A rusty bell tinkled as the door squeaked open, revealing an old weapons shop's dim, quaint, claustrophobic interior—the air thick with the tang of oiled steel and old leather. Racks of blades inscribed with runes decorated the slanted walls; sharpened axes dangled off hooks; disorganised barrels of spears, bows, and claymores were strewn about, and an oil lamp suspended from the rafters high above was the cramped space's sole light source.

  A constant din of a hammer striking iron resonated from the other room, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo the slow heartbeat of the dying establishment itself. Behind the low counter sprinkled with an array of smaller instruments of combat—daggers with jewelled hilts, throwing knives, arrows—sat a short, plump woman in a messy, auburn bun and a grease-streaked crimson apron.

  Concentration glued to the sword she was polishing, she didn't bother to look up at the two people who had entered the store. "Sorry, but we're closed for the day. Come back tomorrow if you—"

  "I'm here to pick up our stuff, Eva."

  Recognising the throaty voice that spoke to her, the round-nosed dwarf craned her neck and locked gazes with the man before her. "Oh boy," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  Abruptly, the clangour stopped, followed by a muffled, gruff, heavily accented voice. "Oi, Eva! Who's at the door?"

  "Trouble, dear."

  A broad, stocky man with a thick, braided chestnut beard burst from the curtains at the back that opened into the smithy. Bulky arms and olive complexion lathered in a light film of sweat, the dwarf wiped the perspiration off his knitted, bushy unibrow with a washcloth and confronted the pair of customers idling by the entrance. "Fuck are you talkin' about, woman? Trouble ain't no person I ever heard of—!" And when he realised who it was, his scowl softened. "Ah... trouble really did walk through the door."

  "Good to see you too," Garreth greeted them, his tone dripping with sarcasm, clearly unamused by the couple's exchange. "How have you been doing lately, Baldwin?"

  "Well, aside from the fact the whole damn city's on the verge of civil war and my wife and I are suspected as magi for simply dabblin' in runes, I'd say we're just splendid. Honestly, the Bureau and their incessant commissions are the only thing keepin' my business afloat at this point. What about you, Garreth? How's it being the one responsible for the way things are?"

  "It still pays surprisingly well."

  Amused by his answer, the dwarven man laughed. "As unfazed as ever. You never change your tune, Garreth, even when the entirety of Alondis wants to wring your neck!"

  "Look, I didn't come here to make small talk. I'm only here for—"

  "I know, I know, and I'm two steps ahead of you. Just finished your order this mornin'. But before we get into that," Baldwin whispered and leaned over the counter, eyeing up the shrinking, pointy-eared girl keyed up in the corner. "Don't you think you're forgettin' somethin'?"

  "If it's about the payment, the Bureau has that covered. Any problems on that end you take it up with them."

  "Awfully cheap for someone who's apparently paid well," the dwarven man retorted. "Also, that's not what I was referrin' to, you tit. Are you being intentionally dense or what? I was talkin' about that white-knuckled elven lass behind you!"

  "Oh," his wife uttered. "I didn't even notice her standing there."

  "Is that her? That new partner of yours everyone's been harpin' about?"

  "Right... I suppose introductions are in order." Garreth moved aside and angled his body toward the girl. "This here's my new partner, Lynn. Contrary to what the public says, she's half elf not full. Kid, this is Baldwin and Eva. For lack of a better term, they serve as our branch's quartermasters. Our trench coats, our weapons, barring the firearms, and even some of our tools come from these two. Baldwin's the smith and an enchanter, while his wife's his assistant and an inventor."

  Amazed that the entirety of Central Wenton's agents used things produced by them, the half-elf bowed down respectfully. "I-it's an honour to meet you! Thank you for all your hard work! Your creations truly saved us!"

  Startled by how well-mannered she was, Baldwin chortled. "My, ain't she a polite one!"

  "She's absolutely adorable!" Eva swooned.

  Flattered by their compliments, the half-elf's freckled cheeks reddened.

  "You're tellin' me this is the devilish knife-eared sprite I read about in the papers? I expected someone a lot more, I don't know... devilish? All I see is a cute little bairn!"

