Numisley walked with Cultrost in the streets of Tucken after establishing the new business model. They rented the ground floor of a building into a workshop and warehouse for the company crafters.

He stared at the prices of the products as they passed by a market, remarking on the inflated prices caused by the ongoing war between Tucken and Joltstown.Cultrost walked with an arm sling wrapped around his broken forearm because Numisley and Palden insisted, even if his Feat removed the pain.

They saw the sign, written in the regional language. It was the only enchantery available since many of them are tasked to enchanting the weapons of the city’s army. They understood most of the signs in the city because the language back home was also written the same way, but this is a different language, yet similar. They knew that they would need to speak Common the further they go east because of the language barrier, especially on another continent.

"Good day." The Human [Enchanter] with ashen hair stared at them from his spectacles.

It had cost Numisley an arm and a leg so that he could have an appointment even if he only booked it a day before. There was a peculiar seal etched on a metalplaque that hung on one side of a wall among a shelf of scrolls, enchanted to make it noticeable. It is a certification that he graduated from the magical academy of Miraculum, the best magic academy in the Magnarost Union in the Far North of Libertalia.

“Mornin’,” Numisley greeted back. “As I said before, this staff has runes unfamiliar to me. I would like them to be identified, along with other potential functions of this item.”

“Each kind of rune will cost one gold, Sir Gildin.” The [Enchanter] established.

“One-”

“Where did you get this item?” The enchanter rested his hand on a smooth flat stone, which glowed dimly. The [Enchanter] stared daggers at Numisley. “You are in no position to barter, even if you have [Expert Bartering]. You do not know the peculiarities of magic, much less the field of Periapt Enchanting, so one gold is one gold.”

Numisley swallowed his words back and spoke. “An acquaintance gave this to me when he died in an ambush.”

The stone glowed dark green. The enchanter stared at it.

“You did not steal it, nor your companion?”

“No.” Numisley and Cultrost chorused.

The green aura of the stone brightened.

“Good enough. Pay up.”

Cultrost handed him Numisley’s two gold coins. He assisted Numisley after he gave him the quarterstaff. He placed it on a wooden board, with a rectangle of runes and lines on its surface. Words appeared on the paper beside it.

“Hmm…three charges of [Fireball]...can be airburst-configurable, four charges of [Wind Barrier], seven charges of [Stone Arrow], [Gazelle’s Dexterity] localized on the grip in six-second bursts per charge, impact-activated [Weight] and [Shattertouch] on the ends, three charges of [Lightning Bolt], three [Earth Pillars], seven [Firebolts], four [Sticky Webs], two [Frost Rays], three [Razorwinds], three [Force Blasts], and two [Flashbang] charges. That is a lot of bound Spells within this item. Must be a good [Enchanter]. You would need to channel…three hundred drops of mana to have this on full capacity.”

“Three hundred drops?” Numisley asked.

“An average, non-[Mage] has fifty drops of mana within their body. You can’t charge it by yourself unless you want to suffer mana fatigue.”

“Airburst-configurable? Localized?” Cultrost stepped in and asked.

“Pshaw. Magicless plebians.” The [Enchanter] whispered to himself. Cultrost raised his eyebrows at the sudden retort. “Airburst-configurable means that you can make it an [Airburst Fireball]; Tier 4 because of its complexity, but Tier 3 in power. You can burn your foes below if you throw it over a wall, and this particular bound spell would detonate in five seconds in its airburst configuration if one speaks the command word here... Localized means that it only applies the magic in a certain object or area, and in this case, the [Gazelle’s Dexterity] enchantment is localized if you hold it, and the effect is only applied around the wrists for six-second bursts…but I wonder if why this [Enchanter] made the effect duration-based instead of touch-based activation, that’s just stupid…”

“Excuse me,” Numisley cut him off after three minutes of ranting about the specifics of the magic within the quarterstaff. “Can you…replace some of its enchantments? The [Weight], [Shattertouch], and the [Gazelle’s Dexterity] enchantment. Erm…I’m using it as a walking stick instead of a weapon. Can’t exactly fight with it like a [Warrior] would. The rest I can use for self-defense.”

“The additional fee would be what kind of magic I would need to replace them with.” The [Enchanter] added.

