A weapon was more than just a tool of war, it was an extension of oneself, a silent companion in the dance of survival. Though these blades might not withstand his full strength, he intended to find one that could accompany him, even if only for a time, to serve his true purpose.

Nyxander's gaze swept over the weapons laid out before him, his sharp eyes tracing the polished edges and intricate engravings. Unlike the usual merchants who peddled failed products disguised as treasures, Tristan's wares were freshly forged, each crafted with deliberate precision.

He lowered himself into a squat, running his fingers over the cold steel, from wickedly curved axes to compact knives and slender blades of varying lengths. The metal hummed faintly beneath his touch, a silent testament to their craftsmanship, yet none of them called to him.

"It seems you find all of these… unsatisfying," Tristan noted, his tone light but observant.

Nyxander rose to his full height, locking eyes with the young forger. "Not exactly," he said, voice steady. "I need a weapon that doesn't just channel power, I need something that can withstand and resist strong bursts of released energy."

Karl, standing nearby, let out a low chuckle. "As expected of Boss. Most people want weapons that amplify their abilities, but you're looking for the opposite." Nyxander remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Tristan, meanwhile, stroked his chin in contemplation, his eyes scanning over his displayed weapons as though something was amiss, a missing thought just out of reach. Then, his face lit up with sudden realization.

"Oh, yes, there is something," he muttered, stepping back from the blue cloth he had been seated on. He lifted its edge just enough to reach beneath it, his hands fumbling for a moment before pulling out a large, folded bag—the very sack he had used to carry his goods. Unfolding it carefully, he retrieved something hidden within.

A butcher knife. "Check this," he said, extending it toward Nyxander.

Nyxander stretched out his right hand, taking the weapon. As he lifted it, the handle caught the dim light, its pearlescent metal shimmering like trapped moonlight, while the dark blade itself absorbed the glow of the market lamps, as if drinking in the surrounding shadows.

"What do you think?" Tristan asked, watching his reaction.

Nyxander tilted the blade slightly, letting the metal glisten under the weak starlight. "The blade is forged from Umbrium, a rare dark metal..." Tristan began, only to be cut off by Nyxander.

"Umbrium… isn't that the metal known to be compatible with and capable of conducting any form of energy?"

Tristan's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Ah, so you already know about it. That makes things easier." He nodded before continuing, his voice smooth and practiced. "Yes, Umbrium can channel various energies with near-perfect efficiency. But the real key here is the handle, it's forged from Morvium, a pearlescent metal known for absorbing discharged energy and dispersing it as thermal heat."

Nyxander tossed the butcher knife into the air once, twice, catching it effortlessly as he tested its weight. The balance was near-perfect, the grip cool yet subtly alive beneath his fingertips.

His gaze flicked back to Tristan. "With materials like these, this knife should be an exceptional weapon—one that commands a strong bidding price. Why are you selling it here, in a place where failed products end up?"

A faint smile tugged at Tristan's lips. "Sharp as expected," he admitted. "You're right—this was my first successfully forged weapon. But… it has a flaw."

Nyxander's eyes narrowed slightly.

Tristan exhaled before continuing. "Morvium's ability to absorb and dissipate energy is both a strength and a curse. While it can disperse powerful bursts of energy, it does so rapidly in the form of intense heat. The more energy it absorbs, the more dangerous it becomes, to its wielder. The thermal output burns the user's hand, making prolonged use… impractical." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because of this, the weapon was deemed a failure, unfit for proper circulation."

Nyxander twirled the knife once more, his thoughts turning. A failed product… or an opportunity?

"Because of that, I will charge twelve Fate Coins," Tristan stated, his voice steady but his eyes watching for a reaction.

"Alright, I'll take it," Nyxander said without hesitation, dipping his right hand into his clothing and pulling out a small, weighted sack of coins. He tossed it toward Tristan with an easy flick of his wrist.

Tristan caught it, the weight surprising him. He untied the pouch and glanced inside. His eyes widened slightly. "This is twenty Fate Coins," he noted, looking back at Nyxander.

"But..." Tristan barely began before Karl interrupted with a knowing smirk.