  "Take that as a lesson to not believe everything you read about." Garreth shrugged. "So? Are you going to show us the goods, or are you planning on chatting the night away?"

  "Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," the dwarven man gestured to his wife to go to the back and bring out the equipment. "I'll let you know we're rather proud of how these came out, so I don't want you leavin' any of them behind like you did with that sword of yours. Got that, Garreth?"

  "Can't make any promises."

  "Also, try not to use up the rune enchantments on your garbs until they give out. It's gettin' annoyin' havin' to repair your tattered jackets every time. This ain't the tailor's! Those clothes of yours are made of an extremely rare material, you know? Ones very hard to work with!"

  "If I didn't push them to their limit, you'd be out of a job, wouldn't you? Quit complaining."

  Baldwin clicked his tongue and turned to Lynn. "Oi, lass! How do you put up with this git? He's got the charm of a wet boot! I'm beginnin' to believe that factory debacle was his doin'!"

  Unsure of how to respond, the half-elf sheepishly chuckled.

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  "Ah, there it is," the dwarven man said as Eva returned from the back room, carrying a sturdy crate. Its contents rattled as she set it on the floor. In a coordinated fashion, the couple cleared the countertop and began fishing items out with care, arranging an eclectic lineup of gear. And with a clap, Baldwin presented the results of his and his wife's handwork. "Fuckin' brilliant, ain't it? I'll run you through them one by one so you know what they do, startin' with this."

  First off, the dwarven man presented Garreth's new weapon.

  It was a sabre, reminiscent of his old sword, but its blade was darker than the void between stars in the night sky—when not polluted by smog, that is. A strip of golden mithril lined the blade's keen curve, seamlessly merging into the sabre's aureate hilt, which now featured a solid cup guard. It was an improvement on his previous sword in both offence and defence against magi. And the Bureau agent gripped the sabre, its weight resting comfortably in his palm.

  "I call her Nightfang. A fittin' blade for the Direwolf of Blackmoor, no? Comes with her own sheath, too." Baldwin slipped a dark leather cover over to Garreth. "Eva tailored it to fit your uniform if you're worried about aesthetics."

  Fastening the scabbard to his belt, the Bureau agent gracefully swung his sword downward to test it, and the blade faintly hummed as it sliced through the air, a sound as sharp as the weapon itself. Garreth nodded, visibly impressed, though he hid any outright enthusiasm. "Embarrassing name aside, it's balanced well. I have to admit, you outdid yourself this time, Baldwin," he said, sheathing his blade.

  Ignoring the harsh comment nestled in there, Baldwin cleared his throat and continued. "A-anyway, this next item was made by my wife here, so I'll let her take over."

  And Eva inched forth, a self-satisfied expression painted on her face and elbows jutting outward like wings. "This next one's for half-elf cutie over there. It was quite a difficult task devising arms for someone missing two fingers, but I have to say, I think I hit the nail on the head!"

  Lynn meekly walked over to get a better look at the weapon and was taken aback at the sight.

  It was a crossbow, only without its handle and stock. Instead, the device had been fitted with leather straps to wrap around the half-elf's forearm like a bracer. Its elegant, ebony frame was reinforced with gilded fittings, and a thin, taut wire sat ready to release bolts. Most notably, an ingenious mechanism replaced the traditional trigger—a lever system that would be activated by her remaining fingers when her hand closed into a fist.

  "In the request sent in by Garreth, he mentioned your impeccable aim and how it was a shame you lost your trigger finger in the incident," the dwarven woman explained. "So, I rustled up a ranged weapon that'd function even with your physical impairment. Don't know if I got the dimensions figured out since I was purely going off the measurements listed on your hospital records, so now's the moment of truth. Give it a try!"

  Tentatively, Lynn picked up the gadget and gingerly slid it up her arm. It hugged her forearm snugly, the adjustable straps ensuring a secure fit without being too restrictive; she inserted her digits into the three rings connected to the gadget and flexed her fingers experimentally, which released the string with a satisfying snap. And her ears stood up in astonishment when the wire pulled back by itself in seconds. Noticing the awe in her countenance, Eva smiled.