"Can you make me quicker when I use it for walking? Also, a basic truth Spell would do for now."

“Hmm…wait a minute.” The [Enchanter] stared at the quarterstaff. “I would need to attach a gem on it to make the truth spell more effective. The [Quickness] Spell also consume a lot of mana even if applied to the legs at least. We would have to cut down the other spells by one charge each.”

“I don’t mind. Do it.”

“That would be 13 gold.” The [Enchanter] demanded. “It will be finished tomorrow at the first bell of the afternoon.”

Cultrost placed the money on the counter.

“Thank you. I expect it to be done.” Numisley held Cultrost's shoulder as they walked out of the enchantery.

“He’s a bit obnoxious, no? I feel like we got ripped off. Are [Mages] like that?” Cultrost remarked as they are walking on the streets. Some people were giving them curious looks because Numisley was riding on Cultrost’s shoulder, while Cultrost has an arm-sling. They were heading back towards the stall through the shifting crowd.

“Probably.” Numisley shrugged his right shoulder. “Don’t we have [Mages] in the caravan?”

“Nope. Just [Wandsmen] and [Wandswomen].” Numisley answered. “Pointing a Wand of Fireball at someone is different from an [Mage] actually casting a [Fireball] and knowing other Spells.”

“Ah. Hiring them is expensive, right?”

“The good ones are already hired.”

“So, the bad ones are as obnoxious as that guy?”

“Might be the opposite? Probably.”

They found themselves in a suspiciously dark alleyway as if led by something. The brick walls were worn and there was only one path ahead, with the next street at the other end unusually brighter than the alleyway.

“Wait… Did we walk here?” Numisley mouthed. Their [Dangersense] whispered to them.

“No?” Cultrost turned and they saw a figure with a wand. Two other silhouettes appeared, holding clubs. At the other end of the alley, there are now three humanoid shadows blocking the way. The middle one was holding a sack.

“Numis, I need to drop you,” Cultrost warned. The only conclusion is that they are now in an ambush of some sort. He pushed Numisley off him and he landed gently on the floor. Cultrost pulled out his mace from his coat and four of them charged toward them.

“Cultrost swung and hit one of them on the head, knocking him on the wall, but the other three already grappled him. Cultrost struggled, staring at Numisley, but the one that was holding a sack ran towards Numisley. Cultrost violently swayed right, with one of them releasing their grip on him, but the [Thug] simply knocked him out with a club.

The man with a sack whisked away Numisley by catching him like a net. The magical sack closed and he lifted him up effortlessly as if Numisley was shrunken inside.

“Let’s hope that the other [Thieves] can steal the books.”

It was in the middle of the morning in the district of Tucakee. The fifth bell of the morning rang on the city’s bell towers. The crowd of Humans and Satyrs were milling within the streets; the avid shoppers were early to buy the best of the products that the stalls and shops has to offer. Those who are more inclined into buying food saw the raised prices of salt, crops, and many other foods because of the war in the Alimentaire Salt Flats and the city-state of Keres hoarding grain as a protest against the Varstead Alliance raising the prices of their metal and lumber exports.

In the far end of the district, a Satyr and a Human had set up a painted sign on a rented space on a building’s ground floor, next to a corner road.

“Gildin Trading and Crafts.” The sign was written in the local dialect by someone familiar with the city’s language. Within the warehouse and shop were crafters who added finishing touches to their products. Seven [Mercenaries] stood guard around the store, swords, and wands sheathed and leaning on their spears. The rest of them were guarding the wagons that they left in the bazaar.

A Human passed a newly made horseshoe to a Satyr [Farrier] and tossed it in a pile of other similarly-sized horseshoes. A Dwarven [Cobbler] added the finishing stitches of the last pair of shoes, beside a Dullahan wearing plain steel armor that is sharpening carving knives. A young Dwarven [Carpenter] inspected the varnishes on the stools, boxes, and shelves that he made with the costly wood and nails.

“Arimith. How many?” A brown-green-haired Tinyfolk poked at the Dwarven [Carpenter’s] shoulder.

“Twenty-five stools, twenty-four medium-sized boxes, and seventeen shelves. Are you sure that we would not run out of things to sell, Gedge?” Arimith asked the Tinyfolk [Quartermaster].

