Reyn's words made the Dwarf's smile fade slightly. The tavern keeper's sharp gaze swept the guest, noting no luggage, muttering something displeased under breath.
Scratching his scalp, the Dwarf said:
"Rooms for two behind the tavern, moderate price—eight copper foxes a day. But I reckon you're not one to share with strangers. Second-floor rooms suit better—twelve copper foxes. Long stay, I can discount."
Reyn nodded. The Dwarf was surprisingly perceptive: he indeed didn't plan sharing with anyone.
"How long for discount?"
"Not less than half-month." The Dwarf drained half his beer mug; foam settled on thick beard. Casually wiping with hand back, he continued: "Half-month stay, just one hundred fifty copper foxes, breakfast daily on me."
Reyn didn't rush answer. When the Dwarf raised his mug, Reyn's eye caught something on his belt. If vision didn't deceive, it was a weapon!
In this world, guns existed that possessed considerable power and bore a special name—"spiritual weapons." They were highly valued. Outwardly, spiritual weapons truly resembled earthly pistols, but they had significant differences. The principle of damage was similar; however, spiritual guns used special bullets, and to fire, the owner had to possess spiritual power or some other supernatural energy, which was expended with each pull of the trigger. This did not allow them to be used as massively as firearms on Earth; in the hands of an ordinary person, a spiritual gun was less useful than a dagger.
Moreover, in the Empire in recent years, a new supernatural profession had even emerged—"gunslinger." Practitioners of this craft specialized in spiritual weapons, and their popularity was steadily growing. Dwarves, on the other hand, had wielded spiritual guns since time immemorial, and their fearsome "dwarf musketeers" were known to everyone.
However, Reyn had never heard of spiritual guns accessible to ordinary people. In other words, gunpowder had not yet been invented in this world! Was that possible?
Suppressing his fleeting doubt and trying not to draw attention to the dwarf's weapon, Reyn nodded.
"In that case, I'll stay for half a month."
Besides the fair price, this tavern had another plus: it was located not far from the Church of Justice. If a trial of another heretic began and the bells rang, he could quickly get there and absorb the soul.
"Excellent. Deposit—two hundred copper foxes; I'll return the rest if needed."
Having successfully completed the deal, the dwarf noticeably cheered up and took another swig from his mug. In Reyn's eyes, the innkeeper's soul changed color from white to pale green. Smirking to himself, he pulled two bills worth one hundred copper foxes each from his pocket.
The dwarf opened the ledger on the counter, preparing to make an entry.
"My name is Reyn," the young man introduced himself.
The dwarf carelessly scribbled a few lines and replied,
"I'm Zoltan Tartrat, owner of this establishment. If you need anything, come straight to me or pass it through the lads."
With these words, Zoltan tossed the book under the counter, pulled out a bunch of keys, and led Reyn up the stairs on the side.
On the second floor, there were about a dozen rooms, most of which were already occupied. Reyn chose the one with windows facing the street. The furnishings were simple, not much different from his previous apartment, but fortunately, the floor's soundproofing was decent, and the noise from the hall below reached here significantly muffled.
Zoltan handed Reyn the key and, already leaving, suddenly asked,
"Reyn, do you play cards?"
Reyn was momentarily taken aback.
"No, why?"
"Too bad." Zoltan shook his head regretfully; his cockscomb-like hairstyle swayed amusingly. "Many of my tavern's guests come here specifically to play cards. We're pretty well-known here in the Rien district. Maybe in the future, I'll even open a players' club. If you feel like tossing a few hands, come to me. I've got all sorts of decks, and even rare cards. The prices will please you."
Reyn understood everything. It turned out this dwarf innkeeper was an avid card shark, and the tavern also served as cover for his card business.
"Alright, I'll think about it."
Reyn politely dodged the offer: he had no time for games right now.
Zoltan said nothing more and returned to the hall on the first floor.
Reyn locked the door, collapsed onto the bed, and immediately opened his phone's interface to examine the two newly activated icons.
The first icon vaguely resembled a plant: a few leaves, a stem, but instead of a flower, there was a bizarre head. Its distorted, abstract face made it impossible to tell if it belonged to a monster or some other demon—the sight was eerie. Reyn recalled that before, this app had been for plant recognition. How could it have transformed like this? He tapped the icon and spent some time futilely trying to figure out its new purpose.
Closing what was apparently some kind of bestiary, Reyn opened the second icon. That one was much clearer: a volumetric image of a bullet. Tapping it, Reyn saw a list of options, each represented by a small pictogram.
