Chapter 21: The Grand Market and the Duel

Orkesh, Mina, Manicia, and Rook walked towards the heart of Stonehorn Crossing. The air grew thick with the scent of spices, roasted meats, and cured leather. The marketplace was a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of life.

Beastkin of every stripe jostled for space: Goatfolk with their distinctive horns, agile Foxkin, the frogkin, stocky Ursarok, and the proud, wolf-like Lupen. Stalls overflowed with goods: colorful textiles, gleaming pottery, fresh produce, and tools.

Vendors shouted, haggled, and offered discounts, their voices a cacophony of commerce. A Goatfolk trader, his voice booming, gestured wildly at a pile of soft, high-quality woven cloth. "Finest wool in the Hillwilds! Discounted due to our recent… surplus! Get it while it lasts!" Customers piled up, eager for the bargain. This was Stonehorn Crossing's famous marketplace, a sprawling, open-air hub dedicated to independent traders from every village, a vibrant, sprawling bazaar.

They navigated the throng, making their way to their designated stall at the edge of the marketplace. It was a simple, sturdy wooden structure, but its clean lines and fresh wood stood out against the weathered stalls around it. With practiced movements, they began to display their products.

The wooden figurines were laid out first: not just space marines, but models of samurai warriors, stoic knights, characters from various anime, puzzle wooden carved toys, and chess set pieces, all rendered with astonishing precision. Orkesh, Mina, and Manicia had seen them before, but seeing them displayed here, under the open sky, made them gasp anew. The Lich had called them "toys," but the intricate details, the lifelike poses, made them feel like miniature works of art. If they had money, they would buy all of them.

Next came the blades.

They displayed a selection of the finest quality iron swords, axes, and broad blades, their polished surfaces catching the light. Beside them, the high-quality steel knives, daggers, and choppers gleamed cold and hard.

But the most breathtaking item, the one that made Orkesh's jaw drop, was a small knife. He carefully unfurled its protective wrapping. It was a small, unassuming blade, yet its surface shimmered with a weird, flowing water pattern, like ripples in a dark pond.

This was the Damascus steel pocket knife, the latest, most audacious flex from the Metallurgy Center. It was clear that these different production stations within the dungeon were locked in a competitive fire, with the artisan minions and the blacksmith minions constantly striving to produce the most quality piece of work, to gain their lord's compliment. Not only was the Damascus steel pleasing to the eye, it was razor-sharp, a deadly beauty.

Of course, all products bore a small, distinct logo of the Necro Corp. The Metallurgy Center proudly displayed its logo: a skull and a gear, subtly carved into the hilt of each blade. The woodcarved products from the Workshop featured a different design: a skull logo with a chisel and hammer, a testament to their craft. Though they didn't have a flashy presentation, no ornate banners or loud hawkers, it would only take one quick look from a choosy customer, especially those who appreciated blades more than most beastkins.

The Lupens, these wolf-like folk, had a notorious obsession with swords and blades, valuing craftsmanship and lethality above all else. And their first customer to stop and look was none other than Captain Luma.

She hadn't been able to stand the curiosity, the urge to investigate this strange new group. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, landed on a Kris steel dagger, its blade a series of undulating waves, unlike any design she had ever seen. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the weird, wavy design. She was more than amazed by its work, its unique form. These people, in this region, knew only straight double-edged and curved single-edged designs. To see a new, complex design meant the skill and craftsmanship was at the highest level.

"This is astounding!" Luma exclaimed, her voice ringing with genuine blade enthusiasm, attracting nearby customers. "Even the most renowned blacksmiths of the Hillwild region cannot produce such work as this dagger! The balance, the flow… it's magnificent!"

To receive such a compliment from Captain Luma, a respected figure, meant the product was worth their interest and attention. A crowd began to gather around the stall, murmuring with curiosity. But like any market, there were those who opposed, who sought to downplay the new competition.

A gruff voice cut through the murmurs. "Pleasing to the eye, perhaps, but it will break any day. Just a third-rate trinket." It was a blacksmith, a burly Lupen with a scarred muzzle, from a well-known Lupen clan: the Steelfangs. They prided themselves on producing the finest trained blacksmiths in the region. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes narrowed, arrogance radiating from him. Others nearby, who had piled at the stall, nodded in agreement, swayed by the Steelfang's reputation.

"There's only one way to find out," Luma said, her voice firm, her gaze challenging the blacksmith. "Clash the products. See which one breaks."

The Lupen blacksmith's eyes gleamed. He prided himself on his work, and as a Lupen, he was often prideful and arrogant, but usually not without having the skill to back it up. A public test? This was a chance for free marketing, to prove his clan's superiority. "Agreed!" he barked.

He reached into a leather sheath at his hip and pulled out his own dagger. It was a fine piece of work: a straight, double-edged blade with a straightforward golden guard and a sturdy wooden grip, finished with a round pommel. He presented it with a flourish. "This, is my finest steel. Priced at 90 silver coins." For that price, he was confident. It was a higher price than the Kris knife, which was priced at only 65 silvers, a discounted price set by Karl himself, not to maximize profit but to spread word of their establishment and company.

An Ursarok, a large bearfolk with a grizzled muzzle, was squinting and listening to the commotion. He had also seen the Kris dagger Luma was talking about. Even if the price was unfair by its design alone, it would still sell for more than 90 silvers. It looked like a ceremonial dagger, a collector's piece. But if it was better in durability and sharpness than the Steelfang blacksmith's dagger, then auctioning it was his predicted next move. This was getting interesting.

The test began. Luma, with a firm grip, held the Kris dagger. She then took the Steelfang blacksmith's dagger and, with a powerful, deliberate motion, brought it down to strike the Kris. Two steel edges met in a shower of sparks, a sharp CLANG echoing through the marketplace.

Luma observed both blades carefully. The Kris dagger, though struck with full force, had only bent slightly, a minor deformation that would be easy to repair. The Steelfang's dagger, however, had a clear, jagged crack running through its blade.

The blacksmith's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible!" he roared, his arrogance momentarily shattered. Like a true Lupen, he didn't accept the results. "It was just a coincidence! A fluke!" He knew his metallurgy.

The Kris dagger, and all other Necro Corp-produced blades from the Metallurgy Center, used air quenching—a slower cooling process that made the steel tough and flexible, less prone to cracking. The Steelfangs, on the other hand, used water quenching, a rapid cooling that made the steel incredibly hard but brittle, hence the crack. He couldn't admit this weakness.

"It's not consistent!" he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. "Your crafts aren't consistent! That was just a lucky blade!" He requested another test, a chance to redeem his clan's honor. He scanned Orkesh's stall, picking and choosing among the various daggers, swords, and axes. His gaze landed on a weird-looking knife, so small, with that same strange, flowing pattern as the one Orkesh had unwrapped earlier. He picked it up, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. A failure, perhaps? They want to sell it anyway, hoping some fool won't notice its flaws. Perfect. This will be easy. Little did he know, he had just sealed his own fate.

Luma, her expression unreadable, took the blacksmith's new dagger from the intricately designed red box. It was a beautiful piece, even more ornate than the first, clearly his pride and joy. The blacksmith smirked, imagining the free marketing, the story he would tell of how this dagger, his masterpiece, had won against the mysterious newcomers.

The test began. The onlookers, a silent, captivated audience, watched the spectacle unfold.