I marched away from the artisan quarter, navigating the bustling, sun-drenched avenues of the 6th District with smooth, rapid strides. The sheer physics of my current loadout would have crushed an ordinary human, but my supernatural demonic strength handled the payload effortlessly. In my single right arm, I cradled the heavy wooden crate overflowing with glass Erlenmeyer flasks, caustic chemicals, and the brass mana-powered Bunsen burner. Meanwhile, beneath the sleek, compressed back panels of my new blood-themed trench coat, my three firearms… the Death Chant Shotgun and the dual Tommy guns… were strapped securely against my folded wing joints like lethal, steel ornaments on a Christmas tree.
I cut through the crowded thoroughfares until the rowdy market stalls began to thin out, giving way to the cobblestone alleyways of the Weaver's Edge… the specialized, arcane sector of the district where residual ambient mana drifted through the air like thin silver fog. Standing at the end of the lane was the weathered, rune-carved storefront of the magic gear shop.
The moment I stepped across the threshold into the dim, artifact-laden interior, the familiar scent of ozone, crushed sulfur, and old parchment enveloped me. Sitting behind a counter covered in glowing containment lattices was Vladimir, the veteran arcane broker.
He looked up from polishing a crystal focus, his sharp eyes immediately cataloging the striking, deep blood-tint of my new attire. A knowing, appreciative grin split his face as he set his cloth down.
"Greetings, Eirene, I guess you finally got that trench coat resized and engineered by Olive, hm? It looks exceptionally good on you, lass. The color matches your reputation, and the alignment completely hides your structural changes. A perfect cover." Vladimir said, his low voice carrying a warm, respectful cadence.
He leaned forward, resting his calloused hands on the polished wood of the counter, his eyes darting to the heavy alchemical crate balanced in my right arm before looking up at the dark shadow of my hood.
"Anyways, what can I do for you today? You survived the cartel, but those mountains ahead are crawling with high-tier threats. If you're looking to spend some coin to push your combat capabilities to the absolute limit, you've come to the right shop. What kind of power are we hunting for today?" Vladimir asked, gesturing to the rows of glowing rings, enchanted ammunition pouches, and reinforced armor platings lining the velvet shelves behind him.
I set the heavy alchemical crate gently onto the floor beside the counter, keeping my three firearms perfectly secure against my folded wing joints. My single green eye locked onto Vladimir with an intense, deadly seriousness.
While Olive's masterwork trench coat would flawlessly shield me from Vanessa Katt's devastating fire and tar magic… preventing the burning tar from scorching my flesh or ruining my mobility… Vanessa wasn't my only problem. Her overprotective brother, Victor, was a catastrophic threat to my life. He possessed a terrifying high-tier Fear Manipulation ability. If he caught my gaze, he could weaponize my deepest terrors, stunning me in place for minutes on end while he marched forward to cave my skull in with his massive steel mace. I couldn't dodge hypersonic strikes or pull my trigger if my mind was trapped in a paralyzed nightmare.
Then, a sudden spark of memory hit me. I hadn't come here to browse; I had pre-ordered the exact tactical countermeasure for Victor's mind games days ago.
I reached into my purse, pulled out my notebook, and pressed my stubby pencil against the page. I began writing with such frantic, heavy force that the graphite snapped right in half with a loud click.
"Dammit," I thought, staring at the useless wooden stub. I would definitely need to buy a fresh pencil at the next stall, or I'd be completely locked out of communicating with the world.
Using the very tip of the broken graphite edge, pressing down carefully with my remaining right hand, I managed to roughly scratch out a few dark, jagged words before holding the note up to Vladimir's face:
Mask that counters fear manipulation.
Vladimir looked at the broken pencil, let out a soft chuckle, and then nodded sagely as he read the jagged handwriting.
