The Saber turned out to be really good.

  Saber of the Courser

  Type: Weapon – Saber

  Rarity: Rare

  Handling Requirement: DEX > 18; PER > 15

  Description: A finely curved saber with a polished steel edge and an unusually banced hilt. Designed for mounted combat, its weight is deceptive on foot. Its elegance comes at a cost: wounds inflicted while wielding it tend to bleed back upon the user.

  Base Attack: 21

  Attack Speed: Normal

  Special Effect: Mounted Mastery: +30% chance to Crit on Horseback; +30% Crit Damage on Horseback

  Status: Bleed – If hit while wielding this weapon, take 10% of dealt damage every 3 seconds for 30 seconds

  Durability: 76%

  First Resonance Tier: Locked (RES threshold: 7)

  I had no idea how Sir Rond’s Longsword had earned the title of Rare, if this saber was also of the same rarity. Its Base Attack alone made my longsword feel like a training stick, and the Mounted Mastery bonuses were absurd. I’d been long in need of a capable weapon to swing while mounted, and this seemed like the perfect answer. The Bleed status was catastrophic, but that was the point, wasn’t it? You were not supposed to get hit while on horseback.

  All was good… except…

  Warning: You have no saber skill. DEX, PER, and STR while handling Sabers: –50%That was just magnificent. Maybe I should just wake the bandit leader up and terrorize him into teaching me the art of mounted murder without immediate self-sabotage.

  Anabeth hummed beside me, happily sorting ill-gotten artifacts into neat little piles like a librarian of sin. “You’re making that face again,” she said without looking up.

  “Eborate,” I said.

  “The one where you’re about to justify something terrible using syllogisms. Oh! This might look good on me.” She held up the object she’d just liberated, then, without hesitation, clipped it onto her ear.

  It was an earring. It was also the size and color of a small boulder. It looked like fashion bsphemy, but what would I know about fashion? I’d worn the same armor for four years.

  Boulderhook

  Type: Accessory – Earring

  Rarity: Rare

  Handling Requirement: RES > 14

  Description: Defies traditional notions of adornment, more a geological statement than fashion. Surprisingly light for its size.

  Primary Effect: +15% casting speed for Stone-spells

  Secondary Effects: LOCKED (For you) – RES ≥ 29 required

  Durability: Indestructible

  I guess it’d be useful for her…

  I watched Anabeth slide the Boulderhook earring onto her ear with a satisfied little hum. “Honestly,” she said, “the quality of the loot from these bandits is generally quite good.”

  I had to admit… I could see her point. There was a small trinket shaped like a sunburst, faintly glowing, tucked among the bandits’ discarded pouches. It promised a +5% boost to all spells of the ‘basic elements.’ Which elements were considered basic? Fire, water, air, earth? I didn’t know. There was another charm that accelerated learning progress of Water spells by 7%. Ultimately, none of it was useful to me.

  All, apart from… a pair of gauntlets. My Aetheric Detection skill had been eerily silent in front of them, yet the design was far too intricate to be generic. Every pte and joint was hammered and fitted with precision; the edges were forged along the contours of the hand and forearm as if each segment had been measured against a craftsman’s standards.

  I knelt beside a nearby bandit who was still half-conscious, rasping out a barely audible protest. “Don’t take it… That gauntlet… only for magicless warriors… useless…”

  Oh? That got my attention.

  I picked them up. The metal was worn, but surprisingly well-crafted—banced for speed, reinforced in the right spots. Ceralis showed me the details.

  Ironhand Gauntlets – Lite

  Type: Accessory – Gauntlets

  Rarity: Common

  Handling Requirement: STR ≥ 10

  Description: Reinforced gauntlets optimized for physical combat, with a minimalist design favoring speed over protection.

  Primary Effect: +20% STR while performing non-aetheric attacks

  Secondary Effects: None

  Durability: 89%

  This was only a Common item, but somehow… it was the single most useful thing I’d found in the pile. My own gauntlets came bundled with the armor I’d worn for years, yet they were little more than protective shells.

  I checked the effect of my Gauntlets and my Helm.

  Sir Rond’s Silver Gauntlets

  Sir Rond’s Silver Helm

  Rarity: Rare

  Handling Requirement: STR > 9

  END: 0 (Extensions of Sir Rond’s Armor)

  Effect (each): Accelerate your learning progress of Knightly skills by 5%

  For once, my own hands felt like weapons rather than just extensions of metal that gave me a combined progression boost of 10%. The ‘Lite’ moniker hinted at a heavier, more powerful variant. That meant there existed, somewhere out there, accessories designed to push a knight like me toward actual prowess—if I were ever foolish enough, or daring enough, to tread the aetherless path.

  I almost felt like I was betraying Sir Rond. Not wearing his full set of armor, not honoring the uniform he’d entrusted me with… it felt wrong.

  Then I shook my head. Sir Rond would be proud that I could use my power wisely, I told myself.

