Rivendell - Three Days LaterThe Crossroads - Secure Storage Area
Marco looked at Gurthang with a mixture of fascination and apprehension.
The sword rested in a special box that Celebrimbor had constructed—mithril reinforced with runes of containment. Even sealed, Marco could FEEL its power pulsing like an evil heart.
"Definitely my most problematic purchase so far," he muttered.
[Technically you didn't buy it. You stole it from an ancient ruin.]
"I recovered. It's different."
[Is it different for vengeful spirits who are probably cursing you right now?]
"I haven't had nightmares yet, so apparently so."
Give him time.
The door to The Crossroads opened. Celebrimbor entered, carrying a device that looked like a mix of an elven clock and alien technology.
"Stability Monitor for Legion," he announced. "It will track your energy levels in real time. If any personality attempts to forcibly take control, an alarm will sound."
"You're a genius."
"I know." Celebrimbor put down the device. "Is that Gurthang?"
"Yes. Do you want to see it?"
"Absolutely not. I've lived long enough to know that curiosity about cursed artifacts is a fast track to tragedy." Celebrimbor stepped back. "But I have a question: How do you plan to sell it? Who would buy a sword that destroys everything its wielder loves?"
It was a valid question.
Marco had been thinking about exactly that for three days.
"Someone who has nothing left to love," he finally said. "Or someone who hates what they love. Or..." he paused, "...someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for enough power to protect something greater."
"That's specific."
"And probably rare. That's why I haven't tried to sell it yet."
[Update: You have an applicant.]
"Sorry?"
[A potential customer has just entered Rivendell. Specifically looking for legendary weapons. And based on my analysis... they could be the perfect buyer for Gurthang.]
"Who is it?"
[Name: Boromir of Gondor. Future Captain of the White Tower. Warrior. Nationalist. And according to the timeline you know... eventually corrupted by the One Ring.]
Marco felt a chill.
"Boromir. The one who tries to steal Frodo's Ring."
[That's him. But currently he's just a young warrior looking for a way to protect his city. Gondor faces constant pressure from Mordor. He seeks power to defend it.]
"And you think I should sell him a cursed sword?"
[Think about this: In the original timeline, Boromir falls to the corruption of the Ring. He dies redeemed, but dead nonetheless. What if you give him a different weapon? One that requires conscious sacrifice instead of subtle corruption?]
"That's... twisted."
[That is changing fate. Gurthang requires the bearer to accept a price. The Ring simply corrupts. One is a choice. The other is inevitable.]
Marco considered this.
"Where is he now?"
[Elrond's Hall. Requesting an audience with you. Apparently, he heard about the 'impossible merchant' and came directly from Gondor.]
"So I guess I have a potential client."
Elrond's Hall - 30 Minutes Later
Boromir was exactly as Marco remembered from the movies, but younger. Maybe twenty-five years old. Tall, muscular, with a stubble and eyes that had seen too much war for his age.
He wore Gondorian armor—silver with the White Tree emblem. A sword at his belt. A circular shield on his back.
And an expression of absolute determination.
"Marco Antonio Durán," Boromir greeted, his voice deep and resonant. "The multiversal merchant. I've traveled two weeks to meet you."
"Boromir of Gondor," Marco replied, shaking his hand. A firm grip, almost painfully strong. "I heard you're looking for weapons."
"Not just any weapon. I seek power. Real power. Gondor bleeds. Every day we lose more ground to Mordor. I need something to shift the balance." His eyes burned intensely. "And I was told you sell the impossible."
"I sell what exists. Just because it's impossible here doesn't mean it doesn't exist elsewhere." Marco gestured to chairs. "Sit down. Let's talk about exactly what you need."
Boromir sat down, clearly impatient but controlling himself.
"Gondor is the last line of defense against Sauron. Minas Tirith holds out, but barely. Every year, the forces of Mordor grow. My father—Denethor, Steward of Gondor—is doing what he can. But we need the advantage."
"What kind of advantage?"
"Weapon. Artifact. Something that can change the course of battle. Something that makes a man worth a hundred." Boromir leaned forward. "I have 200,000 pieces of Gondor gold. Life savings. It's yours if you give me what I need."
Marco activated his Merchant's Eye, scanning Boromir.
Boromir, Son of DenethorPower Level: High (for a human)Primary Motivation: To protect GondorSecondary Motivation: To prove his worth to his fatherCorruptibility: Medium-High (vulnerable to promises of power)Willpower: 38/100 (strong but not unbreakable)Honorability: 85/100 (genuinely good, with flaws)
It was a complicated image. Boromir was a genuine hero. But also vulnerable.
"I have something," Marco said slowly. "But it comes with a price beyond gold."
"What price?"
"Personal sacrifice. Pain. The possibility of losing everything you love."
Boromir did not back down.
"If he saves Gondor, I will pay any price."
"Even your life?"
"Especially my life. To die protecting my city would be an honor."
