The Man in the Spire: Book 1, Chapter 7—Useful Toys and Shiny Trinkets

Created by https://cara.app/ebonmournecomics

Created by https://cara.app/ebonmournecomics

Credit to BulletBarrista for editorial assistance, Heavily inspired by u/bluefishcakes sexysectbabes story

Book 1: Chapter 7
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Echoes of a Different World aka Useful Toys and Shiny Trinkets

Lin Yao—Magistrate of Grand Nanhu City 

Grand Nanhu City - Inner Palace Sanctuary

Time slipped by unnoticed in the magistrate’s hidden sanctum, yet to Yao each moment felt suspended within eternity. A long-forgotten emotion moved through her meridians, hotter than any remedy and sharper than any blade. For once, it was not anger or frustration. 

It was wonder.

The weight of petitions and mortal troubles faded as she stood among her private collection, surrounded by treasures she had gathered in secret. To common eyes these artifacts looked like corroded trinkets or broken scraps. To her they were fragments of a world concealed from Heaven.

Her favorites occupied the walls and glass cases. A long tube with six hollow chambers that rotated around a central axis, fulfilling a legend she could not replicate. A half-ruined scripture titled only Bib with characters carved so finely that no court calligrapher could hope to match them. The black tablet, a device that had awakened only once in her hand, sparking to life with a vision of a hound, fleeting yet so vivid that it remained etched in her memory even after a century.

She had studied them as others pursued immortality. Their mysteries never yielded. These were not creations of this age or any age known to history. They felt shaped outside the turning of all worldly cycles. Mortal hands were not meant to touch them, as evident when she found a clerk who dismissed the rotating tube as a paperweight. Fools had no sense for marvels.

No sect. No scholar. No elder. Not even the great librarians of the Jade Palace. None had ever explained their origin.

Except for one possibility that existed in stories whispered by drunkards and dusty scrolls. 

Outsiders. 

Beings said to hail not merely from foreign lands but rumored to be beyond the very tapestry of Heaven’s order. Children’s fables portrayed them as bearers of forbidden wisdom, truths so profound that they could humble even the divine, so deep that even the gods themselves would kill to possess them. Yao had always laughed outwardly when presented with such a notion, but in secret, her heart longed to believe.

Now she held proof once again.

Before her rested a perfect sphere. Seamless. Flawless. No hammer marks. No Qi residue. Not even the faint aftertaste left by the finest forge masters. The orb bore nothing.

She turned it in her claws, her spiritual sense probing its surface while her spectacles helped trace every detail onto parchment and wild instruments helped confirm its mathematical precision. The last marking she examined was an emblem engraved with impossible precision. Two silver laurels encircled a spiral. A sharply cut dove soared across its heart with a branch in its claws. Strange letters framed the symbol.

Peacekeeper Union Corp

Yao narrowed her eyes. The scripture was foreign, yet its meaning was unmistakable. A seal of authority. A declaration of power.

Script was never mere ink. It was hierarchy made visible. Crude realms carved meaning into stone. Refined realms wove it into silk, dense enough that a single character could bear an entire doctrine.

The emblem before her surpassed even the finest court hand. Either its creators ruled with skill beyond measure, or their arrogance had carved its mark directly into Heaven.

To impress such immaculate script upon something so insignificant, and with flawless clarity, spoke of only two truths. Unfathomable authority, or pride sharp enough to pierce the heavens.

Her eyes burned from strain and the candles were nearly spent, yet she refused to rest. One more test. Just one. The path to revelation and enlightenment was never paved with tranquility.

Her claws hovered over the orb, then settled upon its flawless surface. Slowly, deliberately, she drew her spirit power into focus, creating the faintest of raw lightning and guided it into the device’s hidden heart. A careful trickle, like feeding a starving beast drop by drop, testing its hunger.

At first, nothing. Then—

The sphere stirred. A sharp, high-pitched whirr set her teeth on edge. From its poles, tiny blades unfurled and shuddered once before spinning into a blur. The sound that followed was a hundred insect wings humming in harmony, the sphere drinking her energy as though it had hungered for her touch for centuries.

