The Inscription Pavilion was a world unto itself, with many vast halls, each alive with the hum of runes, the chatter of disciples, conversing elders, and general customers, all mixed with the scent of scorched metal and faint incense.
Rows of sect disciples waited in long, disciplined lines before polished counters of jadewood and bronze, their gazes flickering with impatience or anticipation. Attendants in gray-blue robes moved with practiced ease, presenting goods to buyers of items such as the inscribed blades that pulsed with faint elemental glows, the protective seals humming with defensive force, a few ancient rune tablets, and many more.
Some brought runes of their own, carefully wrapped in silk or iron-bound cases, waiting for the inscriptionists to interpret them. The air buzzed with speculation, hushed conversations, and the occasional spark of excitement.
Arthur passed through it all, his gaze steady, ignoring the hush of voices that seemed to swirl around him. Yet no matter how he tried to keep detached, the Pavilion itself demanded awe, its living walls carved with shifting calligraphy, its ceilings painted with defensive runes.
Then came the sudden commotion. A rush of people spilled from a side hall, their voices far louder and more animated than the disciplined lines. The carved plaque above the hall read — Hall of Thousand Scripts.
Excitement poured out of the departing crowd like a storm breaking loose. Robes flared as cultivators jostled one another, their faces flushed with emotion.
"Ha! I still can't believe it. I snatched an Earth Grade Solar Ascendance-Three Fire Rune for just thirty Solar Ascendance spirit stones!" one youth boasted, clutching a jade slip close to his chest.
"Lucky bastard. I bled my wallet dry, paid double for a Lightning Seal, yet… look at it, worth every coin!" another retorted, waving a sealed case proudly.
A third groaned bitterly, his brows dark with regret. "Damn it! I only raised the bid to waste Wang Yu's money, and in the end, I won the blasted thing. A water-inscribed spear I don't even need!"
Mocking laughter rose nearby. "Serves you right."
Yet amidst the noise, a quieter sigh carried a heavier weight. An older cultivator muttered to his companion, "No matter how hard we fight over scraps, we'll never match those in the private rooms. They sit above, unseen, and purchase entire formations without batting an eye."
His friend nodded wistfully, clutching an empty pouch. "Still… even once in my life, I'd like to raise a bid without fear. To shout a number and know I could stand by it — whether I won or lost."
The crowd thickened, stories overlapping, laughter clashing with anger, excitement colliding with bitter regret. It was chaos wrapped in brilliance, a living display of greed, ambition, and yearning.
Arthur's eyes swept over the animated mass before drifting away, searching. The glittering halls were filled with endless counters, most of which were burdened with long queues.
Yet, in a shadowed corner, one counter stood strangely deserted. Its wooden frame bore the wear of years; its sign was half-faded, as though time had forgotten it. Not a single customer lingered before it.
Arthur drifted toward the lonely stall. Unlike the grand counters that gleamed with runic light, this one sold only low-grade inscription crafts. The shopkeeper, a young woman in plain gray-and-blue robes, brightened at once when she spotted him.
"Young master," she greeted with a practiced smile, her voice lilting with the relief of finally receiving a customer. "Looking for starter inscriptions? Ember Ignition wardings, perhaps — huh!"
Her tone cracked, her words faltering mid-sentence. Her eyes widened slightly as she studied his face.
Arthur narrowed his gaze. "What is it?"
"Y-you… aren't you Duan Qing Tian?"
The name seemed to ripple through the air. Where earlier only a few sidelong glances had been cast in his direction, now the curious stares multiplied. Conversations quieted nearby; he was gathering quite a few attentive gazes.
Arthur inclined his head, his tone even. "Yes, I am."
"Then… why, young master," she pressed carefully, her brow knitting with confusion, "why would you, an alchemist, come to the Inscription Pavilion?"
Now more eyes turned toward him — disciples, scribes, attendees, and wandering inscriptionists.
Arthur ignored the peering eyes; he knew why they were acting this way. He replied with a calm expression. "I came to look around. To buy a few things, if I like them."
She blinked, clearly caught between politeness and disbelief. "Forgive me, young master, but… should alchemists not send workers to gather what they need?"
Arthur tilted his head slightly, his eyes sharp with feigned curiosity. "And why is that?"
Her lips pressed thin before she answered softly, "You do know how alchemists and inscriptionists are… when they stand face to face."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I am but a humble Crimson Furnace high-tier alchemist. I have no attendants to run my errands. So here I am. Please, show me what you have, miss."
His tone was deliberately modest, carrying none of the arrogance expected of an alchemist in front of an inscripionist. The tension loosened slightly; the girl hesitated, then exhaled with a slight nod.
"Of course, young master," she said quickly, regaining her composure. "Would Crimson Furnace scrolls of heaven grades suffice?"
Arthur's voice was smooth. "Yes. And add a few Solar Ascendance —Yellow and Xuan grade inscriptions as well."
Her brows flickered up in surprise. "What kind of inscriptions would young master prefer? Formation arrays, defensive scrolls, offensive talismans, concealment scripts, warding barriers, elemental strikes — ?"
Arthur's lips curved faintly. "All of them."
That drew several sharp intakes of breath from nearby onlookers. A few heads turned more openly now, eyes narrowing, whispers spreading at his audacious order. Even though it was a modest stall, buying these items in bulk seemed excessive.
The girl gave a hurried bow and moved quickly toward the shelves, pulling open glass cases and jade drawers. In her absence, Arthur let his gaze drift casually around the counter. Something caught his eye: a small pen-like device, under a protective glass covering. It was an Inscription Etcher.