The Grand Theater's interior was even louder than the plaza.
Tiered stone benches descended toward a central stage where a pair of NPC auctioneers performed their duties with theatrical gusto. One, a broad woman in a feathered hat, was mid-pitch on a set of iron gauntlets, her voice rising and falling like she was narrating an opera. The golden price ticker hanging above the stage tracked the bids in real-time, numbers climbing in fitful jumps.
[Iron Vanguard Gauntlets — Current Bid: 2 Gold 10 Silver — 3 Bidders Active]
The seats were maybe a third full. Players watched the live auctions or hunched over glowing console terminals embedded in the armrests, browsing the marketplace catalogue in silence. The low murmur of a hundred side conversations filled the gaps between the auctioneer's booming declarations.
Kage found an empty terminal near the back row and sat.
[Welcome to the Grand Theater Marketplace — Korros Branch.]
[Notice: You have an existing seller profile registered at Oakhaven Exchange. Remote access is zone-limited. Would you like to register a new profile for the Korros Trade Network?]
Of course.
He tapped through the registration. The process took thirty seconds and felt like thirty minutes. Bureaucracy transcended reality, apparently.
[Registration complete. Welcome to the Korros Trade Network, Kage.]
[Seller Tier: Diamond (transferred from Oakhaven Exchange). Listing Fee: 1% of sale price. Maximum concurrent listings: 100. Your listings will be highlighted by default.]
One percent? Kage paused, expecting the standard percent rake. Then the logic clicked. He had moved 165 Gold in a single transaction back in Oakhaven. He was likely the highest-volume seller in the entire game history.
He opened the search interface. A translucent panel bloomed in front of him, filters arranged in neat columns. He typed:
[Search: "Mnemosyne Ore"]
[Results: 0]
Expected. He broadened the net.
[Search: Material — Keyword: "Memory"]
[Results: 0]
[Search: Material — Keyword: "Mnemosyne"]
[Results: 0]
Zero across all three. Not a single unit of the ore existed on the market. He was, as far as the economy was concerned, the sole supplier in a market with no buyers.
Congratulations. You've cornered a market that doesn't exist yet.
Before moving on to gear, Kage minimized the game interface and pulled up the external browser overlay. The familiar, sterile white of the VerseEx Gateway replaced the warm wood tones of the auction house.
He navigated to the exchange rates.
[Current Rate: 1 Gold = $215.40 USD]
Kage stared at the number. Yesterday, it had been nearly $470. The day before, over $550.
The curve was correcting violently.
He pulled up the market analysis tab. The graphs painted a clear picture. The initial "Gold Rush"—where every copper piece was a struggle and whales paid a premium for basic liquidity—was ending. The first wave of hardcore players had reached the major cities. They were completing quests that awarded gold instead of copper. They were vendoring high-level trash loot.
Supply was flooding the market. Inflation had arrived.
The window is closing, the Operator noted. The era of easy money is over.
He refocused on the terminal. The pressure was back, a low hum behind his eyes. He needed gear to clear content that nobody else could touch. He needed to stay ahead of the inflation curve.
He closed the material search. The ore stayed in his bags. Forty-two units of dead weight, waiting for the day some crafter's eyes went wide at a recipe screen.
Two players in the row ahead were arguing, voices carrying in the amphitheater's acoustics.
"I'm telling you, the Spire buys reagents directly. My guildmate sold a stack of Resonance Dust to some NPC researcher on the third floor. No listing fee, no auction. Flat rate."
"The Muse Tower? That's only for magical components, idiot. Your buddy got lucky because Resonance Dust has an arcane tag."
"Everything has an arcane tag if you look hard enough."
"That's literally not how tags work."
The Spire of the Muse.
Kage filed that away. The Mage Tower bought materials directly. No auction fee. If Mnemosyne Ore qualified as an arcane-adjacent reagent, and "memory-retention alloy" certainly sounded like something a Mage research NPC would salivate over…
Later. Gear first.
He pulled up the equipment catalogue and set his filters.
[Slot: Chest | Sort: Level (Descending), Rarity (Descending)]
The results loaded. He scrolled.
No Unique items. Not one. At four days post-launch, the handful of players who'd found Unique gear were wearing it, not selling it like he did. The first listings were Rare, and even those were sparse. A few blue-bordered entries sat at the top.
[Ironclad Vanguard's Cuirass — Rare — Lvl 20]
Req: 25 STR, 35 STA.
Buy Now: 48 Gold.
[Shadow-Stitched Brigandine — Rare — Lvl 20]
Req: 40 AGI, 18 STR.
Buy Now: 38 Gold.
[Stormcaller's Threaded Vestments — Rare — Lvl 20]
Req: 60 INT.
Buy Now: 42 Gold.
Level 20 Rares. The cutting edge of the current economy. Frontrunner gear, priced for frontrunner wallets. Guild-funded purchases. Sponsored streamers. Players who'd been grinding sixteen-hour days since launch and pooling resources.