Her face brightened, eyes gleaming with wonder, as if a child had been handed a long-coveted treasure. Her mind whirred, retracing what the sphere had done, trying to connect what could cause this reaction. Then, with a sudden jolt of surprise, she leapt from her seat as the small orb hovered into the air.

She readied her talons to strike down if needed, her eyes wide and gaze sharp, albeit leaving her spectacles a little crooked.

… Yet it did nothing for many heartbeats. It simply floated, then drifted gracefully through the sanctum. Yao couldn’t help but follow it, every step short and silent, reluctant to calm her half-raised claws. She nearly stumbled over a stack of scrolls, utterly captivated by the enigma before her that defied understanding as it twisted through the private collection of antiques and shelves.

A wide, toothy smile returned to her face as she fixed her glasses. She focused a coat of Qi on her arm. With a wide wave of her hand, a gentle current of air flowed toward the sphere. It wobbled, bobbing once like a startled bird, then righted itself before correcting its course.

She whispered, her voice hushed with awe. “Curious. It is as if some mind dwells within you, little one.”

Just as instinct guides beasts toward survival, what purpose does its mind serve?

… And how far could such a principle extend? If a lifeless, spiritless sphere can be given thought, what else might be shaped by such a practice… and to what ends?

Another test was needed.

The air around her stirred again. This time, with a flick of a wrist, she guided the current to ‘slap’ a small lacquered case resting on a nearby shelf. The box toppled, making a sound, arcing straight toward the sphere.

But the orb tilted with a sharp motion towards the sound, then moved aside in a blur before the box could strike. The case thudded against the floor.

“You dodged? Even some beasts show less instinct.” Yao’s eyes widened in delighted disbelief. 

She laughed, restrained yet rich, a sound that whispered through the chamber. The temptation to document the results stirred in her yet the fear of missing anything in this moment kept her away from pen and scroll.

A sudden gust followed her gesture, sweeping a small jade ornament from the shelf toward the orb. The sphere swerved aside in a graceful arc, the object missing it by a hair’s breadth before shattering on the marble floor. The orb steadied again and faced her directly, turning one smooth end toward her like a silent glare.

Her laughter filled the chamber. “You see me,” she said softly, wonder bleeding into her tone. “And you choose how to move. How much do you understand, little one?”

Intrigue overcame caution, her mirth dethroning every emotion. Yao could not shake the feeling that she stood before something that knew it was being watched.

“What in the heavens could have forged you?” She whispered to herself, awe lacing her tone. 

The orb, seeming to finish a full circle around the room, paused above a bookcase, suspended without Qi, without runes, without even the faintest trace of mystical arts. It moved solely by raw, natural energy, no different from winds or water flow, responding to neither charm nor incantation.

Such talent. Such ingenuity. Yao’s heart raced as she adjusted her spectacles. If these outsiders could craft even a floating sphere with no wings and no Qi, what heights might they reach? What wonders lie hidden in the hands of strange cultivators beyond the bounds of her world?

Her ruminations were abruptly shattered by a loud knock at the vault door. To dare disturb her in her private sanctum, either the matter was of immense importance, or the intruder courted death.

With a sharp sweep of her hand, as swift and precise as a hawk seizing prey, she caught the floating orb midair. Its hum instantly faltered. The whirring blades stilled as she siphoned the energy from its core, returning the device to silence. She placed it on the waiting pillow, folded her spectacles with ritual precision, and strode toward the entrance to view out of the sentry window.

It was Tang Xi.

One of her oldest and most dependable attendants, normally a comfort and familiar constant.

But in this moment, even that presence felt like an intrusion she could scarcely endure.

“Speak!” She growled, her tone sharp as the edge of a blade. “Briefly. I am occupied.”

