The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

”Let’s go—handle the important business,” Anser called out, turning around and heading back toward the guild hall. Strengthening himself was more important right now.

”Flaming Fist… they won’t fail to hold the line, will they?” Bratt took a few quick steps to catch up with Anser.

”Hard to say.” Anser’s expression was calm and cold. ”What level of professionals do you think a single gate and a high wall can actually stop?”

As levels rose, many professionals were no longer afraid of sheer numbers. They could jump, fly, and turn invisible—terrifyingly powerful.

The guild hall had emptied out by more than half. Loving excitement was the nature of intelligent beings, regardless of race.

”Where are we going?” Bratt looked at Anser. ”The third floor is the trading hall—mostly official shops or big merchants. The goods are good, but a bit expensive.

”The back courtyard is the marketplace. Pay a fee and you can set up a stall. There are lots of people, but whether something’s real or fake depends entirely on your own judgment.”

Anser considered it for a few seconds. ”Third floor. Mainly to deal with that warhammer. Ordinary people might not recognize its value.”

”Alright.”

They went up the stairs from the main hall to the third floor, passed through a bronze door, and entered an enclosed trading hall bustling with people coming and going.

More than twenty neat, square-fronted shops were spread throughout the hall, connected by corridors.

Most of the shops had no doors. A few shelves and counters were arranged together, and just walking past allowed one to see both the goods and the owner—somewhat similar to the layout of shopping malls from his previous life.

”Valuable items are generally traded here. Shops with guild emblems on their signboards are officially operated; the others are all outside merchants…” Bratt explained.

”Mm.”

After making a circuit, Anser noticed that although there were many shops, at most two dealt in the same category of goods—clearly a deliberate effort to avoid competition.

”Follow me.”

Bratt led the two of them to a weapon shop. The sign read: Soladin Boutique.

The shop owner was a dwarf with a face full of red beard, standing close to one and a half meters tall—likely a mountain dwarf.

Don’t assume that a shop run by a dwarf is necessarily good, because not all dwarves know how to forge.

Dwarves have fiery tempers, are stubborn and greedy, but that does not mean they are straightforward or honest. They have long lifespans—generally reaching four hundred years. After living among humans for a long time, it is inevitable that they become calculating, and when they lie, they do so without changing expression.

Therefore, regardless of a merchant’s race, blind trust is out of the question.

Anser focused his gaze on the dwarf, and the dice quietly detected his information.

[Soladin, Dwarf, Level 4 Fighter (Champion)]

’Level 4 again. Looks like advancing to level 5 is a bit difficult.’

With a clatter, Bratt placed the bundle onto the counter and opened it, revealing a pile of weapons and assorted items.

Hearing the noise, the surrounding adventurers gathered around. There were still bloodstains on these items, and their designs were unlike human weapons—their origin was self-evident.

The red-bearded dwarf walked over, reached out with thick fingers to rummage through them a couple of times, and showed little interest.

”…All crude, inferior goods. They’ll need to be reforged. I’ll give you… eighty-five gold coins.”

Bratt was not someone skilled at haggling, but he knew that this was a seller’s market. With a natural disaster descending, the most valuable things were food, as well as weapons that could seize food or ensure one’s own safety.

Whether one could use them properly was another matter; simply having weapons in hand at least provided deterrence and peace of mind.

”Don’t rush. Take a look at this as well,” Bratt said, taking out the gray dwarf overseer’s black warhammer and setting it onto the counter with a clang.

”Huh?” The dwarf’s eyes widened. He reached out to lift it, casually swung it a couple of times, and a hint of delight appeared on his face. ”This craftsmanship, this material—gray dwarf magical weapon?”

Bratt folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head back slightly, and deliberately looked at the dwarf down his nose. ”You know the gray dwarf overseer? It took two elite paladins and a genius sorcerer working together just to barely defeat him.”

The dwarf froze for a moment, swept his gaze around, then fixed his eyes on Anser behind Bratt, his tone filled with surprise.

”You’re the adventurers who helped Rand block the gray dwarves at Wyrm’s Crossing?”

