Master Klein's shop ran that day in its usual, quiet rhythm,the kind Roland liked best. Small purchases, short conversations, repetitive tasks that let your mind drift while your hands did the work, and the ledgers seemed to open on the right pages by themselves.
Customers came alone or in pairs. They bought small tool-cores, protective fittings, cheap heat-ward amulets,because even if the boss had been defeated, the dungeon was still breathing and changing the land around it, and everyone wanted to feel prepared, even if they had no intention of going anywhere near it.
"I heard they did it in one raid," said a man in a work apron, dropping a few coins on the counter. "Three mages from House Halven. It didn't even have time to get truly dangerous."
"That's what they're saying," the woman beside him replied. "Good thing we have houses like that. Makes it easier to sleep at night."
Roland wrote down the numbers, half-listening. Variations of the same conversation had been cycling through the shop since morning,sometimes word for word, sometimes with little changes, but always ending the same way: relief, pride, and the comforting belief that everything had been handled quickly and cleanly.
Edgar worked the front, patiently explaining differences between products, advising when something was worth paying extra for and when it wasn't. Every so often he'd lift an eyebrow or give a faint shake of his head when someone got too loud praising the mages,but he never commented outright. He knew a shop wasn't the place for that.
It wasn't until evening that the door opened in that particular way,decisive, with no hesitation,the way Roland remembered all too well. When he looked up, he knew instantly this wasn't an ordinary customer.
The man stepped inside with practiced confidence, dressed neatly without flashy excess. A dark coat, and on its shoulder the unmistakable crest of House Halven, embroidered so cleanly it was impossible to miss. Even the way he scanned the shop said he didn't treat this place as someone else's property, but as a piece of a larger order where everything belonged somewhere.
"Master Klein," he said without greeting. "I come on my lord's instruction."
Klein looked up from his documents with his usual calm, set his pen aside, and folded his hands on the counter.
"Yes?" he said.
The man smiled,one of those smiles that didn't invite conversation so much as announce it.
"House Halven wishes to officially inform you that the boss of the Beast-rank dungeon has been defeated," he said. "Three young mages of our family demonstrated exceptional effectiveness and cooperation, proving the future of the Halvens is in capable hands."
Edgar stood nearby, leaning on the counter. He only nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Roland noticed the envoy didn't mention adventurers even once,no raid, no support, no one but the mages.
"Congratulations," Klein said evenly. "That's good news for the city."
"Of course," the envoy agreed. "Stability is in everyone's interest."
He reached into his inner coat pocket and produced a folded document, placing it on the counter.
"Under the existing trade agreement," he added, "we are delivering the list of materials recovered from the dungeon to which your shop has early access."
Klein nodded and took the paper.
"I understand."
The man was already turning, as if that concluded the matter.
"If further logistical needs arise," he tossed over his shoulder, "the proper parties will be informed."
And then he was gone,leaving behind a silence that felt louder than the bell over the door.
Klein unfolded the document on the counter and read carefully, tracing line by line with a finger. Edgar leaned in over his shoulder, muttering under his breath.
"Fragments of basalt armor," Klein read. "Crystallized lava veins. Heat glands from lower beasts. Powder from bones adapted to high temperatures."
"Standard," Edgar sighed. "All from the outer layers."
The list went on,raw materials Roland recognized from earlier shipments. Hard, heat-resistant stuff, good for production, but nothing that made the air in the room change.
"Not a word about the core," Edgar noted. "Or the boss's central exoskeleton."
"No primary heat organ either," Klein said quietly. "No adaptive structures."
Edgar gave a soft, bitter snort.
"Early access," he repeated with a sharp edge. "Scraps. The valuable pieces were carved up ages ago between the house, their own craftsmen, and private contracts."
Roland listened without speaking, staring at a list full of names that would sound impressive to most people,but to anyone who understood what a dungeon looked like from the inside, it was a clear sign: the best parts were never meant to reach the open market.
Klein refolded the document with care and set it aside.
"That's how the world works," he said calmly. "And we do our part."