"Ah, that specific mask you reserved with me the other day, don't worry, Eirene, I kept it tucked away safely just for you. It's still up for sale, and as we agreed, it's going to cost you exactly three gold pieces." Vladimir said, turning toward a reinforced, rune-locked iron safe behind his desk.
He spun the combination dial, the safe clicking open with a hiss of released magical pressure. From the velvet interior, Vladimir lifted a sleek, predatory piece of headgear and placed it reverently onto the wooden counter between us.
It was the Leech's Hollow Mask… venomous facial contours. The dark, polished material seemed to swallow the ambient mana in the room, humming with a protective, psychological barrier.
As I hovered my hand over the artifact, I used Inspect:
[Item: The Leech's Hollow Mask]
Durability: 300/300
Defense: 10
Attributes: Mind-Wall… Grants the wearer absolute immunity to lower-level mental interference, psychological paralysis, and Fear Manipulation.
Special Attributes:Continuously obscures all facial features in a dense, unnatural shadow, completely hiding the user's face even when standing under direct, harsh sunlight.
A profound wave of relief washed over my chest. With the Mind-Wall attribute active, Victor's terrifying gaze would bounce harmlessly off my psyche. He wouldn't be able to stun me for even a single second, leaving him completely exposed to a point-blank blast from my Death Chant Shotgun. Plus, the special shadow attribute meant I could finally take off my hot, cloth face-wrap; the mask itself would keep my scarred Glasgow smile and missing tongue permanently hidden from the world.
I reached back into my purse, counting out three of my remaining four heavy gold coins, and laid them firmly on the counter, leaving me with 1 gold, 50 silver, and 2 bronze pieces. I picked up the smooth, dark visor of the mask, ready to equip the final piece of my anti-Katt loadout.
I lifted the sleek, venomous contours of the Leech's Hollow Mask and pressed it firmly against my face. The dark artifact slid into place with a flawless, tight click, the interior leather lining wrapping securely around my jawline and scarred cheeks.
The moment the seal formed, a wave of profound, absolute stillness washed over my mind. The Mind-Wall attribute immediately activated, erecting an impenetrable psychological barrier around my psyche. It felt like an iron vault closing shut inside my head… Victor Katt's terrifying fear manipulation wouldn't stand a chance against this.
Even better, the magical shadow attribute went to work instantly. I looked down at my reflection in Vladimir's polished counter; a dense, unnatural veil of pure darkness now swirled over the front of the visor, completely obscuring my facial features, my single jade-green eye, and my Glasgow smile, even under the direct magical lanterns of the shop. It was a flawless aesthetic upgrade. The mask paired beautifully with the blood-themed crimson trench coat, blending the identities of the rugged bounty hunter and the elusive Crimson Phantom into one terrifying, legendary silhouette.
I offered Vladimir a sharp, respectful nod of my masked head to thank him. Reaching down with my single right hand, I scooped up the heavy wooden crate of titration equipment, chemical supplies, and my brass mana-powered Bunsen burner. With my three firearms still securely strapped like lethal ornaments against my folded wing joints beneath the crimson coat, I marched out of the Weaver's Edge and back into the bustling thoroughfares.
With 3 gold pieces spent, my purse was left with exactly:
Gold Coins is 1 ;Silver Coins is 5 ;Bronze Coins is 2
My next major destination was the enigmatic 7th District, the sector famously known as the home of the "Reincarnated Being." It was there that I would finally track down Father Columbia to extract the critical intelligence I needed.
But I had a glaring tactical problem to solve first. I looked down at the shattered piece of graphite in my purse. Because my tongue had been brutally excised long ago, I was completely mute. If I walked into the 7th District without a way to write, I wouldn't be able to communicate a single syllable to Father Columbia, turning my interrogation into a useless staring match.
I picked up my pace, scanning the nearby merchant stalls for a stationary vendor or a general goods trader. Before I could brave the heavy atmosphere of the 7th District, I needed to spend a couple of my bronze coins to buy a fresh pack of sturdy pencils.