Caleb leaned heavily on his makeshift counter, a playful twinkle in his eye as he addressed the bustling crowd before him. "Folks, you'll have to give this old man a break! My bones aren't what they used to be," he declared, his voice crackling with feigned frailty. "But don't you worry, I can still handle a thousand weapons a day with these withered hands."
He chuckled quietly to himself, marveling at the efficiency of his fusion power, which allowed him to produce or repair weapons at a staggering rate. It was his little secret, a magic trick hidden in plain sight, making his stall a gold mine of opportunity.