"Indeed, Your Majesty," the well-groomed horsekin mortal replied, his voice tinged with a faint, irritating undercurrent of jest. “This unworthy one begs pardon for disturbing your important labors. One such as I could never hope to understand. I merely wish to inform you that the moon has long since crossed the meridian.”

Yao froze. The sun was setting when she entered. How much time had slipped past in her study? 

She shook her head, scolding herself even as she maintained her composure.

“While I appreciate your concern, my faithful Tang, I remain here of my own volition, and my work will conclude as I see fit,” she said, letting her voice carry the weight of authority tempered with calm.

“Of course, your Greatness. I merely presume you are preparing well for your sister’s arrival,” he added, a sly note lurking beneath his words.

Gah! How could she have forgotten? 

Her preparations for Wu had occupied her all day, yet in the midst of her obsession with the sphere, the candles burned themselves from upright rods into pools of molten wax. She bit the inside of her thumb in frustration, a small but sharp reprimand to herself.

“...Then it is wise for me to retire for the night. I would not want to disappoint my dear sister.” Yao signaled, guaranteeing that face was saved.

The man bowed low, stepping back from the hidden door, careful not to let his eyes wander into the forbidden sanctum. With a firm pull of the lever, the steel vault clicked, and the false wall gave way, its heavy hinges protesting with a measured knock.

“I have drawn a warm bath and prepared a fresh silk nightgown for your rest, Magistrate,” the portly, brown-haired horsekin said, his tone light yet respectful, accompanied by a courteous dip of the head.

Yao waved him away, her expression composed and cold, yet inwardly she felt the familiar thread of gratitude. Perhaps he sensed it, and that was why he had remained loyal for decades, weathering both her temper and her obsessions.

Her gaze lingered on the black, opaque orb, which seemed almost aware of her departure. To mortal eyes, it was lifeless stone, but to Yao, its perfectly balanced blades and its gentle levitation radiated an aura as enigmatic as any technique. The irony struck her of how a device born of mundane energy, of delicate mechanics, felt far more miraculous than the spells, sigils, and qi she had spent a lifetime mastering.

She silenced the candles, sending the flames twisting into shadow as though the wind itself obeyed her command. The orb remained, silent and immovable, yet in its own way alive, mocking the necessity of her cultivated power while bending only to the laws of its own design.

She sealed the hidden vault once more, leaving the little machine and its impossible secrets waiting for another day as she made her way to a nice cozy bath and silk-threaded sheets of a bed.

***

Troy Reichlin—2nd Lieutenant of the Peacekeeper Union 

Run-Down Shed of the Village of the Lost

Troy sat on the old rotten hay pile, his arm and body covered in black splotches from the medicine the old man had given him earlier in the day. He hadn’t needed it, as his own medical gel could mend skin in moments. But revealing that kind of recovery would only raise questions. The black mixture served its purpose well enough, hiding what had already healed.

Sleep refused to come. The day…well, what could one even say? 

The video diary he made had become a haze of impossible tales. The odd land, the strange half-animal, half-human beings called kinsmen, and the batshit insane versions of them known as cultivators. Each report blurred into the next, like documenting a dream that refused to make sense. Still, it needed to be done. Someone, somewhere, needed to know what had been found here…if the journey home never came.

The SOS kit cycled through every emergency broadcast frequency, automated systems casting signals into the void for a reply that would never come. Protocol demanded step-by-step completion with no ability to skip any steps, despite him knowing some of the results, forcing the process to run its full course. 

Fine by him. The delay, at least, granted a moment to collect scattered thoughts.

He sighed as he sealed his report, head resting back against the warped wooden wall when a new notification appeared on his pad.

New Location Scouted

“New location? From the scout ball? When? How?”

He pulled the scout ball information, and the hologram glowed, revealing what he could describe as a small room. The image was grainy, distorted by interference, but certain details pierced through the blur. Curved horns catching the light, the faint glint of claws, and a sharp, predatory grin that seemed to stretch too naturally across a humanlike face.

… Who the hell was that?

