A few years had passed since then.
"Old man, did you get the things ready?" a voice boomed from the entrance, making the doorbell tinkle.
The interior of the shop was a cozy labyrinth: shelves crammed with books of worn spines mingled with glass cases holding everything from iridescent glass jars and sealed parchment scrolls to artifacts of mysterious function. More than a supply store, the place had the air of a cabinet of curiosities.
In the back, behind a noble wood counter, a man with black hair and green eyes slowly looked up from his book.
He closed the volume with a deliberate gesture. "I am not old. And yes, your order is ready," he said, with a calm that contrasted with the bustle outside. "The money, please."
"Of course I have it," replied the newcomer, pulling out a coin pouch with a jerky movement. "I've never let you down, have I, old man?"
The young man wore new leather armor that still creaked, with a common sword at his hip and hair as red as his attitude was loud. Everything about him screamed rookie adventurer.
The man lifted a bag from under his counter and took out its contents. "Here you are: ten healing potions, five Arcane Spark potions, two minor restoration potions, three first-level scrolls. You can check them yourself."
The potions were small vials with one rounded end and the other open, sealed with a simple cork stopper.
The healing potions glowed with an intense, vivid red, like blood freshly drawn from the body.
The Arcane Spark ones emanated a faint bluish shimmer that seemed to move on its own inside the glass, making them quite eye-catching.
The Minor Restoration ones showed a serene, opaque green that for some reason brought to mind glowing moss.
The scrolls, for their part, were neatly rolled. Their paper was common, a practical white without marks of age, the edges still straight and sharp. It wasn't the vellum of an archmage, nor the rough pulp of the cheapest batches; it was a functional material, honest in its mediocrity.
"Do you want to test the efficacy?" he asked.
"Not necessary, I trust you, old man. Here, take your money," he said, placing a bag of gold coins on the counter.
The man took it and checked the contents. "There are extra coins," he said, pulling out five coins from the bottom that were of higher value than the rest.
"Oh, right, that's to fix my sword, here," he said quickly, drawing his sword, which looked perfectly normal at a glance.
The man looked at it for a moment, searching for a problem, but found nothing no matter how he looked. "It doesn't seem to be damaged," he said before, for some reason, a crack formed on the blade. The crack was so perfect it seemed made by a person rather than a fracture from wear.
He fell silent, staring at the crack for a moment. "...Give it here." He took the sword and pulled out a case of tools from under his table. Among them was a small wand.
He picked it up and placed the sword in front of him.
"You can sit down, it'll take a minute," he said, standing up.
"I'm fine like this," said the adventurer.
"As you wish," he replied.
He closed his eyes and began to murmur arcane chants. Magic began to settle around him and on the object as he sang.
The damaged parts began to stand out as the magic delved into it, and with a final gesture, he pointed at the sword. "Repair."
Immediately, the damaged parts of the weapon, which glowed with arcane light, mended at an extremely rapid pace. Finally, the sword was perfectly whole, as if it had never been damaged in the first place.
The man sat down. "There you go, perfectly fine. Take better care of your weapons," he said.
"I will, old man. Thanks for everything," he said with a smile, taking the sword and the supplies. "I'll be back later; I have an adventure with the guys."
The shopkeeper nodded and gave a slight farewell. "Come back soon."
The Old Man was alone again in his shop. He picked up his book and began reading again.
The rest of the day, the shop was silent. No one came, so at nightfall, he closed up.
"A quiet day. I should go buy a few things before heading to bed," he murmured, taking his coat and leaving the shop through the back, not forgetting to lock it so no one could enter without permission.
He looked at the sky; the dark sky with no apparent light was visible. The streets, illuminated only by the mana light of magical crystals, were visible.
He walked slowly to the other shop.
"As late as ever, old man," a voice echoed from inside.
He rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously going to tell me that?" he replied, approaching the counter.
"If you didn't have my father's attitude, I'd even call you a scholar," the voice continued. "How can I help you?"
"I need this," he said, handing over a crumpled note.
The shopkeeper reviewed it carefully. "This is for many potions and scrolls... A special project?"
"Some adventurers cleaned out part of my stock. I just want to replenish, just in case," he explained.
The man nodded. "I have almost everything, but some ingredients will take a few days."
"I never expected otherwise. Let me know when the rest arrives; I'll give you an advance," he commented, pulling out a coin pouch.
The shopkeeper took it and weighed it in his hand. "This is enough; no need for more. I'll bring you what's left next week."
"Perfect. I'll take my leave then."
"Wait," the shopkeeper stopped him. "Be careful out there. There are disappearances, and the scum from the lower quarters are getting bold again."
"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."
He left the shop.
He walked through the city for a while until, suddenly, he stopped and looked into an alley.
"Hmm." He stood observing the alley's entrance for a moment before clicking his tongue and stepping into it. "Too soft," he murmured to himself.
He advanced a few steps and immediately came upon an unpleasant scene: a group of men guarding a broken door, while from inside came the sounds of shouts and moans.
It was obvious what was happening.
He sighed, exhausted, and pulled up the hood of his tunic. "Let's finish this quickly and get out of here," he murmured.