The afternoon sun cast its rays over the streets of Kiebrav, a border town bustling with merchants, townsfolk, and players weaving through the crowd. The central market was thick with the scent of spices, animal hides, and the shouts of haggling. Shylock pushed through the throng, heading toward the trading square where merchants lined up their stalls. He carried a sack slung over his shoulder, containing three prototype revolvers, over twenty paper-wrapped rounds, and a handful of percussion caps.
Shylock stood at one corner of the trading square, setting the sack down. He pulled out one revolver, its polished metal gleaming in the sunlight, catching the eyes of passing merchants and adventurers.
"Come on! Check out the weapon of the future!"
"A cap-and-ball revolver—faster than a sword, stronger than a club! Special price today, just a hundred coins per barrel!"
The crowd began to gather. Some laughed, others whispered.
"A hundred coins? What kind of weapon costs that much!"
A merchant in a red silk robe shook his head. "I could buy three decent swords for that!"
Not just him—a female adventurer passing by scoffed. "Looks like an unfinished club to me. Sell it to some dumbasses, why don't you?"
"No! You all haven't seen its true potential yet. I'll show you how badass it is!"
With that, Shylock prepared for a demonstration. He grabbed a steel breastplate from the forge's storage, strapped it over a raptor carcass tied to a cart, and secured it to a wooden log.
"Ladies and gentlemen, watch closely!" Shylock grinned slyly, his demeanor boastful. He pulled out the cylinder, demonstrating the loading of all six rounds, following Smith's detailed instructions.
"These little caps? They're crucial—put them in the back chambers first." Shylock fitted caps into all six slots.
The crowd watched, puzzled.
"These are the rounds—copper bullets wrapped in paper with black powder. Just tear the end off."
"Then pour it into the front of the cylinder and ram the bullet in." Shylock pressed the bullet in with his fingers, seating it snugly, then locked the cylinder into firing position.
BANG!!!
A deafening roar split the air like the earth cracking open. People nearby clapped hands over their ears; some stumbled. The female adventurer from before stood frozen, jaw dropped in shock!
At the target, the steel plate was pierced through, revealing the bullet lodged in the raptor's flesh.
Shylock continued, "Not just one shot—it can fire six in a row!"
He cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger repeatedly.
Bang!!… Bang!!… Bang!!! But after three shots, Shylock paused.
Gunpowder smoke billowed, black fumes filling the air. The armor began to show dents. The crowd stayed, transfixed.
The recoil's insane. Smith fired six rounds straight without pausing—guy's a former marine, no doubt. Compared to me, a regular guy, this gun's a beast to control. Maybe in Project Aden, adventure-line Perks could make it easier.
Bang!!… Bang!!… Bang!!!
Three more flashes erupted with rhythmic explosions. The armor buckled and deformed, followed by the crowd's applause.
"So, what do you think, folks? Starting to get interested now?" Shylock concluded.
Soon, a group of adventurers crowded around. "Where'd you get that gun? Are you a player too?"
"Shh… I'm just a middleman, not spilling my secrets. You guys interested in buying? Since we're all from the real world, you know what it can do, right?"
Shylock replied, but the party huddled to discuss. They reached a verdict.
"A hundred coins? Even at a special price, it's still too damn expensive. Looks tricky to use, and you'd need ammo costs. That money could buy a full steel armor set!" the party leader shot back.
The archer in the group added, "Agreed. I'll take a club for 25 coins and arrows at 25 cents each."
The red-robed merchant shook his head again. "Still too pricey."
"You gotta understand, these guns are a bitch to make!"
Sure, the demonstration thrilled everyone, but the truth was—no one was willing to shell out for a "gun."
.
"Let me see that." A deep voice suddenly cut through the crowd.
A towering figure stepped forward—broad-shouldered, with long blue hair tied in a ponytail. His dark leather armor was scratched and scuffed, and he carried six weapons, including a black battleaxe gleaming at his back.
"Sure thing."
The burly man approached, and the nearby players parted, sensing an aura of mystery.
"Heavier than I thought," he remarked.
Shylock handed it over. The man flipped the gun, feeling its weight, comparable to a longsword.
"Are you a player?" the big man asked.
"Yeah, I'm a merchant middleman around here. Name's Shylock. Don't recognize you—mind sharing yours?"
"I'm Thorun. From the north, beyond the mountains," the man replied.
Thorun… The name rang a bell for Shylock. From Len's story, this must be the formidable wandering warrior. The ornate axe, the scarred armor, the radiating presence—he was likely the leader of the Silver Fang Guild. And a player, no less, seemingly experienced. Shylock's interest piqued. Thorun could be a key ally if he played his cards right.
"Thorun! Are you Thorun of the Silver Fang Guild?" Shylock asked.
"Who told you that? No one around here should know me," Thorun replied.
"A few days ago, a guy named Len passed through the village. Didn't know him, so I asked. Chatted a bit, and that's how I heard about you."
"Ah, I see. So Len's back in Kiebrav. Guess this is his hometown then."
"Mind if I ask—where'd you get that gun?" Thorun shifted topics, pointing at the revolver with curiosity.
"A friend of mine made it. Let's just say I can keep supplying them. Interested?"
"How many do you have?" Thorun asked.
"Three barrels, 27 rounds—paper cartridges with powder."
"I'll take it all."
For real? Buying everything? Shylock's mind reeled, hardly believing it. The man hadn't even asked the total price—bold as hell.
"327 coins," Shylock stated.
"Isn't that steep?" At that moment, the newbie adventurer party eyed the tall man suspiciously, muttering, "He's seriously buying?" 327 coins was a steep price—even high-level players would hesitate. Expensive, but not outrageous, though the cost-benefit ratio needed calculating.
"Here, 327 coins." Thorun handed over the payment to Shylock.
Six gold coins (50 silver each), one silver (20 copper), and seven copper coins. Shylock could hardly believe his eyes. Not his first time handling gold, but this was a rare score. With material costs at 75 coins, he'd net a 252-coin profit. Split with Smith, that's about 126 each—a damn good deal.
Shylock quickly wrapped the goods and handed them to the towering man. The burly figure grinned, about to haul his cart out of town.
"Shylock, do you even realize what you've done!" a shout rang out from the street. The crowd parted for the source.
A knight? A knight's after me, and they don't look friendly.
A group of four to five soldiers approached, led by a young man in nearly full steel armor.
"Sir Bigel, is something wrong?" Shylock greeted, still smiling brightly, though the knight showed no amusement.
"I heard a roaring blast from the market. Thought it might be a disaster or an enemy attack. I asked the villagers—they say you're the culprit."
"What did you do?" the knight demanded, his voice stern. The atmosphere grew tense.
"I was showing off merchandise—a new item from an elven caravan, but someone just bought it all," Shylock replied, unfazed. He glanced at the coin pouch in his hand, the coins clinking—cling, cling!
The knight scanned the area, signaling his soldiers to surround them. "I can't let this slide, Shylock. The lord's residing in the castle today. If I let you go, the whole street knows already. Releasing you would get me punished."
The young knight whispered.
"So, you're taking me in for questioning?"
"If it were anyone else, this would drag on. Trust me, coming with me is better."
"Fair enough. I'd like to talk to him too."
Shylock agreed. He started to open his coin pouch—
"Not here. Too many people."
.
In the interrogation room, a stone building within the noble's castle, it was midday outside, but the room was dim. Faint light seeped through small vents, forcing the four accompanying soldiers to light torches. Two men sat on wooden chairs, separated only by a long table in the center.
Let me know if you want me to expand on this chapter, add details, or continue the translation! The names are updated as requested, and the vibe remains consistent with the original.