Arrival - Veltharn City

The road curled through grassy knolls as Veltharn finally came into view. Towering slate-gray walls surrounded the bustling city, crenellated with archer towers and banners fluttering in the breeze. Unlike the modest wooden gates of Newvale, Veltharn’s entrance was carved stone, embedded with iron reinforcements and glowing runes that shimmered with protective enchantments.

Ren approached the outer checkpoint and joined the modest line of travelers. Merchants, adventurers, and even a cloaked bard ahead of him grumbled at the pace, but Ren remained patient. When his turn came, the guard gave him a quick once-over—lingering a second longer than usual on Ren’s calm eyes and light travel gear.

“Ten copper,” the guard said, extending a gloved hand.

Ren reached into his pouch, pulled out the coins without hesitation, and paid. He gave a polite nod, but the guard stopped him with a raised palm.

“Purpose of visit?”

Ren’s smile was easy and disarming. “Business. I’m here to explore the city, see what it has to offer.”

The guard studied him a moment longer, then gave a curt nod and stepped aside. “Welcome to Veltharn.”

He passed through the gates unnoticed, just another traveler in tailored leathers. This time, he’d left the Alpha Wolf pelt in his dimensional storage. In this city, blending in seemed far more useful than announcing himself with fangs and legend.

Once inside, Ren stepped aside and observed the passing traffic—carts creaking over cobblestone, stall vendors calling to the crowd, adventurers in pairs or groups heading toward a distant guild emblem that glowed faintly on a spire.

He turned to the nearest patrolling guard. “Excuse me,” Ren said politely. “Could you direct me to a few places?”

The guard glanced over, bored but obliging. “What’re you looking for?”

“I need directions to the Adventurer’s Guild, the city forge, a reputable tailor shop, alchemy supply store, library… and the auction house, if there is one.”

The guard lifted a brow. “Ambitious list. All right. You’ll find the Adventurer’s Guild on Steelcrest Row—north quadrant. Look for the hammer-and-sword banner on the tall gray building. The forge is two streets behind it—Master Harnel’s Forge. Best smith in the city, unless you count the royal armory.”

Ren nodded, listening carefully.

“Tailors are in the Silkwind District—east side, near the river. Alchemy shops are scattered, but the best’s probably Mirella’s, next to the Garden Square. Library’s near the college tower, central district. Auction house? That’s across from the Merchant Guild, west side. Can’t miss it—big marble steps, gold trim, full of people arguing over relics and heirlooms.”

“Thank you,” Ren said, committing the directions to memory.

The guard waved him on and returned to his post.

Ren started toward the Guild first. He moved through the throng of city life with steady pace, blending into the flow of commerce and clamor. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Every corner of Veltharn pulsed with opportunity—and he intended to claim every ounce of it.

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The air inside the Veltharn Adventurer’s Guild was thick with energy and noise. Voices echoed off the high stone ceilings, mingling with the clatter of boots and the soft rustle of posted parchments. Dozens of adventurers crowded the wide marble hall, examining mission boards, comparing bounties, and calling out to form new parties. The building was a far cry from Newvale’s warm and worn guildhouse. This was a fortress of ambition—larger, louder, sharper.

Ren stepped through the archway and paused to take it all in.

The emblem above the central wall—a sword entwined with a dragon—glowed with arcane light. Massive columns lined the hall like silent guardians. Ornate chandeliers floated by magic alone, casting golden light over the swirling crowds.

Ren joined the line at the front desk, waiting quietly as the attendants processed members with swift efficiency. When his turn came, he stepped forward and pulled his guild plate from his coat pocket. A simple flick of the wrist revealed the engraved “A” that shimmered faintly in gold.

The young attendant’s eyes widened as she took it.

“A-rank…?” she repeated, almost questioning. “And you're unaffiliated?”

“For now,” Ren said calmly. “I’d like to speak with the Guild Master.”

