From the outside, the city of Aslodia seemed nothing more than a hellscape of factories and industry, but this couldn’t have been farther from the truth. The cityscape was beautiful, even more against the belching smog from the towering bricks.

Brass tubes embedded into the stone pavement of the city and brass tubes coiling around the victorian-esque buildings. They all emitted a white steam. A city-wide heater to stave off the cold.

The loud, yet rhythmic cycling of the engines that roamed the streets was merely an accompaniment to the murmurs of the people that lived here. It was unlike the city of Blaine, where the shouting and the clanking, and the bartering, were robust. Aslodia had... an ‘ordered chaos’.

Case in point, we passed by one of the busiest streets of Aslodia. It was a mercantile hub of all sorts of shops and merchants. Engines were not allowed to enter the street and as such, only residents and travelers crowded the wide expanse.

The city of Aslodia didn't quite match up with the diversity of its residents to Blaine, the city of adventurers, but it was still amazing to see. The sight of trolls and hobs in the city was only something you could see within the winterland republic.

As we navigated the crowded and narrow spaces, bumping shoulders with the many races that inhabit it, we found ourselves stranded in a little corner of the district.

“Oh, a clothes shop?” Madriel perked up, looking up to the metal sign hanging by a curved pole.

‘The Syntherin Choices’ spelled out in beautiful allyric, which was the language and alphabet of the winterlands. It was a different language to the common tongue which was spoken by most people in the continent. This was unique to Crossia.

“Entering.” Nis hurriedly entered the shop without even looking back. Madriel shrugged and followed after her, though his action belie the sparkles in his eyes.

Slavos peered into the display, looking at the clothes. His scaled and clawed fingers tapping at the glass. “Clear and sturdy. How far has this civilization come?”

“I’d say quite a bit compared to the rest.” I shrugged to “I’ll be inside, you?”

Slavos furrowed his brows looking inside before turning and leaning back on the brick wall. “I don’t see articles that would fit my physique. I will stay here.”

I smiled. “Let’s check on a weapon shop and a book store later on.” I left with those words and followed the other two.

The shop was... quaint. It was a shade darker than most others, and there were only few a gas lights lit in the walls and ceilings. However, it was atmospheric, with a touch of ‘humbleness’... in a way. Or, I suppose ‘decay’ would be a more apt descriptor.

“It is interesting how their fashion is so much different from the rest of the continent.” Madriel piped up, one of his hands stroking at the fabric of the display coat. “Elsewhere,they would give the illusion of form and dominance, in Crossia, they would accentuate the natural in an elegant manner. It’s quite nice.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in fashion.”

He smiled and turned to look outside the window. Many more of the people outside wore the same type of clothing. Slim and form-fitted.

“I’m sure you’ve realized, but many elves are infatuated with beauty. I am no exception. But, more than haughtiness and affluence that so many elves seem to find attractive, I find practical and tasteful articles more pleasing to the eyes.”

That’s a traveler and adventurer for you. Showboating adventurers rarely live for long, and I suppose Madriel is a testament to that.

Madriel started to look around more in the small shop. There were truly quite a lot in display, and it seemed like it would take a while. On the other hand, my sight drifted to another part of the shop, the only other corner that seemed ‘lonely’. Scant light illuminated that corner, but there was a pristine order to it that caught my eye.

It was a set of clothes. Dark brown on the outside and shaded green on the inside, accentuated with silver lining. A cloak made of some kind of black fur. Many metal bits hung on the torso with several pouches lining the chest. The pants had fortified kneecaps made of black metal with several more pockets by the side. The gloves in display had metal plates to protect the back of the hand and smaller plates on the fingers, while the boots were tip-plated for protection.

It would have looked hardy if it weren’t for the fact that it was slightly tattered at the edges and worn out, and the many metal bits were dinged and rusted.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I suppose, by the general decay of the clothes, it wasn’t meant to be sold. After all, it was also encased in a glass box, the clothes hung up by metal poles. I tapped at the glass screen and peered at the small plate.

‘Keffer Aldrin’s Clothes’ was engraved on the gold plate. Beneath it was another plate. ‘Famous cartographer, traveler, and polymath’.

Keffer Aldrin... if I remember correctly, he was the author of the travelogue that Nis was reading before we left from Blaine.

A famous figure that I’ve never heard of, or read in any of the published books about the game. It’s possible that someone mentioned it and I just forgot, but who is this Keffer Aldrin?

I looked to the shopkeep who was reading a book behind the counter. He looked bored, and he was beyond caring at his merchandise.

“Excuse me, how much for this?” I pointed at Keffer’s clothes.

“Not for sale.” The man curtly replied, his eyes not even leaving the book.

“Fine. Offer me a price for it and I’ll buy it.” I declared and started counting out my coins.

