Although Fran was quite confident in the several protective measures in the storage room, she still admonished Sigrid.
"Mm... I know."
Sigrid nodded in agreement.
Afterwards, she got up and went to the forging room to retrieve the freshly completed product.
It was a combi-stake crossbow. Underneath the exquisitely crafted black crossbow, one could see the body of a sizable caliber boltgun, the two seamlessly fitting together as one.
[Black Rose (Combi-Stake Crossbow)]
[Quality: Fine]
[Effect: Can fire most standard bolts, as well as specially crafted anti-psyker stake bolts. Made by the Artificer Sigrid, therefore it is particularly refined.]
[Note: "Who knows what use combining these two things actually is? Can't boltguns also fire anti-psyker ammo? Why bother making a crossbow firing port? Oh, right, anti-psyker bolts seem to be Grey Knights special issue..."]
Fran picked up this bolt crossbow and hefted it in her hand.
Though she felt a hint of heaviness, the handling was very comfortable. Given Haida's current physical constitution, she could fully withstand this level of recoil.
"Good completion. It's a pity there's no corresponding ammunition; weapon testing is a bit troublesome."
Hearing Fran say this, Sigrid quietly curled the corner of her lips, revealing a faint smile.
"Lady Tinuviel gave me some advice... I can utilize my own power to create high-energy solids to provide the necessary propulsion for 'bolt' ammunition. And she provided most of the manufacturing process."
She took out a small wooden box from behind, containing five standard caliber bolts.
"I see... You've thought very thoroughly. But don't expend too much power for this, otherwise what will the clinic do next winter if you aren't this warm anymore?"
After a jestful remark, Fran accepted the crossbow and these bolts.
At the same time, she couldn't help but sigh inwardly; this AI really had hidden quite a few things... It was a pity she currently didn't have equipment capable of completely copying its database. Otherwise, she'd really like to empty out its entire stockpile.
"By the way, Sigrid, there's one more matter currently requiring your assistance. I have a damaged chainblade here that urgently needs repair. I've written a summary of the required craftsmanship. Tinuviel might also know part of it."
During the conversation, Fran took out the chainsword from the medical kit.
Looking at this oddly-shaped blade, Sigrid's molten-gold eyes practically shone. She had absolutely no resistance to novel crafted items.
"Making the chain directly into a sword? How did they solve the jamming issue? And it's so lightweight..."
"The principle of a chainblade isn't difficult; it's just understanding some special processes. With Dr. Fran's notes, restoration and re-forging should be possible within a few days."
After some examination, she finally reached a conclusion.
"Then I'll trouble you."
Fran had always been quite confident in the Artificer's work ethic. This girl was diligent, rigorous, yet full of passion... truly the best candidate for this kind of work. Oh, and she didn't even need to sleep.
"Possessing such advanced crafting techniques and technological levels... What kind of world produced these weapons?"
Prolonged exposure to crafted items from the Warhammer worldview had also made Sigrid somewhat curious. Since Fran was at the clinic, she might as well ask directly.
"Oh, that's a very complex question."
Thinking of that house call from long ago, Fran couldn't help but squint slightly.
"It's a dark, vast, and hopeless world. Danger and corruption are everywhere. Individual life becomes meaningless, and everyone tends towards madness. Of course, in some ways... it is indeed interesting enough."
"It possesses a peculiar sense of humor rich in self-destructive tendencies."
"Practicing medicine in such a place makes me feel absurd. It's like treating a fish in a boiling pot for scalds."
Listening to Fran's description, Sigrid blinked a few times, feeling a strange sense of unease.
A place that could make Dr. Fran describe it like this was probably unimaginably harsh...
Right at that moment, Fran straightened her clothes and picked up the medical kit again.
"Is Dr. Fran going back?"
Seeing Fran seemed ready to leave, Sigrid asked.
Oh, her expression was like that of a melancholy golden retriever puppy watching a family member go out, making one feel rather unable to bear it...
"Mm... Although I'd also love to go straight back to the bedroom and sleep, there are other things to do tonight."
Fran rested her cheek on one hand, speaking with a hint of complaint.
"But I'll be returning to the clinic every night afterwards; I won't be away for long. After this chainblade weapon is finished, I'll take you to Gormouth then."
Sigrid nodded, her spirits lifting somewhat.
"Yes! I'll finish the re-melting and improvements quickly."
Seeing Sigrid's expression, Fran couldn't help but reach out and stroke her radiant golden hair.
Such a simple and dedicated work ethic, just like a fresh graduate. It's a good thing she doesn't have to suffer the toxicity of a modern workplace environment...
—
The "things to do" Fran mentioned earlier were about finding treasures of sufficient qualification within Foy City.
As the Plum Moon ritual approached, many organizations would hold large-scale celebrations, such as the White Cup cult's museum exhibition. During this period, finding relics of sufficient qualification would be much easier.
Furthermore, fulfilling the prerequisite requirement of "completing the theft under everyone's watchful eyes" would also be simpler.
As for completing a house call rated Abyss or higher as mentioned in Advancement Option One, Fran didn't consider it at all.
Joking aside, are house calls of that level so easy to encounter? And there's even an "or higher" – an Abyss-level completion is tormenting enough...
If it were higher, she'd probably have to pull out all the old things from her collection room just to attempt it.
Rather than pinning hopes on that, it's better to plan the theft pragmatically...
Stepping out of the Dreamslumber Flowers Hotel, Fran entered the streets of Foy City.
