The doors of Mechanica hissed open with mechanical precision, gears clicking into place as morning sunlight spilled across the polished floor. Liliruca stood at the threshold in a uniform too large for her frame—a crimson tabard over reinforced cloth, a small cog-shaped brooch fastened near her collar. Her eyes swept over the small plaza outside the shop, already buzzing.
They were waiting.
Dozens of adventurers, mostly from minor Familia, huddled in small packs. Word had spread. What had started as a whisper passed between dungeon-crawlers—about a shop that was selling swords at unbelievable prices.
The crate was the first thing they saw.
Squat, metallic, and heavy, it squatted near the front like a silent offering. Inside lay over a dozen swords of identical, practical, single-edged blades with no ornamentation. They gleamed with a finish far too fine for their price, each tagged with a simple stamp: 50%.
The first group surged in before Lily had even spoken. She barely kept her footing as they jostled past her, crowding around the crate like starving wolves.
Another group of young men elbowed each other for a spot.
"I told you it was real!" one hissed, hauling out a sleek, curved sword with micro-ridges along the edge. "Look at this."
"Only the ones in the crate are discounted!" she called over the chaos, climbing onto a metal stool to make herself heard. Her voice carried just enough authority to cut through the noise.
She noticed an elf girl eyeing one of the wall-mounted swords—a sleek, heavy-edged blade .
"If you want to purchase that one," Lily added, gesturing toward the weapon, "you'll need to place an order in advance. As a new sword has to be made, this one is only for display."
After looking at the price tag of 50 million, the elf girl froze. This was too expensive.
The place buzzed like a hornet's nest. People flowed in, some only to stare, others to purchase or just gawk. Even those who didn't buy left muttering to their friends and family.
Liliruca's fingers danced across the interface, cataloging each sale with efficiency. Purchases. Impressions. Luthar would want the data.
Then the air shifted.
The crowd parted near the entrance—not with awe, but with confused respect. A figure walked in, short and thickly built, with a heavy jaw and deep-set eyes that spoke of hard-earned experience. A dwarven adventurer wearing armor and a battered axe strapped to his back.
He wasn't a customer. Not yet. He was evaluating.
Liliruca recognized him as everyone else it was Gareth from Loki.
He stopped near the crate and picked up a sword with one hand. Gave it a few test swings. The metal sang.
He grunted. "Not bad. But too good for rookies."
He turned slowly, eyes locking onto the inner wall where the premium gear was displayed—more intricate designs, powered blades.
His eyes caught an axe—a brutal thing, heavy-headed, with an inlaid coil running down the haft like a metallic vine. The edge shimmered subtly.
He checked the price. His brow lifted. "Pricey."
Then, without fanfare, he handed money to Elna for one of the discounted swords and walked out.
when Gareth stepped into the meeting chamber tucked behind the main hall of the Loki Familia. It was quiet, the kind of quiet only reinforced walls and enchanted wards could offer. Maps, ledgers.
Riveria stood at the far end of the table, scanning the documents, while Finn leaned on a nearby railing, arms crossed. Loki sprawled across a velvet divan, nursing a bottle of wine .
"You're back early," Finn said, straightening.
Gareth grunted. "Didn't need long."
He placed the cheap sword he'd bought on the table with a solid clunk. The blade looked unimpressive.
Riveria gave it a glance, then a longer one.
"Looks normal," she murmured.
Gareth nodded. "Picked one up for 4000. The real weapons were on the wall," Gareth continued. "Well crafted and different. One axe I saw was even better than mine."
"So it's just a new shop?" Finn raised a brow.
"New, yes, but it doesn't belong to any Familia," Gareth clarified. "and we don't even know who is making them."
Rivera, also check it carefully. "No known Familia,producing gear on par with the best Familia."
Loki finally sat up. "You didn't buy the axe."
"Didn't have enough," Gareth admitted.
"That's would be a the problem," Finn muttered. "We already have good connections with the Gobniu Familia and the Hephaestus Familia; buying from a third party would be a problem."
"we can't place orders on somebody who doesn't even have a God ." Riveria's voice was calm .
Loki leaned back, tapping her wine bottle. "But if others get attracted and place lots of orders for appointments or times, we won't even be able to place orders."
"We can't take that risk," Finn said. "Our financial situation is already tight."
Gareth cracked his knuckles. "I guess just buy some for rookies; having more swords is always good."
"Tell me, have you at least inquired about the owner ?" Finn ask
Gareth tapped the blade again. "The shop's called Mechanica. The owner's name is Luthar. Masked man. At least this is what I heard."
Riveria lifted her head. "Luthar…"
"I've seen him," Loki added, uncorking another bottle with a soft pop. "Came into the city with Lyra, Just dragging the interesting box."
Riveria's brow furrowed. "I saw him too. While training —Lyra. He still. Gave me the creeps ."
Finn's eyes narrowed. "No known Familia. No workshop registration. And now he's selling refined weapons.
Riveria ran a finger along the sword's spine, still thoughtful. "Craftsmanship is better than entry-grade Hephaestus work."
Loki leaned forward now, wine forgotten. "So either he is buying weapons from outside Orario… or he's building them in secret like Underground,The problem is, where do he get that many blacksmiths?
"If it's from outside, the Guild not going to allow entry of that many goods," Riveria added sharply.
Finn's gaze darkened. "That's just too suspicious. I just hope it's not from some dark faction."
While the conversation going on
Back at the shop, Liliruca barely had a moment to breathe. Her voice was hoarse from repeating the same lines, her fingers aching from logging purchases into the terminal. One sword after another vanished from the crate, snatched up by eager hands. Every time she checked inventory, another adventurer called for confirmation, haggled, or tried to slip an extra blade outside the shop.
The crate was nearly empty now—just two swords left—and the air inside Mechanica was stifling with body heat, sweat, and the frantic energy of those desperate not to miss out. Liliruca caught her reflection in a polished wall panel: flushed and tired, Elna was just as worn, sleeves rolled up and hair damp with exertion.
They didn't stop.
Every sword that left the crate was logged.
"One left," Elna murmured, tapping her terminal as another adventurer handed over a pouch of coins.
The last sword vanished into a young man's hands—he clutched it like a relic—and the crowd began to thin, some lingering, most already filing out with their prizes.
Only then did Elna sag against the counter. "I think my soul just left my body."
Liliruca didn't smile. Not quite. But her eyes softened. "We' can rest now ."
Elna stared at the cleared-out crate, then looked at the premium weapons still mounted on the walls—untouched, for now. "You know what scares me?" she said quietly. "We just sold more swords than most blacksmith shops move in a week, and he made them in what... a night?"
That hit harder than she expected. Liliruca glanced at the terminal, the quiet hum of the screen, and then toward the locked back door leading deeper into the Crimson Church.
"He did," she said. "Somehow."