CHAPTER 68: IRON-RANKED PLATE ARMOUR BLUEPRINT

While Grant’s men offloaded the sacks of grain, Kaelor sat inside the tent with Mildred and Vi. With their hoods lowered, both women revealed their striking appearances, one with cascading black hair and unsettlingly calm eyes, the other silver-haired, poised like a noblewoman carved from starlight.

Garrick, standing near the entrance, frowned as he watched them. He had heard of Kaelor charming a barmaid or tempting a lonely widow, but this... this was different.

Kaelor’s way with women had always been simple: a clever tongue and a few coins. There was nothing in that arrogant skull that could entice women of such elegance and power. And yet here they were, seated beside him like confidants, not captives.

They weren’t just beautiful. They held themselves with a composure he had only seen in the daughters of great lords, in the veiled ladies who passed through cities on golden carriages. Women like that did not lower themselves to the beds of lords who ruled over a mere muddy town.

As Garrick tried to reconcile what he was seeing, Kaelor went to meet Grant, who stood near the wagons with the giddy pride of a man who had just outbid a dozen rivals at a bargain auction.

"You brought a hundred sacks of Starlight Rice and ten sacks of Eonwheat, both milled. I’m afraid this isn’t enough for the market, couldn’t you bring more?" Grant asked, rubbing his gloved hands together as if already counting his profit.

Kaelor’s voice was calm, level. "I assure you, there will be more the next time we meet. So... how much will you buy a sack of my grains?"

Grant didn’t hesitate. "Thirty silver coins for the Starlight and two silver coins for the Eonwheat. I assure you, this is the best price—!"

He was cut short.

Kaelor’s voice turned quiet, a bit stern. "She’s an Acranist witch. You can see the Focus Crystal on her neck and you’re not even a Novice. Your mind won’t be able to resist her influence."

Grant’s face paled immediately. He took a small step back, his eyes darting to Mildred’s figure. His bodyguard tensed, hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword, ready to intervene.

Kaelor chuckled, as if he had just shared a private joke. "I’m not trying to threaten you, Mr. Grant. Just don’t try to deceive me if you want us to be long-time partners."

Grant coughed into his fist, trying to gather his composure. His eyes drifted again, this time toward the silver-haired woman who just came out of the tent.

Her beauty was of a different kind, attractive yet refined. She didn’t exude the same enchanting air as the black-haired witch, but there was something about her... something distant and unreachable.

’I thought he paraded them like trophies,’ Grant thought. ’But it turns out they were never that. What then is this silver-haired woman? What’s her place in this?’

Clearing his throat, Grant let out a sheepish laugh. "I was merely joking, Lord Kaelor. Your Starlight Rice is fifty silver coins, and your Eonwheat, ten silver. Each gallon of honey is fifteen silver. Can we go on?"

"Seems plausible. Go on." Kaelor nodded, his expression unreadable.

"A hundred sacks of Starlight is five thousand silver coins. Ten sacks of Eonwheat, one hundred silver coins. The honey, ten gallons, is a hundred and fifty silver coins. That brings your total to five thousand two hundred and fifty silver coins."

At the tent’s flap, the Swordmaster standing guard stiffened. His eyes widened subtly, the only sign of surprise that escaped his disciplined bearing. Even for someone of his station, that was no small sum.

"That’s good. Your slaves, how many are available?" Kaelor asked, his gaze drifting across the grounds where the merchandise of flesh lay or stood.

All around them were the broken remnants of men and women: slaves, covered in grime, some gaunt from hunger, others bruised and battered from handling. A dull lifelessness clouded their eyes, as if their spirits had long since withered beneath chains and commands.

"Three thousand unskilled," Grant replied smoothly. "Six hundred skilled. This time I’ve got mailers, architects, and apothecaries in the mix. And that’s not all. I managed to haul in five thousand pounds of wrought iron, some Expert-tier skill booklets, and lucky for you..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking toward the tent. A moment later, Mildred stepped out, her gaze wary. Kaelor noticed how the women clustered, never drifting far from him, their attention visibly sharpened by his presence.

"...I acquired a spellbook for a Witch. It was penned by a rogue Expert Arcanist, she went off the grid, sold her secrets for silver."

Kaelor’s eyes narrowed. "How much?"

Grant grinned, the kind of smile that made one’s knuckles twitch. "The iron alone goes for a hundred gold coins. None of the unskilled slaves are over fifty years old, so I’ll let the three thousand unskilled go for thirty gold, and the six hundred skilled for another thirty. They’re all novices... except for the architect. He’s an Expert, but he’s past his prime, somewhere in his sixties."

He paused to clear his throat, the practiced gesture of a seasoned trader preparing the final pitch. "Now, I’ve got three Expert-level booklets, saber, sword, bow, and spear. Each one’s twenty gold coins. The spellbook’s sixty. Buy the whole lot, and it totals three hundred gold coins."

Kaelor’s lips twitched in annoyance. Watching Grant’s smug expression stretch as he quoted the price made Kaelor’s palm ache to slap the smile off his face.

He paid.

With a hundred gold coins left in his coffer, Kaelor turned his attention to logistics. He purchased twenty more draft horses and ten additional wagons, expanding his meager force of ten horses and five wagons to thirty and fifteen respectively. They weren’t bred for war, too slow for cavalry, but they’d serve well enough as beasts of burden for the growing cargo he intended to haul back to his fledgling town.

Beyond the essentials, he added crates of spices, bolts of linen, and other trade goods that would fetch a fair price or serve his people in the months to come.

The market buzzed around him, thick with noise and life. Kaelor moved through the narrow lanes, the stench of sweat and spice mingling in the summer air. He passed stalls adorned with foreign trinkets, glassware, dried herbs, and crude weapons, most not worth a glance.

Then, as he turned a corner past an unassuming vendor hidden in the shadow of a canvas canopy, he froze.

His eyes fell on something unexpected.

A blueprint, aged, curled at the corners but intact, displayed carefully on a wooden rack.

Iron-ranked plate armor blueprint.

Kaelor stepped closer, heart pounding.