When Fantasy Glitches

"And you said this is hearthfruit?" Magnus inquired, leaning over the fruit cart in one of Arlcliff City's bustling street markets. The vendor had caught his attention with a fruit that seemed like a fusion between an apple and a pomegranate.

"That's right. They come in different colors and flavors, depending on where they're grown," the vendor said, his voice a bit unsteady as he spoke to Magnus. He tried to keep his cool, but his eyes kept darting to Magnus's clothes and the Takerth Academy emblem, showing he was a bit nervous.

"How much is this red one?" Magnus asked, curiosity in his tone as he eyed the colorful array of fruits.

"I normally charge five copper bits each, but I'll give you one on the house," the vendor replied, his voice trembling a bit. He flashed a quick smile, and Magnus noticed a spark in the vendor's eyes.

"Really? For free?" Magnus raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected offer. He had only approached the vendor to check the prices and hadn't anticipated getting anything for free.

The vendor nodded eagerly and replied, "Absolutely, that's the emblem of Takrth Academy, isn't it? Please, help yourself. It's truly an honor to have someone from there visit my stall."

Magnus was caught off guard by the offer, and for a brief moment, he thought about politely declining. But then his stomach gave a quiet rumble, reminding him that he hadn't eaten much today.

"Well, if you're insisting, I guess I'll accept," Magnus said as he picked a hearthfruit from the display.

"I'll pay you back for this if I get the chance," he added, before heading deeper into the market, weaving between buildings that resembled Tudor architecture. The market buzzed with life, filled with street vendors selling all sorts of goods. Fruits and vegetables were the most common thing to see, but here and there, Magnus also saw stalls with tools, weapons, and even armor.

So, if I'm getting all this right, there are copper bits, silver crowns, and golden marks. It seems like two copper bits are about equal to a dollar back on Earth.

Magnus thought as he bit into the hearthfruit, savoring its slightly bitter taste as its juice and flesh exploded in his mouth.

"Wow, this is really good." He took another bite and kept wandering casually. He found it interesting that, even though magic was tightly controlled and restricted, magic academies and their students were highly respected by the people, instead of being scorned. In crowds, people who recognized the Takerth Academy emblem on his uniform seemed to naturally avoid bumping into him or blocking his path for too long.

Moreover, that fruit vendor wasn’t the only one who tried to give him things for free, a gesture he tried his best to decline each time.

For the next hour or so, Magnus wandered around without any particular goal, letting his curiosity lead the way. If not for Basker actively creating and updating the mental map in his head, he surely would have been completely lost by now.

Gradually, he wandered into a quieter, more residential part of the city. This area felt different, with real shops and cafes taking the place of the noisy street vendors. Some places were closed, their shutters tightly shut, while others actively invited customers inside.

Even though he didn't have any money to spend, Magnus still enjoyed peering through the windows from time to time.

Just as he was about to turn a corner, something grabbed his attention. Nestled at the end of the street he was walking on, a lone building stood out with a distinctive sign hanging over the door—a hammer engulfed in flames. The emblem was identical to the one on the wooden box that had once held his kinetic energy weapon, which he decided to name 'Rokshaata'.

Magnus mused aloud, "I wonder if this is the same smithy where Celia had it made? Maybe I should check it out; they did do a really good job."

Deciding to head over toward the smithy, he started to hear the sounds of the forge which only grew louder with each step. The roar of the flames and the steady beat of metal striking metal filled the air. Peering into the workshop, Magnus saw sparks flying—a sign of the craftsman's deft work. Even from a distance, he felt waves of intense heat rolling toward him.

He admired the young man who was working tirelessly at the forge, his body drenched in sweat but his focus never faltering. Each hit of the hammer reshaped the glowing metal plate he was working on, requiring his complete attention. As the barrage of strikes ended, the blacksmith placed his hammer down, ready to switch tools.

That’s when he spotted Magnus, arching an eyebrow at the surprise guest. He brushed his long, obsidian ponytail away from his face and flashed a warm smile.

"Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone today. Need something?" He paused his work, letting the metal cool off as he shut the fiery forge.

"Uh, not really? You see, I asked someone to commission a trinket from you a while back." Listening to Magnus made the young blacksmith think for a moment before it clicked.

"Ah, you're the one Celia had me craft those pieces for. It was quite the challenge to get the designs just right. I'm glad to finally meet the mysterious client; actually, I owe you thanks. Celia never comes to see for no reason." He revealed a wry smile as he spoke.

"Oh, you know Celia? Now that I think about it, she did say she knew you." Magnus recalled, prompting a nod from the young man, his smile tinged with melancholy.

"I'm her brother, though if I had to guess, she would prefer that fact remain dead and buried. The name's Jerel."

At first, shock froze Magnus, leaving him speechless. But as he pieced things together, his surprise turned into an insight. Looking closely, he noticed that Jerel and Celia did look alike, especially their hair. Itwas as dark as midnight, yet it shimmered with a subtle purple sheen in the right light—a unique feature Magnus had noticed about Celia during their time together. He had initially thought it was some hair product or dye, but now he realized it was a family trait.