“Maybe. We’re only open in the afternoon. Morning is for preparations. So no need to worry about running out. You can make more tomorrow. We’re only here in this city for a week or two so that would make a little profit. Then we’ll be on the road.” Gedge reassured.

He walked towards a wide table behind the racks of the shops, since they only rented this wide space, not multiple rooms. Graten, the leader of the Severed Swords was posted here to guard their documents and money, locked in small chests under the table, while Palden was in charge of the wagons in the bazaar near the local Merchant’s Guild. The table was wide enough for both of them to rest on, as well as the neat pile of papers and two pots of ink and quills.

“We can open the shop. The inventory is stocked.” Gedge reported to Graten.

“Sure.” Graten mouthed. “How’s the quality?”

“Better than I expected, I guess. Then again, they have the Roles. I’ll tell Muliren to man the stalls. Malia is at the tannery for leather.”

“Alright. Tell Tarast, to man the front. Tell someone free to fetch Malia later for the leather.”

The shop was now open. The people who passed by saw Humans, Satyrs, Dwarves, and even the rare Dullahan working within the newly opened shop. Tarast put on his winning smile, his exceptionally long fangs trimmed for the occasion. The sun shone on his skin, showing the subtle green hue under his skin. He hopped on an empty crate beside the stall

“Gildin Trading and Crafts are now open!” He bellowed. He did the usual routine of announcing his presence with his voice, but he changed the usual lines when he was recruiting people to the Severed Swords. “We sell stools, boxes, and shelves! We got knives and we can sharpen yours too! We sell shoes for feet and hooves too!”

A few people glanced at the new shop, but the edge of the district was both profitable and not, because of the proximity to higher-level [Shopkeepers]. Three people had inquired and bought the stools and shoes. One female Satyr had replaced her metal satyr-shoe; a horseshoe specifically made for Satyrs by the [Farrier], and one Human man had his knives sharpened.

A peculiar customer appeared; a Human with brown skin and a long flowing beard, styling himself either as [Merchant] of the Stokeburn Desert or far away Lemuria, the Land of Beastkin, because of his ankle-length white robe embroidered with diagonal brown patterns and his yellow headdress, resembling a keffiyeh, complete with a brown agal. He stood among the crowd for the fact that he wore his wealth from another continent.

“I’m Umarh of Nabraqi. A [Merchant] from the Sultanate of Rhundi, I’m here to inquire about those…stools. Can I have the liberty of inspecting them?” Umarh asked in a slight accent.

“Sure.” Tarast nodded. Three people stared at him and the shop. “Josaif, can you fetch one of the stools from Arimith?”

The dark-skinned [Mercenary] nodded and hopped up the steps of the shop to fetch a stool.

“Do you know this guy?” Tarast nudged Josaif’s shoulder as he put down the stool on the ground. Tarast felt something from the back of his mind, but it disappeared immediately.

“Why d’ya assume that we from the Bottoms know each other? Isn’t that a bit racist?” Josaif snapped at the Orcan.

“Dunno. He says he’s a Lemurian anyway,” Tarast shrugged.

“What? He sounds like one of those authentic blue-blooded Lemurian [Fortune Tellers] back home that has not a drop of Beastkin blood on them nor actually tells the future.”

“Why is this stool broken?” Umarh asked, annoyed as he abruptly stood up after almost falling down. His voice seems to provoke the attention of some passing people. One of the legs was splintered in half.

“What do you mean?” Tarast stared at him.

“The stool is flimsy, not strong enough for my weight. How do you intend to sell this as something to sit on?" Umarh complained.

"Oi, Arimith, d'ya built it right?" Tarast asked their [Carpenter].

"Swear it is! I got [Construction: Strong Wood] as a Feat." Arimith defended.

The [Charlatan], Umarh kept his smile hidden. Umarh was one of his disguises, and his disguise even fooled He had broken the leg of the sturdy stool with a deceptive Feat of his that can damage an object so that he could accuse their products as defective. He further provoked them by accusing them of injuring him from that defective stool, intentionally using [Provoking Voice] to add more fire to the argument between him and Tarast.

