Chapter 14: The Legendary Weapons That Vanished

Heather was unaware that he had inadvertently stirred the competitive spirits of the two protagonists.

On a fine Sunday morning, he slipped past the crowd of fans blocking the entrance and wandered toward Commercial Street No. 4, near the Sky Arena.

Heather harbored a little-known passion: he loved exploring markets.

Not the grand malls selling luxury brands of clothing and shoes, but bustling street markets filled with assorted trinkets and local delicacies that reflected the character of the region. Even visiting the early morning market near his home was a great joy.

Commercial Street No. 4 lay about four kilometers south of the Sky Arena, adjacent to a working-class residential district and the harbor, making it a lively place.

Dressed in a gray hooded tracksuit and jeans, his wavy black hair pulled back with a black clip, and his black-rimmed glasses peeking out beneath his parted bangs, Heather strolled along, occasionally crouching to inspect the small items on display.

The market rarely featured large, precious antiques or weapons—no swords or guns to be seen. Most goods were cheap knockoffs aimed at fooling tourists. Yet Heather enjoyed himself thoroughly; for him, it was an excellent way to gather information.

After all, the market attracted all kinds of people, and by simply eavesdropping on casual conversations, one could pick up a wealth of knowledge, regardless of the authenticity of the goods.

“Hey there, young man, just browsing? If you see something you like, tell me. I swear on my chest, everything here is genuine,” called a burly bearded man at a carpet stall as Heather paused.

He casually picked up a strangely shaped dagger. “A Byun’s knife? Seriously, sir?”

Byunidoron was a notorious serial killer from over a century ago, who created his own signature knives. As a bladesmith, he forged a knife with a unique serial number for every victim, totaling 288 in his lifetime.

These numbered knives, like his other weapons, were displayed for sale in shops. In prison, he once claimed, “It was the victims’ screams and expressions that inspired me.” Since then, his works had become coveted by collectors with particular tastes. Though difficult to praise due to their dark origin, the Byun knives quietly commanded fame and fetched prices upward of five million Reni.

But Heather had already judged this dagger a fake.

Using his ‘Condense’ technique, he saw no lingering aura on the blade—a hallmark of such famed relics, which often retained the creator’s residual energy for centuries. This trick was something he’d learned from a manga, observing how characters like Gon and Killua found overlooked treasures.

“Of course it’s real! Do you take me for a kid to fool?” the bearded vendor laughed heartily. “Look at you, handsome fellow. This Byun knife’s number is pretty high—three million Reni, and I’m giving you a bargain!”

Damn! Even with my 'Invisible Superman Glasses,' you can still tell I’m good-looking? Heather rolled his eyes, set the knife down, and picked up an old book instead. The cover was faded gray with bright red lettering: The Lost Legendary Weapons.

He shook the book, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “If you say this is an antique too, I’ll call the police!”

“Tch, another pesky bargain hunter,” the bearded man muttered, eyes dull as he sank back on his stool and picked up a newspaper without looking up. “Three thousand Reni, no haggling.”

That tattered book had enjoyed brief popularity over a decade ago but had long since ceased publication. Even the author had vanished without a trace. The market was flooded with secondhand copies, nearly everyone interested already owned one, keeping its value low. Official channels sold it for about two thousand Reni.

Having just finished the novels he’d brought along, Heather, a fan of strange tales and unofficial histories, found himself intrigued and decided to buy it outright rather than haggle. His straightforwardness made the vendor regret not asking for more.

Both feeling a bit sour, Heather and the bearded man shook left hands in an exaggerated international gesture of friendship as they parted, drawing curious glances from passersby.

Heather continued browsing other stalls but found nothing else appealing. As noon approached, he bought some snacks to take back to the Sky Arena.

Back in his room, he tossed the book onto the table and neatly arranged the packed snacks. Hands on hips, he nodded with satisfaction. Now this was what market browsing was all about!

The Sky Arena was located in the Youskett district, near the Bartocia Republic, where the climate was pleasant. The local street food bore little resemblance to that of Flash City.

He had purchased five fried rice balls—golden and crispy on the outside, made from rice mixed with meat sauce and filled with various ingredients such as the famed Youskett cheese, Gotor smoked minced meat, and sweet fish skin.

A portion of Bartocia doughnuts, a regional specialty made from a mixture of flour, mashed potatoes, and cream, dusted generously with sugar glaze.

A small box of squid ink olives (about ten), pickled in brine seasoned with fennel and cocoa leaves—a refreshing palate cleanser.

Five skewers of Gotor grilled meat: spicy chunks of sage-leaf and cheese-stuffed sausages wrapped in thin smoked bacon, seasoned with local hot peppers—an absolute favorite among carnivores.

Two Kusan grilled sausages, each about 15 centimeters long, made from minced pork, diced onions, seagull herbs, salt, and pepper, charcoal-grilled on a bacon-coated rack. Traditionally served in split bread, Heather opted for an unorthodox approach—drizzled with yellow mustard and ketchup and eaten directly.

Lastly, a large box of Momo jelly candies, a mixed fruit assortment. Each translucent, brightly colored candy was coated with shredded coconut—sweet but not cloying, a perfect snack.

Satisfied and well-fed, Heather popped a piece of Momo candy into his mouth and settled onto the sofa to leaf through The Lost Legendary Weapons.

“Hmm… lychee flavor? Not bad.”

The book wasn’t thick—just 122 pages—detailing, by category, extraordinary weapons lost to the tides of history and transformed into legend, some even accompanied by illustrations. Many of the tales and myths were fascinating, such as:

The Stinging Wasp—an artifact worshiped about 1,500 years ago by the Krodiva clan, believed to be a divine gift from their poison bee goddess, Neira, fashioned from her giant divine bee’s stinger.

Legend held that even a graze from this stinger would infect the victim with seventeen different poisons, varying each time. Among them were deadly toxins that could stop bleeding and suffocate, as well as potent paralytics capable of instantly immobilizing an elephant.

However, after the clan’s extinction in tribal wars, the dagger vanished. Many folklorists and historians now believe the Stinging Wasp was a fabrication to intimidate rival tribes—an ordinary bone dagger carved to mimic a stinger and coated with lethal poison.

The Cold River Dragon Gall—a supreme relic from the ancient Barot Empire two thousand years ago, the cross-shaped spear wielded by the Winter King Tion in Barot mythology. Three meters long, forged entirely from green gold unique to the fairylands, the spear emitted intense cold at all times. It was said that wielding it could summon snowstorms and winter’s chill, and it was enshrined atop the Winter Cold Tower in the royal capital.

Every emperor of the Barot Empire would pay homage to the spear on their enthronement day, receiving the Winter King’s blessing to wield the power of ice.

The Barot Empire lasted 470 years before fracturing due to internal strife. According to excavated texts, on the empire’s final day, the Winter Cold Tower was struck by lightning on a clear day, its structure damaged, and the Cold River Dragon Gall disappeared. That day, Barot XIV was assassinated, the royal family wiped out by rebels, and the empire collapsed.

Turning the page, Heather felt something strange about these legendary weapons.

They seemed a little like... Nen weapons.