The attendant blinked and then gave a small, nervous bow. “Of course. Please wait here while I send for him.”

Ren stepped aside and leaned against one of the side pillars. Minutes passed. He watched adventurers haggling over mission choices, some boasting loudly, others whispering in quiet tactics. A group of robed casters argued over a rare herb request while two heavily armored warriors compared scars near the stairs. Despite the chaos, the structure of the guild was clear—everyone had a role, a place, a goal.

Eventually, the same attendant returned, her voice now a little more respectful. “The Guild Master will see you. Please follow me.”

He was led up a curved stairwell into the upper floor—quieter, more refined. The hall was lined with polished wooden floors and wall sconces enchanted to give a steady glow. She stopped before a door marked with the symbol of a crossed blade and shield.

She opened it and gestured him inside.

Ren stepped through.

The room was modest compared to the rest of the guild—wooden walls, a wide desk, a rack of scrolls and ledgers behind the seat. But the man who sat there carried a presence that needed no grandeur. He was broad-shouldered, his frame packed with muscle beneath his black half-cloak. His face was scarred, tanned, weathered by war and time. A leather eyepatch covered one eye, and the other—the color of dark steel—locked onto Ren with a soldier’s sharpness.

“So,” the man said, his voice deep and gravel-lined. “You’re the A-rank from Newvale. I’m Guild Commander Garron Thorne.”

Ren offered a small nod. “Ren Arclight.”

Garron’s gaze swept over him, taking in the simple travel wear, the well-fitted gear beneath it, the poise in his stance. “You don’t look like most A-ranks I’ve met.”

“I’ve only been A-rank for a few days.”

“And already marching into Veltharn alone. You’re either brave, foolish, or very dangerous.”

Ren didn’t reply, and his silence was enough to make Garron grunt.

“So,” Garron leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “What’s the reason you asked to see me?”

Ren stepped forward and placed both hands behind his back. “I want information. Detailed information on nearby dungeons. Difficulty, elemental affinities, types of monsters, and known anomalies.”

That made the guild commander lift a brow.

“Planning another solo run?” he asked, voice unreadable.

Ren gave a slight smile. “Something like that.”

There was a beat of silence before Garron stood up and walked to a tall cabinet. He rifled through a stack of sealed documents before returning with a few parchment folders.

“I’ll have my aide prepare detailed dossiers for you,” he said, handing over the top folder. “This one’s for the Hollow Spire. Mid-tier dungeon. Usually cleared by B-ranks in groups. Some elemental variance on the third and fourth floors. Rumors of spatial distortion on the final level. No confirmed boss pattern—it changes every cycle.”

Ren accepted the folder and leafed through the first page. His eyes flicked across terrain maps, monster classifications, elemental markers.

This was exactly what he needed.

“I appreciate it,” he said.

“You’ll find Veltharn more… layered than Newvale,” Garron said, returning to his desk. “More opportunity. More competition. And a lot more eyes.”

Ren didn’t mind. “Then I’ll just make sure they see something worth watching.”

Garron chuckled lowly. “Careful, Arclight. That kind of confidence? It’ll make you a legend… or a grave.”

Ren simply turned to leave, folder in hand.

He planned for neither.

He planned for greatness.

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By the time the forge had cooled for the day and the apprentices were sweeping up the coal dust, Ren stood beside Brokk Steelvein at a long bench cluttered with half-finished weapons, glowing fragments, and rune-scribed sketches. The dwarven master leaned forward, arms crossed, peering at Ren’s rough design scratched onto a metal slate.

“A bow, huh?” Brokk grunted, stroking his beard. “Not exactly subtle, lad. Thought you were the up-close, dance-around-the-enemy type.”

“I am,” Ren replied with a faint smile. “But I’ve been thinking about range. Sometimes stealth isn’t an option. I need something for long-distance. Something precise. And… something lethal.”

Brokk raised an eyebrow as he looked over the specs. “An elemental mana bow… arrows made from raw spell energy… and you want it to mark targets for homing shots?”