His eyes laid on the two people entering the shop unnoticed as he continued the commotion that he had started. The other one is a [Lookout], standing unassumingly across the street where he can see the lines of sight of the people in the shop. He threw a speck of dust across one of the [Mercenaries] before he could turn around to see them, taking his attention away from the [Thieves].

The two people leaned on one of the standing racks that they placed their inventory in, unseen by the [Mercenaries] that guard the shop since their attention was drawn to the commotion at the storefront.

The two were the best [Thieves] for the task. Too many [Thieves] and they would be spotted. One [Thief] and a [Burglar], a Role specialized in breaking into homes and stealing all that is inside. They stayed out of the lines of sight of the people inside. The [Burglar] had only sensed a small chest of coins and some enchanted weapons. The two books that they were hired to steal were not here at all, according to his Feat.

But Graten looked up from the table, and he sensed something amiss: two people lurking in the shadows. He lunged towards the wooden rack and stabbed the [Burglar] behind it. He had sensed them with the Feats that he has from his [Watcher] Role.

"[Thieves]! Call the Watch!" Graten alerted.

As soon as the guarding [Mercenaries] rushed inside, as well as the ones who were in the storefront. Unbeknownst to them, the [Charlatan] that served as a distraction disappeared from the scene. The one [Thief] that was left from the shop was surrounded. He dropped his knife and surrendered, and he smiled with his buckteeth.

-

Cultrost had woken up from the alleyway. It was a miracle that nothing was stolen from him while he was unconscious. He slogged back towards their store and he saw the commotion.

Men and women in leather or gambeson armor were surrounding the shop. Graten himself was talking to a blue-skinned Satyr with a blue-brown surcoat with a symbol of two golden feathers on it. They are of the local Watch, the law enforcement force any decent city has, unlike small towns or villages that only have their militias or [Mercenaries] that took over their village. Tucken's Watch was organically raised from their citizens rather than hire [Mercenaries] like many of Libertalia’s city-states.

“Scuse’ me,” Cultrost waded through the group of [Guardsmen]. “Graten, what happened?”

Graten broke off from talking with the [Guardsman].

“Cultrost, there’s was a thievery attempt in our shop. We called the Watch.” Graten answered.

“What?” Cultrost was shocked. “Numisley was kidnapped!”

“Did you say kidnap?” Graten asked.

“Yes.” Cultrost clarified. “What about the [Thief]?”

“There.” Graten pointed to the scruffy Human with noticeable buckteeth, being escorted by two [Guardsmen] in the streets. The double of the [Thief] that was tied up smiled, as he disappeared, leaving behind dangling rope and the clueless faces of the [Guardsman] that escorted him.

“Clone-Feat! Search for the criminal!” The Satyr that led the squad of [Guardsmen] ordered them to spread out. The Satyr turned to Cultrost. “Tribal affiliation?”

“Settled. Born in Renimburg.” Cultrost briefly answered.

“I see. I’m Senior Guardsman Atosh, at your service. Did you mention a kidnapping attempt?” Atosh asked.

“Yes, Guardsman,” Cultrost confirmed.

“This shall be dealt with at the barracks. The Watch will help. Come with me so I can report this to the authorities.”

“Graten, come with me to the barracks,” Cultrost ordered. Graten told one of the men manning the shop to tell Palden of the news.

The Watch Barracks was not a keep like many would expect. It resembled a compound of commercial buildings of brick and ceramic tiled roofs within the city. They saw new recruits being drilled with their batons and spears lunging and striking the air.

Cultrost and Graten found themselves inside the office of the Watch Captain of Tucken. His reptilian scales on his cheek glinted in the candlelight, despite being a Human man.

“Watch Captain Gaxston. This foreigner reported kidnapping of his sibling.” Atosh reported.

“I’ll ask the questions myself. You are dismissed.” The Watch Captain spoke in a gruff voice. Graten and Cultrost were alone with Gaxston. “Whaddya starin’ at? Never seen a Demihuman before?”

“Er…no?” Cultrost blurted out.

“Talk fast. I got a lot on my plate. Who are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing in my city?” He slapped the truth stone lying on his table, making Cultrost and Graten leap in surprise.

“I’m Cultrost Gildin from Renimburg. I’m the co-owner of Gildin Trading and Crafts, and we came to sell our goods before leaving the city.”

