The rain had always been a natural part of life for Argon, but tonight, it was a cruel, unwelcome guest. Fresh off a successful mole rat core hunt, he had planned to make a small camp, celebrate his good fortune with a decent meal, and head towards Duskhaven at first light. But the sudden downpour had washed away his hopes of a warm, dry night.
"Damn the gods!" Argon grumbled under his breath as he attempted to shield himself from the torrent under a tree. His ragged clothes were soaked through, chilling him to the bone. The tree provided some shelter, but it was far from watertight, and the raindrops still managed to sneak through.
Despite the discomfort, Argon found himself sinking into the rhythm of the rain, and exhaustion soon overpowered him. His back against the tree, he let his eyes fall shut, the drumming of the raindrops a persistent lullaby that carried him off into a fitful sleep.
The rain had ceased by the time dawn broke, the first rays of light piercing through the canopy of the forest. Waking up cold and stiff, Argon couldn't suppress the thrill of excitement that bubbled within him at the thought of his reward. Sixteen gold coins – it wasn't a king's ransom, but it was a fortune for someone in his position.
As he began his journey towards Duskhaven, a realization crept into his mind. He had been lucky, far too lucky. The fact that he was still alive, given his lack of training and resources, was due to his mysterious artefact. He needed a better plan, a more sustainable way of surviving and progressing in this harsh world.
An idea then sparked in his mind. Charles, the middle-aged merchant he'd met earlier, had left a strong impression on him. The man had been wise, resourceful, and had a sharp business mind. Perhaps he could provide Argon with some guidance, some wisdom that could help him make better decisions.
With this newfound resolution, Argon quickened his pace. He was eager to collect his reward, but he was even more eager to meet Charles again and see what advice the experienced merchant had to offer.
Argon's journey back to Duskhaven was an exercise in mental resilience as much as physical stamina. His mind was whirling with all the things he needed to do. A safer place to live, a new helmet, even to ask for Charles's advice under the guise of selling a few cores – all these plans hinged on the reward he was about to receive.
His course was clear. Without wasting any time, he headed straight to the Seric Merchant Area. Now that he had a bit of armour on him, the guards let him pass without the usual disdain. It was a small victory but one that brought a sliver of pride to Argon's heart.
But he was painfully aware that the rest of his appearance was still ragged. If he wanted to be taken seriously, he needed to present himself better. And so, his first stop was a general supply store, where he bought a simple, decent tunic and a pair of sturdy shoes. The couple of silver coins it cost him was a worthwhile investment in his eyes.
Clad in his new attire, Argon made his way to the Adventurers Guild. This time, there was a noticeable difference in the glances thrown his way. No longer was he the outcast in rags; now, he was an adventurer, just like the rest of them.
Upon entering the Guild, Argon was greeted by a familiar face. Annie, the receptionist who had given him his first quest, beamed at him. "Welcome back, Argon," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "Congratulations on returning alive."
"Thank you, Annie," Argon said, doing his best to return the smile. They spent the next few minutes making small talk about Duskhaven, how the town was faring, and the latest happenings around the Guild. Annie seemed genuinely interested, which made Argon feel a little more at home.
When the time was right, Argon revealed the Goblin ears he had collected. Annie's eyes widened a bit, clearly impressed by his feat. "Good work, Argon," she complimented him before proceeding to arrange his reward. A neat stack of sixteen gold coins were presented to him - a sizable reward for a newcomer like him.
Argon took a moment to appreciate his newfound wealth. But unlike last time, he knew better than to spend it all in one go. Right now, what he truly needed wasn't material goods but knowledge - specifically, knowledge about how he could improve his methods and grow stronger.
With this goal in mind, he made his way to Charles's merchant shop. The store was a haven of countless items, all with their own stories. But Argon wasn't there for the wares, not this time. Instead, he sought out the store's owner, Charles.
"Ahh, the little bugger is back," Charles greeted Argon with his signature nonchalance as he walked into the store. Despite the casual greeting, there was a glint of intrigue in his eyes. Charles was a seasoned merchant, he could smell potential, and Argon had been attracting his interest.
"Any more cores, and the Seric will start taking interest in your business," Charles warned Argon, a wry smile playing on his lips. He seemed to imply that Argon's rapid progress was not going unnoticed - a subtle reminder of the dangers that lay in attracting too much attention too soon.
"Only four to sell today," Argon said nonchalantly, trying to downplay his successful hunts. His main interest lay not in the sale but in the information he hoped to glean.
In response to Charles' inquiry, Argon decided to take the plunge, "I wanted to learn more about artefacts," he began. This was a risk, revealing his secret to Charles, but one he felt was necessary.
Seeing Charles' gaze narrow, Argon went on, revealing the small circular artefact he had. Charles studied the object in Argon's hand; his gaze fixated on the glowing relic. It was a clear sign of potential, the likes of which he rarely saw in Duskhaven. A newfound interest had now replaced his usual demeanour of aloofness.
The antique dealer cleared his throat, pulling his eyes away from the artefact and towards Argon. "Well, now," he said, his voice holding a tone of respect he hadn't previously used, "It seems I've underestimated you. Might I ask your name?"