He checked his balance.
[Current Funds: 13 Gold, 22 Silver, 44 Copper]
Not even a third of the cheapest piece.
And even if he could afford them, he couldn't wear them. Twenty-five Strength? Sixty Intellect? He had twenty-four Strength and fifteen Intellect. These were items built for specialists. Tanks stacking Strength and Stamina. Pure mages pumping Intellect. Rogues balancing Agility and Strength in the standard two-stat spread.
Kage's build was… not that.
Multiple Attribute Dependency. The classic curse of hybrid classes. His damage scaled from Strength and his weapon. His survival scaled from… Agility. He was squishy enough that Stamina was a rounding error. His class scaled from Artistry. Three stats, minimum, fighting for every level-up point.
Every point he spent on Artistry, which was most of them, was a point that didn't go into meeting equipment requirements. Every level, the gap between what he should be wearing and what he could wear stretched a little wider.
Level 22. Wearing a Level 8 common chest piece that smells like wet dog.
He exhaled through his nose and switched the filter.
[Slot: Chest | Sort: Rarity (Descending) | Primary Stat: Artistry]
The results changed. The military-grade combat entries vanished, replaced by a thinner list. Artisan gear. Crafter robes. Performance outfits. The kind of items warriors and mages scrolled past without a second glance.
And the prices plummeted.
A Level 18 Rare sat near the top.
[Maestro's Embroidered Longcoat]
Quality: Rare (Blue)
Type: Cloth Chest Armor
Armor: +15
Artistry (ART): +20
Requirement: Level 18, 50 ART
Passive Effect: [Refined Presence] — +10% NPC Disposition when in civilized settlements.
Description: A tailored longcoat of deep indigo silk, threaded with silver filigree that catches the light. Designed for performance halls and noble courts, though it offers modest protection against less discerning critics.
Buy Now: 7 Gold 50 Silver.
Seven gold fifty for a Rare. The combat Rares were selling for five to six times that.
Nobody wanted Artistry gear. The stat was a mystery to most players. Crafters who needed it were still in the single digits, grinding Apprentice recipes and wearing whatever Common quality apron dropped from their tutorial quests. The handful of Bards, crafters and performers who might benefit were a tiny slice of the playerbase, and most of them hadn't reached Level 18 yet.
Supply meets zero demand.
But for Kage, +20 Artistry wasn't a crafting convenience. It was +20 to his primary resource stat. More Awen. More Awen regen. More potency on every Verse he cast. And through [Poetic Spirit], every drop of theoretical Mana Regen those items would normally provide got converted to Awen anyway.
The Refined Presence passive was a bonus. +10% NPC Disposition in settlements. If Lady Vane's commission was anything like the commission and the courier implied, high-end, requiring presentation to nobility, looking the part might matter.
He switched to the head slot.
[Slot: Head | Sort: Rarity (Descending) | Primary Stat: Artistry]
Thinner pickings. He scrolled past a couple of headbands until an Uncommon caught his eye.
[Virtuoso's Plumed Beret]
Quality: Uncommon (Green)
Type: Cloth Head Armor
Armor: +8
Artistry (ART): +8
Agility: +2
Requirement: Level 19, 20 ART
Passive Effect: [Performer's Flourish] — Minor visual flair added to equipped weapon trails.
Description: A soft, wide-brimmed beret of dark crimson velvet, adorned with a single raven's plume. Favored by wandering minstrels who believe appearance is the first verse of any performance.
Buy Now: 1 Gold 40 Silver.
Performer's Flourish was cosmetic fluff, but the +8 Artistry and +2 Agility on a head slot were solid. And the beret was Level 19.
Crimson beret with a raven plume. Indigo longcoat with silver thread. Bone-white chitin legguards. Grey ash-leather boots. Bandage wraps on my hands.
He paused. The color palette alone was a war crime.
It doesn't matter. Stats matter. Lady Vane wants a Poet, not a fashion model.
Although.
The way the courier had spoken. The phrasing on the commission notice. "If your words carry weight, present yourself." The emphasis on presentation. This was a noble patron in a city that literally judged crimes based on aesthetics. A city where the guards were art critics.
She's going to look at me.
He looked at the prices again. Seven-fifty for the coat. One-forty for the beret.
[Total: 8 Gold, 90 Silver]
Leaving him with four gold and change. Tight. But functional.
He selected both items and confirmed.
[Purchase Confirmed: [Maestro's Embroidered Longcoat] — 7 Gold 50 Silver]
[Purchase Confirmed: [Virtuoso's Plumed Beret] — 1 Gold 40 Silver]
[Remaining Funds: 4 Gold, 32 Silver, 44 Copper]
The items materialized in his inventory as small, folded icons. He equipped them immediately, dragging each to its slot. The wet-dog vest vanished, replaced by the weight of silk settling across his shoulders. The beret appeared on his head, angled slightly.
