CHAPTER 10 - Lyrhaven - Part 3
Lucian and Desmond paused at the tavern's entrance, briefly immersing themselves in the street's lively atmosphere. Traders shouted, children weaved through the crowd, and horse-drawn carriages rumbled in the distance.
"Young Master, it appears Cedric is taking his time," Lucian spoke up. "Might I suggest we use this opportunity to explore the city? Perhaps gather some necessary supplies for your upcoming expedition?"
"Sounds good, let's do it," Desmond agreed.
As they walked around the maze of streets, they eventually reached the marketplace, a lively area pulsing with an array of colors and smells. It was like stepping into a different world, one where the city's austere tones gave way to a kaleidoscope of offerings.
They didn't rush, but efficiently made their way through the array of goods. With Lucian's guidance, Desmond chose a few essential items: a sturdy pair of boots with good grip, some multipurpose ropes, a compact yet warm blanket, and packets of trail mix for sustenance.
After some time and content with their acquisitions, they spotted a food stall wafting the scent of grilled meats and vegetables into the air. With a nod to each other, they decided to treat themselves, a fitting end to a well-spent break in their day.
"These skewers smell amazing," Lucian said to the vendor, who was busy flipping the skewers over an open flame.
"Yes, they are a specialty of this region." The vendor winked. "Perfect fuel for whatever adventure awaits you."
Just then, a young girl, no more than 10 years old, collided with Lucian, knocking herself to the ground.
"S-Sorry, sir," she stammered, her eyes filled with tears. Her tattered clothes, dark blue hair, and azure eyes contrasting with her pale skin offered a vivid contrast.
Lucian offered a warm smile and helped her up. "No harm done, miss."
"Thank you," the girl mumbled, offering a shy smile before disappearing into the crowd.
Extending his hand to summon his pouch, Lucian’s eye opened wide. "My ring's gone! That girl!" he exclaimed, looking both ways as if she might magically reappear.
Desmond reassured him. "Go, find her. I'll catch up with you later at the tavern," he said.
With a nod, Lucian dashed off, leaving Desmond to conclude his purchase. Armed with his skewers, Desmond resumed his exploration. The marketplace felt like a festival, full of life and energy. His pocket ring was soon filled with trinkets, snacks, and exotic drinks.
After wandering through various aisles filled with common goods, he turned a corner and noticed a stall draped in dark purple fabric. It was subtly different, enough to pique his interest. As he stepped inside, he felt the atmosphere change.
“Hello? Anyone here?" he called out. His voice didn't go far, it was as if the tent swallowed the sound.
As he took in his surroundings, the notion of a simple marketplace dissolved entirely. Before him lay what seemed like a museum: finely honed blades, shields masterfully wrought, and suits of armor adorning mannequins that looked as though they were sculpted by artisans.
But what immediately seized Desmond's attention was a set of leather armor displayed on a specific mannequin, placed at the center of the stall. The armor looked strangely modern, almost out of place amid the medieval trappings of the tent—pitch black, adorned with patterns that appeared almost digital, creating a network of intricate designs across its surface. Plates that resembled carbon fiber were integrated seamlessly into the leather, promising a level of protection that didn't compromise flexibility.
The air around the armor seemed to hum, as if charged with energy. Desmond felt an unspoken connection; he knew this wasn't just any armor—it was glyphed. What was something like this doing in a town’s market?
His hand, as if guided by an invisible force, extended toward the armor. Just as his fingers made contact with the surface, a voice echoed in the room. "You have quite the eye for the extraordinary, don't you?"
Startled, Desmond turned around to find an older man standing there, as if he had materialized out of thin air.
"I didn't realize anyone was here," Desmond admitted, his heart racing.
"An adventurer, perhaps?" the man queried, smiling.
Desmond's hand hovered just above the black leather armor, captivated by the Glyphs etched into its surface. "I'm somewhat of an adventurer, yes," he responded cautiously. “Is this armor for sale?"
The old merchant stroked his chin, eyeing Desmond with a blend of amusement and scrutiny. "It could be for sale, young man. But what business does someone like you have with armor so singularly exceptional?"
"An expedition awaits me at the crack of dawn," Desmond said, his voice tinged with resolve.
"An expedition? Now, that's interesting," the man remarked, his eyes sparkling anew, but this time with a veil of serious curiosity. "And what's your intended destination?"
