The golden light of the morning sun finally filtered through the rooftops of the Upper City like timid fingers touching an old tapestry. A soft glow spilled across the narrow streets, illuminating the uneven cobblestones, still damp with the morning dew. The sound of carts creaking in the distance, the murmur of the first tents being erected, and the hoarse call of a baker announcing fresh bread created a discreet, almost ritualistic symphony. The city awoke with the slowness of an old dragon: powerful, lazy, and full of secrets.

Kael left the Raven's bar like a shadow out of place in the world, his eyes half-closed by the sudden brightness, his shoulders heavy with sleep—or lack thereof. His black tunic, still wrinkled, fluttered in the light breeze like the cloak of a reluctant warrior. His neck discreetly displayed a red crescent-shaped mark that he tried to hide by pulling up his collar in vain. But what caught the eye most was not his rumpled appearance, but his steady gait, as if each step were a decision made against the world.

Raven's words still echoed in his mind like fragments of a spell he did not want to dispel.

"Real wizards learn to pretend before they learn to conjure."

Kael snorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe.

"Idiots with shiny wands and embroidered capes acting like they're demigods..." he muttered bitterly as he skirted around a cart pulled by an enchanted goat snorting smoke from its nostrils.

The shop Raven had pointed out was not on a main avenue, but in an alley hidden between a tea house and a forgotten temple to a minor god of luck. The sign above the door hung from a single hook, swaying in the wind like an old drunken sailor. "Hrundel Artistic Hardware," it said in carelessly carved letters. Half the paint had already peeled off, and a small bird had made a nest in the corner of the wood. Everything about it said "ignore me."

Kael opened the door by pushing it with his shoulder. It creaked loudly, as if complaining about being awakened.

Inside, the smell hit him like a punch: hot oil, aged leather, burnt charcoal, and... something else, something magical. Mana incense, perhaps, or the resin of an enchanted tree. The forge still burned in the background, and the air was thick with heat and ancient power.

The workshop looked ordinary at first glance. Tools, workbenches, dismantled armor. But little by little, Kael's eyes picked up the details: sheaths with protective runes, sword hilts with fragments of arcane crystal embedded in them, shields that whispered when the wind blew.

And in the back, hammering with precise rhythm on an anvil as black as obsidian, was the owner of the place. A broad dwarf with arms like oak trunks and braided white hair that swayed with each blow. His apron was speckled with dried embers and silver dust.

"If you're looking for horseshoes, you're in the wrong place," growled the dwarf, without looking up, as he delivered another well-aimed hammer blow.

Kael looked around once more, assessing the situation with the calmness of someone who had been in worse places. Finally, he replied in a firm voice:

"Raven sent me. I need a staff. One that looks worthy of a wizard... but isn't useless."

The sound of the hammer ceased.

The dwarf raised his eyes slowly, as if each second were a silent assessment. He stared at Kael with a gray gaze, sharp as a blade about to be tempered.

"The one with the golden eyes... of course it was her. Always sending troublemakers to me." He snorted, wiping his hands on a rag. "All right, hurry up. Don't touch anything, or I'll cut off one of your fingers."

He led him through a side door into a back room. But to call it a "room" was an insult. It was a temple of steel and enchanted wood. On each wall hung unique-looking weapons: ebony staffs with ancient symbols, daggers floating in magical suspension, spears made from the horns of magical beasts, fangs from creatures that no longer existed in the world.

"I don't like making staffs. They're too pretentious. But when I do..." He looked at Kael with a gleam in his eye. "...they break dragon teeth."

Kael remained silent, his eyes absorbing every detail.

The dwarf pointed to a wall with five staffs. Each one looked like it had been created for a legendary hero.

"That one there, on the left, is elven mahogany. Perfect for channeling ice magic, a bit temperamental. The one in the middle has a crystalline mana gem, good for impressing idiots and amplifying spellcasting. And this one..." he pointed to the most discreet one "dark wood, no gem, but carved with precision. It was made from the root of a tree that grew over the bones of a dragon killed in battle. There's blood in the sap."

Kael approached the latter. There was something about him. Something silent. When he touched its surface, a slight pulse responded. Not aggressive, but present. Like an old warrior shaking his hand in approval.

"This one," said Kael, his voice firm, almost instinctive.

The dwarf crossed his arms and nodded slowly.

"Hm. You have a good eye. This one was made to last. It can channel mana or break ribs, whatever. No frills. It doesn't even need a spell to intimidate."

Kael ran his fingers over the wood one last time. "How much?"

The dwarf made a gesture as if spitting to the side.

"If Raven sent you... it's free. She pays me in drink, and the debt is already piling up. Just don't tell anyone. I have a reputation as a miser to uphold."