[Mark, he's being completely honest. This man would truly sacrifice everything for Gondor.]
"Then show me what you've got," Marco said.
He stood up and walked to secure storage. He returned carrying a box of mithril.
She placed it on the table between them.
"Before you open this, you need to understand what it is." Marco chose his words carefully. "This is Gurthang. The Death of Glaurung. Sword forged by Eöl the Dark Elf. It was wielded by Túrin Turambar, who slew the Father of Dragons with it."
Boromir's eyes lit up.
"That's a legendary sword. It's worth more than I can pay—"
"Wait. Let me finish." Marco touched the box. "Gurthang is cursed. Every wielder of this sword eventually loses everything they love. Family. Friends. Home. The sword DEMANDS sacrifice."
"Why would you show it to me then?"
"Because a curse requires consent. If you take this sword knowing the price, the curse will respect you. It will not steal everything from you immediately. But when the time comes—when you must choose between your personal life and your duty—the sword will force you to choose duty."
Boromir processed this in silence.
"What if I have already chosen duty above all else?"
"Have you done it?"
"I have no wife. I have no children. My only family is Gondor and my brother Faramir." Boromir looked directly at him. "And if taking this sword means I can save Gondor, then Faramir will understand. He, too, would choose duty."
Marco felt the weight of the decision pressing on him.
On one hand, he was selling a cursed weapon to a vulnerable man.
On the other hand, he was giving tools to warriors willing to pay the price to protect millions.
"TARS, moral analysis."
[There is no right answer here. But consider: In the original timeline, Boromir falls to the Ring's corruption without a choice. Here, you choose consciously. Free will vs. corruption. You decide which is more ethical.]
Marco opened the box.
Gurthang rested inside, a black blade absorbing light. Even without touching it, its power was palpable.
Boromir was breathless.
"She's beautiful. Terribly beautiful."
"Are you sure? Once you take it, there's no going back."
Boromir extended his hand. He stopped inches from the hilt.
"If I take this, will I save Gondor?"
"I can't guarantee that. I can guarantee that you'll have power. What you do with it is up to you."
"How much?"
"Your offer of 200,000 gold of Gondor, plus a promise: that you will use this sword only to protect. Not for conquest. Not for personal ambition. Only for the defense of the innocent."
Is it a binding contract?
"With my skill, yes."
Boromir considered this for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"I accept. 200,000 gold plus that promise."
Marco activated his Hatsu. Golden coins materialized around them both.
"Are you sure? Last chance to back out."
"I'm sure."
The coins were divided, forming a contract between them.
[CONTRACT ESTABLISHED WITH BOROMIR OF GONDOR][Debit: 200,000 Gondor gold (~800,000 MC) + Ethical Use Pledge][Credit: Gurthang, The Death of Glaurung][Owner's Commission: 400,000 MC]
[Debt reduced to: 0 MC][DEBT PAID IN FULL!]
Marco felt immediate relief.
"It's done. The sword is yours."
Boromir captured Gurthang.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, his eyes widened. Marco could see vision occurring—the same sword spirit encounter he had experienced.
It lasted five seconds. Then Boromir returned to reality, holding his sword with a reverence mixed with fear.
"He spoke to me. He showed me the future. Victory. Glory. But also..." her voice broke slightly, "...loneliness. Death far from home."
"And you still accept it?"
"Yes. Because in that vision, I also saw Gondor surviving. Thriving. That's worth any personal cost."
[Marco... you just changed the major destiny. Boromir with Gurthang is different from Boromir tempted by the Ring. I don't know if it's better or worse, but it's DIFFERENT.]
"I hope it's better," Marco murmured.
Boromir stood up, Gurthang now at his belt.
"Thank you, merchant. You have given Gondor a chance to fight. And given me the purpose I needed."
"Just... remember your promise. Protection, not conquest."
"I will remember it. And Marco..." Boromir extended his hand, "...if you ever need an ally in Gondor, seek me out. This debt is unpayable, but I will try to honor it."
Marco shook his hand.
"Take care of yourself out there. And Boromir... when the time comes to choose between power and what is right, choose what is right."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because that moment will come. And when it comes, it will be a real test."
Boromir nodded solemnly and left, Gurthang gleaming subtly at his belt.
After he left, Marco collapsed in his chair.
"TARS... did I do the right thing?"
[I don't know. But you made an honest choice. You gave him full warning. He chose with his eyes open. That's more than most traders would do.]
"It doesn't feel like enough."
[It never feels enough. But look on the bright side: Your debt is paid.]
Marco blinked.
"Wait. WHAT?"
[Debt. Paid. Completely. You have 0 MC now, but no negative debt. You are solvent.]
"As?"
[Sale of Gurthang: 800,000 MC worth. Your commission: 400,000 MC. Plus previous sales of elven arrows and elixir: 660,000 MC. Less initial debt of 990,000 MC. Plus miscellaneous adjustments. Final balance: 70,000 MC positive.]
