Chapter 63

Nick slipped away from the temple grounds, doing his best to appear nonchalant. What he’d seen and overheard revealed a lot, and he could feel pieces of a larger puzzle clicking into place—but they weren't enough to create a clear picture.The fight between Marthas and the demon had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Not due to its brutality—he’d seen plenty of that—but because of its implications. A Grand Exorcist stationed here? The temple’s foreknowledge of a demon’s presence? It felt like stepping onto a spider’s web, with each thread linking to something larger, unseen, and potentially dangerous.

As he rounded a corner into the broader streets of Floria, Nick froze. A column of guards was marching up the main road, their armor glinting faintly under the late afternoon sun. At the front of the group was his father.

Nick’s stomach twisted. Eugene wasn’t the type of man to rush into things without reason. If he was here with a contingent of guards, it meant the aftershocks of the fight had been felt throughout the town. And if Eugene found Nick anywhere near the temple, questions would arise—questions Nick wasn’t prepared to answer.

He ducked into the shadows of a narrow alley, pressing himself against the stone wall as the guards passed.

“The priority is to secure the perimeter,” he overheard his father say. “We’ll make sure the temple is safe, then get a full report from the priests. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual.”

Nick watched them leave. He didn’t feel guilty for hiding. The danger had passed, and the guards would find nothing but scorch marks and shaken beastmen. Besides, if Eugene knew Nick had been there, it would lead to an interrogation he wasn’t ready to face.

He already wanted to, but what he’d seen today solidified his decision. He needed to know how Eugene planned to handle this—and whether Eugene shared his suspicions about the Prelate.

Sighing, Nick pushed off the wall and made his way toward the market district. If he was going to stay up late waiting for Eugene to return, he might as well make use of the time.

The streets grew surprisingly quieter as he neared the heart of the market. Normally, this area would be bustling with activity, with merchants shouting over each other to hawk their wares and townsfolk bargaining for everything from fresh produce to imported objects—even without the caravan. With them, the market was supposed to be close to bursting.

But today, the energy felt subdued. Stalls were half-empty as vendors watched the streets with caution. The aftershocks of the fight must have rippled through Floria, unnerving its residents even if no horde of monsters had appeared.

Indeed, burly men in enchanted armor guarded the new stalls, making it clear to anyone coming close that no funny business would be tolerated. Even with the protection that the Prelate provided, the caravan wouldn’t have survived without its own warriors.

Nick walked through the empty streets without hurry. The brightly colored tents of the Allurian merchants stood out against the muted tones of the local stalls. As he passed, they called out to him with the polished charm of practiced salesmen, trying to grab his attention despite his young age. They really must have been desperate to make a sale.

“Fine silks, directly from the looms of Alluria! Perfect for a discerning gentleman like you!"

“Spices to warm your soul and set your table apart—come, take a whiff! Your mother will thank you!”

Nick paused at a stall selling enchanted trinkets that promised minor conveniences—self-heating mugs, ever-sharp knives, that sort of thing. The merchant, a wiry man with keen eyes, enthusiastically welcomed him.

“Looking for something special, my friend?” the man asked, gesturing to the neatly arranged wares. “We’ve got charms to ward off bad luck, necklaces that keep you warm in winter, and even a brooch that glows when you’re near fresh water.”

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Nick picked up a small, unassuming ring etched with faint runes. It hummed faintly against his skin, and he was once again surprised at how much mana these people were willing to use for something so mundane. “What’s this one?”

“Ah, a fine choice!” the merchant said, leaning forward. “That’s a ring of minor focus. Scholars and spellcasters wear it—it helps steady your thoughts during delicate work. I’m told even the Archmage of Alluria is known to wear the like.”

Nick turned the ring over in his hand, considering. It wasn’t groundbreaking, and he doubted it would work on him, what with blocking any interference, but it might be useful to tease out how the Trait worked.

“I’ll take it,” he said, fishing a few iron coins from his pouch.

He slid the ring onto his finger and flexed his hand. As expected, he felt nothing. That told him a lot, since he was able to increase his focus by drinking the Dream Spider venom.

The next stall Nick visited burst with color. Bright banners danced in the gentle breeze, advertising discounts on everything from cooking utensils to enchanted accessories. As soon as Nick approached, a wide man with a bushy mustache and endless energy sprang to attention.

“You, sir!” the merchant clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you! A discerning young man if I ever saw one. Welcome, welcome! Let me introduce you to the finest selection of adventuring goods in all of the kingdom—and beyond!”