  I stared at the Ironhand Gauntlets – Lite in my hand, turning them over, weighing the practicality against my stubbornness. I didn’t have an use for it now, but it would become handy for when I needed just that bit of extra hitting power. But maybe I could put it on… just to feel something new for once.

  While I was still debating, Anabeth had already unapologetically swept the pce clean. Before I could protest, she was slipping items into my pannier as if it were bottomless. My pannier could only hold about three rge weapons and a dozen small items at most, so we’d have to sell them off at the next town.

  “Do you still have a reason to linger here?” she asked, tilting her head.

  Walking over to Silvermane, I gnced back at the unconscious men scattered across the ground. They were bandits, yes, but they were also people. People who would wake up cold, bruised, and poorer than they’d been an hour ago.

  Was this really justice? Or just theft with better posture?

  Anabeth followed my gaze and smiled, serene as ever. “Isn’t it a lovely sight?” Then she tightened the pannier straps with a tug. “Let us find another bandit party to dispense ferrum justice.”

  … Yeah. They were bandits.

  I swung myself into the saddle.

  This was justice.

  The rolling pastures of the next town, Branfield, rose out of the horizon, dotted with low stone barns, the occasional wooden fence snaking between fields, and a cluster of thatched-roof cottages around a single main street. Compared to Aurelienth, it was tiny, hardly more than a trading post masquerading as a town. I rode Silvermane down the dusty road toward the center. The gates were little more than a pair of carved oak posts, and a single guard nodded at me, deliberately trying to not show interest.

  The literal first thing Silvermane did upon entering Branfield was stop.

  Anabeth murmured, “Uh, did you forget to feed the horse?”

  I frowned and gave the reins a gentle nudge. “Walk, girl.”

  She did not walk.

  Instead, she shifted her weight, pnted her forelegs with stubborn finality, and flicked one hind leg backward (deliberately) in the general direction of a nearby fruit stall. The stall owner yelped as a basket of apples wobbled.

  I stared at her.

  She stared straight ahead.

  Ah. I’d promised her an apple.

  Silvermane was intelligent. And worse—she never forgot.

  I exhaled, dismounted, and bought the offending apple. The moment it touched my hand, Silvermane rexed, accepted it with quiet dignity, and immediately resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

  Betrayed. By a horse.

  I swung back into the saddle just in time to see Anabeth appear from somewhere ahead, beaming, with three roasted corn cobs skewered neatly together.

  “Oh! Perfect timing,” she said.

  She handed one to Silvermane without hesitation.

  I waited for her to hand me mine. Then she began eating the other two.

  Simultaneously.

  I watched in silence as the kernels vanished into her mouth at an industrial pace. Between bites, she gnced at me with her cheeks full. “I know you don’t like corn, but worry not! I have already prepared something far more suitable for you.”

  She produced a small vial of pale, viscous liquid and held it up proudly.

  “A refreshing slime-juice blend,” she added. “Very revitalizing. You ought to drink it indoors if you wish to conceal your face, my lord.”

  I sighed.

  Silvermane crunched her apple with smug approval.

  From the moment I stepped into the main square, I noticed the gnces. They were curious, polite, maybe cautious… but not afraid, yet. Good. Hopefully the tales of my recent ‘ferrum justice’ wouldn’t reach this pce anytime soon.

  Even with Durand and its feisty new sibling (now named Gurand) unsummoned, the journey was still far too noisy.

  Anabeth, perched lightly behind me, whispered, “My lord, I know my mortal eyes could not hope to comprehend your… exquisite choices. But, if I may be so bold, this one…” I could feel her staring at the Ironhand Gauntlets I was wearing. “is far too luminous, too eager, for the armor you’ve worn. Imagine the harmony if you had the proper match. Your power would sing instead of shout.”

  I lowered my gaze to my hands, tracing the bright, almost cheerful gleam of the Ironhand Gauntlets – Lite against the dark, disciplined steel of my armor. Anabeth was absolutely right. These two pieces looked like strangers forced into polite conversation. The contrast was comically jarring.

  But the STR boost…

  I checked her fondness for me.

  [Romantic Interest: 100%]

  [Reverence: 83%]

  Not only that her interest hadn’t dwindled from my atrocious fashion felony, there was even a new tracker for reverence now. As long as it didn’t… dip below a dangerously ambiguous threshold, I could get away with wearing gauntlets that screamed ‘I have no taste’ and still cim moral and martial superiority.

  We spent the afternoon offloading most of the loot to a pair of eager merchants who barely blinked at the sudden arrival of a bandit-torn cartload. Anabeth kept her Boulderhook earring, while I retained the Saber of the Courser, the Ironhand Gauntlets – Lite, and the Limberstone Trinket (because it was illegal to sell without a charter). Everything else vanished into the town’s coffers in exchange for a surprisingly hefty and rounded sum: 4,200 Kohns.

  Even after covering food, stabling Silvermane, and booking a modest room for the night, I still had 4,538 Kohns left over. My mind immediately ran the numbers. In a town like Branfield, that would have been more than enough to live comfortably for an entire month given my old lifestyle.