  "As you can see, it even reloads itself after each shot, so you don't have to tinker with it in the middle of a fight. It also functions using clockwork so that you can operate it in zones without fear of it combusting. Now... as for the ammunition you'll be using..."

  Slowly, she plopped down a metal case as if cautious about the contents inside. Sliding it ajar, Eva unveiled a collection of sleek, finely crafted mithril bolts, each one fletched with raven feathers. A sable pouch enchanted with a durability rune accompanied the dart-like projectiles, designed to hold up to two dozen quarrels. While the golden bolts dazzled the half-elf, her eyes were drawn to the heavy steel one with a rounded tip. It more resembled a bullet than it did an arrow.

  "That there is a last resort," Eva caught Lynn staring at it. "Only use it when you really need to."

  "What is it?"

  "Well, simply put, it's an explosive shot."

  "A... an explosive shot?"

  "Yep, its bulbous head acts as a primer of sorts. When it strikes a target, it ignites the gunpowder inside. And let me tell you, this thing is chock-full of it!"

  Garreth rubbed his temple and sighed. "For fuck's sake, Eva. I never asked you to produce that."

  "I kind of got carried away," the dwarven woman grinned awkwardly. "Sorry..."

  "Do you know how much of a hazard it is to bring something like that to a zone?"

  "Which is why it's a last resort. Again, it only combusts into flames after it hits a target, so there's no risk of it blowing up in Lynn's weapon again. Now, if she happens to fall with the pouch on, that's another story..."

  "No," the Bureau agent said sternly. "You're not taking that to the field."

  "Hmph, suit yourself!" Eva pouted, loading the pouch up with the mithril bolts only and handing them to Lynn. "Even after I worked so hard to make it!"

  "I'm certain someone out there will have a use for exploding bolts, dear." Baldwin pat his wife on the back. "Right, it appears we've reached our last piece of the exhibit."

  "Let's hope it doesn't explode this time," Garreth snarked.

  And the dwarven man held two black mufflers aloft and smirked. "This one's actually for both of you. When we heard how Lynn was stabbed in the neck, we learned a fatal flaw in the Bureau's uniform design. Rather than change it, though, since we're not allowed to, we decided to address the issue in a creative manner."

  "By making scarves?"

  Gently, he hung one of the scarves over his arm, displaying a fine weave of enchanted fabric that glowed scarlet with runic symbols. "These ain't just ordinary scarves; they're made of a special material, a blend of dragonsilk and cotton dipped in mithril. They're resistant to cuttin', stabbin', and most forms of abrasion. Naturally, I've woven the typical protection runes into its fibres. Besides, winter's comin' up, ain't it? It'll keep you from shiverin' to boot!"

  "Well, I'm not opposed to an extra bit of protection," the Bureau agent remarked, accepting one of the mufflers and wrapping it around his neck. "Huh... it's easy to breathe in..."

  "Exactly! That's the dragonsilk. Light as a feather. Fashionable too, don't you think?"

  Lynn, who had relied on a plain choker to conceal her scar, happily donned the scarf. While it was visibly oversized for the lean half-elf, the warmth it radiated was unmatched. And the dwarven couple watched Lynn adjust the muffler with beaming pride, Eva clasping her hands together. "Doesn't she look precious, dear?"

  "Absolutely... unlike that dreary old man beside her."

  Garreth plunged his hands into his pockets. "I'm guessing that's all you have for us?"

  "What, you expected more? Quality over quantity; that's our motto."

  "Fair enough," the Bureau agent muttered, pivoting toward the door and beckoning his partner. "Well, you've done your part. We'll see if these hold up in the field. Let's go, kid."

  And Lynn faced the couple and lowered her head before trailing behind her partner. "T-thank you so much for the gear! I'll treasure it!"

  "Aye!" Baldwin waved at them. "Make sure that partner of yours doesn't get himself killed!"

  When the two agents left, the dwarven woman whispered to her husband in an aside. "Aren't they still on suspension, love?"

  "Now that you mention it... it is rather odd they left in quite the hurry. "

  And they exchanged worried glances.

  "That man really is trouble, ain't he?"