The trek from the Third District to the Eighth was a tedious exercise in patience and pocket-digging. Each district gate acted as a filter, designed to keep the rabble out of the higher sectors while lining the city's coffers. I had anticipated this, pulling five silver coins from my purse and tucking them into a hidden fold of my cloak for quick access.
The trek from the Third District to the heart of the city was a grueling exercise in patience and pocket-burning tolls. Each gate was a checkpoint of bureaucracy and greed. To reach the 8th District, I had to cross five more borders, and with each one, the air grew more elitist and the guards more scrutinizing. I had prepared the five silver coins in advance, clutching them in my purse like small shields against the city's red tape.
The transition to the 4th District was smooth enough, but as I reached the gate to the 5th, the atmosphere soured. The guards here were used to seeing silk and polished plate armor. As they looked at my mud-dusted boots, my commoner's dress, and the heavy, stolen cloak that hid my wings, their lips curled in synchronized disgust.
"Oi you, ya slum rat, return to your place you knave"
This is infact, the same rude knight when I hunted down Cletus, I didn't knew his name is Betch, an name etched through his name tag, I found his name funny, it reminded me of a joke influencer back on Earth.
Betch was flicking his fingers at me as if to shoo away a fly. I didn't respond. I simply handed over my silver and my status card. The sudden glow of the S-rank verification on the stone made the guard's sneer falter for a moment, but he didn't apologize. He just stepped back with a grunt, letting the "impure" traveler pass into the upper tiers of the city.
The rude gatekeeper didn't even hesitate, he let me to the 6th district with a disgusted expression. If I met his face one more time, I swear I'll shapeshift into Cletus and fuck his delinquent face off.
By the time I reached the 6th District, the bustling Merchant's Quarter, the mental fatigue of holding the bounty hunter in check was starting to weigh on me. This district was a sensory overload of shouting vendors, the smell of exotic spices, and the constant clatter of carriage wheels. I found a weathered stone bench tucked away in a small plaza and sat down, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders.
I sat there, watching the merchants haggle and the wealthy shoppers pass me by with noses held high. My one green eye scanned the crowd, feeling like a predator forced to wear the skin of a lamb. My mutilated arm felt heavy, the ichor humming under the fabric as if it wanted to burst out and remind these people what true power looked like. But I took a slow, deep breath, letting the hunter settle. I needed this break. I needed to let my body warm my chilled skin before I faced the high-stakes politics of the 8th District and the inevitable confrontation with Nautilus Cotton. He knew who I was, and in a city currently terrified of a Crimson Phantom, that knowledge was the most dangerous weapon in the world.
The 6th District was a deafening roar of commerce. On one side, the scent of grilled skewers and honeyed pastries wafted from the food stalls, on the other, the rhythmic clink-clink of hammers against steel echoed from the weapon stalls. I took a final, long draw from my leather water bottle, the cool liquid soothing my throat, before standing up. My wings shifted uncomfortably beneath my cloak, itching for the open sky, but I forced them still.
As I wove through the thick crowds toward the 7th District gate, a sign caught my eye. Unlike the crude ironmongers on the main strip, this shop was tucked into a stone alcove, its windows shimmering with the faint, iridescent glow of containment fields. A sign above the door read simply ready by three words.
The Weaver's Edge
I paused. My fight with the Katt siblings had exposed a glaring weakness. While my blood manipulation was powerful, it was taxing. Every time Vanessa burned my clothes or Victor smashed my defenses, I had to use my own life-force to replenish them. If I had gear that could withstand magical fire or physical trauma, I could save my mana for the kill.
I pushed the door open. A small bell chimed, and the chaotic noise of the market was instantly replaced by a heavy, humming silence. The air inside tasted of ozone and old parchment.
The shop was lined with glass cases holding daggers that dripped perpetual frost and tunics woven from drake-scale. I walked toward the back, my one green eye scanning for anything that could accommodate a girl with a shifting mutilated arm and a pair of wings that needed to manifest at a moment's notice.
The shopkeeper, a spindly man with spectacles that magnified his eyes to a comical size, looked up from a glowing rune. He didn't sneer at my commoner's dress like the guards had. He stared at the way the light seemed to die around my silhouette. He knew an S-rank presence and a gold ranked adventurer when it walked into his shop.
I stepped further into the shop, the heavy scent of incense and cold steel wrapping around me. The shopkeeper, Vladimir, adjusted his oversized spectacles and gave a welcoming, albeit toothy, grin.
"Morning young lass, my name is Vladimir. What can I do you for today?"