Argon, feeling a rush of pride, straightened up. "It's Argon," he said, standing a bit taller. There was something in Charles' demeanour that told him he had earned a new level of recognition.
Charles' initial surprise quickly faded into a knowing smile. "Nice bit of kit you have there," he noted. "Are you sure you trust me enough to show me?"
Argon swallowed hard but kept his resolve. "I trust you not to take advantage of a fellow businessman," he said, trying to seem more confident than he felt.
"Don't worry, kid. I deal with quite a few of these little treasures," Charles reassured him. He then added, "I supply the Seric barracks with artefacts. You must have good luck to have gotten one so early in life. Even the shabbiest artefact fetches no less than a hundred gold."
"Thinking of selling this?" Charles asked, his eyes glinting with a shrewd business sense as he glanced at the artefact.
"No," Argon responded quickly, almost too quickly. "I'm not ready to part with it yet."
Charles raised his eyebrows but made no further comment on the matter. Instead, he moved on to the topic of artefacts in general. "They all share this circular design," he explained, motioning to the artefact. " It has a dim glow if you look close, you'll only pick up on that if you have good eyesight and you bring it close, when the light goes out, it's out of power."
Argon nodded, understanding what he meant. His artefact had dimmed after its numerous uses, leaving him vulnerable.
"Now, watch this," Charles continued, pulling out a beast core. With practised hands, he began demonstrating how to recharge an artefact. Argon observed, committing every step to memory. Charles just barely touched his artefact to the core and immediately shrank until nothing remained."
"Your artefact can swallow 50 cores I imagine," Charles said after a moment, "It's low-grade. Purely defensive. You can only use it once a day."
Argon could feel the blood draining from his face. He'd been leaning on the artefact like a crutch. If a creature were to launch two fatal attacks in quick succession, he'd be as good as dead.
"No one really knows how these little buggers work," Charles mused, toying with a beast core in his hands. "Rumor has it that they're broken machines with bits and pieces inside. But, hell if I'm going to break one open. They're worth too much."
Argon pondered for a moment before asking, "What about medium or high-grade artefacts?"
"I've only ever seen two medium-grade artefacts. They glow red. As for high-grade ones," Charles shrugged, "never seen one, lad."
"And the power of medium-grade artefacts?" Argon pressed.
Charles shook his head. "Each artefact is unique, kid.
" The two that passed through my hands fetched a bloody king's ransom. And you know where they ended up? With the high-and-mighty nobility of Duskhaven."
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scrutinizing Argon with newfound respect. "But none of those pompous arseholes would've dreamed of showing a lowly merchant like me what an artefact could truly do," he continued. "No, the Seric control the flow of these things, suppress the information. They keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit."
Charles paused, offering Argon a thin smile, "I'm telling you this because it's good to have someone who owns an artefact owe you a favour. So keep your head low and your eyes open, Argon. This world doesn't take kindly to those who don't play by the rules."
"But the low grades? They're all defensive and, from my experience, will be either a healing touch, enhanced resilience or a defensive barrier. They need the master's blood to function. When the master kicks the bucket, they'll take a new one."
He paused, glancing at Argon with a knowing smile. "I'd guess you probably already knew that, though." Argon didn't respond, and Charles' smile widened. "No worries."
"Don't trouble yourself with dreams of medium-grade artefacts, you fool. Chances are you'll never get your hands on one." Charles chided, causing Argon to flush in embarrassment.
Wanting to shift the topic, Argon asked, "What's the easiest way to make money?"
Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If you've got a brain, you could try to become a merchant's apprentice. But, you look like a bit of an idiot, so... How about taking down a bandit group? With that artefact of yours, it should be a piece of cake."
"I won't ask you what attribute your artefact holds, Argon. That's your business," Charles said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "But know this, no matter what it is, you've got a massive fucking advantage against anyone who dares cross your path."
Argon raised an eyebrow. "Bandits?"
"They're a nuisance for the wealthy of Duskhaven," Charles explained. "Take them out, collect the rewards for their bodies, and loot their camps. Easy as pie. The Seric don't bother with them because they rarely step foot outside of Duskhaven. It's a relatively safe bet for someone like you."
"Believe it or not, nobody else has the balls to face them." Charles leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "Even among the adventurers, I only know about ten who have low-grade artefacts. They're busy tackling the big beasties, not some bandit rabble."
Charles drummed his fingers on the table. "Those bandits must have a stash of loot by now. But remember, this information ain't free, lad. If you manage to wipe them out, I'll be expecting a percentage."
Argon, who was considering the risk versus the reward, eventually nodded in agreement. "Fair enough," he conceded.
Charles eyed the dimly glowing artefact on Argon's wrist. "You know, artefacts are most often affixed to armor or weapons as it was with the ancients, this hides them. If someone targets your artefact you're fucked, the buggers break easy too. But as long as it's on your person like yours, it'll do its thing. Yours is glowing pretty dimly, lad. Might want to feed it some cores. Not even artefacts work for free."
Argon took note of Charles' advice.