Count Gressil’s gift

The Rosington firearms were always custom-made for high-ranking nobles, and their single-barrel shotgun was no different. It was a smoothbore pump-action shotgun enchanted with magic glyphs that were carved onto its stock.

Ezra marveled at the shotgun’s polished steel muzzle and the specially designed silver trigger with runic engravings on its surface.

Unlike the basic 12-gauge shotguns available in the market, this one had ivory ribs jutting out like pine needles from the top of its barrel, and its movable forestock was made of varnished mahogany wood.

Just by looking at the gun Ezra could tell it had cost Count Gressil a few thousand Sovereigns at least, and the silver slugs which came with it had probably set him back by another hundred.

As Ezra reached for the shotgun, Marlin’s cursed eye re-opened, but his mouth no longer appeared under it.

“You’re finally back. I guess you could not contain your excitement upon sensing a new weapon?”

Ezra’s question remained unanswered, but h