"Wait, do I have seventy thousand MCs?"
[Yes. And with the debt paid, premium features unlocked. And...]
The interface shone.
[...you have an incoming ASSIGNED CLIENT.]
"Of course. They don't even give me time to celebrate."
[Customer information loading...]
The screen displayed:
║ CLIENT ASSIGNED #004 ║
Name : ??? Universe of Origin : ??? Hazard Level: (APOCALYPTIC) Arrival Time: 2 hours Special Note: Client specifically requests "merchant who sold knowledge to Sauron and reunification to Legion"
Marco felt his stomach sink.
"Eight levels of danger. EIGHT."
[Yes. Higher than any client so far.]
"And is he specifically looking for me?"
[Yes. Your reputation is growing in the multiverse. Apparently, making deals with Dark Lord and Entity Omega is making you notable.]
"I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
[Probably both.]
Marco rubbed his temples.
"Okay. I have two hours. What should I do?"
[Option 1: Panic.]
"It doesn't help."
[Option 2: Preparation. Consult with Elrond. Establish safety protocols. Have an evacuation plan.]
"That's better."
[Option 3: Confidence. You've handled dangerous clients before. This one is just... more dangerous.]
"'Only more dangerous.' Thanks for the perspective."
[You are welcome.]
Marco stood up, determination replacing fear.
"Alright. Two hours. Let's talk to Elrond. Let's prepare the Crossroads. And let's find out what kind of apocalyptic entity is coming to visit me."
That's the spirit. You'll probably die, but at least you'll be prepared.
"Your optimism is inspiring."
[It's what I do best.]
Elrond's Hall - 90 Minutes Later
Marco had assembled an emergency council: Elrond, Círdan, Celebrimbor, Glorfindel, and surprisingly, Legion (who had insisted on attending when he heard about it).
"Client with eight levels of danger," Elrond said slowly. "That's... worrying."
"It's apocalyptic," Círdan corrected. "Muzan had six. Legion has seven when unstable. Eight is..."
"Destroyer of civilizations," Legion finished. "Possibly destroyer of planets. And he's specifically after me, along with Marco."
"Why you?" asked Celebrimbor.
"Because I am an Omega entity reunifying. If anyone seeks knowledge about cosmic power manipulation, I am a living example."
"Do you have any idea who it could be?" Marco asked.
Legion considered.
"In the Marvel Universe, there are several beings at that level. Thanos with Infinity Stones. Galactus. Celestials. Abstracts like Eternity or Death. If it's from another universe..." he shrugged, "...it could literally be anyone."
"Then we prepare for anything," Elrond decided. "Glorfindel, evacuate non-combatants to deep chambers. Círdan, establish defensive barriers around the valley. Celebrimbor, activate that sensor you built."
"Already active," Celebrimbor confirmed, looking at the device. "If the client generates uncontrolled energy, we'll know immediately."
"And me?" Marco asked.
"You receive customers," Elrond said. "It's your job. But Marco..."
"Yeah?"
"If you feel the situation is dangerous and out of control, use the emergency word. 'Mellon.' It's Elvish for 'friend.' If you say it, we'll evacuate immediately."
"Mellon. Understood."
[T-minus 10 minutes until customer arrival.]
"Then it's time."
Marco walked towards The Crossroads, his heart beating rapidly.
Legion accompanied him to the door.
"Marco, a word of advice: Whoever this client is, remember that they came to YOU. That means they need something. Need is weakness. Use it."
"Thank you, Legion."
"And if it's Thanos..." Legion smiled humorlessly, "...tell him Loki sends his regards."
Marco laughed despite his nervousness.
"I will do that."
He entered The Crossroads. The door closed behind him.
[T-minus 5 minutes.]
Marco sat at his desk, activated Ten (his armor-like aura), and waited.
[T-minus 1 minute.]
The air began to vibrate.
[30 seconds.]
A dimensional rift began to form.
[10... 9... 8...]
The crack widened, shining with blinding golden light.
[3... 2... 1...]
[Customer entering.]
From the light emerged a figure that made every alarm in Marco's brain SCREAM.
She was a woman. Young—maybe twenty-five. Asian. Long black hair. Dressed in simple clothes—jeans and a t-shirt.
But his EYES.
Her eyes contained universes. Galaxies spinning. Stars being born and dying.
And when he spoke, his voice resonated with a power that made reality itself tremble:
"Hello, Marco Antonio Durán. I'm Jean Grey. Or what's left of her. Some know me as Phoenix. And I need your help with a small problem."
He leaned forward, his eyes glowing with cosmic fire.
"You see, I accidentally absorbed too much power. And if I don't find a way to control it soon..."
He smiled, but there was no humor in it.
"...I will burn this entire universe to ashes."
Marco stared at her.
Then he thought very clearly:
I need a vacation. Desperately.
[END OF CHAPTER 17]