Chapter 18 – Shopping Spree
The ride to the capital stretched across two full days, but Glic hardly noticed the passage of time. His mind was too preoccupied with lists—long, detailed lists written in his tight hand across parchment. Spells to acquire. Beasts to purchase. Materials for fusion experiments. Tools for enchantment.
The Goldbear estate had stabilized in the wake of the bandit purge, but stability was never enough. Glic knew too well that stagnation was the first step toward downfall. His enemies would not rest. Ser Alaric Valebridge was plotting even now, sharpening daggers in the dark. To stay ahead, Glic needed more power, more options.
And there was only one place in all of Fae Wood where one could purchase nearly anything—if one had the coin.
The Three-Legged Crow's Hut.
The capital of Fae Wood was a city that straddled two worlds. On its outer edges sprawled merchant districts, noisy and chaotic, filled with hawkers, caravans, and the scent of spices and sweat. Beyond the gates of white stone lay the noble quarter, its streets wider, its buildings loftier, its guards sharper-eyed. And in the heart of it all, rising like an ebon thorn, stood the Three-Legged Crow's Hut.
It wasn't truly a hut. The name was either a jest or an insult made into branding genius. In reality, it was a sprawling complex of seven towers joined by bridges of black iron, each tower carved with runes that shimmered faintly under the sun. At the highest spire perched a colossal sculpture of a crow with three legs, wings spread wide, feathers seeming almost alive.
Merchants called it a market. Wizards called it a sanctuary. Rivals called it a monopoly.
To Glic, it was an opportunity.
A hush settled as he entered the courtyard. Lines of buyers snaked before each tower, though these were no common folk. Robed apprentices clutched scroll cases. Nobles in embroidered doublets whispered with retainers. Adventurers strode in with weapons at their belts, eyes sharp with the hunger of those who had tasted peril.
At the gate, he was stopped by two guards—not soldiers, but wizard-mercenaries, each wearing amulets that pulsed faintly with mana. Their gazes were assessing, not hostile.
"Name and business?"
Glic adjusted his illusionary robes. As the Artificer, his voice carried the authority of mystery.
"I come to purchase spells, creatures, and rare auxiliaries. Goldbear accounts stand ready for trade."
The guards' eyes flickered faintly as if checking a record. Then they bowed slightly. "Welcome, honored artificer. The Hut recognizes all transactions under the laws of neutrality. May your gold flow as freely as your mana."
With that, he was admitted.
The interior of the Three-Legged Crow's Hut was no less impressive. The first tower was dedicated to spells. Rows upon rows of crystal cases lined the chamber, each case holding scrolls that glowed faintly with arcane energy. Labels in neat calligraphy indicated the spell's name, ring level, and cost.
Glic's eyes swept the displays, hunting specifically for 0-Ring spells.
"Thunderclap. Toll the Dead. True Strike. Sword Burst. Shape Water. Primal Savagery," he murmured as his gaze landed on each in turn. With a flick of his finger, he signaled the clerk.
"Bundle them," he said. "All six."
The clerk, a thin elf in gray robes, bowed and began writing notes with quick precision.
Next came the 1-Ring spells, far more valuable. Their cases were guarded by additional wards, and buyers were watched closely.
"Fear. Absorb Elements. Alarm. Bane. Bless. Beast Bond. Catapult."
Seven spells, each one a cornerstone for future fusion. Each one a piece of leverage.
The clerk raised his brows slightly. "Seven first-ring scrolls in a single transaction? The price will be considerable, sir."
Glic's lips quirked. "I did not come here to haggle."
The second tower was dedicated to creatures. The air smelled of hay, musk, and faint ozone. Iron-barred pens stretched in long rows, each enchanted to hold beasts within.
A handler in leather armor approached, bowing. "What does the artificer seek?"
"Troops," Glic said simply. "Beasts that can be fused, trained, or deployed. A balanced mix."
The handler gestured, and assistants drew back cloth coverings. Within cages, the creatures shifted restlessly.
