Rowan's eyes locked onto Lyra Thorne's, he saw a flicker of genuine curiosity deep in her blue depths. If she is acting, she is a hell of an actress.
"A visit to the farm it is, Ms. Thorne," he agreed easily. "I believe you are a woman who appreciates a craftsman's hard work, and I am a man who appreciates a direct approach."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees. "Given your immediate need, and my need to prepare my harvest for inspection, how about we set the meeting for the day after tomorrow?'"
Lyra's composure remained impeccable. She offered a small, professional nod. "The day after tomorrow, at your farm. Excellent. I will come in a carriage to the town gate at precisely nine in the morning. I trust you can guide me from there?"
"Consider it done," Rowan confirmed, standing up. "My hard to miss carriage will meet yours at the town line," he chuckled.
He extended his hand once more. "Until then, Ms. Thorne."
"Until then, Mr. Blacksun." Her grip was as firm and brief as before. She gathered her notepad, gave a final, professional glance at the sleeping Lucia, and with a rustle of ivory linen, she was gone, leaving the room to the faint, residual scent of her expensive perfume mixed with the warmth of the cookies.
Rowan turned to his mother, who had re-entered the room the moment Lyra was out of sight, her expression a mix of assessment and slight disapproval.
"'A curator of quality,'" Clara mocked, rolling her eyes. "She's good, Rowan. Very good. And entirely too polished for a local buyer. She's exactly what you wanted. High-end, discreet, and capable of paying whatever ridiculous price you ask."
Rowan merely shrugged, picking up a shortbread cookie and taking a large, satisfied bite. "Perfect. Maybe too perfect. Now, Mother, about my initial funds…"
Clara simply laughed, reaching under the counter and pulling out a small, heavy leather sack tied with a drawstring. It clinked softly with the sound of silver and gold.
"I know what you need, you big dummy. Go get your children what they need. Pay for that ridiculously expensive lab equipment down payment. I've already secured the local potion master's entire stock of glassware for Alexia.
He was happy to sell. He's going broke in this drought. This should cover the rest of the day's shopping."
She gave the bag a final shake, handing it over. "It's about two hundred silver. Don't spend it all on big swords, and for heaven's sake, let the children choose for themselves."
Rowan took the bag, the comforting weight a welcome sensation. "Thank you, Mom."
"Go," she urged. "And wake up the little princess. It's time for her to see the town."
Rowan walked over to Lucia, gently reaching out and dispelling the Bloodsworth ninja's subtle sound-dampening spell with a quick, quiet word. Lucia blinked, her ruby eyes focusing on her father, then gave a sleepy, contented sigh.
"More cookies, Daddy?" she mumbled.
"More adventures, sweetheart," Rowan corrected, scooping her up. "We're going shopping."
…
The Blacksun Brigade, fully energized and now holding hands to navigate the crowded streets, made their way from Blacksun's Hearty Handcrafts down to the main Artisan's Row.
Their destination was the town's premier forge and weapons shop, The Anvil's Edge, a two story building that radiated an intense, dry heat even from the outside. The rhythmic CLANG of hammer on steel echoed through the air, drawing them closer.
The moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere changed entirely. The air was smoky, smelling of oil, burnt charcoal, and the metallic tang of newly quenched steel. Walls were lined with weapons of every conceivable type, gleaming under the forge's harsh light.
There were massive, two-handed greatswords with hilts wrapped in dark leather; sleek, elegant rapiers with complex, cup-shaped guards, broad, chopping battle axes; and elegant, curved scimitars. The variety was great, a full catalog of the most popular weapons.
Lilly, her emerald eyes wide, stopped dead in her tracks. She let go of Lucia's hand, her small body shaking with awe.
"Daddy," she breathed, her voice a reverent whisper, "it's… a holy land of swords."
She didn't run toward the bright, shiny swords. Instead, she walked slowly down the aisle, her gaze lingering on the details. She reached out, running a finger along the wooden display stand beneath a long, tapering longsword.
Rowan watched her, leaning against the doorframe, a small, proud smile on his face. He nodded to the proprietor, a scarred, burly man named Borin, who recognized Rowan instantly and simply nodded back, allowing the children to explore.
"Remember, Lilly," Rowan instructed gently, "No touching the real ones. We stick to the wooden practice gear for now."
Lilly nodded seriously, already moving toward a rack of beautifully balanced wooden swords. She tried a wooden broadsword first, swinging it with both hands.