Seeing these miniature images, Reyn nearly jumped on the bed. They were painfully familiar. It turned out to be the game he'd downloaded for disassembling weapon models!
It was an obscure foreign phone game with a small player base. Reyn had played it because he studied mechanical engineering at university. Though he hadn't worked in his field after graduation, he was always interested in mechanics and had tried many games on the topic. This was one of them.
The game's rules were simple. It provided 3D models of hundreds of types of firearms. The player had to disassemble them into parts in the correct sequence, then reassemble them, all on a timer, competing with others for speed. The game featured all sorts of weapons: pistols, rifles, submachine guns, and even a few models of heavy artillery.
Reyn selected the top item. Sure enough, a 3D model of a pistol appeared before him. Obeying his gaze, the pistol slowly rotated, then swiftly disassembled into parts, turning into a pile of components in less than half a minute. He didn't reassemble it right away but began carefully studying the parts, zooming in on the images, examining parameters and materials. If desired, Reyn could save an image of any part and, using it as a template, manufacture a real one.
Reyn counted the available models—there were just over twenty.
"I've already unlocked all this weapon in the game," he thought. He'd started playing recently and hadn't unlocked all the 3D models—probably not even a tenth of the total. He could only regret it.
But this was enough.
Reyn didn't know if gunpowder existed in this world, if it could be used, or if he could make cartridges. If not, all his efforts would be in vain, even with blueprints for thousands of weapon models.
Besides, Reyn believed: even if he managed to create firearms, they would only be a temporary aid. In the world of Ellunes, supernatural powers existed, and the power of ordinary weapons had its limits. Moreover, it was something external, far less reliable than developing one's own abilities. In the end, he craved true, internal power!
However, if he could make at least one gun, that would be enough to get revenge on Ramzi and Iceberg. Ramzi was an ordinary person; one shot would take him down. Iceberg would be trickier, but he was just a low-level superhuman, and firearms could still deal him a lethal blow. He just needed to choose the right moment and shoot from ambush. Reyn had no doubt he wouldn't survive.
He got up immediately and went downstairs. Zoltan sat at the counter, shuffling a stack of cards.
"Innkeeper, a mug of dark beer from the Lava Fortress."
Reyn sat at the counter, laid down a copper fox, and ordered the cheapest beer.
Zoltan carefully set aside the cards, turned the tap on the barrel behind him, filled a mug with dark beer, placed it before Reyn, and swept up the coin.
The cool beer burned his throat. Reyn felt a surge of energy and burped contentedly.
"Not bad beer. Really brewed from the black-soil barley of the Lava Fortress?" The Lava Fortress was a famous dwarven citadel in the World Mountains, very far from the Empire.
Zoltan coughed dryly but said nothing.
Reyn tactfully didn't press and, sipping his beer, struck up a casual conversation with the dwarf. But after a while, he realized it wasn't clicking: they had no common topics. All of Zoltan's thoughts revolved around Cards of All Souls; his obsession bordered on mania. He either boasted of his skill or insistently suggested Reyn play a game—or better yet, buy a starter set of cards, which he was even willing to sell at a discount.
"Cards, cards... What the hell cards!" Reyn seethed inwardly.
He downed the rest of his beer in one gulp and asked directly,
"Zoltan, do you know where nearby I can buy alchemical materials? Preferably with a good selection. I need some things."
"Lad, are you an alchemist or an alchemist's apprentice?" Zoltan eyed Reyn suspiciously.
Alchemy wasn't considered a supernatural profession, and ordinary people could practice it, but it was shrouded in mystery. Alchemy had wide applications: making weapons and equipment, brewing potions, casting enchantments—much of it required supernatural abilities from alchemists, and many official alchemists were members of the Alchemists Association. The Alchemists Association was one of the most influential forces in the Empire, which few dared to cross.
"Neither. Just want to buy some materials for myself."
Reyn knew nothing about alchemy. Back in the academy, he'd considered studying it but failed even the simplest entrance exam and didn't earn the title of alchemist apprentice.
Zoltan thought for a moment and lowered his voice,
"Tell me what materials you need. I'm sure it'll be cheaper than at the Alchemists Association. Just don't tell anyone."
Reyn was surprised. Apparently, Zoltan wasn't just an alchemist but dealt in underground trade.
"I need a lot of different materials; some I don't even know by name. Could you show me what you have first?" Reyn knew the gunpowder recipe and components but had no idea what they were called in Auriens. He'd only recognize them by sight.
"Fine." Zoltan called over one of the workers, gave him some instructions, and said to Reyn, "Come with me."