Vance took a slow step backward, his massive executioner’s sword swaying subtly against his tattered feather cloak.
He looked down at the seven-year-old child, noting the slight tremor in Thomas’s small fingers.
The kid’s silver eyes were practically locked onto that table of rusted iron scraps.
“Old man,” Vance drawled, his gravelly voice cutting through the nearby chatter of the market.
He stepped up to the dilapidated stall, his towering shadow completely blocking out the dim neon light of the neighboring mana-lanterns.
The old junk merchant with the iron stilts raised his withered, gray head.
His clouded eyes swept over Vance’s scarred face, instantly recognizing the tattered feathers of a former commander.
“Captain Vance,” the old man rasped, his voice sounding like dry parchment rubbing together.
“Looking for pieces of the old world?
I just dug up some shattered foundation stones from the lower fourth stratum.
True pre-Empire granite.” “I don’t care about your rocks, Gid,” Vance said smoothly, leaning his calloused hand flat against the wooden edge of the stall.
He casually gestured to the pile of rusted keys and broken iron trinkets.
“The kid likes your scrap metal.
What do you want for the whole pile of iron waste?” The old merchant’s eyes narrowed into greedy slits.
He looked from Vance to the small, blindfold-less Thomas.
He didn’t see the silver glow in the boy’s eyes because Thomas was deliberately keeping his head bowed, but Gid knew that if a Tier 4 rebel commander was asking about junk, there might be a hidden treasure buried in the rust.
“The whole pile?” Gid chuckled, tapping one of his iron stilts against the stone floor with a sharp clank.
“That’s high-quality salvage, Captain.
Took me three days in the deep tunnels to drag it up.
It’ll cost you five silver pieces.” “Five silvers for a bunch of stripped ship rivets and rusted nails?” Vance sneered, his colorless eyes flashing with a dangerous, icy pressure.
A subtle, sharp current of wind-mana began to swirl around the stall, causing the loose scraps of iron to rattle violently against the wood.
“Don’t play games with me, old man.
I know you cleared that pile out of the scrap heaps behind the middle-tier workshops.
I’ll give you three copper shards for the little iron ring in the center, and you can keep the rest of your trash before I let my gale blow your stall into the abyss.” The sudden, oppressive weight of Vance’s Tier 4 aura made the old merchant gasp, his frail shoulders tensing.
In the lawless Wildlands, an imperial commander’s temper was a death sentence.
“Three coppers!” Gid spat, fear quickly overtaking his greed.
He snatched a rusted pair of tongs, dug into the pile, and pulled out the small, unaligned iron ring Thomas had been staring at.
He tossed it onto the table with a trembling hand.
“Take it and get out of my sight, Vance.
I don’t want your bad luck rubbing off on my business.” As they slipped into a narrower, darker alleyway away from the main crush of the bazaar, Vance stopped and held out his massive, calloused palm.
Resting in the center of his hand was the crude, heavy iron band.
To a normal eye, it was just a piece of an old wagon axle, completely devoid of value.
Thomas reached out, his small, dirt-stained hand trembling as his fingers brushed against the metal.
The moment his skin made contact, a silent shockwave rippled through his body.
The silver vortex inside his seven-year-old chest let out a desperate, magnetic roar.
The faint, colorless aura surrounding the ring didn’t just touch his magic; it violently snapped into place, perfectly aligning with his core.
Thomas gasped, his silver eyes flashing with blinding brilliance beneath the shadows of the alley.
The iron ring didn’t stay cold; it grew incredibly heavy, then suddenly turned as light as a feather, melting slightly until it slid smoothly onto his small index finger, fitting his child-sized hand perfectly.
Deep within his mind, an ancient, structural imprint flared to life.
It wasn’t an elemental technique.
It was a spatial blueprint.
“Vance…” Thomas whispered, his small voice filled with a mixture of awe and dawning realization.
“The ring…
it isn’t empty.
It’s an open door.”