  Yet, the quiet, predictable months of scrimping and careful rationing no longer held appeal. My ambitions had grown alongside my inventory and the taste for a life a little less… pedestrian.

  After we finished unloading the loot, one of the tradesmen lingered, wringing his hands. “Bandit loots? Luckily we found you two travellers! We were about to leave this stinky hole for good.”

  “Why so?” Anabeth asked.

  The man exchanged a nervous look with his partner. “The Guild… they don’t want outsiders buying from them.”

  “The Guild, you say?”

  “Yeah. The Wayfarers’ Compact. They confiscate everything that’s seized and turn it over to the Church of the Radiant Concord. Official tithe, they call it. We don’t want trouble, so we’re moving on. Never coming back, really.”

  Anabeth leaned forward slightly, one brow arched. “Ohhh? And how exactly do you know these… particur items came from bandits?” she asked, voice lilting. “I mean, they were just lying around… abandoned by people in a hurry… yes?”

  The first tradesman swallowed, nodding. “Well… yes. That’s exactly it.”

  The other tradesman couldn’t resist adding his own commentary. “Bah. The Guild here… just a bunch of original farmers who trained themselves to be guardians. They only protect their herds, and all the spoils? Straight to the Church. Which church needs weapons? That’s why nobody else could do business here—except the Church, and look at how obscenely rich they’ve gotten.”

  I gnced at my pannier. Donation was probably exactly what I would have done with these items, had Anabeth not been here to pawn them off.

  I shifted my pannier, keeping the Saber of the Courser low against my side. The tradesmen’s eyes darted toward it, and then to the glint of the Ironhand Gauntlets and Boulderhook earring.

  “That saber,” whispered the first, “push it low down so no one can see. And these magical items…” His voice dropped to a near hiss. “There isn’t a single mage here who ain’t from the Church. Any magical object would be suspicious.”

  Just then, a trio of guards patrolling with long spears strode past the square. The tradesmen went rigid. Hushed words and muttered curses spilled between them as they hurried off, but not before the first threw a quick gnce over his shoulder and muttered, “Don’t tell anyone you attempt to sell goods looted from bandits.”

  I turned my head just as the trio of spearmen passed, catching the glint of metal and the embroidered crest on their tabards. Ah, they weren’t guards. They were guild members.

  Anabeth’s eyes traced the guild insignia with curious delight. “Oooh… fascinating,” she murmured. “In Aurelienth, Guilds wouldn’t be allowed to openly carry arms inside towns. They mainly exist to cooperate in dungeons, negotiate dungeon rights… and even then, only a few are permitted to funt weapons publicly.” She leaned closer, whispering with a sly lilt, “Well, my lord, it seems you’ve just stepped into a town where both morality and opportunity are heavily gilded. A rather bad pce to register for a Guild, if you ask me. Rules everywhere, eyes everywhere, Church in everything…” I turned around to see a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “But the next town? Ohhh… now there’s a different story. I hear it’s morally bendable, and desperate for the presence of an Overlord. Perfect soil for… let’s say… a certain kind of influence.”

  I frowned, gncing at her. “Are you speaking of Guilds, witch?”

  “Ohhh, I’d wager you haven’t,” she teased, voice lilting with amusement. “Since your little… reincarnation, you haven’t set yourself up, have you? I am well-aware you prefer solitude and keeping your power hidden, but should you ever fancy the idea… I’ve got the perfect name for a Guild, of course! How about… The Argent Bastion of the Iron Gauntlet?”

  I said nothing.

  She ignored me entirely. “Ohhh, but no, no, no… that’s far too dignified, far too restrained. One must convey weight, terror, and exquisite metal craftsmanship all at once!” She tapped her chin,. “Perhaps… The Obsidian Phanx of the Forged Maw? No, too mawish. Ah! I’ve got it! The Crimson Bastion of Perpetual Steel! Ohhh, but wait. One must also sound terrifying and aspirational. Something that would make the faint of heart quiver and the ambitious frown in envy. The Onyx Rampart of Ferrum Reverence!”

  The ridiculous litany of names had stretched into minutes, each more preposterous than the st, and my jaw ached from holding back words I didn’t trust myself to restrain. I was about to bellow ‘Silence!’ at Anabeth, but then a creaking sound resounded from inside my pannier, and she perked up. It was from the Aetheric Parasitic Resonance Detector we’d received from Master Derevin.

  “Ooh! A nearby… invisible aetheric creature!” she excimed. “I must find it at once! Wait here, my lord! I shall take no more than five minutes!”

  Before I could reply, she had vaulted from Silvermane’s back, leaving me blinking at the empty space she’d occupied seconds before.

  Peace and quiet, at st.

  The square felt rger without Anabeth’s running commentary stitched through it. I needed to use this precious time to see which skills I could redeem with my new Aura points.

  However, the moment I tried to call upon Ceralis again, an unfamiliar translucent pane appeared before my eyes.

  Identity Resumed: Ferrum Overlord Reincarnated

  Effect: Legitimacy Gain +20%

  Resumed?