Edgar nodded, though his sigh said enough.
Klein didn't lock the list away immediately. He left it propped on the counter for a moment, as if letting the paper "cool," then let out a quiet breath and turned to Roland and Edgar. He placed both hands on the counter in a way Roland knew well,because it always meant something was coming that had nothing to do with prices or inventory.
"Do you remember how it was just a few days ago?" Klein asked, not looking at anyone in particular yet. "The way people talked about the Halvens."
Edgar snorted.
"Hard to miss," he said. "Ruthless. Arrogant. Looking down on everyone. Forcing their way into everything."
Klein nodded.
"Exactly. They were spoken of like a problem. Like people who use dungeons for their own interests. People who don't count anyone but themselves."
He lifted his gaze to Roland, and there was a faint, almost amused glint in his eyes.
"Now look at the city," he said. "What do you hear today?"
Roland hesitated, then answered.
"People are… happy," he said. "Relieved. They're saying the Halvens saved the day, that it's good to have a house like that on our side."
"Almost right," Klein replied. "But that's not all."
Roland frowned, trying to pin the thought down.
Klein's smile widened slightly.
"Close," he said. "Not quite."
He stepped closer and leaned his weight onto the counter.
"People have very weak memories," he continued evenly. "And even weaker ones when fear is involved. They remember emotions, not facts. If they spent a week afraid the dungeon would break and tear half the city apart, then the moment someone takes that fear away, that person becomes a hero,even if yesterday they were a tyrant."
Roland nodded slowly.
"So it's… not about what the Halvens did before," he said. "It's that they solved the problem now. And everything else stops mattering."
"Exactly," Klein said. "And now the most important part."
He raised a finger, as if marking a line in a ledger.
"To ordinary people, dungeons are tragedy. Destruction. A threat they can't influence," he said. "To noble houses, they're a tool."
Roland raised his eyebrows.
"A tool… for what?" he asked.
"Control," Klein answered without hesitation. "Position. Justifying power. Managing fear. If you can make people afraid long enough,and then you show them the solution,they'll hand you respect, gratitude, and permission for things they'd never accept under normal circumstances."
Roland fell quiet, processing. Klein continued, his voice gentler but no less certain.
"In a few weeks, maybe a few months, people will forget this dungeon. They'll start complaining about the Halvens again,their arrogance, their prices, their influence. They'll say they're shameless and someone should finally put them in their place."
A small smile touched his mouth.
"And then another dungeon will appear. And there'll be another story about how House Halven handled it."
Edgar exhaled.
"And it starts all over again."
"Exactly," Klein said. "The wheel turns. And we stand to the side and trade as long as we're allowed."
Roland lowered his gaze to the counter. Something settled in him, heavier than before. He understood enough now to know this wasn't a story about one dungeon or one house,it was about the whole world, and the way it ran, even if most people preferred not to see it.
Edgar let out a quiet, disgusted sound, setting the materials list aside like the paper itself had become unpleasant to touch.
"I'm not forgetting what they are," he said flatly. "I'm not like those people outside. I remember how they acted before the boss became the talk of the city."
He walked to the window and looked out at the streets, where lights were slowly coming on and the day's movement was thinning as evening took over. He stood there in silence for a moment, like he was fitting something into place in his head.
"Damn it," he muttered suddenly, as if it had just hit him. "I completely forgot."
He turned back to his father.
"I won't be in the shop tomorrow," he said. "I'm going to meet a friend. He's back from the dungeon."
Klein studied him for a beat, but didn't pry. He only smiled faintly and nodded.
"I understand," he said calmly. "Some things matter more than trade."
Then he looked at Roland.
"So tomorrow it's the two of us again," he added.
Roland nodded without hesitation.
"Yes, Master Klein," he said.
Edgar glanced out the window once more, as if trying to spot something in the darkening city, then reached for his coat. Roland returned to his entries, finishing the workday in the same quiet rhythm he knew,though what had been said earlier wasn't something you could simply set aside.