***

Ying Mei — Inner Discipline of the Amberwood Sect

Amberwood Sect City District Outpost

“You are nobodies!” The instructor shouted.

The small courtyard pulsed with the soft crackle of spirit, the hum of discipline, and the faint rustle of amber leaves trembling with unseen force. Rows of new disciples worked tirelessly beneath the rows of towering amberwood trees, golden light rippling across their bowed forms like liquid flame.

Mei walked the outer path in quiet passing, leaves crackling beneath her steps. Their brittle veins snapped like tiny bones, pulling old memories to the surface whether she wished them or not. Once, she and her sister had knelt here too, sore, starving, furious, and determined. A street urchin with nothing but a name and the refusal to die.

At the dais, Elder Shen stood rigid and immaculate, her piglike ears flat against her skull, jade-trimmed robes rustling with every breath compared to the rags worn by the initiates that sat before the weight of the sect's authority. Her voice carried with the raw beat that could command armies.

“You were mortals,” she announced, letting the words strike the recruits like blows. “Nobodies. Unclean clay. And yet Master Mon Su has decided to remake you! Into warriors! Into beings of true greatness!”

Fists hammered wooden dummies to the left, each strike uneven and desperate. The initiate panted through the pain. Peasants chasing strength, orphans seeking safety, and dreamers grasping at ascension. Mei had once been all three.

“Cultivation,” Shen continued, “is right! A right to shape the world how you see fit. To not be shackled by trivial things such as restlessness, hunger, and pain.” Before the lecture continued, she flicked her wrist, sending a knife into a recruit's arm. The recruit screamed as they fell, blood spotting the dust as they clutched their arm.

No one came to help, for this was the lesson. 

“And one day, you will be strong enough to not be shackled by such petty things like consequences or morals.” The senior spoke, grinning ear to ear, knowing none of the recruits would retaliate, as it would mean certain death. “For what are such trivial things to one who can exist eternally and be unburdened by all?!”

The goatkin greenleaf who was struck, sat back up, shaking but returning to her respectful pose, knife in her arm and bleeding. Shen gave a nod of approval, perhaps finding a new favorite to torment.

“The mortal world bows to Heaven’s decree, its laws, and its flaws. We do not. Every breath of Qi you draw is a declaration that the divine order is flawed. Every advance you make is rebellion made flesh.”

Mei smirked faintly. She remembered that line. She’d once whispered it to Liu after lights-out, half mocking, half hungry to believe it.

“But rebellion,” Shen said, voice deepening, “invites ruin. The flame that challenges the storm must burn hotter than the sun… or vanish without a trace. That is cultivation. To rise again and again, until even Heaven is forced to look down at you.”

A girl in the training ring collapsed under the pressure of trembling limbs after striking a wooden dummy perhaps one too many times. She forced herself up, then broke again. This briefly drew Mei’s eyes, as well as those of several other instructors who descended on the broken woman.

Mei had fallen like that, too. So had Liu. Those who didn’t rise fast enough were swept aside like rotted leaves.

Shen’s gaze drifted, just briefly, to Mei’s passing figure. A small, knowing smile brushed the elder’s lips.

“Some already blaze brighter than the rest,” she said to the recruits, her gaze already betraying who she was referring to. “Remember this. Brilliance draws envy. Wear it with pride but always beware of the blade of those less than you.”

A wave of Qi pulsed as Shen raised her sleeve. Disciples bowed in unison.

“Now… begin!”

The trainees, including the one who had been knifed, rose and began practicing the foundational arts. Repetition until remembrance.

Mei moved on. She was not a mentor, not an observer, merely a shadow passing through a memory that belonged to both her and her sister and the sect. She had been broken here. Refined here. Remade into something sharp enough to cut Heaven itself.

This was what it meant to be a cultivator.

To let the self die so something stronger could rise.

To challenge existence with every breath.

To burn until nothing else remained.

That was the Amberwood way.