Ren nodded. “The first arrow would embed a rune. Every arrow after that would be drawn to the same target—regardless of where they move. It's not just about damage—it's control. Precision.”

Brokk exhaled through his nose like a bellows. “That’s no bow you’re talking about, lad. That’s a damn arcane predator.”

He grinned.

“I like it.”

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The forge came alive once more.

They began with the core of the bow—an alloy of storm-refined mythril, hardened obsidian steel, and a thin filament of wind-aspect mana glass. Brokk hammered the blend into a curved spine while chanting the warforging verses, embedding the elemental resonance deep into the metal's grain. Ren watched carefully, copying the rhythm and adding his own glyphs at specific resonance points using Elemental Thread and Mana Flow Engraving.

Then came the limbs—malleable, yet incredibly strong. Ren supplied threads from a fire wyvern's tendon and fine strands of condensed mana filament he'd forged himself under Master Farrin's tutelage. Together, they twisted it into a bowstring that shimmered with elemental threads—an ever-changing blend of flame, lightning, and mist.

Next came the enchantments.

Ren carefully carved the Marking Glyph—a spiraling rune that formed with a faint pulse of blue when mana was passed through the grip. When fired, the first arrow would tag a target with this invisible rune, etched onto their essence for a short time. All subsequent arrows would then recognize this mark, automatically adjusting their path to strike true—even if the target moved behind cover.

[Skill Acquired: Elemental Arc Channeling]

[Skill Acquired: Guided Shot Protocol I]

[Skill Acquired: Precision Glyph: Target Bind]

The system chimed with each successful infusion.

They named the weapon Stormpiercer.

A curved, elegant bow forged from the combined force of dwarven warcraft and arcane ingenuity. When idle, the string shimmered faintly. When drawn, it called upon elemental mana to form its arrows—fire, lightning, ice, wind, or earth—whichever element Ren chose. Each shot drained minimal mana, but the more mana imbued, the greater the arrow's power and behavior.

“You shoot someone with this,” Brokk said, arms folded proudly, “and they’ll be finding your arrows in their lungs even if they hide behind a castle wall.”

Ren turned the bow over in his hands, feeling the magic pulse beneath his fingertips.

He took a step back, drew the bow to full length. No arrow—just focused wind mana. With a breath, he loosed.

A pure arc of air surged through the workshop and embedded itself into a practice dummy’s chest with a soft thunk, leaving behind a glowing blue rune.

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Ren nocked another arrow—this time fire-based—and fired without aiming.

The arrow twisted midair, curved, and struck the exact same point with pinpoint precision.

He grinned.

“This… will do nicely.”

Brokk snorted. “Remind me not to get on yer bad side, lad.”

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Brokk stood back, arms crossed and eyes gleaming, as Ren admired the newly finished Stormpiercer. The bow radiated elemental potential, its polished surface flickering with the subtle glint of runes. It was a weapon worthy of legends, the result of collaboration between two craftsmen from different worlds.

Ren reached for the small pouch of coin at his belt. “I owe you for this. It’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

But Brokk’s hand shot out, not to take the payment—but to push it away.

“Keep it, lad.”

Ren blinked, confused. “What?”

“You heard me. No coin,” Brokk grunted, his back already turned as he picked up his smithing hammer. “I’ve learned more watchin’ your hands than I have from fifty years of beatin’ steel. Your way of seeing—how you weave magic into purpose—that’s worth more than a mountain of gold.”

Ren started to speak, but Brokk was already barking at his apprentices.

“Oi! You lot! Don’t just stand there! Stoke the forge! We’ve got a new path to walk!”

The apprentices scrambled as Brokk laughed, a deep, gruff sound that filled the shop with life. He turned briefly and gave Ren a sideways glance, that glint of ambition in his eye betraying more than words.

“There’s still one thing I haven’t made, boy. A divine weapon. Thought it was outta reach.” He smirked. “But maybe not anymore.”

