Theron stretched, his bones popping and cracking. There was a new sheen of sweat coating his body—a mixture of dead skin and the impurities from his previous Bronze Core.
The first thing he did was return to his inn room and scrub himself clean. As he did so, he planned out his next steps.
He needed a new dagger, but he also needed more Mancy methods.
If Spirit Mancers dealt in matters of divination and Karma, Soul Mancers were the beast tamers, alchemists, and blacksmiths of the world.
The two were opposite sides of the same coin. Spirit Mancers absorbed the Mana of others to strengthen themselves, while Soul Mancers granted their Mana to others to strengthen them.
Much the same way, Flux and Elemental Mancers were likewise opposites—the latter controlling the external elements to cast techniques, and the former using Mana to instead strengthen their bodies directly.
Bronze Soul items, crafted by Soul Mancer blacksmiths, were no less expensive than pills. In most cases, they were even more costly.
The more Theron thought about it, the more he felt that the rewards for this supposedly “impossible” mission were far too low. He had thought this before, but it didn’t truly make sense to him until he heard Manson’s slip of the tongue.
If this was truly a mission none were meant to complete, the coins might have been kept artificially low just to ensure no one was tempted to take drastic measures and upset the status quo.
Why put the mission up at all, then?
And who had a vested interest in ensuring it never succeeded, even after almost half a decade?
On the other hand, did any of that matter when he now had the sum of the merchant’s wealth in his hands?
**
Thistle Brook City was one of the ten largest cities outside the core of the Empire. Six months ago, Theron had come here to complete the Imperial Scholar Exams, an event that took place once every three years.
Every young scholar-hopeful was allowed two chances to pass, and the test could be taken anytime before one’s seventeenth birthday.
Having succeeded, Theron’s standing in the city was quite high.
Peeling off the skin-mask, Theron revealed his true face for the first time in over a month. The face staring back at him was youthful, but it already carried a budding handsomeness. His brows sloped gently, and his jaw was slowly sharpening over time.
He wasn’t particularly tall, standing at just 5’6″, but he still had time to grow. Regardless, whether it was his temperament or his posture, both were beyond his years.
Theron slipped out of the crowded tavern with no one being any wiser. The flow of traffic was so great that none noticed a young man who had never entered had just exited.
Robes of white and violet fluttered around him, the insignia of an Imperial Scholar hanging from his waist. The emblem appeared to be carved from white stone. At its center, a black bird outlined in gold soared within a wreath of black roses.
His long black hair was tied with a ribbon of violet silk that matched his robes in shade and tone. Everywhere he went, he received looks of awe and adulation.
To the people of Thistle Brook, seeing an Imperial Scholar was no different from seeing a celebrity.
To the Night Empire, Theron was treated quite well, too. He had received an honorary noble title, not to mention discounts across any Imperial Clan-owned establishments. Though this privilege would only last for the duration of his studies, it was a great advantage nonetheless.
With his identity, Theron walked into the tallest building in the city. The pagoda seemed to soar into the clouds, though this was mostly an illusion of grandeur.
The establishment was known as the Nightingale Pagoda—or rather, it was a branch of it. There were many merchants, merchant guilds, and merchant families in the Empire, but there was only one main exchange and trading hub.
It was the Imperial family’s not-so-subtle method of keeping everything in check, but no one minded. It kept all the prices regulated, and the competition was good for consumers.
The downside was that breaking into the market as a new merchant was almost impossible. And on Theron’s side of things, there was no black market for him to take advantage of.
“Hello, young scholar. How might I help you today?”
An attractive, middle-aged woman greeted Theron with a bow. Although he had walked in with a sea of people, she easily picked him out of the crowd, giving him the treatment due to an Imperial Scholar.
Theron smiled politely. “I would like to buy a weapon. A dagger, preferably. Low-tier Bronze Soul. I would also like to take a look at some of your techniques. Low-tier as well. I am a Water Mancer.”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course. Please follow me, young master…” her voice trailed off.
“Theron.”
“Theron,” she continued quickly. “You can call me Starra. I’ll prepare a catalog for you immediately. Please follow me.”
Theron was escorted away beneath the envious gazes of many and led to a private room. Soon, a personally curated catalog was placed right before him.
As expected of the Nightingale Pagoda, their selection was not small. Considering his requirements were only for the low-tier, it wasn’t surprising that the choices were so deep.
There were more than 300 Water Mancy daggers to choose from. Techniques were rarer, but even then, there were almost a hundred.
Most are redundant.
Of the selection of daggers, the majority were mass-produced goods with only small variations between them. As for the techniques, they were similar in that they mostly performed the same actions.
The price of the daggers ranged from around 3,000 to 7,000 bronzes. As for the techniques, they were more expensive, going up to about double the upper end.
Theron quickly made his choices.