A few days after the ruins scramble the trio sat in the Rusty Anchor counting the Enzo from the energy crystals they had sold. The pile was decent but not enough to last. Saint pushed the coins around with his finger and sighed.
We cannot keep doing this forever he said quietly. The crystals gave us a good boost but we need something steady. Something that brings in money even when we are not fighting monsters or running from Mark.
Sheriff nodded his red eye dimming slightly as he looked at the small stack. You are right kid. Ceil is safe for now but safe costs money. We cannot keep paying the innkeeper forever. We need a business.
Shed tapped the table with a claw. I hate to say it but we need something quick. Something we can do right here in the market hall. People in Ceil always need things. Tools. Storage. Fixings for their huts.
Saint sat up straighter his eyes lighting up. Box making. We could make boxes. Strong ones from scrap metal and wood we find around the ruins. We saw plenty of broken crates and panels out there. We customize them with those glowing vines or add simple locks from spare parts. Storage boxes sell everywhere. Travelers need them for gear. Merchants for goods. Even the innkeeper might buy some for his supplies.
Sheriff tilted his head. Box making. Not a bad idea kid. I can bend metal easy with these hands. Shed you are good at weaving vines and making things tight. Saint you have steady hands for the details. We set up a stall in the market hall tomorrow. Charge fair prices. We could make real Enzo fast.
Shed grinned showing sharp teeth. I like it. We call it Trio Strong Boxes or something simple. Strong. Reliable. Just like us. Let us do it.
They spent the rest of the day gathering materials. Sheriff led them to the edge of town where old ruins met the fields. They scavenged broken metal panels cracked wood and glowing vine strands. Back at the inn they worked late into the night. Sheriff bent and shaped the frames with his metal strength. Shed wove the vines into tight reinforced sides that glowed softly when touched. Saint carved simple handles and added small locking mechanisms from spare parts he found in the market trash.
By morning they had ten sturdy boxes ready. Each one was different. Some small for tools. Some large for clothes or weapons. All of them strong and glowing faintly with Veyra magic.
They set up their stall in the busy market hall. A simple wooden table with a hand painted sign that read Trio Strong Boxes. Best in Ceil. The hall was loud with merchants shouting and people bargaining. Neon lights buzzed overhead and the smell of spiced food mixed with metal and glowing herbs.
First customer came quick. An old woman with a heavy pack stopped and picked up a medium box. How much she asked.
Sheriff stood tall behind the table. Five Enzo maam. Holds three times what a normal crate does and the vines keep things fresh inside.
The woman tested the lid and nodded. I will take two. She paid and walked away smiling.
More people came. A traveler buying for his journey. A shopkeeper needing storage for his goods. A reptile guard wanting a lockbox for his weapons. By midday they had sold all ten boxes and made forty five Enzo.
Saint counted the coins his eyes wide. This is working. We made more in one morning than we had in three days.
Shed laughed and started carving another box right there at the stall. Told you. Box making is smart. We keep going. Make more tonight and sell again tomorrow.
Sheriff nodded his red eye scanning the crowd. Good work team. But stay alert. Money draws eyes. We keep our heads down and our ears open.
The business grew fast. By the second day they had twenty boxes ready. The stall stayed busy all morning. People talked about the glowing boxes that never broke and kept food fresh longer. Word spread. A merchant from the floating towers bought five large ones for his caravan. A family purchased a set for their new hut. By sunset they had earned one hundred and twenty Enzo.
Saint wiped sweat from his brow as he handed over the last box. We are actually getting rich. Look at this pile. We can pay the innkeeper for weeks now and still have plenty left for supplies.
Sheriff placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. You started this kid. Box making was your idea. Feels good to build something instead of just running.
Shed hissed happily. We balance each other. You think. I weave. Sheriff bends metal. Perfect team. Tomorrow we make even more. Maybe add custom colors or bigger locks. The market hall will be ours.
They closed the stall as the sun dipped low. The market hall emptied slowly with lanterns flickering on. They walked back to the Rusty Anchor counting their coins and laughing about the day.
This is the first time I felt useful since I got here Saint said. Not just surviving but actually doing something that helps us. Thanks guys.