Kael raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You have a sense of humor after all."

"No, I'm tired. Now get out of my shop before I change my mind."

The staff was handed over wrapped in a thick salamander leather cloth. Light to the touch, but sturdy enough to withstand lava heat.

As he left the shop, Kael glanced up at the clear morning sky. The weight on his back now felt different. Not just wood or responsibility—but possibility. For the first time since he had awakened in this world, he felt he had the right piece in his hands.

He walked slowly toward the Guild.

The Freedom Guild stood in the center of the square like an organic fortress of stone and enchanted wood, with time-faded flags fluttering above the main entrance. The guild's crest—a broken chain engulfed in flames—glowed golden in the light of the rising sun.

Kael was approaching the wide staircase when he noticed unusual movement in front of the guild doors. A group of onlookers huddled around, forming a restless semicircle, voices whispering, eyes wide, some laughing nervously, others with tense expressions.

Then came the unmistakable, sharp sound.

PÁC.

A direct, brutal punch, like the crack of a bone breaking.

The commotion cleared enough space for Kael to see: a young elf, dressed in modest healer's robes, lying on the ground, her face turned to one side, blood dripping from her split lip. A human brute, with more muscle than brains, roared with rage. He wore battered leather armor and his hands were covered in dirty bandages. His jaw was set and his eyes were full of contempt.

Kael stopped a few feet away. A look of dark disinterest passed over his face, as if he were watching a dog growling on a street corner.

He turned to a little girl with curly hair who was watching the scene clinging to her mother's arm. Her eyes were wide, but she answered his question before it was even asked.

"They... were trying to form a group to hunt goblins... but... I think she got scared... she couldn't heal him in time. So... he got angry..."

Kael sighed.

Heavily.

Like someone who had seen this before. Like someone who was tired of seeing it.

And before the thug could raise his fist again to crush the fallen elf's face, Kael appeared between them—quick, precise, like a shadow moving without sound.

"I won't let you do that," he said, his voice low like distant thunder.

The man, overcome with adrenaline, swung his fist directly at Kael without hesitation.

Bad choice.

Kael raised a single hand and held the thug's fist in the air with inhuman ease.

One second.

Two.

Then, slowly, he pulled.

The man's shoulder cracked first. Then came the wet, harsh sound of flesh tearing apart.

KRATCH.

The arm detached from the body like a dry branch.

The thug let out a high-pitched scream, too high-pitched for someone of his size.

"AAAAARGH! M-MY ARM! MY ARM!" He fell to his knees, his eyes wide with pain, blood gushing out as he pressed on the stump.

Kael watched, calm.

"When it's others, you love to hit them. But when you get hit... you start crying." He crouched slowly, looking into his eyes. "Wow... what a joke," he said, without emotion.

Silence fell around them like a blanket. No one moved. Even the birds seemed to fall silent for a moment.

Kael stood up and turned to the young elf, who was trembling on the ground, her hands covering her face. She was crying softly, but paralyzed with fear.

He reached out his hand. Golden light sprouted from his fingers, flowing into her body like a warm blanket. The bruises disappeared, her lips regenerated, her eyes opened, surprised.

"Everything is fine now," he said, with a gentleness unusual for someone who had just torn off an arm seconds earlier.

But the calm did not last long.

The brute, still kneeling, overcome with despair, blood covering his face and chest heaving like a cornered animal, screamed and raised his sword with his remaining hand, lunging at Kael from behind.

But Kael didn't turn.

He just raised his staff instinctively, blocking the blow with a crackle of static magic. Blue sparks flew from the impact, the air vibrating around the point of collision.

Then, without emotion, he swung his fist and struck the top of the man's head with his staff.

CRACK.

The sound was sharp. Final. A crack, followed by silence.

The brute's body fell heavily to the stone floor, lifeless. His eyes were still open, but empty.

Kael held the staff aloft for a second before slowly lowering it.

He looked around. The frightened people began to retreat, some whispering, others staring at him as if they were facing something more dangerous than the Guildmaster himself.

The elf, now kneeling and unharmed, looked at him with tears in her eyes—but also with a strange expression of respect. Or perhaps... hope?

Kael just sighed. He pointed his staff at the body, and then said, "Ignite." The body instantly burst into flames and turned to ash.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kill him, but he started it, right? Did he have a family?"

Someone in the distance shouted, "No! He was a worm!"

"Oh... I should have cut off both his legs then... so he could live his whole life as a crawling worm... Maybe killing him was too good... Sorry, I made a mistake," he said as he put the staff behind his back, "Can someone sweep up the ashes?"...

... ...

The audience's reaction was just... silence... even they couldn't believe what they had just seen and heard.