Chapter 60: The Crimson Tunic

  The following morning, Zeno practically bounced out of his hammock, completely ignoring his usual morning routine of alphabet practice in the sand. He was entirely focused on retrieving his new armor.

  They rushed back down to The Loom and the Anvil as soon as the market opened. The Weaver was waiting for them, looking tired but satisfied, holding a neatly folded, dark red garment.

  Zeno took it carefully, his large hands surprisingly gentle with the expensive fabric. He slipped behind a changing screen. He emerged a moment later, entirely transformed.

  The new combat tunic was a masterpiece of tactical tailoring. It was completely sleeveless, allowing absolute, total freedom of movement for his massive, muscular arms and the heavy Rock Serpent gauntlets. The incredibly fine Crimson Spider-Silk clung perfectly to his broad chest and torso without restricting his breathing in the slightest. The high collar protected his neck from stray slashes, and the dark red color perfectly matched the menacing obsidian spikes of his gauntlets.

  He didn't look like a messy-haired boy in a dirty shirt anymore. He looked exactly like what he was: an elite, incredibly powerful, entirely terrifying Vanguard capable of shattering stone.

  Zeno walked over to a tall polished bronze mirror in the corner of the shop. He stared at his reflection, turning side to side. He looked at the deep, blood-red color of the silk.

  A massive, childish grin broke through his intimidating appearance.

  "Lyra, look!" Zeno cheered, pointing at his chest. "I look exactly like a very ripe apple! 'A' is for Apple! I am an Apple Vanguard!"

  He patted the expensive silk happily. "And look, the color is already red. So if I fight messy monsters, the stains won't show! It is very practical. Lyra, do you think we can buy a red pot to match? Then we would be a whole fruit basket!"

  Lyra laughed, the tension of the cost melting away at his pure, unfiltered joy. "You look great, Zeno. Terrifying, but great. And no, we are not buying a red pot. Your black one is seasoned perfectly."

  "That is true," Zeno conceded. "The black pot makes the best rice."

  They left the Weaver's shop, their confidence absolutely soaring. They were fully equipped, heavily armed, and completely rested. It was time to test their new limits and refill their coin purse.

  They marched directly to the Adventurer’s Guild, bypassing the lower-tier gathering quests entirely, and headed straight for the upper section of the Board of Thorns, where the high-paying, significantly more lethal subjugation bounties were posted.

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  Lyra scanned the heavy parchment requests, her tactical mind analyzing the threat levels and payout ratios. She ignored the requests concerning swamp creatures and nocturnal predators, searching for something that would allow Zeno to fully utilize his new defensive capabilities in a straightforward brawl.

  She found it.

  "Subjugation: Iron-Wood Treant," Lyra read aloud, her emerald eyes narrowing in sharp focus. "Rank B Threat. A massive, entirely corrupted, sentient Iron-Wood tree has uprooted itself and is aggressively attacking the lumber camps near the northern border of the city. The creature is completely immune to standard slashing weapons and low-tier elemental magic due to its incredibly dense, petrified bark."

  Lyra looked at Zeno, a thrilling, highly dangerous smile spreading across her face. "The bounty is an astonishing one hundred silver coins. The Guild explicitly states that standard squads have completely failed to scratch its armor because their swords just bounce off."

  Zeno looked at the crude drawing on the parchment—a massive, terrifying tree with glowing eyes and jagged, wooden limbs. He flexed his hands, the obsidian spikes of his massive gauntlets gleaming menacingly.

  "If the swords cannot scratch it," Zeno stated happily, cracking his knuckles with a terrifying, heavy, stony sound, "then we will simply have to break it into very small, very loud splinters. Let's go chop some wood."

  Lyra reached out and pulled the parchment from the thorn.

  "Put that back, girl."

  The voice was like grinding gravel. The ancient, one-eyed Guild Master had stepped out from behind his counter. He wasn't whittling today. He was leaning heavily on a gnarled staff, his single good eye fixed on the parchment in Lyra’s hand with absolute seriousness.

  "That is a Rank B contract," the old man rasped, pointing a shaking finger at them. "Do you know what that means? It means seasoned veterans die trying to complete it. Two squads of silver-ranked mercenaries went into the northern sector last week to fight that thing. They came back in pieces. That tree has bark harder than castle walls. Your little daggers will shatter, and that boy's fancy red shirt won't stop a branch the size of a wagon from crushing his skull."

  Lyra froze, her hand tightening on the paper. The old man's warning was heavy with the weight of dead adventurers. It wasn't an insult; it was a professional assessment.

  "We aren't a standard squad," Lyra said quietly, looking at Zeno. She thought about the eighty silver for the gauntlets. The forty silver for the tunic. The rent. They were broke again. They needed a massive payout to stay ahead of the curve. "And we don't use swords."

  "The wood is hard," Zeno added, stepping forward. He didn't look arrogant; he looked calm. "But stone is harder. My hands are stone now. I will not break."

  The old man looked at Zeno’s new armor, then at the massive gauntlets. He saw the utter lack of fear in the boy's amber eyes. He let out a long, wheezing sigh, shaking his head.

  "Fools," the old man grunted, turning back to his counter. "Brave, stupid fools. If you die, I'm taking that lizard of yours."

  "I don't have a lizard," Zeno replied confusedly. "But you can have the stew leftovers."

  "Just go," the old man waved them off dismissively, though his eye lingered on them with a trace of grim concern. "Don't say I didn't warn you when you're being used as fertilizer."

  Lyra secured the contract. The warning had chilled her, but it had also sharpened her focus. This wasn't a game. This was the next level.

  "We have to be smart about this, Zeno," Lyra said as they walked toward the northern gates. "Rank B is a different world. No mistakes."

  "No mistakes," Zeno agreed, patting his crimson chest. "Just big punches. I am ready to turn the apple into a wrecking ball."