Chapter 18: A Fistful of Gold
The shop was cluttered but oddly charming—racks of blades, shelves stacked with gauntlets, staves lined up in a corner like well-behaved soldiers. Weapons of all types lined the walls like a museum of medieval death.
I strolled in with a casual gait, ignoring the bell that chimed above me. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and arms like tree trunks, glanced up from polishing a longsword.
"Welcome, young master. What are you looking for today? Swords? Daggers? Maybe something more exotic?"
I shook my head. "Not really into compensating for anything. I need a weapon that fits me, not something that screams, 'Look at me, I watched one too many fantasy flicks.'"
He chuckled, eyeing me more closely. "Got attitude, huh? Fine. What are you looking for then?"
"A gauntlet," I said simply.
The man raised a bushy brow. "Gauntlet, huh? Not the most common choice. You a brawler?"
"I hit things," I said. "And I want to hit them harder."
"Fair enough." He motioned for me to follow. "Come. I've got a few pieces in stock, though if you're serious, the good stuff's in the back."
We passed through a curtain into a dimly lit room. The air was heavier here—metal, oil, and a hint of old blood. He opened a chest and pulled out three gauntlets, laying them on a table.
"Alright," he said. "First up—standard reinforced steel gauntlet. Good balance, built-in shock absorption. Won't break your hand on contact unless you're punching a troll's skull."
I picked it up, gave it a flex. "Meh. Looks durable, but it's about as exciting as toast."
He grinned. "Fair. Next one's got an enchantment. Elemental affinity—you channel qi or mana, it amplifies with a burst effect. Fire's the current setting, but I can recalibrate it."
"Sounds flashy. Also sounds like it'll explode on my wrist if I sneeze wrong."
"You'd be surprised. Enchantments have come a long way."
I moved on to the third. It was sleeker, black and crimson with tiny veins of silver running across its surface like lightning frozen in metal. The texture was more like scaled leather than steel.
"This one's... different."
"Yeah," the shopkeeper said, his voice lowering like he was sharing state secrets. "That's the Crimson Whisper. Made from wyvern hide and mythril weave. Light as a glove, hard as high-grade steel. Reinforces your punches with kinetic compression. Basically, the harder you hit, the harder it hits. No enchantments. Just pure craftsmanship."
I turned it over in my hands. The thing was beautiful—like a weapon and a piece of armor had a baby and gave it style.
"I want this one."
The shopkeeper hesitated. "It's rare. And expensive. That's a four-thousand gold piece item."
"Really?" I raised a brow. "For something that covers one hand? Feels like I'm being robbed without the courtesy of a dagger to the ribs."
He crossed his arms. "It's not just armor. It's legacy gear. Used to belong to a B-rank adventurer before it came into my hands. Worth every coin."
I sighed, pretending to consider. "I've got three thousand gold left after spending two on my dimensional ring. I could give you twenty-five hundred."
"Ha! Not a chance. I like my shop, and I'd like to keep the lights on."
"Alright," I said, "then let's talk middle ground. How about three thousand? I walk out with one less bag of regret, and you get to brag that you sold a priceless artifact to the next up-and-coming adventurer. Win-win."
The man scratched his beard. "Three thousand and a promise you don't get yourself killed in the next month. I don't need bad press."
I grinned. "Deal."
We shook on it. He wrapped the gauntlet in black cloth and handed it over like it was sacred.
"Be careful with that, kid. It's not just a weapon. It's a statement."
I nodded, slipping it onto my right hand. The fit was perfect, almost unnaturally so. Like it had been made for me.
"Looks good on you," he said.
"Yeah," I said, flexing my fingers. "Now let's see how long it takes before someone tries to mug me for it."
As I stepped out of the shop, the gauntlet glinting slightly in the sun, I couldn't help but feel a little more complete. Like the blood running through me had found its sheath.
Lysander Caspian was now armed.
And the world? It had better watch its back.
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