With details of the deal still feeling out of his reach, Zi-Cheng buried his head back into cleaning. Slowly but surely, as layers of dirt were scrubbed away, the workshop’s forgotten charm began to surface.
At the center of the main hall stood a massive forge, its blackened bricks silent yet sturdy, bearing testament to a smith’s pragmatic craftsmanship. Surrounding it were anvils of various sizes, standing like silent sentinels, while a nearby workbench stretched long and steady against the wall. Above it, well-worn hammers, tongs, and chisels were carefully hung in neat rows, tools that had once shaped dreams drawn on the faded blueprints scattered across the bench.
Beyond the workshop, doors opened into the living quarters, a space both modest and practical. The kitchen featured a simple stone hearth for cooking, the kind that spoke of hearty meals shared at the end of long days. A small bathroom stood tucked in one corner, and further down was a cozy sleeping chamber, no doubt reserved for the Chief of the workshop when deadlines loomed too close to leave.
But what caught Zi-Cheng’s attention most was the large wooden table in the center of the living area. Its surface bore deep scratches and faded stains, the kind only years of shared meals and late-night meetings could leave behind. For a moment, he could almost see it: the Chief and his crew gathered around, bowls of steaming stew in hand, their voices overlapping as they discussed designs and contracts.
It felt familiar, too familiar.
Like the scene that was etched into his memory, of the nights he used to spend with his own team, before everything fell apart.
As the summer sun dipped below the horizon, the fruits of their labor slowly came to light.
Zi-Cheng lit the oil lamps one by one, their warm amber glow spilling through glass covers and breathing life into the forgotten workshop. Dusty shelves and old tools, long buried under time, seemed to stir with a quiet coziness, as though the space itself had been waiting for this moment to shine once more.
To someone who’d been sleeping under trees and braving the cold wind every night, this humble shelter felt like pure luxury. For the first time in a long while, Zi-Cheng found himself breathing out a quiet sigh of peace.
That is, until he heard the sound of cloth rustling behind him.
Turning around, he blinked in surprise as Reese and Elena busily set down several cloth bags on the dining table in the middle of the room.
“Alright! That’s enough cleaning for today!” Reese announced with a satisfied grin.
“And now we celebrate Ventus’s new home!” Elena chimed in cheerfully, pulling steaming dishes out of the bags one after another.
(Wait… hold on a second. Did they just pull a full-course dinner out of some bags?!)
Zi-Cheng’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. His mind raced as he stared at the plates, bowls, and even a cake out of the bags.
“You good?” Reese asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a bag of holding before?”
Zi-Cheng, still speechless, could only shake his head violently.
“Ventus gets worked up over the silliest things” Elena teased, placing another dish of food down with a soft thud. “These bags are everywhere! You can even find them on sale at the market! Why are you acting like you’ve never seen one before?”
(Because I’ve only seen something like this from that anime with the blue robot cat!)
Noticing Zi-Cheng’s face flushed in a deep crimson, Reese sighed and crossed her arm, “It’s not that special really,” she said, pulling a small leather pouch from her belt. “The Bag of Holding is just another gadget crafted by artisans using arcane crystals.”
She opened the pouch and fished out a few shimmering crystals, each with a distinct hue – blue, red, yellow, green, and white. “There are five elemental properties: Fire, Wind, Water, Earth, and Void,” she explained, holding up a crystal that gleamed faintly. “This Void crystal can manipulate space and alters elements. That’s how the bag gets its storage ability.”
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Zi-Cheng’s shock was quickly swept away by his curiosity as his game designer instincts kicked in.
“Before you ask, no, human can’t use magic. All we can do is refine the crystals and turn them into things like this. If you want the technical stuff, you’ll have to apprentice under and artisan. I’m just a girl that sells stuff.”
While Reese made it clear that she wasn’t going to entertain more questions, Elena paused, holding a plate of steaming meat pie she just pulled from the Bag of Holding. “You know, Morris is always grumbling about how everything runs on crystals now. Even the Sanctuary needs them for its healing devices.”
“Well, your friend’s not wrong,” Reese glanced at her, her expression softening. “Once people saw what the crystal could do, there’s no going back to the old ways.”
“What old ways?” Zi-Cheng asked, tilting his head.
Already used to his strange questions, Reese simply shrugged, “Before the market was flooded with crystals, people fought in the arena to get blessings for the invocation ritual at the Sanctuary. Food, medicine, tools, you name it. But then Roger Dreslam came along and started paying fighters to trade their blessings for crystals. Next thing you know, the city’s golden age kicks off.”
