The first thing that John noticed upon stepping into the gilded district wasn't the quality of houses, nor the half-intact gardens or any other shows of wealth put on display to humble the people stepping into this part of the town. No, those things were eye-catching, but what truly caught his eye was a bright beam of white light shining high into the sky. Actually, there were two beams, one close, likely only a few streets to the east, and the other further to the northeast, probably very close to the city outskirts.
Wait, but why haven't I…
He walked back onto the bridge to test his theory and suddenly both beams vanished from sight.
Looking behind him to prove it, the beam coming from the Valiant's stand was currently obscured as well, giving him the conclusion he was expecting.
So those beacons are only visible from the inside of their own zones, interesting.
Intrigued, John made his way to the closer shelter through the narrow streets up ahead.
The streets here, filled with zombies like everywhere else, differed in their width and beauty. Back over the river, they were wider, more suited for heavy transportation and lined up by a row of houses on every side, but here they were just wide for two cars to cross, the pavements were wider with trees planted on the sides, and even the ground was made up from perfectly fitting bricks forming a puzzle-like pattern. The houses were like prominent jewels on display, set deep enough inside the gardens to be both showing up their custom architecture, but also be far enough to be isolated from the other houses around them.
John was halfway through the second street when he noticed a group of people arriving at the end and systematically killing every undead milling around there, giving him a perfect opportunity to find out who these people actually were.
Keeping his Storm wisp high in the sky in case of emergency, and as he continued forward he grew more and more surprised about their lack of reaction to his presence. It was only after he got roughly forty meters away from them when finally someone in the group of seven reacted and pointed toward him while saying something to the middle-aged man in grey plate armor.
Oh wait, they couldn't see me because it's in the middle of the night.
The grey color of the armor made him realize the obvious reason. It was somehow confusing how quickly he was able to adapt to the colorless view, and act as if it was the middle of the day instead.
"Halt! Identify yourself!" The voice was firm, clearly used to giving commands and expecting respect, but not abusive or histerical.
Good sign.
"Easy there, I am John. I came here through the northern bridge, curious about the current state of things here. Who are you?" He replied in a calm tone, not interested in seeking conflict where it was not necessary.
"Tell the rest of your group to come out, but no sudden movements! We are watching you."
"There is no group, I prefer hunting the monsters on my own. But from your tone, am I correct to assume you are a former Policeman?"
John was currently standing twenty meters away with no zombies between them, and could clearly hear the confused "alone" in the hushed argument among them. It was obvious from the way they were staring into the street behind him, that they were fully expecting his team to suddenly jump out from the darkness and ambush them.
After reaching some consensus, the leader continued with his questioning.
"Let's say I believe you, what is your reason for coming here?"
"Simple interest. I could have stayed up north, killing the undead surrounding the city, but I was honestly curious about how are people in the so-called gilded district holding up. Especially when I figured out the bright beams of light," he pointed at the one only a few more streets ahead, "are only visible from their own zone. I had no idea there were more shelters in this city except the one in the west."
That made some of them perk up, and a younger woman with a shining bow stepped closer and spoke up.
"Where is it?"
"They made the pillar in the middle of the Vinton's square." As he answered, John could see some of her hope disappear.
"And, any other survivors?"
"Hmm, some survivors were holding up in the northwest side of town, inside some abandoned factory, other than that… I don't know. All I remember is hearing about some people coming to the Valiant's stand from the south because their place got overrun during the Restless Assault."
"Oh… but… what about my…" She continued in a quivering voice but was interrupted by a blonde guy, who started to comfort her and lead her further away. "They could all be fine and waiting for you, don't give up hope…"
"What am I supposed to do with you," rhetorically asked the first guy with a tired sigh.
"I can offer to take you with us to meet our commander, but… don't make me regret it." He eyed his blood-stained club for a moment but probably deemed it not dangerous enough to mention.
John was escorted through the now perfectly cleared streets, until at the fourth intersection, one of those dipped slightly toward the north, and roughly halfway was the same wall he got used to. The difference though was the lack of buildings around it, forcing their shelter to build a one-piece wall around the whole shelter, and from his point of view, it seemed like a regular hexagon, making him whistle in surprise.
"What?" Asked the leader, who was keeping himself close to him.
"The wall, it's… well, the Valiant's stand only had walls on the three streets leading into it, but here… It looks much more impressive." John replied, pointing in the direction of the shelter.
"You… can see it from here?" He asked in surprise, clearly not expecting his answer.
"Yes, one of my cards gives me night vision." John nodded without elaborating further.
The silence between them stretched for a while longer, but John remained quiet until the guy tisked in annoyance.
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"You like to keep your cards close to your chest, eh?" Making John chuckle at the stupid joke.
"You know how it is," John replied. "But jokes aside, I have some cards I don't need that I could sell, information about the other shelter I could share, tips and advice I could provide… Though be aware there is a reason I am going out at night, alone, and not worrying about my survival."
"I'll make sure they are aware," he grunted and led John the remaining distance in.
From the organization of this shelter, John could immediately tell this one was not being ruled by civilians. The guards at the gate were obviously some military personnel, the woman currently watching over him was a military or police officer, and even the groups patrolling the walls had this ingrained discipline that just doesn't appear after two days of fighting.
"What is that building over there?" John asked, pointing at the strange house in the shape of a pudgy mushroom. The stem was three meters wide white material with a hole for a door, a single window cut into it, and supporting a heavy cap serving as a roof that shone in a light golden sheen.
"That is a Zel'thurin's shack of wondrous items." She replied with a small sneer before catching herself and schooling her expression back to amiable neutrality.
Hmm, why is she annoyed with that building?
