The empty Mana Crystals were worthless and sent for recycling, so he could grab handfuls of them from bins all over the territory to experiment on.
With his plan firmly in place, Wolfe began to inscribe the circles on the other batteries he had purchased, being extra careful not to make any errors that might cause the inscription to fail.
He had no idea what it took to get the magic to work, so Wolfe focused hard on recharging the battery, and making the perfectly drawn inscription.
When the second one came alive with a shock through his hand, Wolfe realized what was happening. The inscribed circle created electricity, and he was using a metal-handled stylus and metallic paint to create it.
He was getting shocked by the initial charge flowing from him through his tools.
That might be necessary to the process, though, so Wolfe didn’t change anything as he did the last two and started on the long process of cleaning and repairing the tools, so they only looked gently used and not nearly demolished like they did when he got them.
When they were good enough, Wolfe packed one set of power tools and two batteries into his backpack. This would be the rough part, as the high-end shops he wanted to sell to were on a higher floor, and getting there without a fight could be difficult. His Family only operated on one floor, and he wasn’t going to sell sketchy items to his own neighbours, so he would have to cross through other floors to get to a suitable shop where nobody would recognize his face.
Wolfe knew a thing or two about fights, and had the flattened nose and scarred knuckles to prove it. At 180cm, he wasn’t the biggest of men, but he was large enough to hold his own, and growing up in the public schools on the lower floors had given his gray eyes a hard look that didn’t match his age.
With a full pack, Wolfe looked at his trusty electric delivery bicycle, freshly charged and ready for a hard ride through the city.
Most of the trip was going to be easy to pass through, but a few areas belonged to Families that didn’t like visitors from the lower floors. It was a risk, but if he managed it, nobody would suspect him if there turned out to be a problem with the tools later.
The Witches had eyes everywhere. He definitely couldn’t sell fake inscriptions in his own territory and cause trouble for his Uncle. So, he tightened the straps on his backpack and set off on his money-making adventure for the day.
“Hey Wolfe, where you off to today?” The enforcer stationed at the ramp that led to the floors above their territory asked as Wolfe cycled down the road on his modified electric bicycle.
“Got to head to the upper floors, see a man about a thing. You know how it is for a delivery rider.” Wolfe replied with a smile.
Cars weren’t common in their district since so few went very far from home. Instead, the roads were filled with electric bikes, magic-powered electric delivery trucks and the odd taxi.
It was all lit from above by magical lights that gave off a soft yellow light that Wolfe had been told was a close simulation of the sun’s natural light, but he had personally never left the city to see if that was true.
“If you’re going to the upper floors, be careful. The Family can’t help you there, but I will be waiting here at the border in case you need to come back in a hurry.” The guard told him with a clap on the shoulder.
“Thanks. Hopefully, I won’t need the help, but I know the signal.” Wolfe told him, then pedalled off toward the ramp, heading out of the territory.
The guards upstairs waved as he passed by, recognizing him as a Noxus Family delivery rider, and Max sped through the streets toward the ramp which would lead him up another floor as close as possible to the location of the shop he had chosen.
It was better to be on the right side of the city when he left the friendly territory so that he would have as few neutral territory entries and exits as possible.
Frequently going too far from home attracted attention that Wolfe really didn’t want today, and fewer territory crossings meant fewer chances someone would notice him and check his identity.
There weren’t actually any laws against moving around most of the city, but the Witches were always watching for suspicious activity.
Little things like gangsters moving drugs and stolen goods out of their territory. Or fencing fake magical items. Things like Wolfe was off to do today.
Every area of the city was a bit different but mostly the same. The floor he was currently on used coral colours, whereas Wolfe’s was shades of gray and brown. He made a careful note of everything he passed in case he needed to make up a lie about his origins later.
His luck was good today, though. There were no traffic jams, and nobody questioned him as he crossed four floors to get to the area where he wanted to sell his tools.
ƥαṇdαηθνε|
Unlike his own home territory, the guards here were actual Coven police, and security wasn’t left to the Families. It was a strange feeling, cycling past them at a sedate pace that matched traffic and trying not to attract their attention.
It wasn’t hard to find the spot he wanted. The “Council Construction Materials” sign stood tall and proud above the surrounding stores.