Ren chuckled, catching the look in Brokk’s eyes. That same wild spark Master Farrin had carried.

“All right then,” Ren said, adjusting the bow on his back. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He left the forge as the heat flared to life behind him again, the clanging of hammers rising into the evening air. Brokk had been changed by their meeting, just as much as Ren had.

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The streets of Veltharn bustled with color and commerce. Now that the sun was lower in the sky, lanterns flickered to life along storefronts. Ren made his way through the winding lanes toward the tailor district.

He passed by leatherworkers, cobblers, and jewelers until he found the shop he was looking for: “Thread & Thorn”—a refined boutique with enchanted fabric swaying lightly on the front display. The tailor’s insignia, a silver needle crossing a thorned rose, shimmered against a deep blue curtain.

Inside, the air was cool, perfumed with lavender and silk dye. Spools of thread floated through the air, guided by unseen magic, while bolts of cloth folded themselves neatly on hovering platforms.

Ren stepped inside and exhaled softly, taking it all in.

It was time to design his new battlewear—armor that wouldn’t just protect him, but channel his growing arsenal of magic.

He smiled to himself.

“Let’s see what we can create next.”

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The chime above the door rang softly as Ren stepped into Thread & Thorn. The shop’s warmth embraced him instantly—an elegant blend of luxury and craftsmanship. Floating fabrics danced in the air, threaded with magic, and mannequins adorned in combat-ready attire rotated slowly on display pedestals.

A young woman approached from behind the main counter. Her posture was graceful, but her eyes were sharp—an artisan, not just a clerk.

“Good day, traveler,” she said with a polite smile. “Welcome to Thread & Thorn. How can we assist you today?”

Ren nodded. “I’m here to observe, actually. I want to learn more about weaving—specifically battle-ready enchantments. If possible, I’d like to see the process firsthand.”

There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes, followed by curiosity. “We don’t often get requests like that. But… Master Elenora enjoys teaching those with genuine interest. If you’ll follow me, I’ll ask her.”

She led him behind the curtain at the rear of the shop, where Ren was greeted by the hum of enchanted looms, spindles swirling in midair, and bolts of cloth that pulsed faintly with elemental threads. Master Elenora, a stern woman with white hair bound in a tight braid, allowed him to sit and observe as she worked.

Ren watched intently.

He analyzed the use of thread weight, how different magical fibers interacted with rune embroidery, how layering reinforced armor and spellcasting simultaneously. The flow of mana across threads reminded him of forging—except this was more delicate, more elegant. It was magic sculpted in silk and leather.

[Skill Acquired: Manathread Weaving (Lv.1)]

[Skill Acquired: Adaptive Stitchwork (Lv.1)]

[Skill Acquired: Enchanted Layering (Lv.1)]

He quietly integrated these skills into his mental blueprint for future armor. Shoulder guards, tunics, scarves, even belts could now hold enhancements without disrupting mobility.

Before leaving, Ren turned to the attendant. “I’d like to acquire some of these tools for my own workspace. Threads, needles, enchantment seals—anything a beginner might need.”

She smiled and bowed slightly. “For crafting tools and raw materials, the Merchant’s District will have everything you’re looking for. Look for the shops on Copper Lane—ask for Helda’s Stitchery. Tell them Lira sent you.”

Ren thanked her and exited, his mind already alight with ideas.

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Next, he walked down a quieter alley and arrived at the Azure Elixirs Alchemical Lab. The air changed as he stepped inside—thicker, fragrant with herbs and arcane dust. Crystals pulsed faintly on the walls, illuminating rows of vials, cauldrons, and glasswork tools.

A male attendant looked up from grinding something in a mortar and pestle.

“Looking for potions? Ingredients? Or something stronger?” he asked.

Ren shook his head. “Actually, I want to observe your process. I’m building my own workspace and want to understand the methodology behind potion crafting—and maybe learn a few techniques.”