Nick raised an eyebrow but didn’t back away. The merchant was already launching into his pitch, holding up a squat iron pot that gleamed unnaturally, indicating it was enchanted somehow.

“Behold! The Culinary Cauldron!” he declared, spinning the pot for dramatic effect. “Anything you cook in this will taste like the finest feast, even if it’s just old turnips and stale bread. An essential for anyone on the road!”

Nick barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. The pot did look well-made, and there might have been a minor enchantment humming faintly from it. But the merchant’s enthusiasm made it hard to tell whether it was worth anything beyond the flair.

Before Nick could slip away, the man pulled on a belt with oversized buckles from a box at his side.

“And this! The Suregrip Sash!” he crowed. “Never again will you lose your tools, your coins, or even your sword. Whatever you attach to this belt stays secure, even if you’re hanging upside down from the cliffs of Karthar. Guaranteed!”

Nick held up his hand to forestall another sales pitch. “Impressive, really,” he said, trying to sound polite. “But I’m just browsing.”

“Ah, but you’ve only scratched the surface!” the merchant pressed, not willing to let go of one of the few possible customers of the day. He gestured to the array of gear spread across his stall—boots, gloves, knives, bedrolls, and trinkets of every imaginable kind. “I have exactly what is needed for a young man of action like yourself. Just say the word, and your future as an adventurer will be guaranteed!”

Nick sidestepped the man with a nod and murmured, “Thanks, but no thanks,” before slipping past the stall. The merchant called after him, undeterred, but Nick had already moved on, and one hard look from the guards sent the man grumbling back to his wares.

As he wandered further, it became clear that nearly every stall catered to travelers, with wares boasting durability, convenience, and varying degrees of magical enhancement.

Nick couldn’t deny the appeal—there was a certain charm to the magical display of gear and gadgets. However, much of it seemed either overpriced or redundant. Floria had its own craftsmen and traders, and he had enough connections in town to know where to find quality goods. If he needed a health potion, he would go to Ogden, whose brews were far superior to anything mass-produced and shipped from distant cities.

Still, Nick’s curiosity kept him moving through the rows of stalls, scanning for anything that stood out.

It wasn’t until he reached a further corner of the market that he discovered something worth investigating. Amid the colorful chaos of the other vendors, one stall was still being set up. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly, with their contents half-unpacked, and an elderly woman bent over one of them, muttering under her breath as she rummaged around.

When she stood up, her yellow eyes caught Nick’s attention—it was a sharp, striking shade that he hadn’t seen even in feline beastkin. She moved slowly but without the hesitation of age and handled each item with a reverence that suggested these weren’t mere novelties.

As Nick approached, he saw that the crates were filled with books. Some were leather-bound and pristine, while others were battered and worn, with cracked spines and yellowed pages.

“Excuse me,” Nick said, stepping closer. “What kind of books do you have?”

The woman straightened slowly, assessing him in silence. For a moment, Nick wondered if she was about to brush him off, but then her face softened.

“Depends,” she replied, low and gravelly. “What are you looking for?”

Nick hesitated. “Not sure yet. Something about magic, I guess.”

The woman chuckled, a dry sound like wind rustling through leaves. “Magic, eh? That’s a broad category. Well, help me finish setting up, and maybe we’ll find something that catches your eye. I’m sure I picked up some tomes you might like.”

“Will you give me a discount if I help?” He asked, weary of being taken advantage of.

“Oh, sure, I’ll do that. And here I thought kids these days had all their minds filled with ideas of chivalry and nobility. I guess you might need a more materialistic incentive…”

Before Nick realized what he’d agreed to, he found himself kneeling by one of the crates, pulling out books and arranging them on the makeshift shelves she had set up.

“What’s this one?” he asked, holding up a thick tome bound in faded green leather.

“Herbalist’s guide,” she said without looking up. “Good for identifying plants, poisons, and their antidotes that grow south, where the forest becomes swampier. Not the most thrilling read, but useful if you’re out in the wilds.”

Nick placed it carefully on the shelf and moved on to the next book, a slim volume with no title on the cover.

“That one’s poetry,” the woman said, glancing at it. “Not much demand for it, but I keep it around for the rare soul who appreciates it.”

As they worked, the crates gradually emptied, and the shelves filled with an eclectic assortment of titles. There were spellbooks, histories, travelogues, and even a few novels—all of them well-used but clearly cared for.