It felt too heavy, too slow. She moved to a light wooden saber, mimicking the motions her mother, Artemis, had taught her. It was better, but still didn't feel right.
Then, her gaze fixed on a wooden replica of a rapier. It was thin, elegant, and possessed a basket-like hilt. She picked it up.
The change was instant.
Her stance straightened. Her small frame, which had been tentative, suddenly snapped into a posture of focus.
She held the rapier light as a feather, not with the muscle-bound power of a broadsword, but with the controlled tension of a drawn bow. She executed a quick, sharp thrust, her small wrist flicking the wooden tip forward, then drew it back in a perfect parry motion.
Seeing her aura change in an instant, Rowan knew her talent had aligned itself with this weapon.
He smiled with a bit of lament. "A rapier, huh? Not exactly your mother's claymore, is it, little warrior?"
Lilly shook her head fiercely, her hair swinging. "It's fast, Daddy! I can poke, and then I can run! Mama says the best warrior controls the distance."
Rowan couldn't help but laugh. His own main weapon on the battlefield had been a massive, man sized greatsword, a brutal weapon of sweeping arcs and pure destructive force. The sword had earned itself the nickname Demon Splitter.
Artemis, Lilly's mother, dual-wielded a heavy claymore and a serrated flamberge, a display of bloody violence and aggressive power.
His daughter, however, favored the elegant and deceptively quick rapier. It was just another reminder that his kids were absolutely nothing like him or their mothers in the ways that mattered.
My little swordswoman poking holes in her enemies like Artemis does with her flamberge. Maybe less forceful and gory than her mother but still a future sight to see.
He was a master of the greatsword. Artemis was a master of overwhelming force. He knew next to nothing about teaching the subtle art of the rapier.
I need a rapier expert. The thought of an old comrade instantly surfaced: Lieutenant Selene Amon, a master of the rapier and saber, a woman who abandoned the life of a knight to become a maritime treasure hunter.
His graceful second in command was a perfectly elegant counterpart to his brutality with her speed and precision attacks. She would turn demons and humans into swiss cheese.
I'll write Selene a letter. She owes me a few favors anyway. She must miss my food and Shiori too.
He knew she cooked well too, but her food was more complicated than his. She liked his simpler meals.
He bought the best wooden rapier and a pair of padded practice dummies for Lilly, promising to look for a better quality one on their next trip, probably to the capital.
Next, the attention turned to Darius. Rowan directed the boy to try out the weapons. Darius, ever dutiful, picked up a variety of shafts and blades.
For example, a wooden staff, a short hunting bow, and a practice axe. He held them, tested their weight, tried to imagine himself using them…and felt nothing.
"No spark, Father," Darius finally admitted, putting down the staff with a sigh of weary resignation. "They are functional...but they do not feel like mine."
Rowan clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's alright, son. We don't need to rush. Your path is simply waiting for the right moment. It will be something unique, I promise. For now, we'll get you the best running shoes and weights in town."
Next, they walked to an academic shop near the town hall: The Scribe's Corner.
The shop smelled delightfully of fresh parchment, ink, and leather.
"Father," Alex announced, pointing to a tall, locked glass cabinet filled with exquisitely bound books. "I need a durable, large ledger and some pens."
Rowan bought Alex a massive, leather-bound ledger with reinforced pages along with a set of fine, silver-tipped quill pens and an elegant abacus.
"Now, everyone else," Rowan announced, turning to the other children. "Alexia, Lilly, Darius, Lucia. You all need proper writing supplies. When your Aunt Milly and Uncle Kailus get back for summer break, they will be tutoring you all. So, pick out the best parchment, pens, and inks for your studies."
Rowan's younger brother, Kailus, and their youngest one, their sister Millistiana, were studying at the capital. In a couple of months, they would take their summer break and return when fall started.
Those two were more educated in this world than he is, so it's better for them to teach the kids. He didn't go to school in this world so the common sense would be better taught by them. And he had also forgotten a lot of the stuff he had learned in his first life.
Alexia chose a small, portable writing case and a specialized, heat-resistant parchment for recording her potion formulas. Lilly and Darius opted for simple, sturdy notebooks and thick, dark ink. Even Lucia, wanting to join in, selected a small, soft-cover book and a large, blunt pencil to draw the "big, round apples" she loved.
They get to teach their nieces and nephews the basics. It's the least they can do after years of tuition fees.
The final stop for essentials was The Old Alchemist, a tiny, brightly-lit shop tucked away in a quiet alley. It smelled sharply of ozone and exotic herbs.
