CHAPTER 469: TOURING III

"Scaled weave from a shadow wyrm," the attendant replied proudly. "It adapts to your aura and strengthens defense under high-pressure combat. Pricey, but worth it if you expect to survive long in Velstrand."

Valeris ran her fingers along the material, feeling the faint pulse of residual beast essence. "It’s responsive," she noted, watching the fabric subtly shift under her touch. Then she looked toward Asher. "This will do. Mind if I take it?"

He smiled faintly. "If it fits, it’s yours."

The clerk blinked as she paid with a single glowing coin that carried more spiritual weight than most merchants earned in a month. Valeris slipped the coat on and rolled her shoulders, the aura threading itself seamlessly into her movements. "Perfect," she murmured, clearly pleased.

Further down the street, Veyra had already vanished into a small herbalist’s shop lined with crystalline jars. She stood near a counter where strange glowing plants pulsed faintly in rhythm with the room’s energy. "These roots... they’re alive," she said softly, touching a faintly red blossom.

The old herbalist nodded, his wrinkled face half-lit by the warm glow. "Bloodheart roots. They drink aura instead of water—rare to see someone who recognizes them."

Veyra smiled faintly. "I’ve worked with something similar before. But not this pure." She selected a few, her fingers delicate as if handling glass.

When Asher stepped in to check on her, she turned to him with quiet delight. "These will help me refine my Bloodroot Bloom technique. They amplify spiritual vitality and regeneration."

He nodded. "Good choice. Take a few extra; they’ll be useful later."

Veyra’s eyes softened at that small gesture—she had always been more subdued, but moments like this revealed how deeply she still cared for his approval.

Meanwhile, Marina had found something far less serious. She stood before a confection stall where trays of shimmering sweets and bottled spirit nectar glittered in the light. "Look!" she called out. "They sell moon sugar crystals—real ones!"

Freya glanced over, teasing. "You and sweets... one day, your cultivation’s going to turn into syrup."

Marina shot her a glare but bought an entire pouch anyway, then offered one to Asher with a grin. "Try it. You can’t command armies on an empty stomach."

He laughed, humoring her, and popped one into his mouth. The flavor burst with spiritual warmth—like sweet lightning. "Alright," he admitted, "I’ll give you that one. These are good."

By the time they regrouped, everyone carried something new—Freya’s blade hung across her back, Valeris’ armor gleamed faintly beneath her coat, Catherine wore her silver crescent earrings, Veyra’s satchel glowed faintly from the Bloodheart roots, and Marina guarded her bag of sweets as if it were treasure.

They continued walking through the market, passing under floating banners that shimmered with runes marking various districts—alchemy, weapons, soul relics, and beast taming. The deeper they went, the more vibrant the city became. Floating lanterns drifted through the air, powered by condensed aura, and shopfronts carved from glowing crystal walls sparkled like gems.

Freya glanced around with awe. "It’s hard to believe this is just the lower district," she said.

"It’s Velstrand," Catherine replied softly. "Even the smallest corner feels... alive."

Asher smiled faintly as they walked. The hum of the city’s energy, the chatter, the rhythm—it all felt foreign yet strangely comfortable. For once, there was no danger, no shadow stalking them—just peace, simple and fragile.

Valeris fell into step beside him, her voice calm. "You’re relaxed. That’s rare."

He smirked. "Maybe I’m just pretending."

"Pretend more often," she said quietly. "It suits you."

Asher glanced back over his shoulder as they walked past another row of shimmering storefronts. "You’ve all picked up something," he said with a small grin, "but don’t hold back on my account. That includes the rest of you—uncle, aunt, grandfather, cousins. Go see what this realm has to offer. It’s not every day we get to shop in a place where even the air costs more than gold."

Arnold gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "I think I’ll pass on trinkets and sweets. At my age, there’s little point in collecting toys. I’d rather find a place that sells genuine ascension-grade manuals or higher-being essences."

His Uncle Liam nodded in agreement, adjusting the small scroll case at his side. "Same here. I’d rather spend time in the cultivation quarter. The higher realms use formation techniques we’ve only read about—if we can find even one of those manuals, it could push our base foundations forward."

Asher inclined his head. "That’s fair. Stick to the regulated markets—no back-alley traders. Some of them sell cursed relics disguised as spiritual goods."

Arnold smirked. "You think we haven’t learned from your bad habits? We’ll be fine."

Beside them, Selene—his aunt, graceful and composed—smiled faintly. "We’ll take a look around the scholar’s district. I want to see if they sell spirit ink compatible with Volarisan soul calligraphy. It might help stabilize our family records once we expand our base here."

"Good idea," Asher said approvingly. "And if you find any script masters, take note. The higher realm’s inscription arts might give us an edge later."

A few paces behind, his younger cousins—Maxwell, Sylens, Lia, Sophia, and Amanda—had been whispering among themselves before they broke off into laughter. Sylens, ever the bold one, spoke first. "You don’t have to tell us twice. We’re already thinking of what to buy. I heard this realm sells cultivation fabrics that sync to your aura when you sleep."

Sophia chimed in with a teasing smile. "Or maybe you just want something shiny to show off."

"Shiny and useful," Sylens countered.

Lia giggled softly, while Amanda—quiet and observant as always—simply nodded, her gaze drawn toward a glowing sign that read Celestial Relic Emporium.

"Go on," Asher said, amused. "Pick something that helps your growth, not just your wardrobe."

They nodded and dispersed in pairs, vanishing into the current of market-goers.

When the others had gone, Asher’s mother stepped beside him, her calm expression touched with warmth. "You’re handling them well," she said softly. "It’s strange seeing you play the leader like this. You were the quiet one back home."

He smiled faintly, hands tucked in his coat pockets. "Maybe I still am. I just talk more when everyone looks to me."