With a clearer understanding of who Jerel was, Magnus reached out his hand and introduced himself.

“I’m Magnus; Magnus Wright is my full name. You might not have heard about me from Celia, but she was the maid who looked after me where she worked.” Magnus figured Jerel would know about Celia's job, but Jerel’s puzzled look suggested otherwise.

Huh?

After a few initial exchanges, Jerel invited Magnus inside, and their conversation flowed easily. Magnus thanked him for the creation of Rokshaata, and their talk naturally shifted to Celia and her job.

Magnus shared a few details, though he was mindful not to tell too much about Celia's life; after all, it wasn’t his place.

Jerel’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and Magnus noted a hint of contentment in his gaze.

“I see,” Jerel said, his voice carrying a note of understanding.

“I’ve been wondering why she came here, even if it was on someone’s request. Our relationship has been strained ever since... well, a personal incident happened in our family. Still, it’s comforting to hear she’s been doing well after all this time.” Jerel quickly changed the subject after a moment of silence, and as they talked, Magnus found himself captivated by the interior of the smithy’s shop.

Although the actual forging happened outside, the display area inside was a treasure trove of finished pieces, each more impressive than the last. The walls were lined with swords featuring gleaming silver edges, formidable battle axes, complete sets of plate armor, and even the simplest of bracers. It felt like stepping into a world made from the dreams of warriors.

Noticing Magnus's awe at the items, Jerel smiled.

“I've crafted everything you see here. Is there anything that catches your eye?” Jerel asked. Magnus felt a tug of conflict as he pondered his answer.

"Plenty catches my eye, but I’m broke, so buying anything is off the table for me," Magnus admitted. Jerel looked genuinely surprised as he glanced over at Magnus's attire.

"Really? I could have sworn you were a merchant’s son or some noble, what with your fancy clothes and Celia being your maid. But then again, I guess a rich guy like that wouldn’t be caught wandering alone in the Lower City or chatting up an ordinary guy like me, right?"

All Magnus could muster was an awkward reply; his situation was definitely not normal.

“It’s a bit complicated. I won’t bog you down with the details. Anyway, I was just-" Just as Magnus was about to change the subject, the door to the smithy’s shop area burst open suddenly.

The atmosphere shifted suddenly, making Magnus tense up as four people entered.

The three leading the group were dressed almost identically—black hats that threw their faces into shadow, and one even wore a mask to hide his identity further. Their outfits were a mix of deep, dark colors layered and held together by an assortment of belts and straps.

Magnus glanced at Jerel, a question clear in his eyes.

"A customer of yours?" Jerel's face grew grim, and he shook his head.

"No, but you should leave, Magnus. I don’t want you caught up in this, especially if you know Celia." Watching Jerel’s troubled expression and the newcomers’ dark attire, Magnus didn't need to stretch his imagination to grasp the situation.

Taking a closer look, Magnus noticed the subtle shimmer of hidden weapons tucked at the men's waists.

I better not stick around, or I'll be in deep trouble. I should leave now and try to find a few guards or something.

After thinking it through, Magnus decided to follow Jerel's earlier suggestion and make a quick exit. But when he turned to leave, his heart jumped. One of the men had blocked the exit, and the other two spread out, effectively trapping Magnus and Jerel near the counter.

"Jerel, it's been a while, hasn't it?" The man's voice carried a tone of faux camaraderie.

"After our last chat, I thought we reached an understanding. You give us what we need at a 'friendly price', and in return, we keep our operations away from your place of business as we expand our... endeavors." He then sighed long and hard, his voice a blend of fatigue and irritation. Unlike his minions, he seemed perfectly fine flaunting his face, a rugged handsomeness framed by a well-groomed beard.

Magnus noticed the scars crisscrossing the man’s face, deep cuts that began at his jaw and disappeared under his clothes.

“Cut the crap, Zeth. I’ve held up my end of the deal,” Jerel snapped back, his voice heavy with anger. Zeth tilted his head, a sly smile on his face, unfazed by Jerel’s tone.

“Ah, but you haven’t, my friend. In fact, we’ve noticed a drop in quality. The equipment you’ve sent us this month is nowhere near the same grade you sent us last month, and let me tell you, my boss isn't thrilled about it. We don’t like getting screwed over, Jerel…” As Zeth delivered that final line, a hint of menace flickered in his eyes. Despite this, Jerel stood firm, his arms crossed, as he shot back without missing a beat.

"That’s not my problem. The materials you want me to use are way too expensive, especially for the massive amount of gear you’re asking for. And it's not just about the cost—the workload is too much for me to handle." No sooner than Jerel had finished speaking, a chuckle burst from Zeth's lips.

"Haha, too much work, you say? Who do you think you’re trying to fool with that bullshit? Jerel Stoneworth, the virtuoso in the blacksmithing circle, third place in last year’s Annual Molten Steel Tournament, saying he’s overwhelmed? Give me a break. We both know you’re more than capable. And don’t try to make it seem like this is about the money. We might look like a rough group, but we keep a close eye on people who interest us. We're fully aware of how many people come into your shop and the tally of your sales. You should easily be able to afford our request—unless you’re intentionally fucking with us..."