Sheriff chuckled. We are in this together kid. Box business is paying off. We keep it going a few more days and we will have enough to buy better gear or even a map to safer zones.
The next few days flew by in a blur of work and sales. They made boxes faster each night. The stall grew popular. Customers lined up. They earned two hundred Enzo the third day. Three hundred the fourth. The trio felt rich for the first time. They bought new clothes for Saint better herbs for Shed and even a small cleaning kit for Sheriffs chrome frame.
But money brought attention.
On the fifth day while they were packing up the stall a group of rough looking men watched from across the hall. They wore scarred tactical gear and carried the look of bounty hunters. One of them whispered into a communicator. Mark crew Saint realized his stomach dropping.
Sheriff noticed too. His red eye narrowed. We have eyes on us. Pack quick. We head back to the inn.
They hurried through the streets but it was too late. As they turned into a narrow alley five of Marks goons stepped out blocking the way. The lead one grinned showing broken teeth. Hey Saint. I am looking at you. Boss is going to pay good money for you alive. The rest of you tin can and lizard we can kill.
Saint froze. Mark crew.
Shed drew his bone knife. Sheriff stepped forward his fists clenched. No revolver this time. He cracked his metal knuckles. You boys picked the wrong day.
The fight exploded.
The first goon charged with a bat. Sheriff moved like prime Mike Tyson. He ducked the swing and threw a lightning fast hook that shattered the mans jaw. The goon flew back into a wall. Second goon pulled a knife. Sheriff grabbed his wrist twisted and slammed an uppercut into his gut. The man folded gasping.
Shed leaped on the third slashing with claws and knife. Saint swung his metal rod catching one across the knees. But the fourth goon grabbed Saint from behind. Sheriff spun and delivered a brutal cross punch that lifted the man off his feet and sent him crashing into a crate.
The fifth goon fired a wild shot. Sheriff closed the distance in two steps and pounded him with a combination of hooks and body shots. The goon dropped like a sack of scrap. Sheriff stood over the fallen men breathing steady his red eye glowing bright. No revolver. Just fists. Insane power in every punch.
You tell Mark we are not easy prey Sheriff said voice cold. Next time he comes himself.
The goons groaned and crawled away. The alley fell quiet.
Saint stared at Sheriff. You just clapped them with your fists. No gun. You moved like you were built for this.
Sheriff flexed his metal hands. Old habits kid. I was not always just the lawman with a badge. Come on. We head back to the inn. Rest and prepare for the worst. Mark will return soon. This was just a warning.
They hurried back to the Rusty Anchor. The innkeeper locked the doors behind them without asking questions. Up in their rooms they counted their Enzo and checked their wounds. Saint had a small bruise but nothing serious. Shed licked a cut on his arm. Sheriff had a dent in his chest plate but nothing that slowed him.
We made good money these days Saint said sitting on the bed. But now Mark knows exactly where we are. The business made us rich but it made us targets too.
Sheriff sat on a reinforced chair. We rest tonight. Tomorrow we move smarter. Keep the stall but add lookouts. Prepare for the worst. Mark will bring more next time. We use what we earned to buy better weapons or a safe route out if we need it.
Shed nodded. Hey Saint. You did good swinging that rod again. We are getting stronger as a team. Box business stays for now. It pays too well to quit. But we stay ready.
Saint smiled tired but determined. I am looking at you boss going pay good money. That goon said it like the Director is offering big Enzo for me. But we are not running anymore. We built something here. We fight for it.
They talked late into the night planning defenses and next moves. The Enzo they earned sat in a new lockbox they had made themselves. The market business had made them rich but it had also painted a target on their backs.
For now they rested. Sheriff stood guard by the window. Shed sharpened his knife. Saint lay on his bed thinking about the punches Sheriff had thrown and the money they had made.
Ceil was still their home for now. But Mark would return. The Director was watching. The Zach Clan was out there. Yet the trio had each other and a growing stack of Enzo from box making.
The first adventure had led to their first business. Now they prepared for the next fight.
The peaceful town slept outside but inside the Rusty Anchor the trio stayed awake a little longer talking and planning. Whatever came next they would face it together.