"I'm bound for the Ice Crest," Desmond replied, uncertain of how the merchant would react.
The old man's squint deepened as he appeared to weigh Desmond's mettle. Then, with a hearty laugh that filled the tent, he said, "The Ice Crest, is it? That's a daunting journey for someone your age. What are you chasing? Wealth? Glory?"
Desmond met the merchant's gaze head-on. "Knowledge. That's the treasure I'm after."
The man's expression transformed from one of amusement to genuine interest. "Knowledge, you say? That's a noble pursuit, and perhaps the only kind worth risking one's life for," he said, his eyes lighting up as if recognizing a kindred spirit.
"Ah, but this armor isn't just any piece of equipment; it's imbued with Glyphs. Few are capable of tapping into what it truly offers," said the old man, his eyes flickering with a complex emotion that Desmond couldn't quite identify.
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Desmond nodded, sensing the unspoken weight of the situation. "I suspected as much," he said, revealing the Glyph etched into his right hand.
The merchant grinned enigmatically. "Then here's my proposition: try to bond with the armor. If it deems you a fitting wearer, you may acquire it—though naturally, for a fair sum," he added, gesturing toward the unique set with an outstretched arm, encouraging Desmond.
Curious yet cautious, Desmond approached the black leather armor. As his hand hovered just above the chest piece, memories of the overwhelming pain he had felt when bonding with his sword flashed through his mind, making him hesitate for a split second.
Despite his reservations, the intricate design of the armor beckoned irresistibly. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he finally made contact with it.
‘ORION,’ he began, ‘I’ll try ‘Resonance’. If my Core acts on its own again, could you modulate the influx of Essence? I want to avoid a repeat of the incident with Lucian.’
<
‘Do so, please,’ Desmon requested.
Closing his eyes, Desmond immediately began the specific breathing exercises of the Stallard’s Physique Cultivation technique. His blood quickened, prompting the Bio-Energy to follow, making it converge in his fingertips.
At that moment, the Glyphs seemed to awaken, demanding his attention much like they had with his sword. Whereas before he had been swept away unprepared by their compelling force, this time he steeled himself. He was ready for whatever connection the armor wished to forge.
Straining to maintain his focus, he delved deeper into the call of the Glyphs. After a few seconds, something within him stirred—a part of him he barely understood. For a brief moment, his normally dormant Essence Core pulsed with life.
But that single moment was all it took. In tandem with the pulse, a torrential concentration of Essence began to coalesce around his Core.
‘ORION, get ready!’ he commanded.
The next second, a massive wave of Essence erupted from the Core, making a beeline toward the armor, ready to inundate it. ORION, however, was quick to act. Rather than allowing the Essence to flow uncontrolled, he directed its circulation.
Through selectively blocking certain veins and arteries, ORION channeled the Essence along a complex pathway within his body, effectively creating a makeshift circuit that distributed the pressure. As the flow stabilized, ORION cautiously opened a small gap in the arm's circulatory blockade. Then, by modulating the vascular pressure, he facilitated a thin thread of Essence to flow through his arm, steadily suffusing the armor.
The moment the Essence engaged the Glyphs, a palpable sense of resonance enveloped him. It unlocked a layer of potency that rendered the armor more than just a piece of protective gear. It was as if the armor and he had reached an agreement, one as deep as the one he'd established with his sword. The Glyphs shimmered, bestowing upon him their ancient wisdom, taking root deep within his mind.
When Desmond opened his eyes, the armor had vanished. Instead, a Glyph of shimmering blue light appeared on the back of his left hand, complementing the crimson one on his right. "I did it!" he exclaimed, locking eyes with the shopkeeper.
The old man's face seemed to darken, wrinkles deepening as if carved by time's unforgiving hand. "Cheating the system, aren't we, young man?"
Puzzled, Desmond responded, "Cheating? What are you talking about?" His heart raced, could the man had felt ORION’s intervention?
With a heavy sigh, the shopkeeper's demeanor shifted to one of resignation. "Never mind. The armor is yours—500 gold coins."
"Five hundred gold coins!?" Desmond choked on the words, his heart sinking. "I can't afford that." He had no price reference in this world, but something told him that price was far from reasonable.