It was well known as a quality used tools dealer, but Wolfe had specifically chosen it for the owner’s dealings with the Noxus Family in the past. He wouldn’t bring them into it if he didn’t have to, but the affiliation would help him if he had trouble convincing the store clerks to let him leave without recording his real name.
Wolfe parked his bike in the racks out front and walked straight for the front doors, knowing full well that convincing people that you knew what you were doing got you through more crimes than anything else. The greeter at the door looked at his broken nose and durable clothing before she seemed satisfied that he belonged there, then finally greeted him.
“Welcome to Council Construction. How can we help you today?” The young girl, most likely a school student working part-time, told him with a well-practiced smile.
“I have gotten a job as a delivery worker, and I would like to sell my power tools to upgrade my cycle,” Wolfe explained.
His bike looked rather plain and worn, but internally he had already upgraded it to state of the art with a new Magitech motor and higher capacity battery pack.
“Moving up in the world. I hear the tips that delivery drivers get are pretty good, but there’s no way I could do it.” The greeter told him, then gestured for someone else to join them at the door.
“This is Ron. He is one of our in-house experts, and I’m certain he can get you a good price for your tools.” She explained.
“Ron, I’m Paul. Good to meet you. I inherited some quality stuff from my late father, and now that I’m changing careers, I’m looking to sell the power tools, which are still in good shape. Forgive me if I don’t get rid of the rest. A little insurance never goes wrong.” Wolfe told the Red shirted appraiser.
“Never sell your Daddy’s hand tools.” The man agreed, then led Wolfe toward a small counter to the side of the shop.
Wolfe emptied his pack, bringing out the eight tools and two batteries.
“Both batteries have working inscriptions. They’ve even got some time left on them.” Wolfe said, making sure the man knew he didn’t have to take anything off the price to charge and check the enchantment.
“Now that’s considerate of you. We’ve got a commoner Witch on staff, but her services aren’t free.” Ron agreed.
Commoner Witches were the weakest and poorest of their Kin, unable to use powerful enough magic to earn a title of their own and cut off from most of the lifestyle benefits of their Bloodline. They still earned pretty good money, just not at the millions of credits a year that most of the others made.
Ron called the Witch over, and Wolfe began to sweat. He had no way of knowing if she could see through the fact he made the inscription and that a Witch didn’t do it.
“Have you at least tested the batteries before calling me over?” The portly older woman asked the moment she arrived, and Ron looked down in embarrassment.
“No, Ma’am, sorry. I will do that now.”
Ron plugged the battery into a testing station on his bench, and a light above them began to shine bright, rapidly draining the pack.
Wolfe had expected this test at any reputable shop, which was why he would have gone elsewhere if the inscription didn’t work.
With the pack drained to fifty percent, Ron removed it from the device and turned the display so that everyone present could see the reading.
He attached a voltmeter to the connectors and watched to make sure the voltage increase matched the reading, nodding happily at the result.
“Boy, where did you get that battery from?” The Witch asked as she observed the result.
“It was my father’s before he passed. I’m not sure where he got it from.” Wolfe shrugged, making the Witch frown.
“My condolence on your loss. He must have paid top dollar for it. The charging rate is better than average. To be honest, I had expected grade F trash, but that is a solid D, close to a C Grade charging rate.” She explained.
Wolfe didn’t know what the cutoffs were, but knowing that his first attempt was average was a relief.
“Well, put the other one on the tester, stupid. I can’t believe you called me over for a perfectly good battery pack.” The Witch complained to Ron, the appraiser.
Wolfe was starting to suspect her animosity was personal. Either that or Ron was not particularly well-liked at his job.
The second one seemed to discharge faster, but it also recharged a bit faster. The Witch didn’t look upset, much to Wolfe’s relief, and she wrote up a sales slip for Ron.
“One D plus grade and one D grade battery. Your father must have bought them at different times. The cells inside one are more worn out.” She explained.
Wolfe nodded his agreement. Since he had bought these used, he couldn’t say anything for sure about their quality.
“Since the quality is better than usual for a used construction tool, I can offer you two hundred for the worn-out battery and two fifty for the other. Plus four hundred for the tools.” Ron offered.
“That’s better than expected. You have got yourself a deal.” Wolfe agreed, shaking the appraiser’s hand.
The deal was done, and it was time for him to get out of there, before anyone thought to ask for identification.