"Can I check it out?" He asked, already changing his direction and walking toward it.
"Go ahead. I was only instructed to watch over you until Colonel Reeds is ready to meet you." She replied in a clipped tone.
The door to the building was covered by an old weathered rag that John pushed aside and stepped in.
The building was bigger on the inside, but also very moist. It was the humidity of a morning mist inside an old untamed forest, and John took a deep breath through his nose, enjoying the serene feeling of the smell inside.
"Mmmmm," he exhaled, slowly opening his eyes and noticing an old man now sitting on a bench to his side, sporting an intrigued smile on his weathered face.
"You seem different from those blundering fools living in this shelter. Always stressed out, trying to pinch every grain of ash… rude, despicable… Ahhh, where are my manners… my apologies for this one's rant. I am an avatar of Zel'thurin, the patron of isolation, knowledge, and serenity. Welcome to my humble shop."
"I am John Miles, it's a pleasure to meet you." He mimicked the same light bow he was given, before looking around for the items on display.
The items were mostly carved out of wood, but there were also some made out of hides, weaved grass, or other materials one may find in the forest and while beautifully made, John was unsure about what to think.
"Do your wares offer some hidden advantages?" He asked after observing an intricate bracelet carved from a single piece of wood and painted with unknown symbols.
"Indeed, the one you are currently looking at will protect against a single-target projectile Ability of up to rare rarity, and recharges once every two days."
Huh, that is impressive.
"What is the price?" He asked, considering buying something similar.
"That bracelet is one of the most valuable items here, I can offer it for twelve thousand white ash."
"Yeah sorry... I can see the value, but not only I can't currently afford it, but I also don't believe it is a good investment for my immediate future." John replied with a shake of his head and moved to the shelf with various bags sewn in archaic money-pouch styles. "Hmm, do you have something to store my weapons? Ideally, something that would not overburden nor impact my mobility?"
After a mild chuckle, Zel'thurin pointed with his surprisingly well-sculpted right arm at the bags in front of John.
"Let me give you a demonstration," he stood up and somehow moved right next to him in a single fluid step, tapping the shield with one of his fingers. "May I?"
Interested, John nodded and offered it to the mysterious old man, while observing the simple garb covering his chest like a tank top. At first glance, it seemed like a shoddy patchwork of animal skins sewn together and with a bunch of squiggly lines painted over it, but from up close, each section of skin seemed to have a deeper meaning behind the…
A polite cough made him jerk up and smile in embarrassment.
"Err, sorry. I was… ehm… nice shirt you got…" feeling like his apology was getting dumber by the minute, he just stopped and only scratched his head, making Zel'thurin laugh out loud.
"It's… fine…" he said between the laughs.
"You know I made that shirt before I even became the Paragon? It's my best and also by far the most complicated piece I have ever made." He spoke with pride and unending dedication to his craft. "But let's get back to the bags, shall we?"
After a quick nod, John watched in rapt amazement as Zel'thurin untied the string holding the leather bag closed, put the shield above the miniature opening, and the bag sucked it inside as if the shield was made out of extremely flexible rubber.
"See? The price depends on its volume and additional enchantments, but if you tell me your budget, I am willing to point out the ones most useful to you."
Hmm, this might be worth the cost.
"I am not sure about the prices, but somewhere between five to fifteen hundred? Maybe a bit more if there is something truly worth the extra investment." John said after a couple of seconds of thought.
"Oh, then how about one of these three?" With a small grasping motion, three bags flew out of the shelf, sorting themselves on a close table between them.
"This one," he pointed at the largest of the three that was lying on its side, "can store up to ten items no bigger than two meters, but can only release the last item you stored, making it bothersome if you need the item you stored first. It is worth six hundred white ash."
"That is not ideal, but I could probably get used to it. What about this one?" John pointed at the one in the middle, made out of fluffy white skin and by far the smallest.
"This can store up to twenty items and works on a tag basis. You name each item during the storing process and pull it out by willing up its name. In case you forget the names, you can use a command to pull out every item at once. It's for twenty-two hundred though."
That is so much better, but should I put that much into a bag? His internal monologue was interrupted by the description of the last bag.
"...up to four items, but works a bit differently than the previous two. You bind the four items with the bag itself and then can store or pull them out by saying their names. It is mostly known as the portable arsenal because the majority of beings bind their weapons with it and switch quickly during fights. It is eighteen hundred whites."
This is actually perfect. I don't need to carry food or camping supplies so… hmm one more thing.
"Can I unbind an item if I change my mind later?" John asked, hoping for a positive response.
"Yes, there is a safety command to unbind everything. Are you interested in buying it?" Zel'thurin asked in a surprised tone.
Let's see how much ash I currently have first. Apocalypse deck!
He had over twenty-seven hundred whites, and one hundred and twenty-eight blues, enough to comfortably invest into the last bag.
"I'd like to, yes."
It took five minutes for Zel'thurin to explain the process of correct binding, the ways of usage, and he even surprised John with the offer of free binding. That made the bag permanently linked with him and unusable for anyone else, protecting the future items stored within from casual theft.
"Once again, thank you for all the help. If I'll get another opportunity, I'll certainly drop by." John lightly bowed after clipping the new bag to his pants.
"Don't worry about it, John. And the pleasure was all mine." Zel'thurin watched John turn and walk out with a content smile.
Before leaving, John noticed brown vines blocking the entrance, but as he walked closer they receded back into the wall, letting him pass through.
"Finally, what were you doing in there for so long? The Colonel was expecting you ten minutes ago!" A very irritated man with a classic army haircut yelled out, making John lift one of his eyebrows and after a second of uncomfortable silence replied in a cheery voice.
"Well then, lead the way."