It wasn't even 12 o'clock yet. Although there was no curfew, there were almost no pedestrians on the roads either. The few passersby were mostly in a hurry, as if something were chasing them.
Was it because of the full moon?
She looked up at the exceptionally bright full moon in the night sky.
The lunar phase was complete, its light pure and bright.
—
Foy City, the Abyssal Sea Tavern.
In this coastal port city, the vast majority of shops would close early during the full moon period.
Although the old tales of the Abyssal Sea curse had mostly been forgotten, the habits from that time had been preserved and passed down to this day.
Therefore, the entire street only had the tavern still lit throughout the night.
The patrons of the Abyssal Sea Tavern were mainly sailors returning from voyages, or pirates hiding their identities.
They were mostly arrogant rogues making a living on the Abyssal Sea, eager to seek pleasure as soon as they docked, not caring about the long-vanished curse legends.
Or perhaps... they had personally seen the substance of that "curse," and thus no longer held fear for it.
"Another 'Angler' dark ale."
Bartley sat in a corner of the tavern and, after finishing the drink in his hand, called the server over.
The barmaid skillfully collected his finished glass, then took one from her tray and placed it on the table. Thick, black liquor topped with a dense layer of wheat-yellow foam nearly overflowing the rim of the glass, swaying slightly.
While handing over the glass, this barmaid couldn't help feeling somewhat surprised.
This gentleman had been sitting here since the afternoon, ordering another dark ale at intervals and quickly finishing it. "Angler" was brewed with roasted malt and black malt, pitch black in color with a rich mouthfeel, considered a strong ale.
But he seemed completely sober even now, his demeanor and tone of speech no different from a sober person.
And he was really solidly built. Although wearing a leather winter coat, the lines of his muscles were still faintly visible. He seemed never to have neglected exercise. At first glance, he looked like an iron tower.
"Sir, drinking alone is a bit boring. I wonder if you'd be interested in some fun? For just 20 Gormouth silver, I'll make you satisfied tonight..."
The barmaid's soft hand caressed Bartley's shoulder. Feeling the solid thickness of the muscles beneath his coat, her heartbeat quickened slightly.
"Oh?"
Bartley looked up at this barmaid.
She had a good figure, plump yet not bulky. Her face wore heavy makeup to conceal freckles, her features appearing quite alluring under the lamplight.
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I can't indulge today... The person I'm waiting for is almost here."
He waved his hand and, after taking another sip of ale, refused her.
Compared to carnal pleasures, he craved a bloody slaughter more. Besides, the person he was waiting for today was important; he had no spare time to waste on other matters.
"Hmph."
Seeing him so oblivious, the barmaid gave a light snort and, without another word, left gracefully with her tray.
Just then, a woman clad in a black robe entered the tavern. She appeared short and hunchbacked, often looking around, easily giving off a furtive impression.
The black-robed woman quickly spotted Bartley sitting in the corner and sat down opposite him.
"Getting hit on by a young girl at your age is quite rare, really not considering trying it?"
Her voice was hoarse and aged, her tone also carrying a hint of barely perceptible malice.
"Hey, Louisa... Cut the nonsense."
Bartley interrupted her from rambling on with that meaningless content, cleanly getting straight to the point.
"I need information on the Nightmare Guest. Name your price. Don't say you don't know; that Silver Wing Locust woman specifically said you knew the inside story."
"That annoying woman..."
The black-robed woman called Louisa gritted her teeth, as if hearing Silver Wing Locust's name displeased her.
"But the price I require is very expensive."
"A thief not yet a High Priest, how expensive can his information be? Or are you planning to demand an exorbitant price from me like you do with rookie sailors?"
Bartley curled his lip dismissively, took another sip of dark ale, somewhat scornful.
"No, you can definitely afford this price."
Louisa smiled gloomily, a strange rattling sound emanating from her throat.
"I want... your life."
Hearing this, Bartley's gaze sharpened, and he frowned.
Louisa was one of the most reputable information brokers in Foy City; her prices in the past had always been fair.
Suddenly turning hostile today... what could be the reason? Couldn't possibly be a knee-jerk reaction just from hearing Silver Wing Locust's name, right?
"You'd better realize what you're saying..."
Before he finished speaking, he saw several nearby patrons suddenly stand up, drawing daggers and charging straight at him.
So those guys had been sitting there not to eavesdrop on information, but preparing an assassination?
Understanding this, Bartley drew his saw cleaver from his waist and quickly retreated behind his seat.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunshots rang out continuously. The solid wooden tables and chairs burst into splintered fragments under the bombardment of lead bullets. The barmaid's scream followed.
Nearly a quarter of the tavern's patrons had drawn weapons, having come to kill him.
Taking cover behind the barricade, Bartley waited for their volley to end.
Listening to the sound, they were flintlocks, probably what pirates use. Hah... Hiring so many people to surround me, I didn't know my life was so valuable.
Where did the information leak, or did the Nightmare Guest anticipate someone would come to hunt him and set a trap?
Surrounded, he only felt the blood surging in his brain, the hand holding the saw cleaver trembling slightly with excitement.
"I know you might be confused right now. But, I won't tell you anything... Go to hell with your confusion, hunter."
Louisa's hoarse, shrill laughter rang out, unsettling.
It was like the buzzing of a mosquito by one's ear late at night, coming and going, lingering.
"No matter."
Bartley's skin visibly emitted a few wisps of steam, the veins on his skin bulging out.
+++
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