Thanks to my dexterity, it didn’t take long before a sizable lump of gold coins stacked on the counter. The man looked in surprise and closed the book he was reading.

“Are you hard for hearing? I told you, it’s not for sale. Even if it was, I am obliged to tell you that the article in question is cursed.” The man answered in an irate voice as he takes out newspaper clippings from one of the drawers beside the counter with practiced movements. “Read.”

... Numerous accidents and deaths of numerous owners. Dubbed as the ‘Aldrin Curse’. It passed hands over the years and finally landed on Syntherin Choices shop. I looked at the man with furrowed brows.

“It’s nonsense anyway. Just a string of bad luck, but people believe them, for some inane reason.” The commented.

“Did you actually get it checked for curses?”

“That’s like asking if I’m stupid. Of course I haven’t. I don’t have the inclination to spend it on a pair of ‘famous’ clothes. It’s a useful decoration, and that’s all I need from it.” The man scoffed and returned the clippings to the drawer. “If that’s all you wanted, can you leave? I’ve got customers to attend to.”

I chuckled. “Sure you do. We’ve been here 20 minutes and not a single person apart from us dinged the bell. How about this, I can appraise the set for you for free, and if it is cursed, I’ll buy it from you at a very generous price. It’s a win-win either way, yeah?”

The shopkeep stopped to think, then turned his head to look at the glass envelope at the corner. He bit his lip and sighed. “Fine, but how can I trust your word for it?”

I shook my head and looked at the one person that would have that ability. “Not me, her. She’s an expert on all things grim and supernatural.”

Truth be told, I did have the ability to appraise it using my appraise skill, but the problem was that it couldn’t differentiate curse effects. As an Occultist however, I did have that very ability as a skill that we automatically gain after a few levels. Problem was... Occultists aren’t seen that favorably according to Slavos. I can’t really bare it to the world, can I?

On the other hand, a Witch Hunter was a different situation entirely. They were considered upholders of the mundane and hunters of the supernatural and evil. They had the natural ability of psychometry. They were feared and respected.

“And if you won’t take my word for it, there’s always this.” I pulled out the badge of an adamantium and set it on the counter.

The shopkeep raised an eyebrow and looked at my face, scrutinizing it. “That changes everything.”

I smiled. “Nis, come here. You’ve got work to do.”

Nis glanced this way with a disinterested look. “Only if you’re paying.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m paying for it.” I shrugged and pointed at the clothes in display. “Check it for anything malicious.”

Nis nodded and headed to the glass envelope. She then brushed the hair away from her eyes and chanted an eerie cacophony of words.

Light gathered on her eyes as blue sparks surrounded it. Strands of blue hugged the edges of her eyes while a faint circle made of sparkles appeared around her sight, as if a magnifying glass. Nis peered at the article of clothing, intently, and deliberately taking her time.

She breathed out and relaxed her body. As she did, the magic around her receded back into her body and she looked at me. “Yep, it’s cursed. Not sure what though.” She shrugged and returned to looking for clothes.

I turned to the shopkeep and grinned. “Your next words should be ‘SOLD!’, right?”

~ - ~

“This is your house?” Madriel asked, his mouth agape at the sight in front of him.

“Hey, I’m just as surprised as you are.” I inserted the key in and twisted it. A satisfying and loud clink sounded out and the door opened ajar.

So it really is my player house. I’m really surprised that even this place carried on to this world. Seriously, everything is so weird. I sighed inwardly and pushed the door open.

It didn’t even feel like anything changed in the slightest. The place still looked pristine and as I had left it. Several animal head trophies decorated on the wall, armor stands fully plated, decorative sabers hung on the wall, paintings of inordinate value.

This wasn’t the end of it. After all, my house was a manor in the upper district of Aslodia.

“Make yourself at home. There’s a bunch of unused rooms on the 2nd floor.” I told them and hurried off to one side of the manor.

There was one place in this piece of land that was unable to be opened unless they had the key or were a very skilled locksmith. The basement held a lot of my unused items, from junk to treasures. It was basically my storage unit.

I stepped into an empty space behind doors. It was just a room with a few chairs, a painting easel, and some plants. It looked nothing special.

I pulled out the very same key and inserted into the air. With a flick of a wrist, a door gradually appeared from thin air. A thick, imposing iron door engraved with several magical runes. The dull gray contrasting with the bright colors of the room. I lightly smiled at the nostalgic scene.

Ah... it was actually impossible to steal anything from me unless they were a master locksmith and a master of the arcane. Well, now that this world is devoid of players, this might actually be overkill now.

I shrugged and pushed the door open. Just as I entered, the scent of oil and the heat of the forge overwhelmed me. The sight of my workshop and the many chests and crates around the room filled my vision.

Yep, I’m back. This is definitely AdOn, just as how I left it, just as I wanted it.