Valarys was alive. The city hummed with activity as people bustled through the cobblestone streets, hawkers shouted from stalls selling everything from roasted meats to exotic trinkets, and merchants haggled loudly with customers over prices. The stone buildings lining the streets were adorned with banners, and intricate carvings on the facades hinted at the city's long history. This was the heart of the Ishmara Dominion, a place where power, wealth, and trade intersected—though beneath the surface, there were cracks.
Ubuntu wandered through the city, coin pouch a little heavier after his deal with Amara. He wasn't exactly rolling in money, but it was enough to keep him busy for a while. The thought of food briefly crossed his mind again, but today wasn't about eating. It was about preparation.
His eyes scanned the various weapon stalls as he walked. He'd noticed during his time in this world that swords were practically a requirement. He wasn't typically a blade guy, but after the fight with Klaithar and the other lackeys, it was clear he needed a little more firepower. Maybe some range too—because let's face it, punching things wasn't always going to cut it.
He stopped at a weapons stall run by a tall, grizzled merchant with a missing eye. The stall was filled with various blades, axes, and crossbows, each one more intricate than the last. But his eyes were immediately drawn to a pair of sleek, curved swords hanging at the back of the stall, their hilts wrapped in dark leather with polished metal accents.
"Two sabres," Ubuntu muttered to himself. "That could work."
The merchant saw his interest and approached with a toothy grin. "Ah, good eye! These are some of my finest blades—crafted by one of the best blacksmiths in all of Valarys. Balanced perfectly, lightweight, and razor-sharp."
Ubuntu picked one up, testing the weight in his hand. It was light, but sturdy. He swung it experimentally, the blade cutting through the air with a satisfying hiss. He grinned. "I'll take 'em."
The merchant rubbed his hands together. "Excellent choice! That'll be—"
Ubuntu dropped a handful of coins into his hand, cutting him off. "Yeah, yeah, keep the change."
The merchant chuckled, bowing slightly. "A pleasure doing business with you."
With the sabres secured, Ubuntu left the stall and continued wandering through the marketplace. But swords weren't the only thing on his mind. After seeing the overwhelming firepower the Sovereign's minions could bring to the table, he needed something with range. His fists—and now sabres—were fine up close, but he needed to be more versatile. Something like… guns.
He wasn't exactly sure how firearms worked in this world, but he'd seen some crossbows that looked close enough. Maybe there was a way to adapt them. His eyes scanned the market until they fell on a small blacksmith's shop tucked away in a side alley. The sign read Thrak's Ironworks.
Perfect.
The blacksmith's shop was dimly lit, filled with the smell of hot metal and soot. The heat was intense, the roar of the forge almost deafening. At the back of the shop, a hulking figure stood hammering away at a piece of glowing iron. The blacksmith was a mountain of a man—bald, with arms like tree trunks and a permanent scowl etched into his face.
"Hey, you the guy to talk to about custom jobs?" Ubuntu asked, stepping into the shop.
The blacksmith glanced up, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy hand. "Depends. What do you need?"
Ubuntu reached into his pouch, pulling out a rough sketch he'd drawn. It was a crude idea of what looked like a pair of small, handheld crossbows. "I need something like these. Small, portable, but powerful. You know, like... arbalètes de poche."
The blacksmith took the sketch, squinting at it. "Interesting. You're looking for something you can fire with one hand, fast reload, right?"
"Exactly," Ubuntu said, crossing his arms. "Something I can carry easily but still packs a punch. Doesn't have to be fancy, just effective."
The blacksmith grunted, nodding slowly as he looked the sketch over again. "I can do that. It'll take a few days, though."
"Fine by me," Ubuntu said. "Just make sure it's done right. And if you can make it look badass while you're at it, that's a plus."
The blacksmith chuckled darkly. "It's what I do."
Satisfied, Ubuntu left the shop, already feeling more prepared for what lay ahead. Two new sabres at his side and soon-to-be handheld crossbows in the works—it was a start. As he re-entered the bustling streets, his thoughts turned back to Amara's words. The Sovereign, she had said, was threatening to reach beyond this world, even into his own. The idea of going home had been enough to make him consider helping her, but deep down, he knew he wasn't the "save the world" type.
