Armaments Market

That afternoon, after a simple lunch, Karl did not force the soldiers through any more high-intensity training.

He understood the importance of balancing exertion and rest. These militiamen had weak foundations; pushing them too hard would only make them prone to injury or resentment, doing more harm than good.

Besides, a real battle awaited them in two days. Preserving their strength was crucial.

He had Brendan and Roland lead the soldiers through some restorative stretching, then repeatedly drill the formation changes of the Small Three Talents Formation taught that morning. The focus was on understanding and coordination, not exhausting their stamina.

Just as he was considering how to further strengthen this weak force, the cold mechanical voice sounded in his mind as expected:

[Daily mission updated]

[Mission]: Purchase ten matchlock rifles and ten sets of leather armor. (Incomplete)

Karl's spirits lifted. The mission had come at exactly the right time! He had already planned to visit the Armaments Market, and the system mission happened to align perfectly with his own needs.

In his plans, the ranged firepower in the middle section of the Small Three Talents Formation was crucial.

Archers took a long time to train and demanded considerable talent. It would be difficult for them to become combat-ready in the short term.

Matchlock rifles were different. Though slow to reload and heavily affected by the weather, they were relatively simple to operate and required little training. Their power was immense when fired in volleys at close range, making them especially effective against enemies without heavy armor. They were an extremely cost-effective troop type, while leather armor could greatly improve the soldiers' chances of survival.

"Brendan, come with me to the Armaments Market." Karl called for the experienced old knight. With him there, at least someone could inspect the quality of the equipment and keep them from being cheated.

"Yes, my lord."

Fran City's Armaments Market was located in the city's northwest corner and was directly controlled by the Governor's Office.

Earl Rochefort was clearly a shrewd man. Once the Northern Border Reclamation Order had been issued, large numbers of young nobles and their private troops would pour into Fran City. Whether they sincerely intended to reclaim the land or were merely going through the motions, replenishing their weapons and equipment would be nearly unavoidable.

Opening this market would not only bring in substantial profits, but also allow him to control, to some extent, the flow of weapons entering the Northern Territory.

The ideal was full and beautiful, but reality was somewhat bleak.

When Karl and Brendan entered the market, they found it utterly deserted.

Behind the few scattered stalls, most shopkeepers were either dozing listlessly or huddled together, complaining in low voices.

Most of those "reclamation nobles" from the south were still holed up in their inns, drowning their sorrows in drink. They had neither the interest nor the awareness to update their equipment.

Thus, when Karl and Brendan, two obvious "customers," walked in, nearly every shopkeeper's gaze immediately fixed on them. Their eyes brimmed with desire, like hungry wolves spotting fresh meat.

"My lord! Take a look at this fine southern armor! Light and sturdy!"

"My lord! Newly arrived, hundred-forged steel swords! Sharp beyond question!"

"Sir, do you need bows? I have longbows made by the finest craftsmen!"

Several shopkeepers eagerly crowded around them, babbling over one another as they pitched their goods.

Karl raised a hand to stop their noisy sales talk. His gaze swept over the stalls before he asked directly, "How much are the matchlock rifles? And what is the price of leather armor?"

A short, plump shopkeeper who looked the sharpest immediately squeezed forward, his face covered in smiles. "You've come to the right person, my lord! I have the latest matchlock rifles just shipped in from the south. Exquisite workmanship, high firing reliability! Five Gold coins each, fixed price! Leather armor is one Gold coin and two Silver coins per set! If you buy a lot, the price can be negotiated!"

Five Gold coins per rifle, and one Gold coin and two Silver coins per set of leather armor.

The prices were not outrageous, but with Karl's currently limited funds, he still had to calculate carefully.

Karl did not answer at once. Instead, he looked toward Brendan. The old knight understood and stepped forward, picking up a matchlock rifle for a thorough inspection. He worked the mechanism and checked the powder pan and barrel. Though there were no rifling grooves to speak of in a smoothbore gun, the quality of the craftsmanship was still apparent. He then picked up a set of leather armor, kneading it to test its toughness and thickness.

"The rifles are decent, standard issue," Brendan murmured to Karl. "The leather armor is cowhide. It's average in thickness, but it should be enough against Kobold claws and fangs."

Karl understood. He looked at the short, plump shopkeeper and said evenly, "I want ten matchlock rifles and forty sets of leather armor. Seventy Gold coins for the lot."

He cut off the odd amount directly.

The shopkeeper's face immediately crumpled like a bitter melon. "My lord, th-this price is far too low! I won't even earn back my costs! Could you add a little more? How about ninety Gold coins?"

Karl shook his head and made as if to leave. "Brendan, let's look elsewhere."

"W-wait! Please, don't go, my lord!" The shopkeeper hurriedly stopped them, his face miserable. "Seventy it is! Sigh, consider it the price of making a friend! Business is hard these days!"

Though he complained aloud, his hands moved quickly. He hastily called for his assistants to count and pack the goods. He would certainly still make a profit at this price, just a smaller one.

Karl signaled Brendan to pay. The old knight had carefully kept the Gold coins they had brought with them. After the transaction was complete, Karl told the shopkeeper to have the goods delivered to the barracks later.

Almost at the same moment that the payment and goods changed hands, the system notification sounded in his mind:

[Mission]: Purchase ten matchlock rifles and ten sets of leather armor. (Completed)

[Reward intelligence issued]:

[Intelligence]: At the Slave Market in Fran City's West District, third row of cages, number seventeen, an elderly slave named "Old Morrell" is for sale. He was once an assistant engineer at the Kingdom Military Engineering Bureau. Five years ago, he led the final reinforcement and expansion project at Kahnford Fortress. He is thoroughly familiar with the terrain around Carnford, the weaknesses of its defensive structures, and potential resource sites. After Carnford fell, he was stripped of his post, reduced to slavery, and exiled to the Northern Territory. Buying him will be crucial to your reconstruction of Carnford.

Karl's eyes suddenly lit up!

Military engineering talent! And someone who had personally taken part in Carnford's construction, at that! This was like timely aid in a snowstorm. What he lacked most right now was exactly this kind of professional.

Carnford was an abandoned military fortress. If he wanted to rebuild it and use it as his foothold, there could be no more suitable guide and engineer than this "Old Morrell"!

He suppressed the urge to rush straight to the Slave Market and casually said to Brendan, "We've bought the equipment. We still need some people for odd jobs. I heard there's a Slave Market in the West District. Let's see if there are any cheap, suitable hands."

"Yes, my lord." Brendan naturally had no objection.

The two of them turned toward the even more chaotic and filthy Slave Market in the West District.

The moment they drew near, a stench of sour rot and despair hit them head-on.

Beneath a massive wooden shed, people were crammed into one iron cage after another. The traders shouted themselves hoarse:

"Take a look, my lord! Newly arrived prisoners of war! Strong bodies, excellent workers!"

"Female slaves from the southern riverlands! Delicate and obedient, perfect for washing clothes, cooking, and serving!"

"Savages captured from the northern mountain forests! Great endurance, useful as laborers or cannon fodder!"

There was even a cage surrounded by quite a few people. The trader boasted proudly, "An 'elf' from deep within the southern Mist Forest! Look at that skin, those eyes! She carries an aura of magic. Whether you buy her as a witch or a pleasure slave, she'll be worth every coin!"

Inside the cage, a pale-skinned young girl in tattered clothes curled into herself, her eyes empty. There was indeed a faint magical fluctuation around her, but it was more likely the result of living for a long time in a special environment. She was far removed from the elves of legend.