic settling firmly into his mind.
"Rank three would already attract unwanted attention as well," he agreed. "It would raise suspicions if someone found out our ages, so hiding and using a lower rank is the right choice."
The brothers shared a look of mutual understanding. Their knowledge exceeded their years, and their mentalities often mirrored each other.
This unspoken connection made moments like these feel natural, expected.
Faera gestured toward a nearby inn with a casual wave.
"Let's rent a room in an inn and put on some armor," he said simply, the plan already taking shape.
Edmund nodded, following his brother down the street as the city's noise ebbed and flowed around them.
The inn was modest, its wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and stale ale, the murmur of voices low and steady.
They rented a room quickly, the innkeeper's eyes flickering with curiosity but not lingering too long.
Upstairs, the room was small but clean. Two narrow beds stood against the wall, and a single window looked out over the bustling street below.
They rested briefly, the weight of the day's journey pressing down on their shoulders.
Then they dressed in their armor.
The leather was strong and supple, well cared for. It hugged their bodies comfortably, offering protection without sacrificing mobility.
They tied their swords at their waists, the familiar weight grounding them.
Faera slipped the daggers into the ring on his finger, a subtle but deadly addition.
Ready, they stepped out into the street once more.
Faera's eyes scanned the surroundings, his voice calm as ever.
"Anyway, let's go for the teleportation formation. It should be at the city hall, and I feel the aura from here already."
Edmund followed without hesitation as Faera led the way through winding alleys and crowded marketplaces.
The city was alive with activity. Vendors shouted their wares, children darted between legs, and nobles paraded in fine clothes, oblivious to those beneath their notice.
After about an hour of steady walking, they arrived at the destination.
The building was immense, its facade stark and imposing.
White marble stretched across every surface, gleaming in the sunlight.
There was little decoration, only the cold, smooth stone that spoke of power and order.
Inside, the air was cooler, the noise muted.
They found a short queue of people waiting patiently.
Their clothes were expensive, rich fabrics and intricate embroidery marking them as city elites.
Edmund and Faera merged quietly into the line, blending as much as their armor allowed.
The city hall hummed with an undercurrent of authority.
Edmund's thoughts raced beneath the calm exterior.
Faera's steady presence beside him was a reassurance.