Eli didn't stay long after the group settled.
Not because he wanted to leave—but because he understood something important.
New variables required time to process.
And right now, his body still demanded attention.
"Same time tomorrow?" Keal called out as Eli began to step away.
Eli paused just long enough to acknowledge it.
"Yes."
That was all.
Keal grinned like that answer had already been guaranteed.
"Good," he said. "Don't disappear again."
Eli didn't respond.
But he didn't deny it either.
Then he turned—and left the training grounds.
—
The walk through the city carried a different weight than before.
Not heavier.
Not lighter.
Just… altered.
Eli moved through the streets at a steady pace, his posture composed, his expression neutral. To anyone watching, he was just another trainee heading home after a long session.
But internally—
His attention had shifted.
Not outward.
But forward.
Because now—
There was a problem he could no longer ignore.
—
His weapon.
—
The memory of the forest replayed—not as images, but as impact.
The strain in his grip.
The resistance in each strike.
The limitations in reach, durability, and control.
The sword he carried—
Was enough.
But only barely.
And "barely"—
Would get him killed.
—
Eli slowed slightly as he turned into a narrower section of the city, where the noise of the main streets softened into something more scattered. Shops lined the path—small, practical places that sold tools, materials, basic equipment.
Nothing exceptional.
Nothing refined.
He had seen them all before.
Ignored them all before.
But now—
He looked.
Not casually.
But critically.
—
Most of what was displayed lacked structure.
Poor balance.
Inconsistent materials.
Weapons designed for appearance more than function.
Armor built without understanding impact distribution.
Eli didn't need to test them.
He could see it.
And that told him everything.
—
Which meant—
There was only one real option.
He needed someone who knew what they were doing.
—
The thought settled.
Clear.
Direct.
Find a craftsman.
—
But not just anyone.
Someone capable of creating something that would not fail under pressure.
Someone who understood more than just shaping metal.
Someone who understood combat.
Use.
Reality.
—
Eli exhaled slowly.
That kind of person—
Would not be easy to find.
—
"Looking for something better?"
The voice came from his left.
Low.
Aged.
But steady.
—
Eli stopped.
Turned.
—
The stall was small.
Easily overlooked.
Tucked between two larger shops that drew more attention. Its display was minimal—scattered items laid out without organization, some covered in cloth, others left exposed.
Nothing about it stood out.
Except—
The man behind it.
—
He sat slightly hunched on a low chair, his posture relaxed but not weak. His hair was gray, uneven, falling just past his shoulders. His clothing was simple, worn, but clean.
His eyes—
Sharp.
Focused.
Watching.
—
Not the stall.
Not the street.
Eli.
—
"You've been walking past every decent piece in this area like you're insulted by them," the old man continued, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "That usually means one of two things."
Eli said nothing.
The man leaned back slightly.
"Either you don't know what you're looking at," he said, "or you know exactly what you're looking for—and you're not finding it."
A pause.
Then—
"Which one are you?"
—
Eli stepped closer.
Not fully committing.
But not keeping distance either.
"The second," he said.
—
The old man's expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes sharpened slightly.
"Thought so," he replied.
He reached down beside him and picked up a blade.
Not polished.
Not decorated.
But balanced.
Even from a glance, Eli could see it.
The structure.
The alignment.
The weight distribution.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
—
The man held it out slightly.
"Go on," he said. "Tell me what's wrong with it."
—
Eli took it.
His grip adjusted naturally as he tested the weight—not by swinging, but by feeling.
The balance leaned slightly forward.
The edge—serviceable, but not refined.
The handle—functional, but lacking reinforcement for prolonged use.
He didn't need long.
"The balance favors forward strikes too heavily," Eli said. "Recovery time increases after each swing. The edge won't hold under repeated impact. The grip will wear out before the blade does."
—
Silence.
—
Then—
The old man smiled.
Not wide.
But real.
"Good," he said. "You're not wasting my time."
—
Eli handed the blade back.
The man took it without looking away.
"Name?" the man asked.
"Eli."
The man nodded once.
"People call me whatever they want," he said. "But you can call me… the one who doesn't sell garbage."
A pause.
Then—
"Or just old man. That works too."
—
Eli didn't react to the humor.
But he didn't dismiss it either.
—
"You won't find what you're looking for on a table," the old man continued. "Not here. Not anywhere in this city."
"I figured."
"Of course you did."
The man leaned forward slightly now, resting his elbows on his knees.
"So why are you really here?"
—
Eli didn't hesitate.
"I need something that won't fail."
—
The old man nodded slowly.
"That's what everyone says."
"Most of them don't mean it."
Eli held his gaze.
"I do."
—
Silence stretched for a moment.
Then—
The old man reached behind him and pulled out something smaller.
A crystal.
Dull.
Unrefined.
But real.
—
"You know what this is?" he asked.
—
Eli looked at it.
Felt it.
Even without touching it, he could sense something different about it.
Not energy—
Not fully.
But potential.
—
"From a beast," Eli said.
—
The old man nodded.
"Core," he said. "Some call them crystals. Some call them stones. Doesn't matter."
He turned it slightly in his fingers.
"What matters is what's inside."
—
Eli's attention sharpened.
—
"You want a weapon that won't fail?" the old man continued. "Then you don't start with metal."
He tapped the crystal lightly.
"You start with this."
—
Eli said nothing.
But his focus didn't waver.
—
"Stronger beasts," the old man said, "leave behind stronger cores. Not always clean. Not always easy to use. But real."
He leaned back again.
"And real materials make real weapons."
—
Eli's mind moved quickly.
Forest.
Creatures.
Fights.
—
"You collect them," he said.
—
The old man laughed quietly.
"Not anymore," he replied. "I'm too old for that kind of work."
He looked at Eli again.
"But you're not."
—
A pause.
Then—
"If you want something worth using," the old man continued, "you bring me cores. Not scraps. Not weak ones."
He held up the crystal again.
"Real ones."
—
Eli considered it.
Not emotionally.
Not impulsively.
Logically.
—
Time.
Risk.
Effort.
Reward.
—
"How many?" Eli asked.
—
The old man smiled again.
This time—
Wider.
—
"That," he said, "depends on how strong you want to be."
—
Silence followed.
But it wasn't empty.
It was agreement forming.
—
Eli turned slightly.
Looking toward the direction of the forest.
—
He already knew where to go.
—
"Come back when you have something worth working with," the old man said behind him.
—
Eli didn't respond.
—
He stepped away from the stall.
—
But this time—
He wasn't walking without purpose.
—
Because now—
The next step was clear.
—
Hunt.
—
Not blindly.
Not recklessly.
—
But deliberately.
—
And it wouldn't end in one trip.
—
It would take time.
—
Effort.
—
Control.
—
All in one.
—
Eli's grip tightened slightly.
Not on a weapon.
But on intent.
—
Tomorrow—
Would not be training.
—
It would be something else entirely.
—
And this time—
He would not just survive it.
—
He would take something from it.