[Equipped: Maestro's Embroidered Longcoat]
[Equipped: Virtuoso's Plumed Beret]
A new line of text pulsed briefly.
[Passive Effect Active: [Refined Presence] — NPC Disposition +10% in civilized settlements.]
His Artistry jumped. The Synesthesia overlay shivered and then settled into sharper focus, the golden price tickers above the stage gaining texture, the ambient noise of the theater resolving into distinct layers. More data, processed faster.
+28 Artistry from two items. Total ART now at 110.
He glanced at the [Quilted Huntsman's Vest] now sitting in his inventory. It was hideous, low-level, and smelled faintly of swamp water. Most players would have deleted it to save bag space.
Kage dragged it to the 'Sell' tab.
[Listing Price: 5 Silver]
[Confirm?]
He clicked yes. Someone, somewhere, was desperate enough for +12 Armor to pay five silver. Or maybe they just had bad taste.
Waste nothing, he thought. Liquidity is liquidity.
He closed the terminal and stood from the bench.
The auctioneers were still performing. The two players ahead had moved on from the Mage Tower argument to debating whether a shield's built-in taunt worked on neutral NPCs. He stepped past them and climbed toward the theater's exit, weaving between incoming players who were still gawking at the floating price tickers.
The Golden Plaza swallowed him back into its current of foot traffic. Kage pulled up the city map overlay and traced a route from his position to the Noble's Promenade, where the Vane Estate waited.
The route took him northeast, past the Busker's Walk, through a colonnaded arcade connecting the Golden Plaza to the upper residential districts. He followed the mosaic-tiled path, letting the map marker guide him.
Korros in late afternoon was a city performing for itself. Luma-Orbs were beginning to warm, their glow shifting from daylight white toward the amber-gold of early evening. Bards played on street corners, their music layering into a dissonant collage. A group of players had formed a conga line near the Vault of Preservation. A roleplayer in full plate armor was kneeling before a confused NPC florist, loudly proposing marriage.
Kage walked through it all without slowing. The Refined Presence passive and his more… appealing aesthetic were doing something subtle. The NPC vendors he passed glanced his way with less suspicion. A street merchant actually nodded at him. Whether it was the stat effect or simply looking less like a destitute refugee, the result was the same.
The arcade opened into a broader boulevard, its buildings taller, its tile patterns more intricate. The Noble's Promenade. The architecture here shed the bohemian chaos of the lower districts and adopted something more deliberate. Clean lines. Wrought-silver balconies. Gardens visible through iron gates.
He was passing a shopfront with a full-length glass window when he caught the reflection.
He stopped.
The figure in the glass looked like a ransom note made from three different magazines.
The indigo longcoat was elegant. Dark silk, silver threading, a clean silhouette that tapered at the waist. Above it, the crimson beret sat at a jaunty angle, its raven plume curving rakishly over one ear. Deep blue and bright red. Oil and water.
Below the coat, the Strider's Hollow-Bone Legguards jutted out. Pale chitin plates over rough leather straps, insectoid and utilitarian, the organic texture clashing with the tailored cloth above. And beneath those, the Treads of the Ashen Dune, grey-white leather boots that looked like they'd been salvaged from a different game entirely.
His hands were wrapped in the Sonic-Weave bandages. Combat wraps. On a bard's outfit.
And at his hip, Mumyo. A void-black shortsword with a crimson vein, radiating a quiet malice that made the silk coat look like it was hosting a parasite.
Individually, every piece was fine. Some were even striking. Together, they looked like a costume assembled during a house fire.
I look like a colorblind theater kid who mugged a hunter.
He pulled up the city map again. Searched for services. Tailoring. Cosmetics. Dye.
A marker appeared three blocks south.
[The Chromatic Thread — Apparel Dyeing & Restoration]
He turned and walked.
---
The Chromatic Thread occupied a narrow storefront wedged between a candle shop and a calligrapher's studio. The sign above the door was hand-painted in a dozen overlapping colors, each letter a different hue. Bolts of dyed fabric hung in the window like flags.
A bell chimed as he pushed through the door.
The interior was small and dense, every surface draped in fabric samples. Spools of thread in every conceivable color lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The air smelled of vinegar and crushed berries, sharp and organic. A massive vat of something deep purple bubbled quietly in the back corner.
Behind the counter stood a wiry Elven woman with close-cropped lavender hair, a measuring tape draped around her neck, and half-moon spectacles perched on a nose that seemed built for looking down at people. She was examining a swatch of fabric against the light when the bell rang.
She turned.
Her spectacles slid down half an inch.
Her gaze started at the crimson beret. Traveled down to the indigo coat. Continued to the bone-white chitin legs. Landed on the ash-grey boots. Came back up to the combat bandages. Settled, finally, on the void-black sword leaking malice at his hip.
A silence filled the shop.
"Absolutely not," she said.