The attendant squinted, but then shrugged with a half-smile. “Sure. Can’t promise you’ll understand half of it on your first day, but follow me.”

In the back room, Ren watched the combination of precise measurements and intuitive adjustments—brews changed color, emitted smoke, or solidified unexpectedly. Everything depended on flow: of heat, of mana, of essence. It was almost like music.

[Skill Acquired: Potioncraft (Lv.1)]

[Skill Acquired: Reagent Bonding (Lv.1)]

[Skill Acquired: Alchemical Distillation (Lv.1)]

By the time the demonstration ended, Ren had several ideas brewing—pun intended.

Before leaving, he turned to the attendant. “Where can I get a proper alchemy set?”

“The local shops in the Merchant’s District,” the man replied. “Check Sage’s Shelf on Indigo Row. They carry starter kits, cauldrons, and even reagent bundles. Prices aren’t bad either.”

Ren nodded, offering a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

With his mind full and his skills deeper than when he’d entered, Ren stepped back out into the streets of Veltharn.

His next stop: the Merchant’s District.

There, he would begin gathering everything he needed to start building the foundation of his dream workshop.

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As Ren stepped out of the alchemy lab and into the midday bustle of Veltharn, his eyes were drawn to a storefront just across the street. Its signage was delicate but refined—"Shimmering Sigils & Jewels"—etched in fine silver filigree that glinted in the sun. Behind the arched windows, stones shimmered like captured starlight, nestled in velvet-lined cases and glowing faintly with power.

What caught Ren’s eye wasn’t their brilliance—it was the familiar pulse of mana.

Curious, he stepped inside.

A soft chime rang as the door opened. The air smelled of incense and polished wood, calming and cool. Inside, dozens of gemstones sat arrayed behind glass counters, each faintly humming with their own magical frequency.

“Welcome, traveler,” said the jeweler—an older woman with deep wrinkles and a set of magnifying lenses perched on her brow. “Looking for ornament or augmentation?”

Ren approached the counter and leaned forward, examining the closest display tray. His sharp eyes recognized the mana signatures within.

“These… they’re cores, aren’t they? Mana condensed from magical beasts?”

The jeweler’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. Refined and shaped, but still raw at heart. Each one still hums with the essence of its original source. Flame. Ice. Lightning. Even gravity and blood, if you look hard enough.”

Ren reached out, fingers hovering just above a pale blue crystal that pulsed like a heartbeat.

He thought of the elemental crystal embedded in the hilt of his sword—the way it amplified his elemental strikes. These could do the same… perhaps even more. Armor could be imbued with resistance. Weapons with pure offensive force. And tools, like his alchemy set, could draw power directly from the embedded core.

“I’ll take several,” he said without hesitation.

He spent the next hour meticulously selecting a dozen elemental mana cores—fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, ice, light, shadow, even rarer types like gravity and sound. Each core had a specific trait or resonance, and he mentally catalogued them as potential enhancements for different gear: flame resistance for boots, wind acceleration for greaves, lightning conduction for gauntlets, and more.

[Skill Progressed: Mana Core Analysis → Lv. 4]

[Skill Progressed: Alchemic Socketing → Lv. 3]

By the time he was done, he had a velvet pouch filled with the faint glow of stored destruction and potential.

The jeweler handed him a sealed receipt and bowed slightly. “It’s rare to see someone who buys not with coin alone, but with intention.”

Ren smiled, tucking the pouch into his dimensional storage. “I have plans.”

With that, he stepped back into the bustling street, now heading toward the Merchant’s District with renewed purpose.

He had tools to buy. Plans to build. And now—power to shape.

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The Merchant’s District of Veltharn was unlike anything Ren had seen in Newvale. Rows of vendor stalls and permanent stone storefronts stretched down broad avenues, each marked with colorful banners and the scent of exotic wares. Hawkers called out deals, carts rolled past with crates of enchanted ingredients, and adventurers haggled over equipment with wide-eyed crafters. It was a place of trade, of ambition—and of opportunity.

