Twilight made the Crimson City look gothic. The tall walls started to loom like a jagged crown against the evening sky, and their peculiar leather garbs made them look like theists of so occult religion.
Percival dismounted from Argus before he got any closer, then he walked the rest of the road back into the city.
He pulled his hood lower, his boots clicking rhythmically against the cobblestones as he navigated the outer market.
He didn’t head for the bright lanterns of the central square. Instead, he ducked into a narrow alleyway where the shops were smaller, their windows coated in a thin layer of gri.
He pushed open a creaking door. A bell chid, thin and tinny.
Percival was t with the nostalgic scent of old parchnt and stagnant mana. Behind a cluttered counter sat a thin man with fingers like spider legs, ticulously cleaning a pile of tarnished rings.
He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Percival’s travel-worn cloak.
"A traveler?" the rchant asked, his voice a dry rasp. "Or an Awakener looking for a bargain?"
"I need a Crest Shield," Percival said. The man seed taken aback by Percival’s voice, cutting through the silence of the shop. "The highest grade you have."
The rchant paused, his interest piqued.
A Crest Shield was a specific, enchanted accessory designed to suppress the system-generated markers that floated above an Awakener’s shoulder; the icons that broadcasted Class and Level to anyone with a basic Appraisal skill.
"Planning to go ghost, are we?" the rchant smirked, reaching under the counter. He pulled out a small, hexagonal brooch made of leaden silver.
"This will do it. It’ll hide the crest of a Level 50 Knight. But it isn’t cheap."
Percival didn’t haggle. "How much?"
"I’ll take thirty-five silver. 6 gold if you have it. And another gold for the sealing of my lips in this illegal ordeal."
The rchant gave him a smile, sampling his brown teeth.
Percival tossed a few gold coins onto the wood.
The rchant swiped them up with greed, but Percival’s hand shot out, pinning the man’s wrist to the counter. The rchant gasped, looking up into Percival’s glowing blue eyes.
"Don’t go around my back if soone cos asking. You didn’t see ," Percival whispered. He dropped five coins of gold onto the table. "And you’ve never sold a shield today. Do you understand?"
The rchant swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "I... I don’t even know who you are, sir. My ledger is empty."
Percival released him, pinned the brooch to the underside of his cloak. Almost imdiately, his Necromancer crest vanished from the air beside him.
Then, it was replaced by a basic Wanderer Class. Lvl 22.
He left the shop and headed deep into the inner districts, where the buildings grew taller and the stone was polished to a mirror sheen.
First, he went to a temple and changed 50,000 Mana Coins to 50 gold, then he went into the places where the common smithies and the general stores were lined up.
He walked past them until he stood before a structure that looked more like a fortress than a shop.
The Eternal Forge.
It was a massive three-story complex of black marble and brass. Two armored Guards stood at the entrance, their eyes scanning every passerby.
Percival walked inside, his presence a dark smudge against the opulence of the main hall.
The air inside was temperature-controlled by mana-stones, carrying the faint, expensive scent of lemon oil and high-grade leather.
Display cases lined the walls, showcasing gleaming breastplates and enchanted blades that glowed with soft, rhythmic light.
An Attendant in a crisp, silk vest approached. Percival could already see the polite disdain on his face as he got closer.
"The D-Grade section is through those doors to the left, traveler," the Attendant said, pointing toward a corner where the mass-produced, cheaper equipnt was kept for common rcenaries. "I believe you’ll find the prices there more... suited to your current standing."
Percival didn’t even look in the direction the man pointed. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of the hall. "I’m not here for scrap iron."
The Attendant’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Sir, the central displays are for the elite of this city. If you cannot afford—"
"I want to see the Diamond Vault," Percival interrupted.
A few wealthy patrons nearby paused their conversations to stare. The Attendant actually let out a short, incredulous huff of laughter.
"The Diamond Vault? Do you even know what is kept in there, boy? The equipnt there costs more than a village earns in a decade."
The Attendant crossed his arms. "Do you even have the coin to step foot in that hallway?"
Percival didn’t argue. He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a heavy, bulging leather pouch. Then he shook it.
Clink. Clink.
The unmistakable sound of coin, the only music these people danced to.
The Attendant’s face underwent a violent transformation. The disdain vanished, and he turned to a sycophant instantly. He bowed so low his forehead nearly hit the floor.
"Forgive ! A thousand apologies, honored guest! I... I misjudged the dust of the road for a lack of ans!" He turned and barked at a younger Page. "Fetch the manager! Imdiately! And bring the cooling wine!"
A portly rchant in heavy velvet robes, the manager, ca scurrying out from a side office, rubbing his hands together.
"A guest for the Vault? Right this way, sir! Right this way!"
Percival followed the Manager and two heavily ard Guardians past the main floor. They moved through a series of reinforced silver doors, heading deeper and deeper into the bedrock beneath the city.
It got colder the lower they went until at last, they reached a final, massive bulkhead. It wasn’t made of steel, but of solid, enchanted gold.
Gold that could feed millions, used to make a door.
The Manager placed a crystal key into the lock and turned it. With a low, tectonic rumble, the golden door swung inward, revealing a magnificent room.
"Welco," the rchant whispered cinematically, "to our Diamond Vault."
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