The next morning, as the sun began to rise, I woke up and went through the usual chores Duracal assigned me.
Not forging—
Cleaning.
Repairing.
Polishing.
Simple work.
By the time I finished, the sun had fully risen.
Duracal stepped out and looked at me.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
Then he added,
"And be careful. She's… a bit strange."
We left Rusty behind at the back of the house and set out on foot.
As we walked, we left the artisan district—the outskirts of Luxina where craftsmen worked.
Too much noise.
Too much heat.
We entered the town.
After a short walk, Duracal stopped in front of a small shop.
No name.
No sign.
Just a plain wooden door.
He opened it and stepped inside.
The shop was quiet.
Shelves filled with books.
The smell of old paper.
At the center, a woman in her late fifties lay sprawled on a bench—sleeping.
Duracal tapped the bench.
She stirred.
Wiped her mouth.
Opened her eyes—
and immediately shouted.
"You bastard! Why are you here?!"
I froze.
Duracal?
Getting yelled at?
She stood up, stepping onto the bench as if ready to jump him.
Duracal raised his hand calmly.
"No need to attack first. Let me speak."
Her glare didn't soften.
"You show up after disappearing and now want something? Say it."
Duracal sighed.
"The kid needs help."
Her eyes shifted to me.
Slowly scanning.
"What does he want?"
I stepped forward.
"Books on magic circles. Shield magic… and basic theory."
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
"You're a knight."
"So why magic?"
"I'm not switching paths," I said.
"I want to understand it. To fight mages."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Why shield magic?"
"I fought someone before," I said.
"A barrier stopped my attack."
"No matter how much force I used—I couldn't reach him."
"I need to understand that."
I didn't mention Khaun.
That stayed with me.
She said nothing for a moment.
Then casually waved her hand.
Two books floated off the shelf and landed on the bench.
"Basic circle structures."
"And entry-level shield magic."
Her tone was flat.
"Take them if you want."
Duracal spoke.
"No."
The woman's eyes narrowed.
"No?"
"He doesn't need scraps," Duracal said.
"I want your book."
Silence.
Then—
a slow smile.
Dangerous.
"You've got nerve," she said.
"Do you even know what you're asking?"
"Some of my books sell for over five hundred gold coins."
"Nobles beg me to teach their children."
"And you walk in here asking for it like it's nothing?"
Duracal didn't move.
"I don't need everything."
"Just your shield magic."
"And one proper theory book—your recommendation."
She stared at him.
Then at me.
"…He won't break?"
Duracal snorted.
"He's still standing."
Another pause.
Then she waved her hand again.
The first two books slid aside.
Two new ones appeared.
Heavier.
Denser.
Different.
"This one," she said, tapping the first.
"My shield magic."
"And this—"
she tapped the second—
"foundation theory. The best starting point I'll give."
I looked at her again.
She wrote a book…
Not a shopkeeper.
An author.
"Thirty gold coins," she said.
My breath caught.
Thirty?
That was—
more than I had earned in weeks.
For just two books?
I hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"Fine."
Duracal didn't even blink.
He paid immediately.
No bargaining.
No hesitation.
I stood there—
holding the books.
Heavier than before.
Not just in weight.
Duracal turned to me.
"Wait outside."
"We need to talk."
I nodded and stepped out.
Just as I reached the door—
his voice came from behind.
"Don't open those yet."
I paused.
Something in his tone—
serious.
I stepped outside slowly.
Books in hand.
Mind unsettled.