Ren moved with quiet purpose through the crowds.

He stopped first at a forge supplier, a squat building with plumes of dark smoke puffing from its side vents. Inside, rows of forges and bellows lined the walls—some fueled by flame, others by condensed mana cores. The smith behind the counter, arms crossed over his soot-stained apron, raised an eyebrow as Ren inspected each item with surgical precision.

“I need a personal forge—preferably one that can handle mana infusion and temperature control,” Ren said.

The blacksmith motioned toward a reinforced corner. “Got a few adaptive-mana models. Not cheap though.”

Ren stepped closer. One forge, in particular, caught his eye—a compact, rune-inscribed construct with a flux crystal built into its base. It radiated controlled intensity.

He activated his appraisal skill.

[Item: Forgemaster’s Emberheart (Epic)]

Function: Adjustable forging temperature, imbued mana flow, elemental compatibility.

He already had something better.

Ren exhaled and shook his head. “I’ll pass on this one.”

He remembered now—back in Newvale, part of his extreme dungeon clear reward had included a few legendary-grade crafting tools. The Heartsoul Forge Core, in particular, was leagues beyond this Emberheart.

He moved on, checking cauldrons next. In the alchemy vendor’s store, brass and iron cauldrons bubbled with illusionary liquids, and glass vials hung in racks like musical chimes. Here too, Ren inspected, noted, and occasionally sighed.

“These are decent,” he muttered, examining a mid-grade cauldron, “but not enough.”

He left with only a few items: enchanted stirring rods, infusion filters, and a stabilized temperature control ring. Essentials—just not duplicates.

At the weaver’s supply, rows of loom frames stretched across a sunlit shop filled with fabrics, tools, and threading stones. The attendants bowed slightly as Ren entered. He moved past most of the standard equipment, instead focusing on specialized items: soul-thread needles, mana-weave spindles, and tension glyphs for adjusting magical density in fabric.

Once again, he left with only the pieces he hadn’t already received.

[Inventory Updated: Tailor’s Precision Kit (Epic), Alchemical Infusion Tools (Rare), Reinforced Tool Racks (Uncommon)]

By the time the sun dipped lower into the horizon, Ren stood in the middle of the street, arms crossed, dimensional storage subtly heavier.

His pace slowed.

He realized something.

The items he needed were not all in stores—not anymore. He had surpassed what the average crafter here could offer. His workshop wasn’t just going to be a place to tinker—it was going to be a crucible for innovation, something that could rival guild halls or royal laboratories.

He was no longer just a warrior.

He was a builder of his own future.

Ren smirked to himself. “I guess I really am becoming a one-man army.”

He turned from the last shop, adjusting the strap of his gear as he continued deeper into Veltharn. He had the tools, the ideas, and the space. Now, all that remained was to build it.

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Veltharn’s auction chamber was a grand amphitheater of stone and gold, shaped like an inverted dome. Rows of cushioned seats circled a central, spotlighted platform, and magical screens suspended above reflected each item up for bid, complete with details, appraisals, and bidder names cloaked in numerical aliases. The atmosphere pulsed with tension and anticipation—where fortunes shifted with the flick of a paddle or the nod of a head.

Ren sat toward the upper-middle rows, hood drawn low over his brow. He kept his presence subtle, opting not to draw attention. Around him, merchants in silk robes, adventurers clad in armor and prestige, and even a few masked nobles whispered about the day’s auction lineup.

His own submissions would be coming up later.

For now, he wanted to observe how the system worked, how the audience responded, and—if possible—spot any rare items that piqued his interest.

The auctioneer, a woman with a commanding voice and a silver-threaded vest, raised her hand and called the room to order. “Let us begin! First item of the day—an enchanted silverleaf breastplate, rare-grade, resistance to fire and corrosion!”

