“Come on. Let’s take care of business.” Anser called out, then turned back toward the guild hall. Increasing their own strength was more important right now.

“The Flaming Fist... won’t lose the fortress, will they?” Bratt caught up with Anser in a few strides.

“Hard to say.” Anser’s expression was grim. “What level of classed individual do you think a portcullis and high walls can stop?”

As classed individuals gained levels, many became impervious to sheer numbers. They could leap, fly, or turn invisible. Their strength was terrifying.

The guild hall had emptied by more than half. The urge to watch a spectacle was common to all intelligent creatures, regardless of race.

“Where are we going?” Bratt looked at Anser. “The third floor is the trading hall. All the shops there are guild-run or owned by major merchants. Their merchandise is good, but a little expensive.

“The rear courtyard has a marketplace. Anyone can pay to set up a stall, and it draws a lot of people, but whether something is genuine depends entirely on your own judgment.”

Anser considered it for several seconds. “The third floor. We mainly need to sell that warhammer, and an ordinary buyer might not recognize its value.”

“All right.”

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

More than twenty compact, square shops stood throughout the hall, connected by corridors.

Most had no doors. Several shelves and a counter enclosed each shop, allowing passersby to see the merchandise and proprietor at a glance. The layout resembled a shopping mall from Anser’s previous life.

“Valuable goods are usually traded here. Shops bearing the guild emblem are officially operated. The rest belong to outside merchants...” Bratt explained.

“Mm.”

The three walked around. Anser noticed that although there were many shops, no more than two sold the same category of goods. Competition had clearly been limited deliberately.

“Follow me.”

Bratt led them to a weapon shop with a sign reading Soladin’s Fine Goods.

The proprietor was a dwarf with a thick red beard covering most of his face. He stood close to five feet tall and was probably a mountain dwarf.

One should never assume a shop was good merely because a dwarf owned it. Not every dwarf knew how to forge.

Dwarves were hot-tempered, stubborn, and greedy, but not necessarily straightforward or honest! They lived long lives, generally reaching four hundred years. After living among humans for long enough, they inevitably became worldly, and they could lie without batting an eye.

No merchant should be trusted blindly, regardless of race.

Anser focused on the dwarf, and the die revealed his information.

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

‘Another Level 4. It looks like reaching Level 5 is difficult.’

With a clang, Bratt dropped the bundle on the counter and opened it, revealing a pile of weapons and miscellaneous items.

The adventurers nearby heard the noise and gathered around. Blood still stained the items, and their shapes differed from human weapons. Their origin was obvious.

The red-bearded dwarf came over and rummaged through them with thick fingers, showing little interest.

“...All crude, inferior rubbish. It needs reforging. I’ll give you... eighty-five gold pieces.”

Bratt was no skilled haggler, but he knew this was a seller’s market. With catastrophe upon them, the most valuable things were food and the weapons needed to seize food or defend oneself.

Whether someone knew how to use a weapon was beside the point. Holding one provided at least some deterrence and peace of mind.

“Don’t rush. Take a look at this.” Bratt drew out the Duergar Warlord’s black warhammer and set it on the counter with another clang.

“Oh?” The dwarf’s eyes widened. He picked it up, swung it casually a few times, and looked delighted. “This workmanship, this material... a duergar magic weapon?”

Bratt crossed his arms, tilted his chin up, and deliberately looked down his nose at the dwarf. “Ever heard of a Duergar Warlord? It took two elite paladins and one genius sorcerer working together to barely defeat him.”

The dwarf froze, swept his gaze around, then fixed it on Anser behind Bratt. His voice rose in surprise.

“You’re the adventurers who helped Rand hold off the duergar at Wyrm’s Crossing?”

“You know about us?”

Bratt could no longer maintain his act. He lowered his head toward the dwarf, only to discover that the dwarf was ignoring him entirely and staring fervently at Anser.

The surrounding adventurers looked confused. Most had no idea what had happened at Wyrm’s Crossing.

The dwarf’s bell-sized eyes stayed fixed on him until Anser grew uncomfortable enough to answer. “That was us. You’re well informed.”

“The leaders of every major organization are watching the underground creatures. How could they not know?” The dwarf laughed in a deep, resonant voice. “You’ve got guts, unlike those spineless bastards who only know how to run...”

The dwarf launched into a stream of curses, indiscriminately insulting everyone. The surrounding adventurers looked more or less uncomfortable.

There was no helping it. No matter how prosperous Baldur’s Gate was, it remained the private property of the Upper City nobles. What did it have to do with adventurers or commoners?

At last, the dwarf finished venting and regarded Anser with open admiration.

Little did he know that Anser had simply started running too late and then fallen into a giant pit. Given the choice, Anser would have fled faster than anyone.

“You’re unusual. Those veteran spellcasters are still feeling their way forward, yet you’ve adapted so well. Do you have some secret?” The dwarf changed the subject, asking about the barrage of spells at the bridgehead.

“Uh...” Anser paused for several seconds. “Me? I mainly rely on talent.”

The dwarf’s expression froze. That was not wrong. What else would a sorcerer rely on if not talent?

“That makes perfect damn sense.” He nodded solemnly and stopped asking questions. Lowering his head, he examined and felt the warhammer in detail, occasionally concentrating to sense it.

The surrounding adventurers fell silent, eager to learn what kind of weapon a Duergar Warlord had wielded.

Anser remained calm. He had already viewed the warhammer’s properties through his character sheet.

After a lengthy examination, the dwarf spoke. “Duergar warhammer. Uncommon rarity. Requires attunement. Carries a psychic attack.”

Sighs sounded all around. Even Bratt could not hide his disappointment.

Common and Uncommon magic items were relatively widespread. Common magic items were worth more than one hundred gold pieces, while Uncommon items generally ranged from three hundred to one thousand. Ordinary classed individuals could still afford one if they worked hard enough.

Most people had never even seen a Rare magic item. Their prices varied, but started at several thousand gold pieces at minimum, placing them hopelessly out of reach.

“However...” The dwarf paused. “This warhammer is made from an unusual material. It should be a special duergar alloy with excellent properties. The smith failed to draw out its full potential...”

Anser’s eyelid twitched, but he pretended to remain calm. “Then how much can you offer?”

“For Rand’s sake, fifteen hundred gold pieces. Add that heap of rubbish, and I’ll give you sixteen hundred,” the dwarf said after considering it. Then he added, “Ask around if you like. No one will offer you more.”

Bratt gave Anser a slight nod. In his opinion, the price was extremely fair and even included a modest premium.

“Deal.” Anser smiled. The price had already far exceeded his expectations.

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

Anser opened it and found nothing but platinum pieces—mostly roldons, suns, and unicorns. There were one hundred and sixty in total, making the pouch heavy in his hand.

‘What a beautiful color.’ He narrowed his eyes while counting the money. The clink of coins sounded like music, putting him in a wonderful mood.

“The amount is correct.” He counted twice and found not a single coin missing.

He casually handed Bratt and Finn several platinum pieces each. They had a share in that pile of “rubbish,” while the rest of the money belonged entirely to him.

“If you want to buy anything, do it quickly. Wait too long and there’ll be nothing left. Give them my name, Soladin, and they’ll show you some respect,” the dwarf called loudly enough for half the trading hall to hear.

“Many thanks.”

Thanks to all the honored readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)