Hello, I’m Your Debt Collector
Brendel had not actually been to Ampere Seale’s workshop district that often. The one place he recalled the most was the rusted sign that wobbled in the sea breeze at the edge of Grey Harbor, the messy room along with the stove inside it that looked like it had not been lit for a long time, and the boozy old dwarf.
It’s not like O’Dork, The Red Nose’s handiworks were that impressive. But for just a small barrel of strong liquor, the old dwarf would take good care of your equipment; that is, as long as he did not drink himself unconscious.
Ampere Seale was now different.
After the carriage passed a fortress, the road became narrow and claustrophobic, as houses lined up on both sides of the road, squished tightly together. The salty sea smell that Brendel remembered was replaced by the heavier scent of smoke. The glistening red signs were made of brass, and the text on it was unabashedly flamboyant, showing off the culture and style unique to harbor cities.
The carriage passed by old dwarves smoking at the doorway with hammers in their hands, their beards strung together by shiny iron rings. Wind elves in long and ornate robes, either from Deerzik or from the woods north of the Misty Forest, with board, intricately designed cage rings on their middle fingers to signify that they were mages.
Most of these people were the creams of the crop in their respective fields. A hint of arrogance was in their eyes, and their personal worths was quite high. The workshop district in Ampere Seale represented extravagance and wealth, and the high quality of services befitting that reputation.
As if nobility was carved into the very bones of this harbor city.
The history of the workshop district in Ampere Seale was way older than even that of the harbor. It originated from the time where the people from Aouine traded with the Southern Highlanders. The marketplace then became a military base for the Erik, and then a deep water anchorage ground, before gradually growing to its present size. Today, there were still moss-covered pillars on both sides of the road in the workshop district, standing tall in the sea breeze, telling stories from the past.
As the carriage went into the alley, the sounds of pottery and spinning wheels behind them became distant. Soon after, the black wooden sign reading “Lucretia” came into view, the magic black wood hanging from a gold-plated bracket, carved with flowers. The sign was not physically connected to it, floating and rotating in mid-air with magic.
Although magic was common in Vaunte’s world. However, to be able to cast a long-lasting spell to make the sign float was an indirect indication of the standards of the shop. This was not even a shop selling magical items, but a shop that sold perfectly ordinary weapons and defence items.
The carriage slowly came to a stop at the main entrance of Lucretia’s Armory shop. However, no one came out to gre
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