Chapter 4: The Sound of Proof
The cold morning air felt suddenly thin.
The two patrol guards stepped up, their iron-plated boots clanking heavily against the cobblestones. Both men wore the crimson crest of the Oakhaven Municipal Watch on their shoulder guards. The guard on the left—a burly man with a thick mustache—placed his leather-gloved hand on the pommel of his shortsword.
"Is this true, kid?" the mustache guard asked, his voice low and rumbling. "A scrap gatherer isn’t supposed to be carrying that kind of coin. Hand over the pouch for inspection."
Marcus stood right behind them, arms crossed, a smug smirk stretched across his face. "He’s an F-Rank, Officers. He was broke yesterday. His stipend was cut, and he couldn’t even pay his academy fee. Where else would he get sixty gold overnight unless he stole it from the yard’s supply vaults?"
Kael didn’t flinch. He didn’t reach for his pocket, nor did he back down into the shop. His mind calculated the distance between himself, the guards, and Marcus.
If I fight, I’m a fugitive. If I run, I prove them right. But if I use their own rules against them...
"I didn’t steal anything," Kael said, his voice quiet, carrying an air of absolute composure that caught the guards off guard.
"Then explain the gold!" Marcus barked, his eyes glinting with malice. "You’re a beggar!"
"The gold belongs to him," a heavy, gravelly voice thundered from inside the shop.
The oak door swung wide open, and Master Theron stepped out onto the threshold. The dwarf wiped his greasy hands on his leather apron, his amber Assessment Monocle dangling from his neck. He glared at Marcus as if the boy were a cockroach on his counter.
"Master Theron," the mustached guard hesitated, taking a half-step back out of respect. "We’re just investigating a report of stolen property—"
"Investigating my foot!" Theron spat onto the street. "You’re harassing my customer right in front of my shop. That gold came out of my own register, five minutes ago."
Marcus’s smirk vanished. "What? Master Theron, you bought something from him? He’s an F-Rank Trash Artisan! Whatever he sold you, it’s either junk or stolen!"
"Are you calling me a fool who can’t inspect his own inventory, boy?" Theron growled, stepping closer to Marcus. Though the dwarf was half Marcus’s height, his presence was like a boulder ready to roll down a hill. "I’m a certified Master Blacksmith of the Third Circle. The gear I bought from him was legitimate, signed with his own personal mana stamp."
The patrol guards exchanged awkward glances.
"If Master Theron vouches for the transaction, then there’s no crime here," the mustached guard said, letting go of his sword hilt. He turned a sharp glare onto Marcus. "Don’t waste official patrol time with personal rivalries, cadet. Move along."
Marcus’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. "This is ridiculous! He cheated! He must have used some forbidden artifact—"
"Move along, cadet!" the guard repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Marcus gritted his teeth so hard a vein bulged on his temple. He glared at Kael, leaning in close so only Kael could hear. "This isn’t over, Vance. The Friday deadline is tomorrow morning. Even if you pay the fee, the class rankings are decided in the Green Mist Dungeon trial next week. You won’t have a dwarf to hide behind in the dark."
"I won’t need one," Kael replied softly, looking Marcus straight in the eye without a flicker of fear.
Marcus sneered, turned on his heel, and stormed down the misty street, his guards following behind.
Theron let out a dry huff. "Arrogant noble brats. They think high-tier classes give them brains." The dwarf looked at Kael. "You handled yourself well, kid. Didn’t panic."
"Panicking costs mana," Kael said with a faint smile. "Thank you, Master Theron."
"Don’t thank me. Just bring me more of those scale blades when you make ’em," Theron grunted, turning back into his shop. "And buy yourself a decent coat. You look like a walking target."
An hour later, Kael stood outside the small, rundown timber house on the edge of the Slum District.
The roof leaked when it rained, and the wooden door was swollen shut from humidity, but as Kael pushed it open, the gentle smell of dried lavender greeted him.
In the corner of the small room, resting on a thin straw mattress, was a pale, middle-aged woman wrapped in a faded woolen blanket. She coughed softly, a dry, painful wheeze that shook her frail frame.
"Kael...?" she murmured, her voice weak as she tried to sit up.
"Don’t get up, Mom," Kael said quickly, rushing to her side and resting a hand on her shoulder.
He reached into his bag and pulled out two neat glass vials filled with a glowing, pale blue liquid—high-grade lung tonic he had just bought from the apothecary for twenty gold credits.
His mother blinked, looking at the medicine in disbelief. "Kael... how did you get this? This costs... where did you get the money?"
"I earned it, Mom," Kael said softly, pulling a small pouch containing thirty gold coins and setting it on the small bedside table. "The academy fees are covered, too. You don’t have to worry anymore."
Tears welling in her tired eyes, she pulled him into a frail hug. "I was so scared, Kael... after the ceremony... they said your class couldn’t earn a living..."
"They don’t know what my class can do," Kael whispered into her shoulder, his hands tightening slightly into fists. "I’m going to fix everything. I promise."
By noon, Kael arrived at the grand gates of Oakhaven Academy. The massive wrought-iron archway was crowded with students preparing for the upcoming Green Mist Dungeon Trial. Group leaders were shouting for party members:
"Looking for C-Rank Tank! Have two DPS!"
"Elementalist needed for Goblin clearing!"
No one looked at Kael as he walked past, except to cast snide glances at his grease-stained coat. He walked straight into the Administration Building and slapped thirty gold credits onto the polished marble desk of the bursar.
The administrator, an elderly man with thin spectacles, checked his ledger in shock. "Tuition balance cleared... Kael Vance, Class: Scrap Artisan. You are officially cleared for the trial."
Kael didn’t waste time celebrating. He left the administration building and headed straight for the academy’s private library—a place reserved only for students with paid-up tuition.
If he was going to survive the Green Mist Dungeon next week, he needed knowledge.
He spent four straight hours reading detailed topographies of the Green Mist Dungeon, memorizing every monster type, spawn location, and terrain detail.
Green Mist Dungeon: Tier-1 low-grade dungeon. Dominant monsters: Venom Spiders, Mud Golems, and Rusty Skeleton Sentinels.
Kael paused on the last monster entry.
Rusty Skeleton Sentinels: Undead warriors clad in broken, corroded iron armor discarded by ancient military campaigns.
A slow, razor-sharp smile spread across Kael’s face in the quiet library.
High-tier combat classes hated Skeleton Sentinels because their rusted armor had no value and broke sword edges.
To anyone else, they were an annoying, low-yield nuisance.
To Kael Vance... they were a walking goldmine of free raw materials.
"I need more mana," Kael muttered to himself, closing the heavy leather tome. "And I need a portable forge."
He pulled out a blank piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil, his mind rapidly drafting a schematic. He didn’t have access to a real blacksmith furnace, but he didn’t need one. He was going to build a compact, mana-driven dismantling rig—a backpack unit made from old copper pipes, discarded furnace bricks, and low-grade mana conduits.
As he drew the last rune line on his schematic, a shadow fell over his desk.
Kael looked up.
Standing in front of him wasn’t Marcus, but a tall young man with cold gray eyes, wearing the silver coat of the Academy’s Student Council. On his lapel sat a shining gold badge—an A-Rank Arcane Templar.
It was Julian, the top-ranked student in the senior class and Marcus’s older brother.
"Kael Vance," Julian said, his voice flat and emotionless, like ice cracking on a lake. "My brother tells me you’ve been causing trouble in the market district."
To Be Continued...
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