Peaceful Life System: I only need to live peacefully-Chapter 165: The Shadowed Gavel (1)

The streets leading to the city’s core grew quieter. The boisterous energy of the outer markets faded, replaced by an air of quiet, serious wealth. The buildings were taller, the obsidian spires more ornate, their runic lights pulsing with a deeper, more stable rhythm.

"This is the Collector’s Quarter," Sherry murmured, her eyes scanning the grand facades. "Only the most influential merchants and nobles have shops here."

Their destination soon came into view. It was not a shop, but a fortress.

"The Shadowed Gavel" was a monolithic structure of polished black marble, devoid of windows on its lower floors. Two massive, silent guards stood before its heavy iron doors. They were not human. They were hulking constructs of stone and dark magic, their featureless faces radiating an aura of cold, unyielding purpose.

Riku and Sherry approached the entrance. Before they could even speak, one of the stone constructs raised a massive hand.

"Halt," its voice was the grinding of boulders. "State your purpose."

"We wish to attend the auction," Riku said, his voice even.

The construct’s head tilted slightly. "Only registered patrons and approved sellers may enter. Present your invitation sigil or your item for consignment."

"We don’t have a sigil," Sherry stated flatly.

The construct’s hand did not move. "Then you may not enter. Be on your way." Its voice held no malice, only the absolute finality of a closing tomb. There was no room for argument.

Riku gave a slight nod. "I see."

He turned, gesturing for Sherry to follow. They walked back down the street, the unblinking gaze of the stone guardians fixed on their backs until they rounded a corner.

"Well, that was a dead end," Sherry grumbled, leaning against the wall of a shadowy alley. "So much for opening doors. What now?"

"Now," Riku said, a faint, determined smile on his lips, "we become approved sellers."

Sherry raised an eyebrow. "With what? We have nothing of value. Don’t tell me you’re going to offer them another god’s eye."

"No," Riku replied. "We’re going to make something of value." He pointed down the street. "First, we need raw materials."

They found a small, functional armory a few streets away. The air inside smelled of forge smoke and whetstone dust. The proprietor was a burly, one-eyed man who looked like he could wrestle a shadow-drake.

He grunted as they entered. "Buying or selling?"

"Buying," Riku said.

He ignored the ornate, rune-etched axes and the gleaming, enchanted daggers on the walls. He walked to a simple barrel near the back, filled with plain, unadorned longswords. They were standard-issue, meant for city guards and low-ranking mercenaries.

He pulled one out, testing its weight. It was solid, well-balanced, but utterly unremarkable.

"This one," Riku said. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

The one-eyed smith squinted. "That piece of scrap? It’s five silver."

Riku tossed the coins onto the counter without haggling. The smith grunted again, taking the money. Riku took the sword, and they left.

Back in the seclusion of the alley, Sherry watched, confused. "A plain sword? Riku, what are you planning? They won’t even let us in the door with that."

"It won’t be plain for long," Riku said.

He held the sword in one hand. With the other, he drew a single, long fingernail across the flat of the blade. His nail, hardened by a flicker of mana, moved like a master engraver’s tool.

He carved a single, elegant line of runes down the length of the blade. They were not the blocky, functional runes of the dwarves, nor the flowing script of the light-worshippers. These were much rougher, but had an ancient vibe to them.

"Those runes..." Clara’s voice whispered in his mind. "They seem to be from the Forbidden Texts. The language of soul-binding. Be careful, Riku. That is not a power to be wielded lightly."

Riku ignored the warning. He finished the engraving, then held the sword before him.

Dark Soul Enchant. [-100 Goodwill Points]

He focused his will, channeling a sliver of dark, hungry magic into the newly carved runes.

The sword did not blaze with light. It did the opposite. It seemed to drink the surrounding shadows. The runes pulsed once with a deep, violet light, then settled into a faint, almost invisible thrum. The air around the blade grew cold, and the sword itself felt heavier, imbued with a strange, terrifying hue.

Sherry gasped, taking an involuntary step back. As a practitioner of dark arts, she could feel the power radiating from the blade. It was immense. It was sophisticated. And it was terrifying.

"Riku..." she breathed, her eyes wide. "That... that is not simple enchantment. That is Soul-craft, it will force the blade to be connected to the user’s soul and can even increase its strength based on the user’s strength. Where did you learn to do that?"

"I’ve read a few books," Riku said simply, giving the newly christened "Soul-Drinker" a final, satisfied look.

He turned to her, a confident smirk on his face. "Now. Let’s try that again, shall we?"

They returned to the imposing entrance of The Shadowed Gavel. The same two stone guardians stood unmoving.

"We have returned," Riku announced. "We have an item for consignment."

The construct’s head tilted. "Present the item for evaluation."

Riku held out the sword.

The moment the blade left the alley’s shadows and entered the ambient magical light of the street, it came alive. The faint violet runes pulsed with a hungry light, and a low, mournful hum echoed from the steel, a sound that seemed to pull at the very soul of those who heard it.

The stone guardian, which had been completely impassive before, visibly recoiled. A flicker of what looked like data corruption flashed across its featureless face.

It raised its hand, not to block them, but in a gesture of deference.

"The item... is accepted," the construct’s voice ground out, now laced with a new, profound respect. "The seller and his companion may enter. A representative of The Gavel will meet you in the receiving chamber."

The massive iron doors swung open with a deep, resonant groan, revealing a lavish, torch-lit hall beyond. The sounds of quiet, high-stakes commerce drifted out to greet them.

The construct bowed its head slightly. "Welcome," it rumbled, "to The Shadowed Gavel."

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