“According to the report, your store had been the victim of a burglary. One of the [Thieves] has been stabbed by one of the people within the shop. We identify him as ‘Okanios’, no last name, a [Burglar] that we have arrested five times in the past. Are you the perpetrators?”

“Yes,” Graten answered for Cultrost. “I’m Graten Haovel, [Captain] of the Severed Swords. We’re the [Mercenaries] that had been hired to provide security to Gildin Trading. I stabbed the [Burglar] out of the defense of the shop.” The truth stone glowed green.

“If that's the case, this act of lethal defense is technically not a crime under Tucken’s laws. One of the reports said that you were selling defective items; another issue that would need to be brought out. Eyewitnesses saw and heard that you were selling defective items, and in this case, be subject to penalty by Tucken’s Merchant Guild.”

“Defective item?” Cultrost turned to Graten.

“That guy from Nabraqi. An [Merchant] of some sort.” Graten explained. “He claims that our stools are weak. The wood, I think.” Graten replied.

“The wood was good, according to that [Lumber Merchant] in the Guild. Our carpenter has a Feat that strengthens the wood used on their construction.” Cultrost recalled his trip with Numisley in the [Merchant]’s Guild. The stone glowed green.

“I see. The claim must be unfounded.” Gaxston said. “Now, tell me what happened when your sibling was kidnapped.”

Cultrost recounted the events as best as he can. The sudden turn at an alley, and Numisley being whisked away in a sack while he fought four men and lost.

“I suspect that the one who had taken your brother was a [Kidnapper], with the Role, not just a kidnapper. One with the Role or a Feat that allows him to easily taken in a sack, which I suspect to have a Holding enchantment based on your account.”

Cultrost had his head a bit down, brows furrowed under his horns.

“I’ll put it under investigation. If there is important news in this case, I would send men to your shop to inform you.” Gaxston reassured. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you for your time.” Gaxston sighed, scratching the drying scales on his cheek.

He was a second-generation Demihuman, with a Lizardfolk grandfather in the family. If he managed to start a family, his son or daughter would not have their Lizardfolk heritage. He stopped his train of thought and stared at the pouch of gold coins on his desk, paying him to stall any attempt to rescue Numisley.

Cultrost confirmed the news to Palden and the others because they asked him even if they heard it from the man that he sent to inform the caravan. That night, he cannot sleep in the inn that they were staying at. He kept thinking about what he should do in managing the company. He was not as smart and clever as Numisley, even though he’s technically the co-owner of Gildin Trading at the moment. He has no special talent aside from swinging at people and monsters with a mace. But there are definitely monsters out there that can do the same; Famed [Warriors] who cleaved armies of even the Corporations’ armies, and struck down the Sandworms of the Stokeburn Desert like the stories that he heard and read. He was just an orphan who was adopted by the Gildin family.

-

A Lemurian [Trader] walked into a dark alleyway, covered by the roofs of the two buildings of the alley. Two people were waiting: a Human who drew a solid metal baton from his sleeves and a tall Tegu Lizardfolk with bronze claws. As he stared down at the [Trader] he seemed to menacingly grow.

"Hand over your purse, lest you lose your life instead." The Tegu Intimidated him.

"Your intimidation got better! I almost shat on my disguise!"

He removed his keffiyeh and robe as "Umarh'' chuckled heartily. The subtle change in his chin and his demeanor reverted back into a different, less arrogant Human with less flair than his disguise.

"You like it? It's my new Feat." The Lizardman shrunk into a more normal size of six feet instead of a shadowy mass of scales twice his size.

"Cool." The [Charlatan] smiled.

"What are you going to do? The attempt failed. Okanios got killed by that Sixer. We didn't steal shit from our mark." The man with a metal baton asked, anxious.

"It is not my fault. Jodas knows this. It's a high-level good we're stealin', so of course, they have some way to hide it from even our [Burglar]. I'm the distraction, remember?"

The [Charlatan] walked past them and he disappeared on the nondescript door at the side of the alley. He found himself in a dim cellar, only lit by a single candle. A young man with a paralyzed leg was tied to a chair, and the man that kidnapped him stared into his eyes.

“Where is the Book of Secrets, Numisley?”