The bidding started fast, a flurry of hands and numbers, but Ren barely paid attention. His eyes scanned the listings ahead.

Then something caught his eye.

The screen shimmered as a new lot was introduced—Lot 12.

“Ancient Sword Style Fragment – ‘Falling Star Form’ – Incomplete. Origin: Unknown. Appraised Difficulty: Untranslated. Status: Unlearned.”

The projected image showed a worn leather-bound tome, its cover marked with a faded glyph that shimmered with archaic magic. The crowd murmured.

“Experts unable to decipher more than fifty percent,” the auctioneer explained. “Considered incomplete. No current bidder interest—starting price, twenty silver.”

Ren leaned forward.

“Twenty silver,” he said softly.

A few others raised bids in half-hearted interest. Forty. Then fifty. One nobleman raised to sixty-five.

Ren calmly raised it to seventy.

The room quieted.

Silence hung for a beat. The auctioneer looked around, then called out, “Seventy silver—once, twice—sold to Bidder 119!”

Ren exhaled quietly and sat back. The book had potential. He’d figure out the rest himself—especially if its mysteries hid a powerful technique.

More items passed. Potions, armor, enchanted gems. Nothing stirred him again until Lot 22.

“Spell Book – ‘Infernal Rain: Firestorm Variant.’ Tier: Advanced Area-of-Effect Spell. Description: Calls down a barrage of flaming meteors within a wide radius. Limited known casters. Extremely rare.”

Ren’s eyes widened. He sat straighter.

That… he needed.

The bidding began at three gold.

Instantly, five hands went up. Then eight. The price jumped: six gold. Ten. Fourteen.

Someone called out, “Fifteen!”

A hush spread through the crowd.

Ren hesitated for a breath.

Then calmly raised his hand. “Thirty.”

The entire hall turned toward him. Even the auctioneer paused mid-sentence. Silence rang like a bell. Whispers rippled through the crowd—some amused, some stunned.

The auctioneer regained her poise. “Bidder 119—Thirty gold. Do we have thirty-two? Thirty-one?”

No response.

“Thirty going once… twice… sold!”

The crowd broke into scattered murmurs and nods of approval. Ren sat still, but inwardly, his stomach twisted. He opened his funds screen and frowned.

Remaining funds: 52 gold, 38 silver.

“Half gone,” he muttered.

Seraphina’s voice was soft in his ear. “You made the right decision. That spell has immense destructive potential. It may well be the difference between victory and death.”

“Let’s just hope it pays off,” Ren replied.

Now it was time.

The auctioneer returned to the stage. “Now, some exclusive new listings. A series of rare weapons and armor from an anonymous craftsman—high rarity and finely enchanted. Let’s begin!”

The first item appeared—Emberfang Short Sword.

The screen showed its detailed enchantments: fire affinity, mana blade extension, light weight. The bidding exploded.

Ten gold. Fifteen. Seventeen. Twenty.

Another item followed—Stormbite Dagger. Water affinity, penetration bonus, curved grip. Again, a bidding war erupted.

Ren blinked.

He hadn’t expected this much traction. But the rare tags, clean designs, and practical enchantments were making waves. His items were drawing serious attention.

Then came the Glacial Cloak. Cold resistance, stealth bonus in snowy terrain, reinforced lining.

The nobles snapped for it.

One cloak reached thirty-five gold. Another twenty-nine. The dagger pair nearly hit forty.

Ren’s heart raced.

“Is this… really happening?”

Seraphina chuckled. “Your work speaks for itself, Ren. It’s rare, practical, and beautiful. Of course they’re fighting over it.”

The final tally, once the last item sold, scrolled across his status screen:

Total Auction Profits: 212 gold, 14 silver.

He stared, blinking once, then twice.

“That’s nearly four times what I started with.”

“Correct. And your name hasn’t even been made public yet.”

He leaned back into his chair, the faintest grin curling on his lips.

“Let’s see what I can do with this.”