When Zeth spoke, the two men next to Magnus and Jerel subtly shifted their stance, catching Zeth’s attention towards Magnus.

"Oh, I almost forgot there was another person here," Zeth said, his voice dripping with a chilling charm.

"Is he a friend of yours, Jerel?" Magnus couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh, while Jerel quickly tried to redirect Zeth’s focus.

"He’s just a customer, nothing more—he’s not involved with us," Jerel responded hastily, a note of worry in his voice. To Zeth, Magnus seemed just as Jerel described. Even amid the tension, Magnus kept his back to them, his head slightly bowed, as though he wanted to stay out of the matter.

Yet only half of that was true. While Magnus definitely wanted to avoid getting pulled into this, his head wasn't bowed because he wanted to hide his face, it was because he was cursing his rotten luck.

Here I am, finally getting some time to explore the city and look where I end up. I swear I'm cursed or something.

After a moment of locking his gaze on Magnus's back, Zeth's lips curled into a smirk.

"Nothing to do with this, huh?" Zeth mused, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Actually, I see this as a perfect chance. We might not be able to touch you directly, Jerel, since you're our golden goose, but sending a message through a customer should work just as well, don't you think?" Jerel's eyes widened at the hint, and Zeth gestured toward the man standing nearest to Magnus.

"Break his arms," Zeth said with an easy shrug. The man he spoke to nodded sharply, stepping towards Magnus to grab his arm. Meanwhile, Zeth turned back to Magnus, his tone thick with sarcasm.

"Oh, and spare us the hassle of making a scene, will you? Crying out for help will just make my job messier. If you need someone to blame, let's just say you were cursed with bad luck and were at the wrong place at the wrong time."

As Zeth finished speaking, an unexpectedly flat voice cut in from the boy in front of him, who then turned his head.

"Hey, I was just thinking the same thing; you must be a mind reader. In that case, try and see what'll happen if your goon doesn't let go of my arm in the next ten seconds." As a scene began to unfold inside the smithy, two unseen onlookers from outside had their eyes fixed on the building.

“Should we step in? Those four who walked into the shop don’t look like customers,” a whisper floated from the depths of a hidden alleyway. One man spoke to his companion across from him, his voice low and careful.

Draped in dark cloaks that almost completely hid them, even their visible parts were armored. Gleaming swords dangled at their sides, their edges as sharp as the steady gazes of these two watchers.

The second man gave a nod.

“The Major General's orders were clear: protect him from danger from the shadows whenever he leaves the academy. Negligence isn't an option. I'll handle the one at the entrance; you keep an eye on the boy.” Their agreement was unspoken, their actions perfectly in sync.

But fate had other ideas, and plans that would interrupt their efforts.

Inside the shop, Magnus's sudden threat drew puzzled looks from both Zeth and Jerel. Zeth quickly recovered from his surprise, his face splitting into a grin as he let out a hearty laugh.

"Ah, the youth today, always a riot," he said, amusement thick in his voice as he clearly didn't take Magnus seriously. But his laughter soon faded, and he turned to the man he had instructed to grab Magnus.

"Hey, what's the hold-up? I told you to break his arms," Zeth said, his tone edging into impatience as his expression hardened.

Struggling, the man replied with a grunt, "I'm trying..."

Both of the man's massive hands clamped tightly on Magnus's left arm, tugging fiercely, trying to twist it behind his back. But Magnus stood unyielding, his arm as immovable as a tree rooted deep into the ground.

The scene caught everyone off guard—Zeth, Jerel, and even Zeth’s lackeys couldn't hide their surprise. Yet, it was Magnus who shattered the silence, his eyes locked on the man who struggled in vain to dislodge his arm.

"Weird, isn't it?" Magnus's tone was light, almost teasing.

"How much force do you reckon you've put into trying to move my arm?" he asked. The man's face twisted with bewilderment as he stared back at Magnus. But, before he could respond, something happened.

Suddenly, a surge of force exploded out of nowhere. Just a second ago, Magnus's left arm was still, but now it whipped forward at a terrifying speed.

The motion was so quick and smooth that it was nearly invisible to everyone watching. The sound of his fist connecting with flesh echoed throughout the room. The man gripping Magnus was lifted off his feet by the force, pain rippling through him slowly.

His body, akin to a ragdoll, careened through a nearby shelf with a bone-crunching crash before hurtling out of the window of Jerel's smithy. Slamming into the ground outside his limbs twitched involuntarily, and blood leaked from his mouth. The sudden scene of the body smashing through the window left even the guards assigned to Magnus momentarily stunned, their previous vigilance gone.

"Damn... That gave my arm whiplash," Magnus said, rubbing his shoulder as he turned to face the remaining group—Zeth and his now two-man entourage.

“I’m not sure about the laws here, but since you tried to break my arm, I guess everything I do now counts as self-defense, right?”