Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Fred ends up getting me quite a few sapphires. He even acquires another ruby and diamond for me to experiment with. The orcish blacksmith does not stick around to watch me enchant, however. Fred spends much of the day at his forge, the sound of his hammer echoing throughout the area. Mixing with all the other sounds of the safe zone, it becomes just a small drop in the ocean of noise.

In the end, I am able to produce twenty daggers and make five more blood-shard bombs, bringing my total to eight. However, I have the problem of where to put them. I figure I will simply ask Fred for a bag. I do not feel too guilty about asking for things; we are partners now, after all, and Fred seems very happy with the deal.

After finishing the last dagger, I receive an intriguing message from the Judge.

Congratulations, Jackson! You have reached Journeyman Rank in your Enchanting Skill!

I rub my chin thoughtfully and bring up the skill display in my mind.

Enchanting (Journeyman Level 1)

My mouth falls open; apparently, with each rank, you start at level 1 again. I look at the previous notification of when I gained a level in enchanting.

Your enchanting is now at Apprentice level 25. Enchanting is now Journeyman Rank.

Ah, I see it now. When a skill levels to twenty-five, it advances a rank. I wonder about the other ranks and if it is always every twenty-five levels. Fred is not here to ask, so I file the question away for later.

As I rest, the river of crimson in my Domain flows with renewed vigor, as if pleased with my progress. The nothingness that represents destruction seems somehow more defined, like a void with purpose rather than mere emptiness. I can sense my power growing, though I still understand so little about it.

I am still contemplating these changes when Fred comes back, practically dancing into the tent with a giant, goofy grin on his face. His tusks gleam in the lamplight, and his blue eyes sparkle with excitement.

"This venture of ours has been truly profitable, lad! I sold every single one of your daggers!"

I laugh, caught up in his enthusiasm. "Every one? Wow! So, what was our profit?"

Fred grins, rocking back on his heels. "I bought the sapphires from a gem merchant who had a surplus of basic ones. There were twenty-five of them, and I got them for two thousand EC. We sold all twenty daggers for twenty thousand EC, so what does basic math tell you, lad?"

I whoop, pumping a fist. "We made a profit of eighteen thousand EC!"

Fred high-fives me, and I ignore the jolt of pain that lances through my body at the gesture. Fred really is massive. He hands me a sack—a small and nondescript-looking bag made of dark leather with runes stitched along its edges.

"This is a bag of holding. I spent another thousand EC on it, but trust me, it is worth it. It has a little pocket realm inside of it, which is very useful for storage. Also, I transferred ten thousand EC to your account!"

I gape, shaking my head at the sum. "Why, Fred? You did not need to do that!"

Fred laughs, the sound booming in the confines of the tent. "Sure, I did, lad. You needed a bank account, and trust me, that sum will be gone a little faster than you might think. Now then, you have detoured here long enough, yes? You cannot stay forever; there is exploring to be done! I suggest you hit up the other stalls and get yourself some gear. Come back here before you leave; however, I have a gift for you."

I shake my head, and my chest tightens as the weight of Fred's generosity settles over me like a heavy blanket. Something about his kindness triggers a distant memory—someone else who believed in me once, who gave without expectation of return. The memory slips away before I can grasp it, leaving only a warm echo. I accept the bag with genuine gratitude and take a deep breath. It is time to go shopping.

I have not explored the bazaar much. I have been stuck, though not unwillingly, working on my enchanting. Also, I did not have any money at the time. The noise is still very prevalent, but that is the nature of shopping areas: forever loud. Merchants shout at other people, trying to get their attention with various deals and wares.

"Health potions at a discount! This way!"

"Premium rations at a great price!"

On it goes, a cacophony of commerce. As I walk, I consider what I need. Food is essential, so I purchase some of those "premium" rations, which I am not so sure are actually premium, but I put them in the bag of holding nonetheless. They will serve.

I do not want to wear any heavy armor; I need to be able to move. That is important. With that in mind, I head to a clothing shop. The merchant is a short man—the shortest I have ever seen, in fact—with silver gray hair, silver circular-rimmed spectacles, and smile lines that touch his aged features. His blue eyes twinkle at me, and I notice the merchant wears the tiniest suit I believe I have ever seen, even if I cannot remember much about my past life.

"Ah, a customer. Hello there, young man, how can I help you?"

