Chapter 37
Tools of the Trade
The ruined mill was a skeletal silhouette against a sky choked with clouds, the wind moaning through its broken ribs. The guard at the entrance was the same mountainous brute. Renly, his face once again smeared with grimy ash, didn't speak. He simply opened his hand, revealing the bone token with its two remaining interlocking triangles. The guard grunted, snapped one triangle off with a sickening crack, and handed the now one-time token back, jerking his head towards the hidden entrance.
The air in the Gray Market was just as thick with damp earth and paranoia as he remembered. He ignored the street vendor with his neat rows of vials and moved deeper into the cavern, his senses alert. He found what he was looking for in a recessed alcove shrouded by a heavy canvas curtain—a tent that exuded a cloying, complex scent of dried herbs and something metallic.
Inside, a wizened man with fingers stained deep green looked up from grinding roots with a mortar and pestle. "Speak your need," he rasped.
"The neurotoxin. I need something stronger," Renly whispered, his voice a manufactured rasp.
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed. "The standard is strong enough for a man. Why would you need stronger?"
Renly didn't answer. Instead, he loosened his money pouch and let the shopkeeper hear the heavy clink of silver within. The man's avarice warred with his caution. After a tense moment, he bent down and retrieved a small, lead-lined box from a hidden compartment. Inside, nestled on black velvet, was a single, tiny vial of viscous, crimson liquid.
"This is 'Heartfire,'" the shopkeeper said, his voice dropping to a reverent hush. "Banned by the Merchant Alliance and all the kingdoms. It doesn't just poison; it catalyzes. The faster the blood pumps—the more a Knight pushes their body in battle—the quicker it burns them from the inside. Potent enough to kill a Senior Knight who doesn't get treated immediately. It can even injure a Grand Knight, make them bleed from their pores." He looked Renly dead in the eye. "The price is two hundred and fifty silver. No bargain. And I have only the one."
It was a fortune, a staggering sum. But the image of a Senior Knight, an enemy far beyond his current reach, falling to such a weapon was a powerful lure. It was a final, desperate card to play. Renly counted out the coins without another word, the heavy clinks sounding like a death knell in the quiet tent. He pocketed the vial, its weight feeling both insignificant and immense. He made a few other purchases—two sets of sturdy, unmarked ring-sewn leather armor, some high-tensile wire, a whetstone of rare quality—and left the tomb of whispers behind.
---
The next day, under the bright, ordinary sun, Renly, with Will in tow, became a different man. He was Ser Renly of Bluestone again, a Knight with newly earned wealth. They visited the reputable markets of Rose City, and the spending was a deliberate, strategic investment.
He bought high-quality, oiled traveling cloaks and durable, unmarked tunics and breeches for life on the road. He commissioned a set of fine, dark wool clothes, cut in a simple but elegant style, to maintain his lordly appearance when needed. From a reputable apothecary, he purchased a sealed kit of high-grade healing salves, bone-knitting poultices, and general antidotes. His final purchase was a small, heavy, iron-bound lockbox, its key he wore on a thong around his neck. His future, in the form of the Manuscript and the combat scroll, would be safe inside.
Back at the house on Oak Lane, he paid rent for next two months also let Old Thom and the cheerful Bess have their wages for the next three months in advance to care for house in their absence, a gesture that left the two servants stammering with gratitude. Then, he called Lyra and Will into the main room.
He handed each of them one of the leather armor sets from the Gray Market. "A lord is only as strong as those who stand with him," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You've earned more than your pay. This is for your protection, and for Bluestone's."
Will's eyes shone with a fierce, tearful pride as he ran his hands over the tough, flexible leather. Lyra accepted hers with a quiet, profound nod, her loyalty solidifying into something unbreakable.
---
The following morning, as they guided their mounts and the pack mule towards the city's main gate, a familiar figure stepped from the shadow of the guardhouse. Anya, clad in her City Guard uniform, looked as impassive as ever.
"Ser Renly," she said, her voice low. "A moment."
He gestured for Lyra and Will to move ahead, out of earshot.
"The roads are clear for now from bandits," Anya stated, her eyes scanning the horizon. "But the forest has many uncertainties. I will find you when the time is right for further cooperation." She slipped a small, smooth river stone into his hand. It had a single, tiny rose scratched onto its surface. "If you have urgent need, leave this with the innkeeper at the 'Traveler's Den' at Lakeside village. A message will find me."
He nodded, pocketing the stone. With a final, curt nod, Anya turned and melted back into the flow of the city gate traffic. Renly clicked his tongue, nudging Aethon forward. They passed under the massive archway, leaving the promise and danger of Rose City behind them.
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Aboard the newly formed colossus known as "The Armada's Dawn," the view from the observation deck was one of sheer, incomprehensible scale. The four ships were now one, a single, massive generation ship that was a sprawling city in the void. The secondary escort fleet had peeled away with precise, military grace. Now, only the formidable battlegroup led by the FSS Stellar Pride remained, a protective spearhead for their final journey to Elysian.
The next day, the ship-wide announcement for the "Cultural Exchange Initiative" brought a new kind of energy to the shared facilities. Kaelen and his team found themselves in a vast multi-purpose hall that felt like a bustling, inter-stellar bazaar.
They first encountered a woman from the Verdant Heart. Her skin had a faint, bark-like texture, and she was gently touching the leaves of a bio-scrubbing plant, her eyes closed in concentration. "She says the plant is… content," Elara translated softly, a look of wonder on her face. "The nutrient flow is balanced today."
Nearby, a hulking man from the Iron Forge—a Forge-Warden with arms like hydraulic pistons—slapped a reinforced table. "You! Stone-skin! An arm wrestle! Let's see the strength of the Capital!" Roric, never one to back down from a challenge, accepted. The match was brief and brutal. Roric's arm was driven down to the table with a definitive thud, but he grinned through the pain, gripping the Forge-Warden's forearm in a sign of respect. "Your arm is strong." Roric grunted.
Then came the encounter that unnerved them all. A young man from the Abyssal Dream, an Avalon Cyber-Thinker, approached. His eyes had the faintest glow of data-streams. "Analysis: Physical Enhancer, tier-one borderline, optimized musculature. Pyro-kinetic,Hydro-kinetic, Empath, non-combative." His gaze settled on Kaelen. "Your analysis are anomalous. Statistical outlier. Let us test this."
They sparred with practice foils in a designated ring. The Cyber-Thinker was a mirror, perfectly replicating Kaelen's optimized stances and efficient strikes. For a moment, it was like fighting himself. But then Kaelen feinted, a move born not of pure technique but of the instinct he'd earned in Valeria—a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation designed to bait a counter. The Cyber-Thinker took the bait, his perfect copy just a fraction too slow to adapt to the flawed, human trick. Kaelen's foil tapped his chest.
"Conclusion," the Cyber-Thinker said, not disappointed, but fascinated. "Data replication is insufficient against adaptive, experiential combat algorithms. You do not fight like you are from Aethelgard." He then simply nodded and joined their group, an silent, analytical addition.
That evening, over dinner with their newly expanded and eclectic group, Kaelen observed the microcosm of the Federation. It was a tapestry of different philosophies, strengths, and weaknesses. He saw the potential for powerful alliances and the seeds of future conflict. When the meal was over, he excused himself, the day's interactions swirling in his mind. He retreated to the quiet of his cabin, the hum of the colossal ship a constant reminder that they were hurtling towards a future where all these disparate pieces would be tested on a new world.