Chapter 118: An Unexpected Trade

Lena moved cautiously through the dense woods, her steps muffled by the soft earth beneath her feet. Tall, twisting trees surrounded her, their branches stretching overhead like skeletal fingers blotting out much of the moonlight. The cool night air was heavy with the scent of damp moss and wildflowers, adding an eerie beauty to the otherwise tense atmosphere. She adjusted the flower mask on her face, its intricate petals carefully crafted to blend in.

Although her body had healed from the brutal confrontation with the man allegedly called Julius, the memory still haunted her. Waking up amidst the carnage with no clear explanation of how she survived left her with more questions than answers. She clutched her bag tighter, every coin she owned jingling softly inside. Along with her most precious item—the Zealot’s Eye—she hoped to find something valuable at the Bazaar that could offer her protection or answers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice cutting through the stillness.

“Drop the bag,” it commanded coldly.

Lena’s heart sank. She turned to face the source of the voice—a tall figure, a head taller than her, emerging from the shadows. His gray robe fluttered slightly in the breeze, and an owl mask concealed his face, giving him an ominous, otherworldly presence. His stance was rigid and confident, and his voice carried the weight of someone who had done this before.

Cursing her luck under her breath, Lena’s hand instinctively brushed over the small knives strapped to her belt. Of course, she thought bitterly. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to take advantage of the Bazaar’s secrecy. She clenched her jaw, feeling a mix of fear and anger. Her wooden protector was gone, and without it, she had little defense against someone wielding a magical artifact.

“I’m just a traveler,” she said evenly, masking the tremor in her voice. “I have nothing worth stealing.”

“Cut the act,” the man growled, stepping forward. His eyes glinted behind the owl mask. “I’m not interested in small talk. Hand over the bag, or I’ll take it off your corpse.”

Her eyes narrowed as in a quick motion he pulled a leather glove from his belt and slid it onto his left hand. Instantly, his arm bulged unnaturally, veins pulsing with a sickly green aura, his nails turning red and sharp. The air around him shifted, growing tense and oppressive. There was something primal about the energy radiating from him—wild, untamed, and dangerous.

Lena swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She’d seen magical artifacts before, but this glove was something else entirely. It seemed to fuse with his body, amplifying his strength and turning him into something barbaric. She felt a pang of envy mixed with dread. Why couldn’t I have something like that?

“Last chance,” the man said, his voice low and dangerous. “Drop the bag.”

Lena gritted her teeth. She wasn’t about to hand over everything she had worked for without a fight, but she knew her knives would be useless if he got close. She had to think fast.

…

Abel moved silently through the forest, the dark blue robe draped over his frame blending him into the shadows of the trees. A dark mask and the hood of his robe obscured his face, concealing his identity in case he crossed paths with others on their way to the Bazaar. His sharp eyes scanned the dense foliage ahead, focusing on the path that led north toward the rumored cave with the magical quicksand. Each step was deliberate, his senses heightened as he sought the hidden entrance.

Suddenly, a scuffle caught his attention. Voices—one aggressive, the other desperate—echoed through the trees. He shifted his gaze and spotted a woman cornered by a man with an unnaturally large, glowing green arm.

The man’s left arm bulged grotesquely, surrounded by a menacing aura, clearly enhanced by a magical artifact. Abel’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the woman, even through her floral mask. It’s her… The woman from the night he obtained the red flag. What are the odds? He thought, amused by the sheer improbability of their reunion.

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As Abel approached, he observed the tension between the two. The man barked his demands, his voice rough and authoritative.

“Drop your bag, now! And maybe I’ll let you leave in one piece!” the man growled, his glowing arm flexing with a threat.

The woman hesitated, clutching her bag tighter. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she stood her ground, defiance in her posture, she wasn't someone who gave up easily. Abel stepped closer, his calm voice cutting through the tension.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his tone light, yet carrying an edge that made both of them turn.

The man glared at Abel, clearly irritated. “None of your business. Unless you’re here to hand over your belongings too,” he sneered.

Abel chuckled softly. “That’s a fascinating artifact you have there,” he said, his eyes flicking to the man’s grotesquely enlarged arm. “Is it worth threatening strangers over?”

The thug’s sneer widened into a cruel smile. “This arm could crush your skull in one swing. So unless you want to find out, I suggest you start handing over your valuables.”

Lena glanced at Abel, her eyes pleading silently for help. She wasn’t sure who this masked figure was, but she could sense his confidence, and in that moment, she hoped he was more than just talk.

Abel sighed and slowly reached into his robe, pulling out the small knife. Its polished blade gleamed under the dim light filtering through the trees. “Funny thing,” Abel mused, “I’ve got an artifact too. Care to test which one’s stronger?”

The man hesitated for a split second but quickly recovered. “You’re bluffing, my arm will crush you and your puny blade” he spat. “I’ll kill you both!” He charged forward, the ground trembling under his heavy steps.

Lena reacted instinctively, throwing two knives toward the attacker. The man batted them away with his massive arm, his grin widening. Abel remained still, watching until the last possible moment before sidestepping the swing aimed at his head. The air whistled as the massive arm missed by inches, and Abel retaliated with a swift slash aimed at the man’s abdomen.

The man was more agile than Abel expected, turning his body in the last second as the knife’s blade glanced off the hardened skin of the man’s arm, sparking slightly.

The thug laughed. “This arm can block anything. Even your pathetic artifact!”

Abel’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Is that so?” He stepped back, his movements smooth and calculated. The man charged again, raising his arm for another devastating blow. But this time, Abel didn’t aim for the abdomen. Instead, he shifted low dodging the punch, and thrusted his blade into the man’s unprotected stomach—once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

Blood sprayed from the wounds, the man’s laughter turning into a choking gasp. He stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Impossible…” he wheezed, collapsing onto his knees. The glowing aura around his arm flickered, fading as the glove slid off his hand. His arm shrank back to its normal size, lifeless as he crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood.

Abel stood over him, wiping the blade clean. “Artifacts are only as powerful as the person wielding them,” he murmured, glancing down at the fallen glove. He felt in the person's robe and pulled out a small cloth bag full of strange magical creature teeth, some coins, and herbs, which Abel pocketed and then looked towards the glove. He crouched, examining it closely.

Before he could pick it up, Lena’s voice broke the silence.

“Wait,” she said, stepping forward. Her voice was steady, though her hands trembled. “I’ll trade you for it.”

Abel raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, intrigued.

“I have the Zealot’s Eye,” she continued, pulling a small, glowing orb from her bag. “I know it might not compare, but I’m willing to work for you if that’s what it takes. Bodyguard, retainer—whatever you need, for a year. Just… please.”

Abel studied her carefully, noting the desperation in her voice and the way she clutched the orb as if it were her lifeline. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright. You have a deal.”

He had the guards at the gate, but having a personal guard who was also aware of the magical world could solve some of his headaches, especially considering the fact that the town was heading towards a magical reality many weren't prepared for.

He handed her the glove, watching as her eyes lit up with awe. She cradled it reverently, her admiration for Abel deepening. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

Abel took the Zealot’s Eye, turning it over in his hand. Its surface shimmered with an eerie, mesmerizing light. A fitting trade, he thought. Without another word, he turned to her signaling her to follow, and began walking toward the cave, Lena following close behind, the newfound artifact resting firmly in her grasp.