"Just take it. Boss doesn't care much for money. Think of it as him lightening his load rather than charity," Karl said, crossing his arms.

Tristan hesitated only for a moment before bowing slightly in appreciation. "Then I won't be polite. Thank you."

Nyxander simply gave a small nod. "Since we've gotten what we need, let's take our leave."

"Yeah, let's go. Tomorrow's going to be another long, stressful day," Beorn added, rolling his shoulders as if already feeling the weight of it.

As they turned to leave, Lunara, the eldest of the triplet sisters, motioned toward a different path. "In that case, let's take the alleyway," she suggested, standing close to Karl. "She's right," Karl agreed, glancing at the dimly lit passage. "It's the fastest way out of here."

"Alright, let's move," Nyxander said, and with that, the group shifted course, stepping into the narrow alleyway.

The murmurs of distant merchants wove through the cool night air, their voices mingling with the soft shuffle of their footsteps. Street lamps swayed slightly as the night breeze whispered past, casting flickering shadows against the worn brick walls. Lunara and Solara engaged Karl in quiet conversation at the front, leading the way, while Nyxander and Beorn trailed behind, their senses alert even in the peaceful stillness.

But then, a sharp noise tore through the tranquil hum. The group's movement halted instantly. Their heads snapped up, eyes narrowing as they scanned the path ahead.

At the far end of the alley, a scattered crowd stood frozen, forming a dense loose ring, around uneasy confrontation, tension thick in the air. Some bystanders covered their mouths, others exchanged hushed whispers, none daring to raise their voices, fearful of being dragged into the unfolding conflict.

In the heart of the gathering stood a familiar old figure, on his knees, his ragged clothes barely hanging onto his frail frame.

Across from him, standing tall with his arms crossed, was Kal. Behind him, thirteen figures loomed, his teammates forming an imposing wall of presence.

their presence a silent display of dominance.

"You bought it of your own accord. I never even called you to my goods to begin with," the old man rasped, his voice hoarse yet unwavering.

"Oh, but you took the money, didn't you?" Kal said smoothly, bending at the waist, his face descending toward the kneeling merchant. His eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "Happily, even. You were thrilled to get that extra payment."

Kal straightened suddenly, the mockery in his smirk hardening into something colder. "Now, I'll teach you what humiliation feels like, for the sake of your own greed."

The hiss of metal cut through the thick air as Kal unsheathed his Flame-Heat Duality Sword, its edge gleaming ominously beneath the flickering light. The blade hovered just inches from the old man's throat, shimmering with an eerie heat.

"What's happening over there?" Solara asked, pointing at the unfolding scene.

"Wait... isn't that Kal from our Astro Station?" Lunara frowned. "What mistake could that merchant have made against him?"

"No," Karl muttered from behind them, his voice unusually grim. "I don't think this is as simple as you think."

Behind them, Beorn inhaled sharply. The once-gentle night breeze now felt thick with tension, pressing heavily on their skin.

"Zion," Beorn murmured, his voice edged with disbelief. "Isn't that..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence."Yes," Nyxander answered, his gaze hardening. Kal, standing before the kneeling merchant.

Beorn's hands trembled, his knuckles whitening as his fists clenched with an unrelenting grip. The skin cracked like parched earth under a merciless sun, each fissure deepening under the weight of his smoldering fury. Veins coiled beneath the surface like serpents stirred from slumber, pulsing with the rhythm of his wrath. His breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale laced with the heat of suppressed rage.

"In a market governed by rules, where every action is weighed and measured, such defiance was an unforgivable sin." His lips quivered, the words slipping from them like fractured shards of glass, raw and jagged. Sweat traced slow, glistening paths down his forehead, each drop a testament to the storm brewing within. His hands, rigid as carved stone, groaned under the strain, splitting with the brittle, sharp snaps of burning wood consumed by an unrelenting fire.

"Hum." Nyxander's gaze flickered, his friend's reaction sharpening beneath his notice. His eyes, dark pools of quiet calculation, danced between Beorn and the unfolding scene before him, lingering just long enough to measure the weight of what was left unsaid.

The once-gentle night breeze seemed to thicken, now carrying the weight of tension and unease. The scene ahead was unexpected, yet somehow inevitable.

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