Chapter 31: Sold

Chapter 31: Chapter 31: Sold

"Pain is merely a ledger entry in the cost of survival; a disciplined mind learns to read the numbers without letting them stop the blade." — Maxim

The midday sun hung pale and cold above the frontier settlement, casting long shadows across the dirt streets.

Riven stepped out of a narrow alley, his black cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders. His right shoulder still ached from the previous day’s fighting, but the pain had become manageable as long as he avoided sudden movements.

Beneath his shirt, the spatial storage bag rested against his ribs.

He had spent the morning sleeping and recovering. Now it was time to make use of what he had taken from Boulder and Gorn.

His first stop was a small pawn shop near the outer wall of the lower district. The building was little more than a wooden storefront, with rusted weapons and battered pieces of armor displayed in the windows. The smell of old iron and dried leather drifted out whenever the door opened.

Riven stepped inside.

Behind the counter sat a burly shopkeeper with a notched ear and a bored expression. He glanced at the cloaked child before returning to the ledger in front of him.

"What do you want?"

"Sell some equipment."

The shopkeeper looked up again, this time with a little more interest.

Riven reached into his storage bag and began placing the equipment on the counter.

First came Boulder’s heavy battle-axe. Its blade was chipped and stained, but the weapon was still in working condition. Next came the oversized sword he had stolen from the guard at the slave camp. Finally, he placed the two sets of leather armor beside them.

The shopkeeper examined the items with little enthusiasm.

"Scrap and salvage," he muttered, running a thumb along the axe’s damaged edge. "This thing’s seen better days. The armor’s torn and blood-soaked, and that sword is nothing special."

"They’re functional," Riven replied.

"Didn’t say they weren’t."

The man lifted the axe, testing its weight before setting it back down. He inspected the armor, checking for damaged straps and cracked leather. The guard’s sword received little more than a passing glance.

"Not worth much. I’ll give you six silver and twenty copper for the lot."

Riven studied him.

The offer was lower than he had hoped, but he had no intention of carrying the equipment around or wasting time searching for another buyer. He also didn’t want to draw attention by visiting too many shops.

"Fine."

The shopkeeper counted out the coins and pushed them across the counter.

Riven collected the money and tucked it away.

He kept Gorn’s short sword. Its lighter weight and balanced grip made it far more suitable for his small frame than the oversized guard’s blade. He had no intention of giving up a weapon he could actually use.

After leaving the shop, he made his way toward the upper district.

The streets gradually became cleaner as he climbed. The buildings were taller, and the shops displayed more expensive goods. Unlike the lower district, where most merchants sold food, tools, and secondhand equipment, the upper district catered to wealthier residents and adventurers.

Riven eventually reached a narrow storefront with a weathered wooden sign hanging above the entrance.

An open eye had been carved into the wood.

The Arcane Codex.

He pushed open the door.

A small bell chimed overhead.

Inside, the shop was quiet. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound books, scrolls, and glass vials containing strange liquids. Some of the books were secured behind glass, while others were stacked in neat piles on the counters.

The air smelled faintly of burning wax and something sharp that reminded him of lightning.

An elderly man sat behind a tall wooden counter. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a dark robe, and his thin gray hair was neatly combed back.

He looked up when Riven entered.

"Welcome. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Riven approached the counter and placed an oilskin-wrapped package on its surface.

"I’m here to sell this."

The old man raised an eyebrow.

He carefully unwrapped the package, revealing the dark leather cover of the Fire Grimoire. A faint crimson glow pulsed beneath its surface.

The archivist’s expression changed.

He adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward, examining the book with considerably more interest.

"May I?"

Riven nodded.

The old man opened the grimoire and began inspecting its pages. He traced one of the mana patterns with a finger, then paused as a faint glow spread across the page.

"A Tier 1 Fire Arrow grimoire," he murmured. "And in decent condition, too."

He looked up at Riven.

"Where did a boy like you get something like this?"

"An inheritance."

The lie came easily.

Riven had already decided what he would say if anyone asked. He had no intention of explaining that the book had belonged to a dead mercenary.

The archivist studied him for a moment.

"And you wish to sell it?"

"I have a Shadow affinity. I can’t use it."

"Understandable."

The old man closed the book and considered it for a while.

"Spell tomes of this quality aren’t Rare but aren’t common either in a frontier settlement. I could offer you twelve silver pieces."

Riven considered the offer.

He didn’t know the exact market value of the grimoire, but twelve silver was a considerable amount of money. More importantly, he needed funds to support himself while he recovered and began studying magic.

"Agreed."

The archivist counted out twelve silver pieces and placed them in a small leather purse.

Riven accepted it and checked the contents before putting it away.

He now had eighteen silver pieces and twenty copper pieces.

For someone who had spent the past several months struggling to survive, it was an enormous amount of money.

