Slowly, inexorably, the enthusiasm to learn more drained from Zane's eyes like light fading at dusk.
For the next stretch of time—minutes that felt like hours—Master Euna continued his monologue about memories and memory orbs. The information provided was thorough, certainly, but ultimately circular. In the end, all Zane had truly learned was that memories were dream essence given form, and memory orbs were enchanted vessels capable of containing that essence. Everything else was elaborate ornamentation around these simple facts, nothing that could warrant an exchange. The specific information remained hidden behind mystique veils.
He grew bored quickly, yet maintained the performance: nodding at appropriate intervals, offering shallow mirrored replies, asking the occasional empty question designed to seem engaged. Meanwhile, his actual thoughts wandered elsewhere, cataloging what he might exchange with Master Euna. Several possibilities surfaced in his mind, each more elaborate than the last.
Curiously, despite his conscious inattention—despite not actively listening to what Master Euna was saying—he still understood what was being conveyed. His mind processed the continuous stream of information as raw data, absorbing and categorizing it without his deliberate participation. Some part of him was listening even when he wasn't.
"...It remains unknown how a memory shapes itself from dream essence," Master Euna was saying, his voice carrying the rhythm of someone who'd explained this many times before. "Whenever the enchantments are destroyed—when the orb is shattered—the dream essence inside reforms itself spontaneously into the original memory. The mechanism by which this occurs is one of our field's great mysteries."
He paused, perhaps expecting questions.
Zane seized the opening.
"You know quite a lot about memories and memory orbs, Master Euna."
He kept his tone warm, appreciative.
"Thanks to your explanations, and coupled with knowledge I already possessed, I now understand their nature comprehensively. You needn't explain further."
His gaze drifted from the hunky master to the rhythmic cascade of orbs falling into boxes—plink, plink, plink—an oddly soothing percussion.
"Given the opportunity, I'll seek you out to learn about enchantments properly."
It was a promise whose potential Zane knew would likely never be realized. There was simply too much information everywhere, too many competing demands on his attention. He felt... satisfied, in a way he hadn't anticipated. He'd thought the explanation from an acknowledged expert would exceed even the Bazaar's clinical assessments, but he'd been swiftly proven wrong.
Everything Master Euna provided was interesting but ultimately unnecessary—supplementary detail rather than essential knowledge. It might have captured Zane's complete attention before, but now, with a skill orb and a half worth of cosmic understanding already integrated into his consciousness, with the Bazaar and an informative aide at his disposal, his curiosity had evolved. Leapt to another level entirely. The kind of information that could truly satisfy him was no longer so easily obtained.
He was just realizing this now.
As the Eternal Patron of the Grand Bazaar, he wasn't merely transforming physically. His mind itself was operating differently—processing information with greater sophistication, demanding deeper substance, filtering the trivial from the profound with increasing precision.
"Ah yes, it would be most enlightening," he replied automatically to Master Euna, who had apparently been extolling the joys of studying enchantment theory for the past several seconds.
Time to pivot toward actual value.
"What memories do you offer for exchange?"
Zane shifted his weight, projecting renewed interest.
"I have quite a few items I would like to trade with you."
He pointed at the dagger now resting casually in Master Euna's hand.
"That dagger, for instance. Can you trade it?"
He wanted to touch it more than exchange it, truthfully. Perhaps, like a rank zero gentlet, he could manipulate dream essence directly—understand it well enough to offer its fundamental concept to the Bazaar for analysis.
"If the esteemed guest desires it, who am I to refuse the offer?"
Master Euna moved forward without hesitation, extending the weapon.
Zane accepted it, feeling the metallic grip settle into his palm with comfortable weight. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror-bright steel of the blade—azure eyes too deep, features too symmetrically perfect, the whole composition unbearably beautiful even to himself. He turned the blade slightly, deliberately breaking eye contact with his own reflection. He couldn't afford to drown in the deep vastitudes of his own transformed appearance. Even looking at himself had become dangerous.