”You know us?”

Bratt could no longer keep up the act. He lowered his head to look at the dwarf, only to realize that the dwarf was not paying him any attention at all, his burning gaze fixed firmly on Anser.

The surrounding adventurers looked confused; the vast majority had no idea what had happened at Wyrm’s Crossing.

Stared at continuously by eyes as large as bronze bells, even Anser found it hard to endure. He could only respond, ”That was us. Your information network is quite something.”

”All the major factions’ upper echelons are watching underground creature activity. How could we not know?” The dwarf laughed heartily, his voice deep and resonant. ”You’ve got guts—unlike those cowards who only know how to run…”

The dwarf cursed and ranted, clearly firing off indiscriminately. The expressions of the surrounding adventurers became somewhat awkward.

There was nothing that could be done about it. No matter how prosperous Baldur’s Gate was, it was still private property of the Upper City nobility. What did that have to do with adventurers or commoners?

After a long while, the dwarf finally vented his anger and looked at Anser with eyes full of appreciation.

Unbeknownst to them, Anser had simply run late and fallen into a giant pit with no way out; otherwise, he would have run faster than anyone else.

”You’re very special. Those veteran spellcasters are still feeling their way along, yet you’ve adapted so well. Do you have any secret?” The dwarf abruptly changed the subject, asking about the spell bombardment at the bridgehead.

”Uh…” Anser paused for a few seconds. ”Me… I mainly rely on talent.”

The dwarf’s expression froze for a moment. That wasn’t wrong—what else would a sorcerer rely on if not talent?

”Damn right.” He nodded solemnly and did not press further, lowering his head to pick up the warhammer and examine it carefully, probing and weighing it, occasionally focusing to sense it.

Seeing this, the surrounding adventurers immediately fell silent, curiosity flickering in their eyes as they wondered what weapon the gray dwarf overseer had used.

Anser remained very calm. He had already checked the warhammer’s attributes through the character sheet.

After a long while, the dwarf slowly spoke. ”Gray dwarf warhammer. Fine quality. Requires Attunement. Comes with a psychic attack.”

A chorus of sighs rose from around them; even Bratt could not hide his disappointment.

Common and fine-quality magic items were relatively common. Common magic items were worth over one hundred gold coins, while fine magic items generally ranged between three hundred and one thousand gold coins—within reach for ordinary professionals if they worked hard.

Magic items of rare quality and above were things many people had never even seen. Their prices varied, but they started at several thousand gold coins at the very least—something one could only look at from afar.

”However,” the dwarf paused, ”the material of this warhammer is very special. It should be a gray dwarf–exclusive alloy with excellent properties. The smith did not bring out its full potential…”

Anser’s eyelids twitched slightly as he feigned composure. ”Then how much can you offer?”

”Out of respect for Rand, I’ll offer fifteen hundred gold coins. Add in that pile of junk, and I’ll give you sixteen hundred gold coins,” the dwarf said after some thought, then added, ”You can ask around—no one will offer more than I do.”

Bratt gave Anser a slight nod. Personally, he felt the price was indeed very fair, even with a bit of premium.

”Deal.” Anser showed a faint smile; the price far exceeded his expectations.

”Wait here.” The dwarf wasted no words. He turned and went behind the shelves, rummaged around for a while, then came back and handed Anser a coin pouch.

Anser opened it to find it full of platinum coins. The minting featured Roldan, the sun, and the unicorn—one hundred and sixty coins in total, quite heavy in the hand.

”This color is really beautiful.” He narrowed his eyes as he counted the money. The clinking of the coins sounded like musical notes, putting him in an excellent mood.

”The amount is correct.” He counted twice—no coin missing.

He casually slipped a few platinum coins each to Bratt and Finn. They had a share in that pile of ”junk”; the remaining money was all his.

”If you want to buy anything, hurry up. Any later and you won’t be able to get it. Mention my name—Soladin—and they’ll show you some respect,” the dwarf called out loudly, his voice carrying through more than half of the trading hall.

”Many thanks.”

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