I remained silent, my hood casting a deep shadow over my face. Instead of responding, I focused my single green eye on a pair of sleek, obsidian-colored greaves. I activated my appraisal skill, Inspect.
The world shifted slightly as data windows flickered into my vision. Most of the items were surprisingly high-quality, well-maintained, durable, and humming with latent mana. But as I scanned a set of silver-lined gloves, Vladimir's voice cut through my concentration.
"Lass, feel free to see the item's stats. Take your time."
I froze. A cold prickle of alarm raced down my spine. My inspect skill was supposed to be a hidden passive, it was my secret advantage in a world of scammers and traps. I looked up at him, my brow furrowed in a confused, wary expression. I didn't even knew that because I was a former appraiser.
Vladimir chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.
"Now, don't look so surprised, traveler. Normally, experienced knights, or old merchants like me have a keen sense for these things. We can tell if a human has an appraisal skill just by looking at their eyes. There's a certain... flicker in the pupil when the data starts rolling in."
He leaned over the counter, his expression turning serious.
"Most merchants around here get hopping mad about people like you, they rely on their scamming reputation to offload junk at premium prices. If every customer knew exactly how many cracks were in a blade's mana-core, the market would collapse. But me? I'm too old to be dishonest, and I'm too kind to hide my wares. If you're looking for something that can handle S-rank output, you're in the right place."
I relaxed my shoulders slightly, though I didn't let my guard down. If he could see the flicker of my inspect, he was far more observant than the average shopkeeper.
I turned my attention back to the racks. My gaze settled on a set of Dread-Silk Undergarments and a Reinforced Mithril-Hide Vest. They were designed for high-mobility fighters, magical garments that could expand and contract without tearing. Perfect for when my wings needed to burst through my back or when my arm shifted into a weapon.
The walls of The Weaver's Edge were a catalog of survival. I scanned the rows of specialized gear, my Inspect skill working overtime. There were robes treated with neutralizing salts for acid resistance, heavy-weave garments designed to damp kinetic explosions, and insulated silks for electricity.
But my one green eye locked onto a specific piece hanging between two drab grey cloaks. I used my appraisal skill on one of these items.
[Item: Crimson Blood-Thread Trench Coat]
Durability: 2000/2000
Defense: 100 (stats were doubled when in fire-based spells)
Attributes: High Fire Resistance. Nullifes all damage from all fire-based spells and heat-related status effects.
Special Attributes: Self-mending fabric that uses ambient mana to repair tears.
It was perfect. The deep, bruised crimson would not only mask the splashes of blood from my own manipulation but would act as a direct hard-counter to Vanessa's tar-and-fire traps.
Next, I looked at the display of masks. Hidden among the porcelain theatre masks and iron visors was a simple, matte-black half-mask.
[Item: The Leech's Hollow Mask]
Durability: 300/300
Defense: 10
Attributes: Mind-Wall. Granting the wearer immunity to lower-level mental interference and Fear Manipulation.
Special Attributes: Obscures facial features in shadow, even in direct light.
This was the answer to Victor. If I wore this, his swirling black eyes would have no power over me, and my glasgow smile would finally be hidden behind a layer of enchanted steel and silk.
I pointed to the two items. Vladimir pulled them down with a grunt of effort, laying them on the counter.
"The trench coat is seven gold pieces, and the mask is three. Ten gold for the set."
I reached into my purse, but my heart sank as my fingers grazed the coins. I had plenty of silver for tolls, but ten gold was a fortune, the entire bounty for Cameron himself.
I looked up at Vladimir. I couldn't speak to negotiate, and I didn't want to leave without these tools. I let my hood slip back just enough for him to see my face, not as a monster, but as a young girl in a desperate situation. I softened my gaze, tilting my head slightly and making the most cute expression a scarred survivor could manage.
Vladimir blinked, staring at me for a long moment. He looked at the scars, then at my pleading emerald eye, and finally let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Ah... you've got a look that could melt a glacier, lass, I can't just give them away, I've got a business to run, but I'll tell you what. I'll pull these from the shelf. I'll reserve them for you. You bring me the gold, and they're yours. No one else touches them."
I bowed my head in a deep, grateful gesture. It wasn't a win yet, but it was a chance. I turned and stepped out of the shop, the bell chiming behind me.
The 6th District was still loud and crowded, but I had a new priority. I needed ten gold pieces, and I needed them before I faced the Katt siblings again. I moved toward the 7th District gate, my mind already calculating which high-rank bounties I could turn in at the Bureau to close the gap.
I was one step closer to becoming the monster Cameron Gal feared. Now, I just needed the coin to dress the part.