The shopkeeper girl returned to the front desk, her arms full, burdened with a pile of scrolls and jade slips. Arthur offered a slight nod of thanks and reached forward to steady the stack before it toppled.
Arthur already knew what an Inscription Etcher was, but he asked anyway.
"What is that, miss?"
The girl followed his glance and brightened faintly. "Ah, that? That is a Crimson Furnace Heaven-tier inscription etcher. It's used to carve runes into jade, stone, or parchment. This particular one has a theoretical limit to craft inscription up to Solar Ascendance Yellow-grade."
Arthur raised his brows. "Can I have that as well?"
She blinked, startled. "Uh? Does young master wish to buy it as a gift?"
Arthur's voice was mild, even. "Why do you say so?"
"Young master is an alchemist," she replied, her tone light, almost teasing. "I thought perhaps it was for a beginner inscriptionist that you know."
Arthur's smile was thin. "Oh, no need for that. Just pair it with the rest and tell me the price."
Her expression faltered, but she complied. She pulled an abacus forward, her fingers clattering over the beads in swift calculation. "Altogether, it comes to seven thousand eight hundred Crimson Furnace spirit stones. Or…" She hesitated, lowering her voice, "You can pay with seventy Amber Radiance spirit stones at a discounted exchange rate."
Arthur drew seventy stones from his pouch, placing them neatly on the counter without hesitation. The girl accepted them with careful hands, then compacted the purchased goods into a storage bag before sliding it across to him.
Arthur took it, nodding once. He was ready to leave.
Yet, as he turned, the girl's curiosity overcame her restraint. Her brows furrowed. "Forgive me, young master, but… what do you intend to do with the etcher? That tool alone costs twenty Amber Radiance stones at wholesale."
Arthur's reply was careless, almost absentminded. "Perhaps I'll try replicating the scrolls myself. Who knows — maybe I'll succeed."
The words were spoken softly, but they landed like thunder.
The air in the hall shifted instantly. Whispers rippled. Faces turned. The shopkeeper went pale, her lips trembling as though she had just heard a blasphemy.
Arthur's calm mask held firm, but he could feel the shift — the sharpness of the atmosphere, the weight of too many eyes upon him.
A voice rang out from somewhere in the crowd, sharp with derision.
"I knew it! The alchemist was bound to stir trouble."
Others followed in low mutters.
"Replicating scrolls? Hah! Does he think it's child's play?"
"Typical arrogance… alchemists, always thinking other crafts are beneath them."
"He'll anger the entire pavilion with that tongue."
The murmurs swelled until the crowd itself parted. A man stepped forward with a commanding presence. He wore a brilliant scarlet-gold robe, and upon his chest gleamed a three-petaled lotus-shaped brooch — the unmistakable mark of a Solar Ascendance Earth Grade Inscription Master.
He stopped before Arthur, his voice cut through the room.
"You, boy. Why did you come here?"
Arthur met his gaze evenly and spoke politely, "I came to purchase a few things that suited me, Senior."
But the man's tone grew heavier. Arthur answered it rhetorically. He sneered, "Do you think inscriptions are so simple that you can… dabble in them, as though they were a side pursuit between concocting pills?"
He laughed, a mocking rumble that echoed off the walls. "Alchemists — always the same. Draped in false modesty, but in truth, you choke on your own arrogance. You believe every craft lies waiting at your fingertips."
His eyes, dark and unblinking, narrowed on Arthur. "I was watching you. Polite words, careful airs, yet my eyes are not so easily deceived. Underneath, the pride of the furnace smolders. You think you can touch inscriptions as lightly as you grind herbs. But I ask you this — " his voice rose, reverberating in the vaulted chamber, " — what makes you believe you can etch a rune into existence?"
The hall had grown silent now. All eyes were on Arthur.
Arthur bowed, with his voice even, carrying neither pride nor hostility. "I spoke out of turn. Senior, forgive my discourtesy. I withdraw my words."
Murmurs stirred among the gathered crowd, some surprised, some disappointed that the conflict seemed on the verge of dissolving.
But the Solar Ascendance inscriptionist's face twisted further, as though Arthur's apology had only poured oil onto simmering flames.
"Withdraw your words? Do you take the Inscription Pavilion for a roadside stall, where mistakes can be covered with apologies? No, your arrogance insults not me alone, but the dignity of every inscriptionist here!"
His sleeve flicked as he jabbed a finger toward Arthur. "I will drag this matter before the Sect Master himself. And your Alchemy Pavilion too, let us see if your kind will keep turning their noses up at us then!"
Gasps erupted across the hall. A few disciples smirked, whispering about the spectacle; others watched Arthur with sympathy. But rules were rules, and no one dared stand against a senior inscriptionist.
Arthur drew a deep breath, stepping forward despite the humiliation pressing down on him. He bowed lightly, holding out the pouch of crimson spirit stones and the bundled items he had just purchased. "Senior, it was my fault to let my tongue slip. Please, take these back as a token of my apology. I have no desire to offend the pavilion or anyone within it."
The man's eyes slid over Arthur, cold and dismissive, not even glancing at the pouch. He let out a sharp, derisive snort. "Hmph. You think this ends with a few stones and trinkets? Keep your scraps. I'll ensure the Sect Master knows exactly how your pavilion's disciples conduct themselves."
"Guards, see these people out."
Without ceremony, two attendants stepped forward and, with forced politeness, guided Arthur out of the pavilion. His belongings were pressed into his hands, as if he were a common customer being turned away. The heavy doors shut behind him, muffling the hum of the pavilion, leaving only the sound of the busy street.
Arthur stood in silence for a moment. His guards at his side exchanged troubled looks. One finally spoke, "Young master, what now?"
Arthur's gaze lingered on the great doors, then softened as he turned away. A small smile tugged at his lips, almost resigned, almost serene.
"What now? Let fate decide." He adjusted the bundle of items in his arms and began walking down the steps. "We are going home."