“Hmm… So this is the place? Doesn’t look very flashy.”

After walking down the wide main street and turning into a narrow, winding alley, Gloria stopped before a standalone building. Rean glanced up—the house stood noticeably taller than its neighbors. Its side windows nearly reached other rooftops, and the frames were clearly built from sturdy material.

Yet the wooden door right before them had peeling paint, weathered by sun and wind until it was practically falling apart. At first glance, it hardly seemed like a secure workshop.

*My makeshift alchemy nook is in better shape…*

“It doesn’t *look* like a place for delicate work,” Gloria said, easing Rean’s doubt. “But we can’t judge just by appearances, right?” She knocked twice on the battered door and waited quietly.

“Aren’t we going straight in?” Rean asked, glancing at the already-open windows. “It’s a business—windows open usually means it’s open. No need to wait for someone to answer.”

To him, that was basic human-world etiquette. *Guess I really should’ve explored every corner of Yethania back then…*

“It’s complicated,” Gloria said with a teasing shake of her head.

*Creeeak—*

The door let out a shrill, death-rattle-like screech. Rean winced, squeezed his eyes shut, and covered his ears. Gloria, however, had clearly expected it—calmly lowering her hands only after the noise faded.

“Well, well! If it isn’t the Lord’s young lady?” boomed a robust elderly voice from behind the door. “What brings you to this old man’s humble workshop today?”

Rean looked. An old man stood there—long hair streaked white and yellow, tied in a braid; pale, wrinkled skin; but sharp eyes and a silver monocle perched on his right side gave him a vibrant, almost clerical air. More priest than craftsman.

“Ahem… Good morning, Mr. Flaurus,” Gloria said, nodding toward Rean. “He asked me to bring him to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flaurus. I am Rien Schumel,” Rean said politely. “Lord Tyler mentioned he entrusted you with the method for crafting Miss Gloria’s custom bullets. I hope to learn that knowledge.”

“Interesting,” Flaurus murmured, eyebrows twitching slightly as he studied Rean. “You look like a young master, yet curious about such things? Must have a fondness for machinery.” He gave an approving nod. “And since the Lord’s daughter brought you… no reason to refuse. Come in.”

Rean eagerly followed—only for Gloria to yank his arm back.

She shook her head helplessly at his confused, slightly annoyed expression. *So this cunning man could also show such childlike curiosity… oddly endearing.*

“Since you’re so eager,” she warned, “don’t touch anything inside. Don’t wander. Things could go wrong.”

“…”

“I-I’m not worried about *you*! Don’t get the wrong idea!” Realizing her slip, she snatched her hand back, stepped away, crossed her arms, and looked aside.

“I haven’t even said anything… Why such a reaction?” Rean chuckled. Gloria’s flustered look reminded him of Olga’s comical moments—moments that usually stirred his playful teasing instinct. *Not today. Business first.*

“Alright, alright. I’ll follow your rules,” he said with a wry smile.

They entered one after another. The door’s ear-splitting screech as Gloria closed it made Rean wince again. *If I can spare it, I’m buying this craftsman a new door. That sound’s practically a psychic assault.*

Inside, Rean was slightly taken aback. Walls lined with swords and weapons. A small, unlit high-temp furnace stood center-stage beside several dragon-veined crystals.

He wasn’t a machinery master, but he knew: forging dragon-veined crystal required state-grade equipment. That this workshop had it—and crafted Gloria’s bullets—meant strong backing from Lord Tyler.

Cluttered? At first glance. But as a fellow workshop owner, Rean saw the logic: worn tools placed precisely where hands would reach fastest. No wasted motion. Efficiency over neatness. *To Flaurus, this workshop is itself a finely tuned machine—and he its driver.*

“Wait here. I’ll fetch the schematics the Lord gave me,” Flaurus said, disappearing behind a curtained side room.

Left alone, Rean observed with quiet fascination. Beyond the furnace: metal stockpiles, molds for mass production. But his eyes locked on the wall displays.

A one-handed sword forged entirely from dragon-veined crystal—capable of slicing low-tier magic barriers. With proper enchantment, a commander’s dream weapon. *Flaw? Costly. Over a million Sams. And useless against me.*

Next: a pistol similar to Gloria’s, but with nine barrels arranged 3x3. Impressive close-range firepower. *Pity ordinary bullets won’t scratch demons.*

Rean shook his head. Wondrous for humans… but flawed for the coming battle. *Unless machinery and alchemy could fuse…*

His gaze dropped to a golden pocket watch lower on the wall. Intricate engravings. Numerals replaced by sapphires and rubies—a wealthy patron’s custom piece.

“So Mr. Flaurus takes commissions for everyday items too?” Rean mused, cradling it with a smile.

“Wait! Didn’t I say not to—” Gloria paled.

“No harm,” Flaurus called from behind the curtain. “Just set it down gently. Won’t explode unless the chain snaps.”

Rean’s smile vanished. *Take that back. This delicate trinket’s a bomb.* *And the old man smiles while keeping it near a furnace? Hoping heat sends us to meet the sun?*

He carefully rehung it. *I’d survive the blast… but they wouldn’t.*

Flaurus emerged, placing a rolled parchment and four wrapped boxes on the bench. “The bullet schematics—I stored them after repeated use. And this batch, commissioned earlier, for you, young lady.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” Gloria said.

“Thank you,” Rean added.

Unrolling the parchment, Rean saw precise dimensions, casing specs, powder measurements, primer methods—thoroughly documented. More than enough to craft compatible bullets.

Back on the main street, Gloria eyed Rean’s bright smile skeptically. “You really only needed the schematics? I feel like…”

“Hey,” Rean cut in, eyes sparkling. “Wanna try making something even more amazing?”