I smile at him and nod. "I am looking for an upgrade to my wardrobe." I indicate my peasant garb in all of its ripped and tattered glory. The short man nods, chuckling a bit. I analyze him as he does.

This is a level 199 merchant. He is a gnome. Your analyze has been detected!

The gnome, as I now know him to be, frowns at me. "Did not anyone ever teach you basic manners, Sonny? Keep up that rudeness and see if I can help you." The gnome snaps at me, his blue eyes glaring in cold anger.

I hold up my hands, apologetic; I had no clue that analyzing people like that is considered rude. I figure it is just part of the course. The gnome shakes his head but gestures for me to follow, and we enter his tent.

It is absolutely filled with clothing. There are mannequins everywhere, with coats, robes, breeches, leather armor, suits, gloves, boots, and shoes of all different styles adorning them. The gnome nods, a proud tilt in his chin.

"Ya see, Sonny? I am the best clothing merchant in this bazaar and probably in all of Eden. This is my shop, Glimmer's Garments! You definitely got lucky when you talked to me, do not you know? Now, you take your time and tell me what you like, and we can talk price."

I nod almost absently at the old gnome and look around. I dismiss much of what I see for various reasons. Some of it I just do not like, and some of it I feel would hinder me in some way. I want to find something I would look good in and that I could potentially enchant to last me a while.

I dismiss some dark robes; they are a little too dark for me in the sense that I am not trying to be a dark overlord kind of guy. I do not like the white robes; they would just get needlessly dirty.

After ignoring many of the mannequins for one reason or another, I find myself looking at one outfit that I could see myself in. It starts with a white undershirt, and a deep, dark blue vest is over it. I really like the color of the vest, as it reminds me of a patch of dark sky that twinkles with starlight; silver buttons adorn it. The breeches are black, and utterly so. The boots have a combination of silver and gray leather that extends into a black sole.

Over the whole thing is a long black coat that I imagine flaring dramatically in the wind. It comes complete with a set of gloves and silver gray vambraces. Something about the ensemble feels right, as if it resonates with who I am or who I want to be.

I point at the set-up. "How about a price for this, sir?"

The old gnome looks at me as if gauging something, and then his blue eyes flick to the outfit. He strokes his chin. "I would say 150 EC is a fair deal, sonny."

Honestly, I would have paid more than that, but I sense the gnome is expecting me to haggle.

"How about 80 EC? I think that is more than fair, and you are not likely to sell it to someone else any time soon."

The gnome grins at me, clearly pleased about something. "Ah, but I do not really need the EC, you see, so that is no leverage at all, young man! 140 would be a steal for this!"

I shake my head, schooling my expression. "I think you are trying to take advantage of me due to my youth, sir! Surely you can part with this for 90 EC!"

It goes on like that for a bit, with the old gnome coming up with every reason under the sun for why I should pay more. I start pointing out flaws, even if they are not actually flaws, and the old gnome guffaws and harrumphs at me. In the end, though, we settle on 115 EC for the set.

I probably would have paid much more if I were being honest, but I cannot know when I will need my funds or for what, so being shrewd is the safer bet. Still, there is something enjoyable about the haggling process itself—the back and forth, the verbal sparring. It feels like something I might have done before, in that life I cannot remember.

The old gnome has a privacy screen, and I use it to get dressed. The Judge has a message for me when I do so.

You have discarded the apprentice peasant garb and put on the Dark Wanderer's Set. This set offers zero protection physically, slight protection against spells, and is designed with enchanting in mind!

I smile at the message. I almost cannot wait to enchant this!

Your level is too low to enchant this clothing set. Your enchanting skill must be Journeyman Level 10 before being able to enchant this set.

I am back at Fred's tent, waiting for him to finish what he is doing at the forge, and I am not too happy about the Judge's message. That seems like a high requirement just for some clothes, but there really is nothing I can do about it. I sigh, disappointment fluttering through my mind, but I shake my head. It is what it is.

The crimson river in my Domain churns with impatience. It wants to be used, to create, to transform. I can feel it responding to my ambition, eager to grow stronger. Soon, I tell it silently. Soon we will be strong enough.

Fred soon opens the tent flap and comes in. He is grinning, his massive form filling the doorway. "Ah, there you are, lad! Are you ready for your parting gift?"

I nod, curious. "What do you have for me, Fred?"