Five Dire Wolves, pelts black as midnight, eyes burning with intelligence. Five Giant Hyenas, their laughter a low growl that raised hackles. Three Giant Eagles, wings rustling with restrained power.
"These," the handler said, "are tamed, conditioned, and bonded with collars keyed to obedience runes."
"I'll take them," Glic said.
The handler blinked. "All of them?"
"All of them," Glic repeated.
The clerk from earlier had followed, scribbling furiously. The total was ballooning into absurdity. But Glic's mind was elsewhere, already calculating potential fusions: Dire Wolf plus Blade Ward. Eagle plus Lightning Lure. Hyena plus Fear. The possibilities made his blood hum.
The third tower was more controversial. Here the air was heavy with a silence thick as chains. Rows of cages held demi-human slaves, eyes wary, defeated, or defiant.
A goblin snarled as Glic passed. A kobold whimpered. A hobgoblin stood stiff with military bearing. A lizardman hissed softly. The lone bugbear sat hunched, massive and brooding.
The handler's voice was careful, almost apologetic. "These are all legal under the Hut's contracts. War slaves, debt slaves, captured raiders. Their papers are in order."
Glic studied them quietly. He didn't enjoy the sight. But practicality outweighed sentiment. Demi-humans could be fused, trained, experimented with. Each represented a new path for the System.
"I'll take twenty-five goblins. Twenty-five kobolds. Five hobgoblins. Three lizardmen. And the bugbear."
The handler nearly dropped his quill. "S-sir, that is… that is nearly half our current stock!"
"Then consider it a boon," Glic replied coldly. "The Hut profits, I acquire what I need. No more words."
The handler bowed low, sweat on his brow.
By the time Glic left the towers, his account had been drained of tens of thousands of gold crowns. Enough to bankrupt a minor barony. Enough to buy loyalty from three mercenary companies. Enough to live in decadence for a lifetime.
But Glic did not flinch. Money was a tool. What mattered was what the System would do with these acquisitions.
Already, he could feel the Spell Merge Module humming, eager to record and fuse the new spells. The thought of Catapult fused with Thunderclap, or Dire Wolf fused with Absorb Elements, sent shivers down his spine.
The cost would repay itself tenfold in power.
On the final day, Glic was summoned to the upper tower by none other than Adept Wizard Corvinus, the ten-ring master who led the Three-Legged Crow's Hut.
Corvinus was an imposing figure: tall, hair silvered but eyes sharp as blades, his robe woven with symbols of wealth and wards. He regarded Glic with open curiosity.
"You purchase as though building an army," Corvinus said, voice smooth but laced with amusement. "Few come to the Hut with such decisiveness. Tell me, artificer—what is your intent?"
Glic bowed slightly, maintaining the aura of his false identity. "My intent is simple: profit. The Goldbear family has prospered through trade. I see no reason why wizardry should be excluded from commerce. Spells, beasts, items—all are resources. Why should not a wizard merchant company rise from Goldbear lands?"
Corvinus's lips curved into a faint smile. "Ambitious. Dangerous. But possible."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "The Hut does not forbid competition, though we do… regulate it. Should you wish to register a company under our oversight, it will grant legitimacy, protection, and access to trade networks. Of course, it will also bind you under our laws and tithes."
A trap, of course. But also an opportunity.
Glic inclined his head. "Then let us speak of terms."
By the time he departed the capital, his wagons creaked with cages, scrolls, and crates of supplies. His guards eyed the haul with awe and fear alike.
The Goldbear crest fluttered proudly, but beneath the banners rode a man whose mind raced with plans. Spells to fuse. Creatures to mutate. Soldiers to arm.
The Crimson Blades had been but the first move. The Valebridges, Ser Alaric, the rogue wizard behind them—all would soon face the weight of what Glic was building.
And now, with the recognition of the Three-Legged Crow's Hut, he had the beginnings of something larger than even bandits or rival nobles.
A Wizard Merchant Company. A power of coin and spell both.
The shopping spree was over. The true game was only beginning.