As the door of Vareth’s Runes closed behind me, I felt the gentle weight of Lila shifting inside the pouch at my side. Even muffled, her voice came through with a note of curiosity.

  “So… what are you planning to do at the blacksmith’s?” she asked.

  I walked at a steady pace down the crowded street. The sun was still bright, casting bright highlights over the bustle of crafters and traders.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” I said quietly, keeping my voice low as I crossed through the web of market-goers. “I’ve got a very specific reason for this purchase and once we have it, you’ll understand why I took it.”

  The blacksmith’s shop wasn’t far, just a few minutes’ walk from the runecrafter, nestled in a sturdy stone building marked by a heavy wooden sign and the unmistakable heat pouring out from the open forge. The air was thick with the metallic tang of worked steel and burning coal.

  I opened the door and was immediately greeted by a rush of heat and the deep, familiar clang of hammer on metal. The blacksmith, an old man with a bushy white beard looked up from his anvil and grinned the moment he saw me.

  “Back so soon?” he called, wiping his hands on a soot-stained cloth. “Can’t have been that easy in the dungeon if you’re already out in less than a week. What’s wrong, did the gear you bought from me not hold up?”

  I shook my head, offering a respectful smile. “Not at all, sir. Your equipment’s been perfect, couldn’t have managed half what I did without it. I’m actually here to make another purchase.”

  His bushy brows rose in surprise. “Oh? Well, that’s music to my ears. What’ll it be this time?”

  I glanced around the shop, lowering my voice just a bit. “I’m looking for a cross bolt, specifically, one with the tip made from a Crimson Wolf’s fang.”

  The old smith’s eyes widened, and a broad, knowing smile stretched across his face. “Now that is a rare order. You know that’s a pricey piece, one hundred credits per bolt. Most folks only bother if they’re hunting monsters with more lives than sense.”

  I nodded, unphased. “Yes, I know. But I only need one.”

  He chuckled, a deep, satisfied rumble. “Just one, eh? That’s a bit unusual, most archers who come through here want ‘em by the dozen, especially those who venture into the higher depths. Monsters down there, their healing’s no joke.” He gave a small, approving nod. “But I’ve got a few prepared already, always keep a stack ready for veteran hunters. Are you sure you don’t want more? Thirty? Fifty?”

  I shook my head, resolute. “One will do.”

  He scratched his beard, his grin turning slightly curious. “Alright, one Crimson Wolf Fang bolt, coming up.”

  Shortly after, the old blacksmith disappeared into the back and returned with a carefully wrapped item. He set it down with surprising gentleness, then peeled back the cloth to reveal a single cross bolt.

  The body was plain enough, well-crafted steel, nothing flashy. But the tip was a different story. The head of the bolt gleamed a deep, blood-red, with faint striations like veins running through polished ivory. There was a raw, almost primal beauty to it.

  The body was forged from a midnight-black shaft, tipped with a curved fang stained deep crimson at the edge. The bolt’s design was unmistakably savage, the arc of the fang and its curved silhouette spoke of lethal intent.

  “This is what you’re after,” he said, a note of respect in his voice. “The head’s carved from a Crimson Wolf’s fang. Not just any wolf, the kind you only find on the forty-second floor, out in the Crimson Moon Wilds. Adventurers risk their lives for fangs like this. The monsters out there… Well, let’s just say one bite and you’ll understand why people pay a premium.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He slid the bolt across the counter. “As promised, one Crimson Wolf Fang cross bolt. Use it well.”

  I thanked him, nodding with genuine appreciation as I accepted the bolt.

  With the transaction done, I focused my thoughts, I called up the system overlay and inspected the item.

  A translucent window appeared before my eyes, displaying the full details:

  I let out a low whistle. This was exactly what I needed. The perfect trump card, tucked away for when I needed it most.

  There were two reasons I made this purchase.

  The first and most immediate was tied to my slime’s ranged form. My slimes could fire the same bolt again and again, recovering it after each shot as if it were just another part of their endlessly adaptable bodies. That meant if I invested in a single, high-quality bolt, I could keep using it indefinitely. I needed something versatile, powerful, and specialized for the kind of enemies I would face on the deepest floors.

  And for the long game? This bolt was essential. The Bloodzerker, the final enemy I would eventually have to face, had monstrous healing ability. With the Crimson Wolf Fang bolt’s hemorrhaging effect, even cutting his regeneration in half would give me a crucial edge. If I wanted any hope of escaping this dungeon within half a year, I needed to start preparing now, collecting every trump card I could find.

  But the most important reason for buying the bolt… was what came next: the rune stone. Once the two were combined, the result would be something truly unique, a weapon that couldn’t be replicated, tailored perfectly for my slimes.

  I paid the old blacksmith a hundred credits without hesitation. The rewards from all the rats, spiders, and eyebats I had hunted lately were more than enough to cover it.

  With the bolt secured, I stepped out into the street and made my way back to the runecrafter’s shop. If my timing was right, she’d be just about finished and then, the real final product would be ready.

  I made my way back to the rune shop, anticipation building with each step. As I stepped inside, the enchanting aroma greeted me once again.

  Miss Vareth was already waiting, standing by the counter with something carefully wrapped in a luxurious cloth. She glanced up with a sly smile as the door closed behind me.

  “Perfect timing,” she said, lifting the covered object. “I just finished crafting your rune stone.” She placed it gently on the counter, then handed me a small pouch. “And here’s your credits from the eyebat eyes. That enchantment is quite potent, so make sure you don’t waste it on just any item.”

  I nodded, accepting both with a grateful smile. “Don’t worry. I have the perfect item in mind.”

  Peeling back the cloth, I caught my first glimpse of the finished rune stone. Deep slate-grey and veined with streaks of iridescent color. The runic script carved across its surface glowed with shifting hues, each symbol flickering and pulsing in a rhythm that felt almost alive.

  I stared at the stone, its swirling lights dancing over my fingers.

  [Rune of Maledictive Chance]