He focused his will on the dagger, imagining it transforming into liquid silver essence as he'd witnessed moments before.
Nothing happened. It remained stubbornly solid.
He tried again, his intent sharpening to a razor's edge. In his mind's eye, he held a vivid vision: steel and gold dissolving into silvery, fluid potential—the weapon unmaking itself into pure dream essence.
Still nothing. The dagger maintained its form with absolute indifference to his will.
He could not manipulate dream essence. It was a trait unique to rank zero gentlets, apparently—not something humans could access, worthy or otherwise.
So be it.
He would work through his own medium instead.
In his mind's eye, he forged a new object with meticulous care: a silver locket, elegantly simple. Within its embrace, he placed an image borrowed from distant memory—not from this world, but from an old, cherished flicker of film. His favorite actress, smiling gently within a white-hooded robe, her expression capturing something indefinable that had moved him when he'd first seen it. He offered this complete vision to the Bazaar and willed the transfer.
The familiar sensation of exchange rippled through him. He accepted, dismissing the notification panel without reading it. The cryptic messages of the Bazaar would not find his attention unless the item proved truly spectacular. Come to think of it, he'd never actually appraised the skill orbs themselves, or even the Inventory Grimoire...
'Later. Focus.'
The golden-hilted dagger dissolved in his grip, unmaking itself into a cascade of luminous motes that seemed to drink light from the surrounding air. Where solidity had been, new weight settled: a silver locket, its case open in his palm. Inside, the actress smiled exactly as he'd envisioned her—perfect fidelity to memory.
He snapped the case shut with a soft click. As his fingers brushed the cool metal, a familiar panel ghosted into view. He ignored the sprawling descriptive text—the potential story, the elaborate mythology—and found only the name:
『Gilded Vessel of Iconic Devotion』
The panel ceased existing, dismissed with a thought.
He looked at Master Euna, holding the locket aloft between them like a sacred relic. His voice shifted deliberately, adopting the measured cadence of a chronicler revealing mysteries.
"Behold. The Gilded Vessel of Iconic Devotion."
He let the words resonate.
"In my world, it is worn only by master crafters as tribute to the lineage of creation—a symbol of dedication to one's art."
He let the reverence linger in the air between them, then extended the artifact with deliberate ceremony. His eyes sharpened with manufactured intensity as his voice changed again, becoming that of a mystic revealing prophecy.
"If you prove yourself worthy—if you awaken the true soul of craftsmanship within yourself—you might be able to comprehend the secrets contained within it."
Master Euna extended his hand with visible eagerness, accepting the locket from Zane's palm. His eyes gleamed with something approaching religious fervor.
"Do you have any other memories to trade?"
The words tumbled out, barely restrained excitement bleeding through professional courtesy.
"I would gladly exchange further with you. The receiver in my world is quite pleased with the dagger—it is a worthy find for the kingdom."
'The receiver in my world.'
Zane almost smiled. When had he gotten so good at scamming? The bazaar was making him quite a little fiend.
He wove additional mythology around the locket, wanting to extract maximum value—what the Bazaar quantified as Exchange Fragments. In Earth terms, he was essentially scamming the gentish master, exchanging items of dramatically lesser intrinsic value. In capitalist terms, he was adding value to his goods through storytelling and perceived significance.
Gentlets always valued memories for their narratives rather than aesthetic worth or practical utility. Thus, in actual economic sense, he was simply meeting market demand—adding value through the grand tapestry of fiction he was crafting around each object.
Master Euna proved eager for more, and Zane obliged.
Over the next exchanges, he traded three additional "memories": a watch that supposedly marked "the hours of creative inspiration in the workshops of legendary artisans," a sculpture that "embodied the principle of form emerging from formlessness," and a hat "worn by the greatest architect of my world during his final, most transcendent work."
Each came with elaborate backstory. Each was accepted with genuine gratitude.