Mei stepped beyond the courtyard, the golden leaves crunching underfoot like fading echoes of a life she no longer claimed. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. The path had already carved itself into her bones long ago. 

She mounted the grand staircase, the sound of her boots sharp and steady upon the stone. Mortal servants scurried to the side, bowing low as they swept endlessly at the rain of amber leaves, their labors as endless and futile as the seasons themselves. Discipline here was not chosen but demanded no matter how small or insignificant they may be.

Her ascent ended at the tower. The curled staircase spiraled upward like the tightening coils of a serpent, pulling her higher and higher until she reached the summit. Even at the top, the presence of the Amberwood Manor bore down on her, reminding Mei always of the power one can obtain no matter how high they climb.

“Enter.” The voice was a velvet growl, deep and lazy, yet edged like a hidden blade.

Mei pulled the door open and bowed low, stepping into the chamber heavy with smoke. It coiled thick and sweet around her lungs but carried an undertone of ash and decay, as though one inhaled both an aroma of comfort and the last breath of the dying. Weapons of every kind lined the walls, relics of past victories and slaughters glinting faintly in the candlelight. Yet the floor was scattered not with armor or scrolls, but with pillows of the finest silk and velvet, a sanctuary of decadent chaos.

At the heart of it all, Mon Su, the Demon Dog, reclined like a wolf in her den. Crimson hair spilled in wild waves down her shoulders, tangling around her furred ears and brushing against her jaw. Her robe hung loose, the fabric slipping to reveal a pale complexion and the faint scars of countless battles, each scar worn like a lover’s bite. She was a creature of deliberate chaos, indulgence cloaked over power, and cruelty sharpened into beauty.

The stem of her crimson jade pipe glowed between her fingers. She drew upon it slowly, her lips the color of spilled wine, then released a languid exhale. The smoke slithered outward, thickening as it mingled with her Qi, shapes of shrieking faces, clawing hands, and writhing beasts flickered briefly in the haze before dispersing with a mocking sigh. Her half-lidded eyes burned like molten steel beneath lashes dark with shadow, the gaze both drowsy and yet devastating. It was the stare of a predator too sure of her strength to waste effort.

“Mei… come hither, child.”

Mei came forward, bowing to the floor, her heart steady but her spirit gnawed upon by the oppressive presence. The spot she bowed on bore an old dark stain that never quite faded, no matter how often servants washed.

Mon Su’s voice flowed like warm cloth over a blade. “I received tribute from the magistrate this morning.” A silver coin rolled between her fingers, watching it as if it were her favorite new trinket of the day. “Ten thousand tael… all for an artifact no one dares name. Such a curious thing.”

Her crimson eyes, half-lidded in a parody of affection, settled on the dogkin. The slow, deliberate twitch of her red ears and tail only heightened the illusion of a hunter disguising hunger as fondness.

“Tell me, my little Mei Ying,” she murmured, “what were you and your sister accomplishing on your little quest? Last I recalled, you were sent merely to defeat a roaming spirit beast.”

“Yes, Master,” Mei replied, her tone steady though her heart quickened under that gaze. “Though Liu failed her rite of passage, and the mortal expendables were lost, I believed this offering would eclipse such… trifling shortcomings.”

For the briefest moment, Mei’s lips threatened to curve upward. Outwardly, she remained bowed and reverent, but within her chest, satisfaction coiled. To serve such a master was terror but to please her was pure bliss.

Mon Su drew another languid pull from her fiery jade pipe, the ember flaring like the flames of a dying fire, only being kept alive because Su willed it as such. Smoke curled upward in serpentine coils, carrying with it the faint essence of the souls of those who failed the great one, if the legends were to be believed. 

“Indeed. One can never have too many trinkets,” she said, flicking the coin into a pile of similar coins no different than the rest, spread haphazardly and without care. “And where is your sister now?”

“Sleeping off her excesses, Master.” Mei’s voice was respectful with a grace of compassion, though in her heart she knew full well she had fed those indulgences to her younger sister.