The shopkeeper's brow arched, amused yet slightly exasperated. "You bonded with the armor without knowing its value? Rather rash, don't you think?"
"I honestly had no idea. What can we do now?" Desmond's voice carried a note of urgency.
The shopkeeper seemed to ponder, his eyes narrowing momentarily as if contemplating far-reaching implications. Finally, he spoke, "How much do you have?"
"A little over 300 gold coins," Desmond replied tentatively, hiding his true wealth.
The shopkeeper leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Hm," The shopkeeper paused, as though wrestling with an internal debate. Then, his eyes snapped back to Desmond, clear and decisive. "Alright, 300 gold coins it is. But there is a condition."
Desmond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And that condition would be?"
"Should you return from your... trials, you owe me the tale of your adventure. One I suspect will be most illuminating for both of us. Fair?"
"More than fair," Desmond replied as he handed over the 300 gold coins.
As the shopkeeper gingerly stowed the pouch of gold behind the counter, he momentarily halted, extracting a small pendant from a drawer nearby. It had a simple gold chain with a modest-looking crystal hanging from it.
Walking towards Desmond, he placed it on the palm of his hand.
Desmond hesitated, "I don't really need—"
"It’s on the house," the man interjected, locking eyes with Desmond. The intensity of his gaze made Desmond pocket the pendant without another word.
As Desmond stepped back into the marketplace, a sudden sense of disorientation washed over him. Shaking it off, he collided almost immediately with a young girl —a girl with striking blue hair and eyes. It took him only a moment to recognize her; she was the same one who had crossed paths with Lucian earlier.
"This might have accidentally fallen into my pocket," she said, grinning mischievously as she handed him Lucian's ring.
Before Desmond could formulate a response, the girl melted into the bustling crowd, vanishing as quickly as she had appeared. He looked at Lucian's ring; it was still full. With a mix of surprise and curiosity, he pocketed the ring and made his way back to the tavern where Lucian and Cedric were waiting.
Lucian's expression seemed sheepish, likely due to a stern talking-to from Cedric. "Looks like we both had quite the adventure," Desmond remarked, tossing Lucian's ring back to him.
"Where were you? You said we would meet in one hour, young master," Lucian said, catching the ring with a puzzled look.
"I was at a—" Desmond began, but his voice faltered. A fog clouded his memory, the events of the last hour slipping through his grasp like sand. "I got distacted at the market" He mused.
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The old shopkeeper stood behind the counter, his hands moving with practiced speed as he polished an intricate sword, each stroke graceful and precise. The atmosphere of the shop changed subtly as a girl entered, her blue hair and eyes a stark contrast to the purple ambiance that surrounded the space.
With a nimble leap, the girl vaulted onto the counter, transforming into a blue cat in mid-air before landing gracefully. She navigated around various objects laid out on the counter as if they were no more than mere suggestions, finally lying down in front of the old man.
"That enfeebled facade doesn't suit you, Master Eliron," the cat quipped, its voice tinged with a playful irreverence.
Unfazed, Eliron set aside the polished sword and picked up another, resuming his meticulous work without acknowledging her.
Undeterred, the cat smirked and pressed on, "So, how did he fare?"
"Green," Eliron responded without looking up, focused on his work.
The cat's eyes darted to the now-empty mannequin. "But he succeeded in bonding with the armor?"
Eliron sighed, the weight of his exasperation filling the room. "He cheated."
"Cheated?" The cat cocked its head, curious.
"He employed a Physique Cultivation technique to stimulate the Glyphs, artifically birthing a connection with his Essence Core, which he hasn't even awakened yet," Eliron explained, putting down his sword.
"That sound dangerous” the cat ventured.
"It should be," Eliron confirmed.
"But it wasn't?" she pressed.
"Somehow, he controlled the Essence flow," Eliron admitted.
"Without awakening his Core? That should be impossible” the cat noted, already rising as if to leave.
Eliron chuckled softly, a hint of a smirk on his lips.
The cat's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh? You find him interesting?"
"Not him," Eliron clarified, finally meeting the cat's eyes. "His eyes."
"I don't follow," the cat confessed.
Eliron's gaze drifted to where Desmond had been standing earlier. "His eyes burned with a kind of hunger that can't be easily sated.”
The cat tilted its head, prompting Eliron to conclude, "He craves knowledge."