But he wasn’t interested in wasting it.

He turned toward the shelves, scanning the titles.

There were books on elemental magic, mana circulation, monster anatomy, and the basics of swordsmanship. Most were far too expensive for him to consider buying, and many required knowledge he didn’t yet possess.

Then he noticed a thin volume tucked away on a lower shelf.

Its cover was bound in charcoal-gray leather, with a simple title stamped across the front.

Notes on the Shaded Blade.

Riven pulled it from the shelf and examined the cover.

The title immediately caught his attention.

He opened the book and skimmed the first few pages. It appeared to be a manual covering basic Shadow sword techniques for close-quarters combat.

That was exactly what he needed.

He had a Shadow affinity, but he knew almost nothing about how to use it. The book might give him a foundation, allowing him to develop his magic without relying on someone else’s help.

He carried it to the counter.

The archivist glanced at the title and nodded.

"Ah. Looking for something suited to your own affinity?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm, not a bad choice"

"That manual covers some foundational Shadow techniques. Nothing particularly advanced, but it should be suitable for someone with a Level 1 core."

"How much?"

"Fifteen silver."

Riven placed fifteen silver pieces on the counter.

The archivist counted them, then handed over the book.

Riven slipped it into his spatial storage bag.

After the purchase, he had three silver pieces and twenty copper pieces remaining.

It wasn’t much, but it would be enough for a bit if he was careful.

He thanked the archivist and left the shop.

His next destination was the Adventurers’ Guild.

The large stone building was as busy as ever. Voices echoed through the main hall, mixing with the clatter of mugs and the occasional burst of laughter. Adventurers crowded around the notice boards, while others sat at tables discussing their latest jobs.

Riven kept his hood low as he made his way through the crowd.

He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, especially not after what had happened at the quarry.

He approached the bounty counter, where the same elven receptionist who had registered him stood behind the desk.

She was writing in a ledger when she noticed him.

"Back already?"

Her eyes briefly moved over his cloak and the sword at his waist.

"Did you need something?"

Riven reached into his storage bag and pulled out a small canvas sack.

He placed it on the counter and emptied its contents.

A dozen dried burrow-rat tails spilled across the wooden surface.

The receptionist stopped writing.

She stared at the pile, then looked up at him.

"Where did you get these?"

"The quarry."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"The old quarry north of town?"

Riven nodded.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she began counting the tails, checking each one carefully.

"Twelve valid tails," she said at last.

She looked at him again.

"You went into the lower tunnels?"

"Yes."

"With Boulder and Gorn?"

Riven paused briefly.

"Yes."

The receptionist’s expression changed.

She looked past him, as though expecting the two mercenaries to appear behind him.

"They aren’t with you?"

"No."

"Did something happen?"

"The rats attacked."

It was a simple answer, but it seemed to leave her with more questions than before.

She studied him for a moment, then returned her attention to the tails.

"Well, these are valid. The bounty pays two copper per tail."

She began counting out the reward.

"That comes to twenty-four copper."

She slid the coins across the counter.

Riven collected them and added them to his money.

He now had three silver pieces and forty-four copper pieces.

The tails didn’t amount to much.

He would have to find another way to earn money.

Before the receptionist could return to her ledger, Riven spoke.

"I want access to the private training grounds."

She blinked.

"The training grounds?"

"Yes."

"Those facilities cost two silver to enter."

"I know."

The receptionist leaned forward slightly.

"They’re intended for active adventurers who need somewhere to practice combat techniques or spellcasting. They aren’t a playground."

Riven reached into his pocket and placed two silver pieces on the counter.

She looked down at the coins, then back at him.

For a moment, she seemed unsure what to say.

"You really intend to train?"

"Yes."

She glanced at his shoulder.

"You’re injured."

"I can manage."

"That’s not what I asked."

Riven didn’t answer.

The receptionist sighed.

"Fine. But don’t do anything foolish. If you make your injury worse, the Guild won’t be responsible for the consequences."

She took the coins and stamped a small brass token before sliding it across the counter.

"The training grounds are behind the Guild. Go through the iron arch in the courtyard and show that to the attendant. They’ll tell you where you can practice."

Riven picked up the token.

"Thank you."

The receptionist watched him turn away.

"Riven."

He stopped and glanced back.

"Be careful. Not everyone who offers you work has your best interests in mind."

He stared at her for a moment.

Then he gave a small nod and continued toward the back exit.

He already knew that lesson.

Boulder and Gorn had made certain of it.

Outside, the air was cold and the courtyard was quiet. Beyond an iron arch stood the Guild’s private training grounds.

Riven looked down at the brass token in his hand.

He had a new sword, a manual suited to his affinity, and enough money to begin learning how to use his magic.

His shoulder still hurt, and he had no idea how long it would take to become strong enough to protect himself.

But he had finally found a way forward.

He stepped through the arch.