A scoff rolled from Su Mon’s throat. “Hmph. Liu has always been one to wallow in weakness and benign mortal pleasures.” She tapped the pipe, the ashes scattering into nothingness as though even dust feared to linger in her presence. Her gaze flicked toward Mei. 

“Rise, disciple. You have earned at least that courtesy.”

Mei obeyed, straightening, though her head remained bowed in deference. “There is one other concern I must report, Master.”

The smallest gestures, such as an arched brow and a slight tilt of her head, carried the weight of unspoken threat and permission.

“In the woods where we procured the artifact, we encountered a… human.”

“Oh?” Su unfolded herself from her throne of silk and cushions, her movements unhurried yet predatory, like the shift of a tiger stretching before the pounce. “A human. How curious. Yet you did not drag this creature before me. For your sake, I hope it was not your grasp that slipped through.”

Mei’s voice held firm, though her lungs felt as though smoke itself pressed against them. “Not so, Master. My sister sought to capture the human herself, to salvage her pride. She failed, as she ever does.”

The Demon Dog’s ember flared in disappointment, bathing the room in ethereal fire. “Foolish girl…” She exhaled as the flame died. “No matter. Her punishment will wait until it amuses me. There are greater matters at hand than some figment creature.”

Her gaze narrowed, suddenly sharp and sober with absolute command. “Mei, you will see the manor made flawless. Not a single detail amiss. We are to receive an esteemed guest. Their judgment will decide not only the sect’s future but also your own. Make it so.”

Mei bowed deeply. “As you command, Master.” She turned toward the door but froze as her hand touched the handle, as her master’s killing intent brushed against her soul, delicate as a silk pillow smothering one’s face.

“One more thing, young one…”

Mei stood still, her will not her own for a brief moment.

“You make this sect proud, dear student.” The master spoke with such a wicked grin. “Such hunger for power. A hunger I have not seen in ages. Why…” The teachers murmured, lips curving, revealing flesh-tearing fangs. ”I might have to treat you like a threat one day should you pursue the title of Master of my realm.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Master.”

It was all she dreamed of.

Behind that courtesy, a quiet ambition burned as she re-entered the forested training grounds from the predator's den, feeling ever so much more hungry herself.

***
Loa Yang—Resident of the Village of the Lost

Outside the Run-Down Shed of the Village of the Lost

Walking the forest path, Loa had not slept a wink the prior night. No rest touched his eyes. No food passed his lips. His mind spun endlessly, wracked with worry, chewing yesterday’s failures like bitter herbs. He sought Yu at dawn, hoping for even a word of counsel, but she gave her heart only to her father’s recovery. Her cold disregard left no room for comfort for him, burdening his heavy heart.

Loa’s mood was sour, but duty remained. Despite the mood weighing heavily, he would not bear it alone.

He climbed the moss-slick stair, only to have his brooding broken by an unnatural sight. A pale-blue glow spilling through the planks of a sagging shack.

Curiosity caught him, but before he could move closer—

WHIIIIIIIIST!

The sound ripped the morning apart. Smoke burst from behind the shack, and a fiery rod screamed skyward. Loa staggered back, ears twitching violently as the burning thing climbed and climbed, leaving behind a crooked trail of white smoke.

He stared into the blue sky, waiting for the inevitable. An explosion, collapse, or some punishment from above. But none of that came, only the impossible. The strange object vanished into the clouds, leaving only silence and a fading trail of smoke.

He was still gazing skyward when the shack’s door creaked open.

“Oh! Loa!” Troy blurted, slipping out and shutting the door a little too fast. “Didn’t realize you were out here…”

Loa’s head snapped towards him, then back to the sky, still waiting for the heavens to spit the thing back down. But nothing returned. Whatever it was had vanished into the nothingness.

At last he barked, “What was that, stranger?”

“What was what?” Troy asked, eyes focusing anywhere but the horizon.