"Lucia," Rowan said, kneeling down to the little girl. "We need to find out what kind of magic calls to you. We're going to test your affinity."
The shop's proprietor, a friendly, middle-aged woman with long, braided hair and twinkling eyes, ushered them to a small, circular mana basin.
"Place your hand in the water, little one," the woman instructed gently.
Lucia dipped her small hand into the cool, clear water. They all watched. The water rippled, then began to glow.
The color that emerged was unlike any ordinary affinity. It was a deep, iridescent, unsettling crimson, like a swirl of dark wine. It pulsed faintly, and then, a single drop of the water turned into a tiny, perfectly formed crystal of Blood Mana.
The Alchemist's eyes widened, then narrowed in immediate, professional recognition. "The Blood Element," she whispered.
Rowan nodded, unsurprised. "It runs in the family."
He turned to Lucia, who was just happy to have a shiny, red crystal. "This is your magic, sweetheart. The magic of your mother's family. It's powerful, and we'll learn how to use it safely."
He turned back to the Alchemist. "I need Blood Mana crystals. High purity. I assume you don't keep them in stock."
"Absolutely not," she replied, shaking her head vigorously. "They are too rare, too expensive. Frankly, they are too politically charged to sit on a shelf in Mivvy. But… I have contacts.
The Blacksun name carries weight. I can put in a high-priority order with a few reputable distributors. I can have a small, quality batch within the week, perhaps two, if I pay a premium. How much purity are we talking?"
"The best you can source," Rowan confirmed. "I'll cover the premium. This is for my daughter's training."
He left a small bundle of silver coins as a deposit, securing the order. The ninja guards, who had been invisible on the rooftops, seemed to collectively stiffen at the mention of Blood Mana, a silent nod of approval and increased vigilance.
Finally, they turned to Alexia's immediate needs. The high-end equipment, arcane centrifuges and magically enclosed cooling units would have to come from the capital, but for now, she needed a starting point.
They bought several crates of thick, heat-resistant beakers, specialized glass flasks, precise scales, and a full range of simple distillation apparatus from the local potion master.
"This is a fine start, Father," Alexia declared, her eyes shining as she looked over her haul. "The quality is basic, but the volume is sufficient for simple extractions. I can begin testing the Ginseng's stabilization properties immediately upon our return."
"Good," Rowan said, surveying the growing piles of gear. "The down payment for the major items is made. The rest will come after the deal with Ms. Thorne."
As the clock neared two in the afternoon, the children's excitement began to fade, replaced by a growing, inevitable hunger. Their stomachs, now accustomed to the three square meals a day of the farm, were growling.
"Daddy, I'm hungry," Lilly said.
"Cookies are done," Lucia added, holding up her empty metal box her grandma had handed her when they headed out.
"Excellent timingl" Rowan said, looking at his hoard of supplies and his five hungry children.
He led them straight back to the welcoming facade of Blacksun's Hearty Handcrafts. The crowd of merchants had thinned out, and the shop was quieter. Everyone had gone to eat lunch.
Clara and Nytra were waiting.
"Well, look at you all," Clara beamed, walking over to inspect the children. "I bet everyones hungry after running around for a day. Now, let's get you all fed. Nytra, darling, put the Closed for Lunch sign up, please. Family time."
Nytra, happily counting her haul of silver coins, went skipping off in glee.
Clara led them past the main counter and into a spacious, sunlit kitchen on the second floor of the shop. It was a true mother's kitchen, warm and homey, smelling of roasting meat and fresh herbs.
A long, simple oak table was already set. And standing at the stove, presiding over a bubbling, fragrant pot, was a massive man who looked exactly like a retired warrior god would.
He was Bjorn Blacksun, Rowan's father.
Bjorn was a giant of a man, even taller and broader than Rowan, with a thick, iron-gray beard that cascaded over his chest and powerful arms that looked like they could crush steel. He was clad in a simple, wood dusted apron, the contrast between his size and his task both comical and entirely natural.
Watching over his wife's cooking was something he had been doing for decades.
He looked up from the stove, his eyes crinkling with a deep, happy smile that made the lines on his face look like paths of warmth.
"Well, look at this, honey." Bjorn's voice was a low, rumbling bass, a voice made for shouting across battlefields, now reduced to the gentle tone of a grandfather. "Our home is finally complete."
He wiped his massive hands on his apron and looked at the five children lined up before him, his gaze full of pride and overwhelming, unadulterated love.
"Welcome home, grandchildren. Now, who's ready for the best boar stew with herbal bread in Mivvy?!"