With a smile, the merchant leaned against the wall and let his mouth run with the unending glibness of a good salesman, spinning a volcanic pistol by its lever all along: “Oh, but I never made such claims! In fact, I would argue that First-models and Second-models are most efficacious when deployed side by side in distinct roles, alongside more traditional infantry. Equipping caravan-guard squad leaders with Second-models has had a tremendous positive impact on the losses sustained by caravans traveling through dangerous territories.”

“Yeah yeah…” handwaved Strake dismissively, kneeling next to the furthest-back suit in the right-hand row. He sniffed at its knee joint for some reason, then stood up and slapped its shoulder plate. “This one smells about as good as it’ll get. I’ll take one of those big leverguns on the wall and that long axe there.”

“Long axe? I’ll have you know these are-”

“-axes with long axe heads. That’s all that matters.”

Feigning exaggerated reluctance as he did, the merchant took a blade off the wall. When it came into view, it was obvious - the thing really did have a long damn blade. Almost like an inbred cousin to the norsemen’s bearded axes, with a shorter handle and longer blade, as well as a warhammer-esque spike both on the tip and the back.

After that brief exchange, it was a matter of minutes. The merchant handed over the gun alongside a paper box of ammo, which contained a number of curious bullets with hollow bases that were filled by propellant. He warned against being rough with the firearm, stating that it was vulnerable to ammo detonation if the ammo tube were to be damaged. The rifle itself had a large, nearly circular loop at the end of its lever, and its trigger guard was similarly oversized - clearly meant for a tankman’s hands.

Sodan didn’t even bother listening to the merchant’s spiel about the tank suits, slotting a fuel cell into the little box on the back deftly finding the appropriate hidden levers to make its torso-plate swing upward, allowing him to step backwards into the hollow, internally padded legs. Within seconds, the suit had closed and sealed itself with a hiss and Sodan had stepped out of the support frame. It was not nearly as loud as she’d expected when it moved, surprisingly, though it still exhibited the iconic metallic-sounding twang whenever the pilot - or rather, wearer - spoke.

No wonder these had an appeal, they probably required a fraction of the training needed to operate the iconic First-model Ultracompact One-man Tank… Even if they also offered a fraction of the quantifiable battlefield presence.

She herself had seen a Tankman beat multiple trained cultivators to pulp, but she was nearly certain she could beat Sodan as he was now. The merchant took an inconspicuous-looking, if rather large, basic traveler’s cloak off a rack and, after making sure Strake knew he was doing it, put it around the tankman’s shoulders. It hung down far enough to effectively conceal the tank armor, barring the helmet.

Before they departed, Alcerys felt a question she needed to ask, out of personal curiosity.

“What you said before, about Ikesian technology. Does that mean Kargaria has-” she began.

“-heavy industry, yes. Factories, foundries, even reactors,” he interrupted.

“The listed prices for your wares seem a little low even then, why is that?” she questioned further.

The merchant sighed. For a moment, the persona evaporated from that merchant’s face, leaving behind only an unfittingly thankful face for the nigh-opulent jewelry and makeup: “The Sage all but brought the future to us and served it up on a silver platter. It’s only right that we bring it to whom it rightfully belongs. As for me… It’s an ego thing. I’m just repaying a small fraction of what I owe him - my livelihood.”

Rolling his shoulders and putting his facade back on, the man nodded for her to follow in Sodan’s wake, who had already lumbered out of the bubble, “Go. I can’t stick around for long.”

And so, both now appropriately armored, they departed, continuing on their journey. After the first few hours, Strake took off his helmet, stating that even though he was pleasantly surprised by the tin can, the helmet lacked proper cooling for long treks. It didn’t necessarily come off as much as it opened up at the back and slid forward, resting against the suit’s torso.

By the end of this second day, they had already traversed dozens of kilometers, skirting the edge of the forest surrounding the Exclusion Zone for much of the trek, and entering deeper into the bush at the end of the day to set up a truly secure campsite. Using water from a nearby river and much of their remaining rations for that day they made an altogether acceptable stew, even if it was overly salty as these things tended to be.

They talked while they ate, exchanging questions and answers. Alcerys’s curiosity regarding Sodan laid in two things - his nature as a tankman, and a war criminal. His identity before that was of no interest, partly because she was already familiar with it - an exceptional soldier, known for doing exceptional things, exceptionally consistently, to the point of developing rivalries with known cultivators despite himself being, by all accounts, a mundane human not even slightly interested in the mystics arts.

“What happened to make you as you are now?” she questioned, feeling the Eye’s chain tightening and loosening around her wrist. Somehow, even it wasn’t certain about him - no more certain than Alcerys was whether it was actually connected to Omniudex, or merely an object with thematically appropriate enchantments. “I’m told you were the epitome of an ideal soldier. Then the war breaks out, and boom. Mercenary war criminal. Why’d you change?”

“I haven’t changed,” Sodan growled. “Not one bit. It’s the world that’s changed, it’s become something I can thrive in. Something I will change again, so that someone like me no longer has a place in it. A fuckin’ dog of war.”