Darien wasn't about to waste anyone's time. He offered Sigmund a straight-up salary—$2,758.62 a month, standard for a small workshop boss.
Sigmund was happy—easy money for a month.
Best part? Orders were guaranteed, and Darien wasn't gonna micromanage. Work's simple, money's steady, no headaches.
Loading the armor into the truck was tight, but folding the back seats gave just enough room. Once out of sight, Darien stashed everything in the storage space.
Yeah, buying the whole workshop? Totally impulsive. But hey—another world gave me balls. Blew millions like it was pocket change and didn't even flinch.
Feels like it's gonna pay off big time.
Then again… maybe it stings less 'cause it ain't all mine—borrowed cash softens the blow.
...
Darien swung by Verity's place and found her having dinner.
Simple sides, nothing fancy—but damn, they smelled amazing.
"You eaten yet? You wanna try some?"
"Thanks, but I already grabbed a bite at the workshop."
"Oh." Verity didn't know the sword factory had been renamed Vaelcrest Workshop, so she let it go.
"I packed the clothes. You grabbing them now?" she asked.
"Yeah, thanks," he said.
She set her plate aside and helped load the heavy bags into the truck.
"Alright, I'm off. I'll be back to order more soon. I'll let you know," Darien said.
"Got it," Verity replied with a nod.
After goodbye, Darien drove home. Just inside, his phone buzzed—Mr. Dupré calling.
"Yo, Monsieur Dupré! What's up?"
"Hey kid, sorry for the late call. You still got those artifacts? Money's not an issue!"
Dupré hesitated. He'd believed Darien when he said he found them in the mountains—but thinking it over, that didn't add up.
The artifacts looked untouched by soil, especially the copper coin—it looked brand new. If it really was a thousand years old, the machines would confirm it, but something felt off.
Chances were, Darien got them through family connections or handed down through generations.
For L'Atelier des Antiques, the value wasn't just money—it was the history behind the pieces. That's why they were willing to pay top dollar.
Dupré had spent the day checking with some old contacts, but nothing added up. After decades in antiques, this kind of uncertainty got under his skin.
He couldn't resist—he called Darien to get the straight story.
After listening to Dupré, Darien thought it through. If the guy wanted the pieces, he could get them. Selling a bit more wouldn't hurt either.
But it was too late now. Tomorrow was the time-travel day, and it'd take three days to get the stuff to him.
Darien said,
"Alright… I'll hit you up in three days."
"Sounds good, kid. I'll be waiting."
After a few more words, he hung up. Plan was to show Dupré a silver or gold coin in three days, then settle the price.
He quickly texted Eliana:
"Hey, just so you know—I'm heading out to camp for a few days. Chill, not running off with your money…"
"Ok."
Typical Eliana—still a bit moody, but she'd cool off soon enough.
He followed up:
"When I get back, I'll bring you a little gift. Bet you'll like it!"
"Whatever."
Sigh—borrowing money means you gotta sweeten the deal.
Darien checked the storage again. Every inch was packed, even wedging small items into the armor to make it all fit.
"Three days gone… wonder what's up with Brindlemark," he mumbled.
Lost in thought, he finally drifted off to sleep.
...
Brindlemark, the Lord's Mansion.
Golden morning light spilled through the fine curtains, falling across Celeste's face. She clutched her bolster, curling beneath its comfort, eyelashes quivering in the sun's warmth.
Celeste stirred, letting the morning sun wash over her, pulling her nightgown tighter against the chill as she slowly started her day.
She made her way to the kitchen.
The servants, seeing her approach, bowed with due respect and retired one by one.
The hearth still held a gentle flame. Celeste set a small pan upon it and began preparing a stew of beef, onions, and herbs, adding wine and a touch of salt. She moved with practiced hands, stirring the rich mixture and setting eggs to boil in another vessel.
After a time, a fragrant aroma of slow-cooked beef and herbs filled the chamber. Celeste stepped back and lifted the lid, letting the warm steam brush the tip of her nose.
She tasted the stew; the seasoning was just right—neither too bold nor too faint.
Nearby, a warm loaf of crusty bread sat upon a cloth. Celeste sliced it carefully and set it beside the stew.
Once the Boeuf Bourguignon had cooled to a suitable warmth, she ladled it into a large bowl and placed it upon the tray beside the crusty loaf.
She carried the tray to the chamber and tapped softly at the door, yet no answer came.
Even though she saw it coming, a hint of letdown lingered in her blue eyes.
Just as she turned to leave, the door creaked open.
"Celeste? You... actually made breakfast? How'd you know I'd be back?"
Hearing the familiar voice, Celeste trembled slightly. She drew a few steadying breaths and turned to face him.
"Greetings, Darien. I bid you enjoy thy morning meal."
---
🔍 Did You Know?
- Wealthy families historically relied on domestic staff to prepare meals and manage households, letting them enjoy elaborate dishes without lifting a finger.
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