There was also a disclaimer and a diagram depicting the order of operations on the side of the cabinet.

CUSTOMERS MUST BE OF LEGAL AGE AND HAVE GUNMANSHIP D+ TO OPERATE THIS FIREARM DISPENSARY

As she focused her sight upon the machine and got closer, she recognized what it was, and what exactly sat within the display.

Guns. Rows and rows of simplistic, steel-tube-on-wood sparklocks, with a few pepperboxes and volcanics in the topmost rows. This was a vending machine - not just any vending machine, but a firearm vending machine.

Parking the Sturmgandr in front of the store and getting off, the markswoman couldn’t help but investigate up-close. The sign on the door of the store had changes from passive-aggressive to plain aggressive, with an arrow pointing at the vending machine and the following text:

YOU CAN LIKELY FIND WHAT YOU WANT

INSIDE THE MACHINE

DON’T BOTHER KNOCKING

IF YOU’RE TOO STUPID

TO FOLLOW DRAWINGS

By the larger cabinet’s side, obscured by it from the direction from which she had approached, there was a smaller, purple cabinet. It seemed that this one dispensed lead balls and small gunpowder containers with measuring spouts, each good for fifteen shots from the single-shot sparklock. The example displayed on the cabinet was even stamped with some alternative loads - such as those for the two models of pepperbox sold in the yellow vending machine - and the number of shots in that load one could get out of a single container.

Turning her attention from these monuments to artifice and commerce, Zef chose to ignore the sign and proceed into the store. The immediate reaction to her incursion was irritated yelling about reading the sign, which immediately vanished when the gunsmith walked out and noticed that it was Zefaris.

“Oh, it’s you. How’s Pentacle doing? I hear you’ve been doing some interesting coin tricks with it, ‘sides the uh… The magic loader you got outta the dungeon. Kinda negates the one weak point of a non-removable cylinder, don’t it.”

“What, do you have designs for some sort of quick-swap cylinder system?” Zef asked, interested. The old gunsmith smiled enigmatically, commenting that, “I’ve got designs fer things that can’t even be manufactured yet, dear. But no, I was thinkin’ of an apparatus that could let ye flip the cylinder outta the frame, insert self-contained cartridges usin’ a miniature cartridge-holder thingy, then close it all up an’ be ready to go in the timespan it normally takes to load a muzzle-loader…”

Collier caught herself before she went off on a rant about ammo loading solutions, instead circling around, “But that’s a problem you don’t exactly have to deal with, is it? Lucky devil. So why’re you tearing me away from my vital work? And y’better have a good damn explanation, else I’ll carve a- Oh, there I go being all senile and forgetting I was the one who called you here. Whatd’ya want?”

Zef nodded, willfully ignoring the older woman’s playful prodding, crossing her arms as she explained the situation as concisely as she could: “As you recommended in the manual, I’ve been using full rifle loads - fifty-eight grains of Type-seven Ignis-Enriched Powder. Thing is… The gun’s performing completely differently now as compared to how it did when we first bought it. Barely any felt recoil, and the power has increased a good deal more than could be accounted for by the loss of recoil. I have my suspicions as to the cause, but that’s not relevant to my reason for bringing this up.”

Though her gaze wandered around the store while she spoke, she stared Collier dead in the eyes when she summarized to convey the meaning hidden behind her words:

“In short, the weakest link of my combat style is my ammunition.”

Nodding along understandingly, Collier smiled, “Well then, let me ask you a question. Do you just want better powder and tougher bullets, or do you want to go through the process of increasing the load until you can’t bear the recoil or the cylinder cracks? ‘Cause I’ve got all sorts of non-standard bullets and formulations sitting around that are unlikely to get any use, y’know, prototype stuff that didn’t make it to production when the supply chain fell apart and all my research funding got cut. Besides, Pentacle won’t go boom from a little overpressure ammunition.”

Zef thought to question the gunsmith’s judgment, but the reason for such a suggestion dawned on her before she could speak. Of course. Pentacle’s cylinder and frame were both solid cold-iron, so the weapon would not only be able to bear loads far beyond what its heavy-set construction could were it made of mundane materials, but if it were to be damaged by overpressure ammunition, it would be able to mend itself in a short while as long as it hadn’t suffered catastrophic structural failure.

“I’ll… I suppose there’s no harm in testing out new ammunition, sure, but how-” Zef began, but Collier had already vanished into the back by the time the old woman felt like she had gotten consent. She heard all sorts of shuffling and clattering, and about two minutes later the gunsmith lumbered out with arms full of strangely-labeled metal powder horns and two boxes within which rattled what were clearly bullets.

“I ain’t gonna babysit you, you’re an adult. Just take the lot, do your own testing, get back to me with an order once you’ve figured out what works…” Collier sighed, catching her breath as she laid the lot out before she bent down and pulled a canvas bag from under the counter. “Really don’t think I need to tell you this, but I’ll tell you anyway: Be careful about what bullets you load with what powder, wouldn’t want to load a Mogralt Alloy Burst Ball with Atrine-enriched Turbo Powder and accidentally blow somethin’ up without proper safety precautions.”

Mogralt Alloy? Atrine? Those were names for quite infamous alchemical substances involved in things like high-yield anti-infantry explosives or Type-3 “Tiger Drop” cannon shells - so named because they were specifically designed to kill the abominable beasts which Pateirians occasionally employed, even at the cost of potentially destroying the cannon which they were fired from.