After the final exchange, a panel materialized before Zane, summoned:
『Resources』
◇116 Exchange Fragments
◇100 Exchange Echoes
He'd earned considerably more fragments than expected. Master Euna had been genuinely thrilled with each transaction—though not nearly as pleased as Zane himself.
"Since you have nothing further to offer at present, I will take my leave."
Zane allowed his smile to widen fractionally.
"I truly appreciate your time, Master Euna. If you wish to exchange more in the future—"
The smile became almost predatory.
"I will be establishing a stall in the Merchant's Alley. Feel free to visit whenever you acquire memories worth trading."
He turned toward Lady Sylvia, carefully focusing on an empty spot just behind her rather than meeting her eyes directly.
"Where to next, my lady? My business here is concluded."
Lady Sylvia, who had apparently been studying the production machinery with quiet fascination for the entire duration of his exchanges, redirected her attention toward him.
"The Cathedral is near."
Her voice carried a note of something he couldn't quite identify—anticipation, perhaps?
"We should visit it."
An image of a grandiose, church-like edifice manifested unbidden in Zane's mind. Excitement flooded through him, the flames of curiosity reigniting in his eyes with almost physical heat. Finally. He would see it—perhaps encounter the depictions Blendriad had mentioned, the theological artwork that supposedly explained this world's cosmology.
The rhythmic percussion of metallic boots echoed through the factory as Lady Sylvia strode toward the exit. Seeds of incoming adventure planted themselves in Zane's imagination as he followed quickly in her wake.
…
The sight exceeded even his elevated expectations.
Majestic didn't begin to cover it.
A grand structure rose before them, its architecture defying simple categorization—part cathedral, part temple, part cosmic observatory. The building itself was constructed from pale stone that seemed to glow faintly in the evening light, its surface carved with intricate patterns too complex to fully parse at a glance. The main body was hexagonal, each face rising toward a central point where a multicolored polyhedral sphere rested atop a pyramidal apex like a crown jewel.
Surrounding the cathedral, a circular henge of standing stones formed a protective ring. Each stone was carved with an arched passage, and atop each passage sat a differently colored multi-faceted mirror with a prismatic surface that caught and refracted light in hypnotic patterns.
One of the prismatic mirrors glowed cyan, brilliant against the darkening sky. A red vertical strip appeared near its right edge, highly visible—some kind of progress indicator.
'The luminary cycles.'
Understanding clicked into place. The city's timekeeping system was based on the Cathedral itself, these prismatic mirrors serving as a massive clock visible from anywhere in Eryndor.
Zane's attention shifted to the entrance—a tall arched opening through which gentlets flowed in steady streams, entering and departing in numbers he'd never seen congregated in one place. It made even the Avenue of Artificers pale in comparison regarding activity.
Flanking the entrance, two gigantic statues stood as eternal sentinels.
They were eerily different, both in form and color—polar opposites manifested in stone.
The first was carved from pristine white marble that seemed to emit its own radiant grace, filling the evening air with an almost palpable sense of majesty. It stood upon a golden pedestal, depicting an angelic figure with two magnificent wings rising upward toward the sky. Its face was ethereal, beautiful beyond human standards, making Zane feel as if he stood before an actual celestial being made manifest. The expression was serene yet powerful, benevolent yet commanding—the idealized image of divine mercy.
The other statue was its exact opposite in every conceivable way.
Carved from black, glossy stone that seemed to drink light from the surrounding air, it radiated an aura of darkness and menace that made the space around it feel colder. The figure wore heavy armor rendered in obsidian detail, a massive broadsword clutched in gauntleted hands and driven point-first into the grey stone slab it stood upon—a conqueror claiming territory. Its face was grotesque, deliberately frightening, with two prominent horns rising from its head like a crown of damnation. Every detail screamed demon—something summoned from the darkest reaches of hell to serve as eternal warning.
Light and dark. Angel and demon. Creation and destruction.
The theological symbolism was unmistakable, almost heavy-handed in its dichotomy.