Fred produces a katana in a dark sheath. My eyes widen. The handle is wrapped in some kind of black material, but it is made of a shiny white oak. I carefully unsheath the blade, and it is patterned; it looks like raindrops in the steel. The steel, for its part, gleams dark blue, so the silver raindrop pattern really stands out.

As I hold it, the weight feels perfect in my hand. The balance is exquisite, as if the blade were crafted specifically for me. The river of crimson in my Domain surges toward the weapon, as if recognizing a worthy vessel.

Fred grins, clearly pleased with my reaction.

"Raindrop damascus is one of my favorite things to do when forging any blade. See, it requires forge welding the pieces together to create a single billet, and the—" Fred cuts himself off and rubs the back of his great neck sheepishly. "Listen to me prattle; you do not need the details. Now you just need to enchant it!"

I chuckle. Fred is a smith through and through; that is clear. I take out a diamond; I want the katana's enchantment to be powerful. But what kind of enchantment do I want to give it?

I sit down while I think about it. I could put a life-stealing enchantment on it; that would be useful, clearly. However, could not I do more? Fred has told me imagination is a big deal with enchanting.

Fred has also told me that I cannot go against an item's nature. With that in mind, I think about the katana's nature. Obviously, it cuts, kills—that is clear as day—but is it more than that? Does the blade truly just represent killing? No, in a way, it means defending oneself and even others as well. That is just as true of the katana as anything else.

Moreover, it could mean pride in one's skill to wield it well. It could also mean honor, because one faces foes head-on with it most of the time. What I need to lean into is the destroying part, the cutting part of the blade. I know this because my aspects are blood and destruction, so whatever enchantment I do will have to fit inside that, regardless of my imagination or intent.

Blood and destruction. I rub my chin and chew on my inner lip. Weaves are such a big deal in this world; they are what make up spells or magic. Would not it be nice to have a way to deal with that?

Struck by sudden inspiration, I nod my head and grip the blade in one hand and the diamond in the other, and I begin to enchant.

First, I layer the blade with weaves of destruction. I put those weaves through the core of it, making each individual weave almost a blade itself. Then I entwine blood weaves through it but invert them, making the weaves almost inward, creating a kind of funnel with them. I anchor that funnel to the hilt of the katana, so it flows all through the handle and the entire blade.

Through the whole process, I infuse my imagination into the weaves, directing them with my will and intent, and they respond to my imagination as if the threads of mana have a mind of their own. The crimson river in my Domain flows eagerly into the blade, as if recognizing a kindred spirit. The nothingness of destruction carves channels through the steel, invisible to the eye but palpable to my senses.

When I finish, the weaves glow with an inner light, and I receive the message I hoped for.

Your enchanting has increased! Congratulations, Jackson! You have created a journeyman-level katana of spell destruction and absorption! This enchantment will allow you to disrupt all weaves, though it will not allow you to destroy all weaves; only weaves of the same level or lower will be destroyed. Any destroyed weave will be absorbed, granting you the mana used for that weave!

I grin and show Fred, who examines the blade with expert eyes. His expression is impressed, but also tinged with disappointment.

"What is wrong?" I ask, concerned by his reaction.

"Ah, lad, I am sorry. It is just that I thought I would finally level to two hundred! I wish I knew what the damnable problem was all about."

I nod, understanding his frustration. "We will figure it out, Fred. I promise." I test the weight of the katana again, feeling the enchantment humming beneath my fingers. "However, I am sorry, my friend; I need to leave."

Fred sighs, resignation in his eyes. "I know, lad. You've got that quest to find, and I've kept you here long enough." He claps a massive hand on my shoulder. "You've got what you need now—good gear, some coin, and a way to defend yourself."

I sheathe the katana and secure it at my side, its weight a comforting presence. The blood-shard bombs go into my bag of holding, along with the rations and other supplies.

"I will come back," I promise Fred. "After I find this tomb and see what lies within it."

"You'd better," Fred says with a grin. "Or I'll have to come looking for you, and trust me, lad, no one wants that."

We share a laugh, and then it is time. I adjust my new coat, check my supplies one last time, and head for the exit of the safe zone. The gate leading back into the dungeon proper looms ahead, dark and foreboding.

The strange thirst that has been dormant for days stirs again as I approach the gate, as if sensing the violence to come. I push it down, focusing instead on my goal. The tomb of Lazarus. The mark of the fang. Whatever lies beyond that gate, I will face it.

With one last glance back at Fred's tent, I step through the gate and back into the dangers of the dungeon.