Loa jabbed a finger skyward. “That! That… thing! The spear of smoke and fire that dared to pierce the heavens! What in all the realms was it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Troy kept his gaze firmly away from the fading trail. “Did you need something from me?”

Loa grumbled, ears flicking in irritation. The man was absolutely playing dumb, more than normal. “Fine. Be coy. I’m not explaining your bizarre schemes to the village.”

He shoved a rusted sword into Troy’s hands. “Zhang says I’m to guard the village and keep an eye on you. Consider yourself my attendant for now. First task, chores.”

Troy accepted the weapon, though his grip looked more curious than martial. Loa had already marched halfway down the stairs before noticing the human hadn’t moved. The man was still at the top, staring at the blade as if it had insulted him.

Loa sighed. “I know you’ve got your magic trinkets, human, but the villagers prefer a guard who looks like he belongs here. So hold the sword. Try not to look so offended.”

“It’s not that.” Troy muttered, eyes still on the chipped edge. “Just… give me a minute.”

He slipped back inside the shack, shutting the door to block Loa’s view.

Loa leaned against a tree with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. His patience, once plentiful, had been whittled down since they’d first met thanks to yesterday’s escapades. Today, the man’s strangeness grated more than amused him.

Then came a strange hum. Low, heavy, unnatural. His ears twitched, standing on end as a sudden glow leaked from the shack’s cracks.

“…Nonsense. Not even asking,” Loa muttered, already regretting the sight of the glow, whatever absurdity was about to unfold.

Troy reemerged, with a bit of steam flowing at his feet, quickly sealing the door back up behind him. Loa turned his gaze to the human with annoyance, only to double-take.

The sword.

The worthless hunk of rust he admittedly had fished from the village scrap heap, a sorry excuse for a weapon he wouldn’t have trusted to cut a carrot, now gleamed with polished steel. Smooth, keen edges. A handle rebuilt in sturdy wood. It looked like something fit for a guard captain, perhaps even a wealthy merchant.

One swing of that blade and Loa was fairly certain the village blacksmith would either feel faint… or try to strangle Troy for stealing his livelihood.

“Couldn’t resist,” Troy said breezily, as if he had just cleaned his boots instead of reshaping matter itself. “I needed to conduct a trial run. Heads up.”

The peculiar man tossed an object toward Loa. The rabbit man caught it on reflex, staring down at the strange, porous, tiny black cube in his paw. He rubbed his thumb across it, staining his finger with soot. Charcoal. Just… plain charcoal.

Loa blinked once. Twice. Thrice. "...Really?"

Charcoal? He turned rust into steel and the rest into… Loa shut his eyes tight, jaw clenching. He forced the question down before it could escape his mouth, smothering it before curiosity betrayed him.

“…Are you some kind of wizard?” The words slipped out anyway. “You said you were a soldier.”

“Engineer, my bunny friend! Military engineer! Still a soldier, not a wizard.” Troy just grinned, holding the sword over his shoulder as if he wasn’t just now carrying one of the most expensive items in the village. “Don’t worry, this is just one of the ways I plan on helping pay you all back.”

Loa’s eyes narrowed and sighed. “Is this to become a habit for you, human? Must chaos follow your footsteps like a lovesick spirit beast?”

Troy just laughed half-heartedly, the kind of laugh one gives to fill the silence rather than out of joy. “Probably will be, buddy.” He clapped Loa’s shoulder like they were old pals.

For the first time since the previous day, Loa found himself smirking. Not much. Just a little one. 

But it was there.

---------

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Author notes:
First off, Merry Christmas everyone!

Created by https://cara.app/ebonmournecomics

Wanna see what Lin Yao looks like? Check her out here!

Whew that was a good bit of writing there. Who knew one could have so much fun with a ball?

Thank you all for reading!

I do hope this grows in to another fun to read books online but for now, please give your thoughts! Thank you!

Credit to BulletBarrista for editorial assistance. Go check out his stuff if you enjoy this work
Special thanks to all the support and assistance getting this project going Thank you to everyone else who's been a big help as well,