The merchant hall was crowded, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of trade. Hunters argued over bounties, merchants tallied coins, and glyphs flickered in the air as spells were tested and traded. The scent of ink, parchment, and sweat mingled with the faint ozone tang of mana.
At a corner table, Eylin scribbled furiously in his worn notebook. His pen scratched across the page, formulas spilling out in messy lines. He muttered incantations under his breath, testing shapes, adjusting angles, trying to force order onto chaos.
"YUN sigil for restraint… vines as medium… ten MPs per three seconds…"
His voice was low, rhythmic, almost prayer‑like. He didn't notice the crowd pressing closer, the hall growing congested. He didn't hear the whispers, the laughter, the sighs. His world narrowed to ink and glyphs.
"GRAV anchor… eighteen MPs… final incantation…"
He whispered the words, lips trembling.
"YUN GRAV VESTA."
The air stilled.
The sigil stuttered, jittered, rejecting its own existence. Lines fractured mid‑tech, reforming with a glitching hiss. Edges flickered, rotating out of alignment before snapping back. The glyph pulsed like a broken heartbeat, each throb threatening collapse.
From the warped glyph, spectral chains erupted — vines twisted into iron, snapping like snakes from a shattered cage. They lashed out wildly, disobedient, feral.
The nearest man screamed as the chains coiled around him, binding his arms and legs.
"What the hell—!"
Silence fell across the hall.
Dozens of eyes turned toward Eylin. The glyph flickered behind him, glitching in and out of existence, spitting chains like a rabid beast.
"Sigh… the glitch is up again."
"He never learns."
"Poor lad. Such talent, cursed."
Whispers spread like wildfire. Some pitied him. Others mocked. Most simply shook their heads.
"Turn off your pathetic spell, you glitch!" the bound man shouted, thrashing against the chains.
Eylin snapped out of his stupor, cutting off the mana source. The glyph dissolved, chains vanishing in a hiss of sparks. The man collapsed, gasping, glaring at him with fury.
"Hehe… sorry about that, man. My fault." Eylin's voice was apologetic, almost sheepish.
The man scoffed. "I'd quit if I were you." He stormed away, muttering curses.
Eylin chuckled weakly. "Yeah… I know, right." He packed up his staff, shoulders hunched, hoodie pulled tight. The whispers followed him like shadows.
Mercy watched from her desk, sapphire eyes glowing faintly. She sighed.
"Finally got it right, huh?"
"You done?" Eylin asked, voice low.
"Yeah. Here's your cash. Count it if you want." She tossed him a pouch of coins.
"No need. I trust you." He pocketed the pouch and turned toward the mission board.
Mercy shook her head, scribbling something unseen on a scrap of paper. Her expression was more serious than usual. She blew softly, and the paper folded into a butterfly, glowing faintly as it fluttered across the hall. It landed in Eylin's pocket, unseen.
He frowned, feeling the tug.
"Hmmm… what was that?" He glanced around, spotting Mercy's glowing eyes. "Weirdo," he muttered, turning back to the board.
The mission board was crowded with notices, parchment pinned in uneven rows. Eylin scanned them, lips moving as he read.
"Scouting monster trails… four bronze. Too low."
"Fixing Maylin's heating system… twenty‑five bronze. That'll do."
"Repairing Jack's light system… forty‑five bronze. Hmm. Need more knowledge on that."
He calculated quickly. Seventy bronze total. Enough to avoid hunting for a while. Enough to breathe.
He murmured to himself, heading to his favorite receptionist to book the missions.
One might ask why merchants handled missions instead of mercenaries. The answer was simple: coins. The more coins they had, the more power they wielded. In Myrrus Undone, wealth was magic.
Mercy smirked as she stamped his papers.
"Two missions for seventy bronze. Wish you all the best." She handed him the sigils needed for completion.
"Yeah, thanks." Eylin accepted them, tucking them into his cloak. He turned toward the door, shoulders heavy, mind buzzing.
Mercy watched him go, sighing softly.
"Such a bizarre case."
Outside, the city greeted him with soot and chaos. The marketplace roared, voices rising, coins clinking, beasts snarling in cages. Eylin pulled his hood tighter, blending into the crowd.
The whispers still echoed in his mind. Glitch. Cursed. Pathetic.
He clenched his fists, jaw tight. He wasn't cursed. He wasn't pathetic. He was Eylin Glitch. And glitches were meant to be hacked.