The merchant grinned. "For stamina! Keeps you from getting tired. Expensive, though."

Puddle whispered, "Master, buy it so you don't get sleepy."

Rhys flicked her forehead gently. "I'm not buying random rings."

She puffed up like a tiny bubble. "But shiny…"

He smiled as they moved on.

Further down, he saw Caria talking to a crafter about special gathering tools—stronger picks, enchanted bags that preserved ingredients longer, small mana-infused lanterns.

Sophia tested a few practice weapons made from sea-crystal.

Meanwhile, Aria was negotiating aggressively with a jewelry vendor.

"I'll take three rings if you add that bracelet."

"That bracelet alone is worth two rings."

Aria slammed her hand down. "Then three rings AND a smile!"

Lyra calmly placed a hand on her shoulder. "Aria. Stop."

Aria froze. "Yes ma'am…"

Lyra smiled politely at the merchant. "We'll think about it."

Eventually, they regrouped near a large fountain made of pearl-stone.

Rhys looked around. "Everyone done?"

Aria's hands were behind her back suspiciously.

"Aria," Caria said slowly, "what did you buy?"

"NOTHING."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Show us your hands."

Aria grumbled and revealed five new rings, all glowing faintly.

Rhys stared. "You said nothing."

Aria crossed her arms. "Nothing important!"

Lyra sighed. "We'll check if any of those are cursed."

"THEY ARE NOT—probably…"

They walked further into the market until they reached the artisan district—a quieter part of the island with small workshops, less noise, and the sound of tools shaping crystal and pearl.

Rhys slowed down.

Something felt… different here.

A soft hum in the air.

A warmth coming from one of the buildings.

Lyra noticed him pause. "Rhys?"

He pointed ahead. "That workshop…"

A small sign hung above the entrance:

Pearlforge Atelier — Specialists in Custom Enchantments

Caria's eyes widened. "Custom… enchantments? On weapons?"

Sophia looked at her sword. "Maybe we can tune the Warden Blade."

Aria nodded excitedly. "Or make it shine more!"

Rhys felt Runius hum faintly at his side, as if responding.

Puddle whispered from his shoulder, "Master… I think your sword likes this place."

Lyra closed her eyes for a moment. "There's a gentle but ancient mana here. Not dangerous. Just… old."

Rhys exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he said, stepping toward the workshop door. "Let's check it out."

The others followed.

They pushed open the workshop door.

A soft bell chimed.

Warm light spilled across shelves filled with tools, half-finished weapons, and strange pearl-like cores stored in glass jars.

But the shop itself…

looked old.

Really old.

Dust clung to corners.

The wooden counter had scratches all over it.

And the walls were lined with rusted weapons—old swords, spears, daggers—all worn down by time and salt air.

Aria blinked. "Uh… this looks more like an antique store."

Sophia glanced around. "Are we sure this place is still open?"

Caria turned a rusted sword over. "These weapons are decades old… maybe older."

Lyra's eyes softened. "The mana here… it's faded. This place hasn't been used properly in a long time."

Rhys stepped up to a long, narrow table where several rusted blades lay in a row.

One in particular caught his eye.

A sword covered in brown rust, chipped down the middle.

Its hilt had frayed wraps.

The blade wasn't straight—it looked slightly bent, like it had been pulled out of the sea.

Puddle floated over it and poked it. "Master… this sword is sad."

Rhys frowned. "Sad?"

Puddle nodded. "It feels lonely."

Lyra stepped closer, her expression serious now.

"That blade was once enchanted… a very long time ago. But the magic inside it died."

Sophia tilted her head. "Died? Magic can die?"

Caria nodded quietly. "If the user dies and the weapon is lost long enough… yes."

Aria scratched her head. "So this is basically an old broken sword with emotional issues."

"Aria," Sophia sighed.

Before Rhys could pick it up, a voice came from the back.

"That blade… was pulled from the deep trench last year."

They all turned.

A fisherman stood in the doorway behind the counter—sunburned skin, rough hands, and a net hanging over his shoulder.

He must've been the actual owner.

Aria whispered, "Uh… we're intruding."

The fisherman waved it off. "Shop belongs to my father. He passed ten years ago. I just keep the door open so his place doesn't rot away."

Rhys gestured at the sword. "You said it came from the trench?"

The fisherman nodded.

"A diving crew found it tangled in an old net. They thought it was scrap iron. I bought it for a few coins—figured I'd hang it on the wall."

Caria inspected the rusted blade again. "A trench sword… makes sense. The corrosion is too deep for surface rust."

Sophia asked gently, "Do you know how old it is?"

The fisherman shrugged. "No idea. But the divers said something strange:

'It didn't feel like metal.'

Like the sword was breathing."

Aria stepped back. "Okay. Nope. Not touching that thing."

Puddle whispered, "Master… Runius is humming louder."

Rhys looked down.

His own sword was shaking slightly.

Barely noticeable—just a small vibration against his hip.

Lyra noticed too. "Runius is reacting. Maybe… it recognizes something."

Rhys hesitated.

Then he slowly reached for the rusted sword.

The fisherman held up a hand.

"If you want it… take it. It's junk to me. But sometimes junk picks its own owner."

Aria squinted. "Wait—FREE? Just like that?"

The fisherman chuckled. "I'm not selling rust."

Rhys picked up the old blade.

It was lighter than he expected.

As if the metal inside wasn't quite metal anymore.

A faint pulse ran through his hand.

Not strong.

Not dangerous.

Just… waiting.

Lyra said quietly, "This sword hasn't swung in a century. But something inside it wants to wake up."

Sophia stepped forward. "Do you think it can be restored?"

Caria answered before Rhys could.

"Only if someone here knows how to reawaken old enchantments."

All eyes turned to Lyra.

She shook her head softly.

"No. Not me. If I touch it, it will break."

Aria slumped. "Then who?"

Lyra looked toward the back of the workshop.

At a dark door hanging half-open.

"Someone else is here. Someone who has been waiting."

Rhys felt a cold breeze drift through the shop.

The rusted sword pulsed faintly again.

And from behind the half-open door—

Footsteps started approaching.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.