“But people get hurt all the time in the arena!” Elena protested, clutching her hands together. “Some don’t even make it out alive… it’s awful. Is it really okay for people to suffer just so we can live comfortably?”
Zi-Cheng leaned back, processing their words. The arena, the merchant guilds, the people chasing comfort while turning a blind eye to the cost, it wasn’t just a system; it was a cycle, one he knew too well.
Fighters bled for blessings, merchants turned those blessings into wealth, and the city thrived on a fragile foundation no one dared question. The irony didn’t escape him. Even in another world, the same exploitative rules applied. The names were different, the stakes higher, but the essence remained the same.
(This is not my world. Not my system, not my fight.)
Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.
“Over the past few years, the Dreslam Merchant Guild has been poaching fighters and artisans while secretly manipulating material prices,” Reese exhaled sharply, her fingers pressing hard against the edge of the table. “One day, they’ll claim the invocation ritual isn’t producing enough crystals. The next, they’ll blame the weather, saying it’s impossible to harvest outside the city.”
Her voice dropped slightly as she glanced toward the window, her gaze lingered for a moment as if weighing her next words, “We...we’ve tried pushing back more than once,” she continued, her voice weaker now, “but Roger Dreslam always finds a way. A family friend of mine used to run a small smithy. Dreslam undercut his prices to the point he couldn’t even afford rent. They either drive you out of business by buying out the competition, or get you by some…. other means….”
The last two words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved for a moment before she forced herself to let go, as if catching herself from saying too much.
Yet, it was enough for the pieces to fall into place. The discounted rent for the workshop, the unexpected hospitality—whether he liked it or not, the moment he completed the Egg Peach commission, he had already been pulled into the rivalry between the Golden Clover and the Dreslam Merchant Guild.
Perhaps he could walk away from it all, abandon the workshop and all the entanglements that came with it, but where else could he even go?
“Well, wouldn’t it be nice if the invocation could just hand out everything people needed and call it a day?” Zi-Cheng sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. Unbeknownst to him, two shadows lingered just beyond the workshop window, listening silently in the crisp evening air.
A faint crunch of gravel outside the window caught Zi-Cheng’s attention, but before he could react, a calm and somehow oddly familiar voice spoke, “If blessings were simply ‘handed out,’ do you think anyone would still find purpose in effort, or even value what they received?”
Startled, everyone turned toward the window. Outside stood a man dressed in flowing white priest robes, his messy hair and easygoing smile completely at odds with the dignity his attire suggested. Beside him stood a bespectacled young man—Morris, his arms crossed and posture stiff. His sharp gaze locked onto Elena, carrying the same overprotective air Zi-Cheng had noticed back at the Sanctuary.
(When...when did they….)
“Victor!” Elena exclaimed, immediately hopping off her chair and rushing to the window. She pointed enthusiastically to the two newcomers, her tone brimming with excitement as she introduced them. “This is Victor Hunt, the Sanctuary’s priest, and that’s Morris Percival from the medical team. You’ve met him before!”
“It’s intern, not trainee,” Morris corrected, adjusting his glasses with a wry smirk, “At least I don’t trip over myself and get scolded every other day.”
“Who’s tripping over themselves? You’re the one always dragging your feet and slowing everyone down!” Elena shot back, puffing her cheeks.
Victor chuckled, waving off their exchange as if it were an old, familiar routine. “These two grew up together in the Sanctuary. They’ve been close since they were kids.”
“Close? With him?” Elena protested, glaring at Morris.
“With her? As if!” Morris fired back immediately, rolling his eyes.
Reese’s entire posture stiffened the moment Victor’s eyes landed on her. The easygoing air she carried just moments ago vanished, replaced with a formal demeanor Zi-Cheng hadn’t seen before. She glanced quickly at him, her lips pressing into a thin line when she noticed his blank expression. Panic flickered in her eyes as she stepped forward and bowed deeply, her voice calm but laden with respect.
“We are honored by your presence, Silver Priest Victor. Please forgive us if we have shown any disrespect.”
Zi-Cheng blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in Reese’s attitude. For a moment, he froze, uncertain how to react, before hurriedly bowing as well, awkwardly mimicking whatever Reese was doing.
(This laid-back, scruffy guy is supposed to be a big deal? You’ve got to be kidding me!)