His musings were interrupted by a commotion up ahead. A group of rough-looking men, all bearing the insignia of the local Merchant's Guild, were surrounding a man on his knees. The man—an older farmer by the looks of him—was desperately pleading with the thugs, his voice choked with fear and desperation.
"Please!" the farmer begged. "I just need a little more time. My daughter... she's sick. I had to use the money to buy medicine—"
One of the thugs kicked him hard in the ribs, sending the man sprawling to the ground. "Time's up, old man. You borrowed from the Guild, you pay it back. Simple as that."
Ubuntu paused, watching the scene unfold. The farmer was coughing, trying to push himself up from the ground, but the thugs only laughed, looming over him like predators. The biggest of them—clearly the leader—grinned as he knelt down next to the man.
"You can't pay, so we'll take your kids instead. The mines could use some fresh workers. Maybe your daughter can repay your debt by digging for ores."
Ubuntu's eyes narrowed. He wasn't exactly the hero type, but this was a bit much, even for him.
"Wow," he said, loud enough for the group to hear. "So, you've got a group that controls the entire economy and sets the prices? I guess 'fair competition' and 'free market' don't mean much around here, huh?"
The thugs turned, scowling at him. The leader stood up, his grin fading as he glared at Ubuntu. "What's it to you?"
"Just making an observation," Ubuntu said, walking closer. "Des enfants qui bossent pour une poignée de pièces pendant que le propriétaire de la mine sirote du vin dans son manoir? Ah, le capitalisme. No matter the dimension, it seems the system holds strong."
The leader sneered, his hand drifting to the handle of his sword. "This ain't your business, outsider. So keep walking unless you want trouble."
Ubuntu stopped a few feet away, arms still at his sides, but his posture screamed danger. "Yeah, see, I'm okay with a lot of things. But selling kids into mine labor because their dad tried to save his sick daughter? That's where I draw the line."
The leader laughed, motioning for his men to surround Ubuntu. "Oh, you think you're some kind of hero, huh? Tough guy, are ya?"
"No," Ubuntu said, shaking his head. "But I do have standards."
One of the thugs lunged at him with a club, but before the blow could land, Ubuntu sidestepped, grabbed the man by the wrist, and twisted. The thug yelped in pain as Ubuntu spun him around and sent him crashing into a nearby wall.
"See, I don't kill everyone I fight," Ubuntu said, glancing at the leader. "But I make exceptions for people who push me."
The other thugs hesitated, glancing nervously at each other before rushing him all at once. Ubuntu smiled, drawing his sabres in one smooth motion.
The first thug swung at him with a knife, but Ubuntu blocked it with one blade while slashing low with the other, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. He pivoted, slamming the hilt of his sabre into another thug's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Blades and morals," Ubuntu muttered to himself. "I'm practically a knight."
The last thug, a burly man with a mace, charged at him, roaring in anger. Ubuntu dodged the clumsy swing, spinning behind the man and slamming both fists into his back. The thug staggered, and Ubuntu followed up with a swift kick to the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground.
The leader, watching his men fall like wheat before a scythe, hesitated, his hand still on his sword. "You—"
"Yeah, no," Ubuntu interrupted, pointing one of his sabres at the leader's throat. "I don't want to hear it. Here's how this goes: you leave the old man and his family alone, and I let you limp away from this. Deal?"
The leader's eyes darted between Ubuntu and the sabre at his neck. After a moment, he nodded slowly, backing away. "Fine. This ain't over."
"It always is," Ubuntu said, sheathing his sabres. "Now get lost."
The thugs scrambled to their feet and hurried off, the leader casting one last glare at Ubuntu before disappearing into the crowd. Ubuntu turned back to the farmer, who was still on the ground, looking up at him in awe.
"Th-Thank you," the man stammered, his voice shaking. "I didn't know what to do—"
"Don't worry about it," Ubuntu said, helping the man to his feet. "Just... stay out of debt. This world's not too kind to people who fall behind."
The farmer nodded gratefully, tears in his eyes. "I will. I swear."
Ubuntu gave him a nod, then turned back to the street. He had what he needed, and now it was time to move on. But as he walked away, he couldn't help but think that Valarys—and this whole world—was way more broken than he initially thought.