So this second of Lesson 18 is turning out waaaaay bigger than expected, if you couldn't tell by how long its taking.
So long its effectively a chapter itself. So instead of making you guys wait longer, I'm just posting the first part as the rest of Lesson 18, and finishing the rest tomorrow as Lesson 19.
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The scholarly-looking man’s office was still and orderly. Tall shelves lined the walls, their ledgers arranged by trade route, season, and client priority. A regional map occupied the wall behind him, marked with colored pins and thin threads that traced roads, rivers, and caravan routes. On the desk itself, stacks of contracts sat in clean columns beside a polished communication jade.
“Mr. Milford! I’ve returned!”
The voice came from the other side of the office door, far too bright and friendly to belong to the old spinster who worked his front desk.
Milford looked up from the ledgers spread across his desk, his pen pausing halfway through a signature. For a moment, he simply stared at the door.
His frown deepened by a fraction, and his gaze flicked toward the communication jade resting near the edge of his desk.
The president of the Milford Shipping Company, the largest import and export firm in the region, did not receive unannounced visitors.
There were very few reasons someone would approach his private office. Fewer still for anyone in his employ to allow them to reach the door.
After a brief pause, he set his pen down.
“…Enter.”
The doors opened, and a scraggly man in battered leather armor stepped inside.
His hair stuck out in uneven tufts, his beard needed trimming, and one strap of his armor had been repaired with cord that didn’t match the rest. A small tear near the hem of his cloak had been patched badly enough that Milford suspected it had been left that way on purpose. At a glance, he looked like any of the thousands of adventurers drifting through Halirosa’s lower markets.
Most days, that was exactly what he was. One more mid-tier nobody in a city full of them.
The adventurer crossed the office with the loose ease of someone who had been here often enough to forget he was supposed to act impressed. He dropped into the chair across from Milford and leaned back.
Milford folded his hands atop the desk.
“Report,” he said.
The adventurer’s grin widened. “Straight to business, then.”
“That is what I pay you for.”
“Fair enough.”
He lifted one hand, and several items appeared on the desk one after another.
The first was a short, wicked-looking blade in a dark sheath. It had the simple shape of a work knife, though its edge caught the lamplight with an unsettling gleam.
Next came a flat rectangle of polished metal, no longer than Milford’s palm, with a small hilt fixed to one end and a loop large enough for a finger set near the grip.
After that, the man placed down a silvery pouch made from thin, crinkled material that reflected the office light in sharp flashes.
Another metal rectangle followed, this one much shorter than the first. A round opening had been cut through one end, while the other was covered by a smooth cap that looked as though it might slide or twist free.
Finally, he set down a pair of yellow artifacts with flat glass faces and several raised buttons. They looked almost like talismans, though Milford sensed no spirit energy from them at all.
Milford studied the collection in silence, then raised a single brow.
“Oh?” he said, “and what exactly have you brought me?”
The adventurer leaned back again and hooked one ankle over the other.
“You asked for their most interesting stock,” he said. “Figured you’d seen enough fancy swords and armor by now.”
Milford’s mouth curved slightly.
“Indeed.”
His gaze returned to the items.
The Nexus Hub had become impossible to ignore.
At first, Milford had dismissed it as another curiosity, some overfunded shop trying to carve a name for itself by undercutting better-established merchants. Halirosa produced such ventures every season. Most burned brightly for a month, offended the wrong supplier or clan, then disappeared beneath debt and embarrassment.
This new store had only caught his attention after certain facts about its connections came to light.
“Then tell me about them,” Milford said, gesturing to the table.
The adventurer picked up the short blade first.
“They called this a ‘neverdull’ blade,” he said, lifting the dagger. “It was marketed as a utility knife that will never need sharpening or maintenance. Though they were also very clear that it’s not suited for combat.”
Milford gave a soft scoff. “Every blacksmith on the continent makes that claim sooner or later. I trust this one had something more than salesmanship behind it.”
The adventurer chuckled and drew the blade from its sheath.
It was plain enough, with none of the ornamental markings or etched arrays typical of cultivator blades. The handle was black and slightly textured, shaped for function rather than display, while the metal itself was a dull grey.
Milford rubbed his chin, otherwise unimpressed.
The adventurer pinched the very tip of the blade between thumb and forefinger and strained. Bronze Spirit energy flickered faintly beneath his skin.
Snap!
The tip broke off with a small pop and remained caught between his fingers.
Milford’s frown deepened.
If this was meant to impress him, it had failed. A knife that broke so easily under the grip of a mid-Bronze Spirit adventurer had no place in the kitchen, let alone the field. A mortal might have found some use for it, perhaps, but such things were beneath the notice of his customers.
Yet when Milford met the adventurer’s gaze, the man was smiling.