Chapter 31

Chapter 31
## Chapter 31: The Con Artist Jetson

“Akan follows a pro-dwarf doctrine. The city is packed with ateliers and craftsmen. Especially in the vicinity of the magic bazaar, you’ll find plenty of storefronts run by dwarves. How about we investigate them one by one?”

“Lead the way.”

The energetic princess marched toward a specific sector of the capital.

Berge trailed behind her without a word.

Is she truly scouring the streets for Roger?

Recalling her behavior before his regression, it wasn’t entirely out of character. Still, it didn’t necessarily mean she was oblivious.

She really is a lunatic.

Berge let out a derisive snort and lost interest.

While she was a curious figure as a princess, abducting her would be a catastrophic blunder. Getting entangled with the dwarves was simply more trouble than it was worth.

The dwarven sovereignty itself wasn’t particularly intimidating, but the master smiths they produced—and the web of influence those artisans commanded—were formidable. If a prince or princess were snatched, they would call in every debt from every kingdom across the land, burying the Hero Guild in high-tier artifacts to fuel a rescue.

In the past, a demon king had once kidnapped a dwarven prince, only to be obliterated by a massive continental alliance. Since that day, the unspoken law was to leave the dwarves alone unless there was no other choice. Or so the history went.

Lost in these reflections, he made his way toward the magic bazaar.

As befitted the Mage Kingdom, Akan’s capital boasted several such markets. Upon entering the magical district, Berge suppressed his aura even further.

The area was swarming with sorcerers seeking components, along with mercenaries and traders looking to strike it rich. There were bound to be heroes in the mix—it was a certainty. Of course, compared to the elites of the Mage Tower, these were small fry, and almost none possessed the senses required to detect him.

Berge stepped into a secluded shop that looked less frequented. Fortunately, it was clear of any heroes.

“Greetings!”

The air inside smelled of rotting wood and pungent herbs—a nauseating combination. A faint bubbling echoed from the back. The shelves were overflowing with glass containers packed with various substances.

Drykan roots. A lycanthrope’s heart. And that appears to be vampire blood.

The shop held more than just liquids; it was a hoard of monster remains, spiritual plants, and exotic materials. However, the quality was dismal.

The roots were decaying, the heart was mutilated, and the blood came from a low-tier vampire, possessing almost no demonic essence. Even for a shop outside the Mage Tower, this was pathetic. It was no wonder the place was deserted.

“How can I assist you?” the merchant asked, closing the distance.

“I require Seniel powder.”

“The catalyst for spirit pacts?”

“Precisely.”

“You’ve come at a lucky time! I have a few rare batches available!”

“Rare?”

“Well, spirit mages are a dying breed. The minerals and mana stones needed for Seniel powder are incredibly expensive, and the shelf life is quite short. You understand?”

I couldn’t care less.

“I see.”

“And since it won’t give affinity to someone without talent, only spirit mages buy it—and there aren’t many left. Most places don’t even stock it. You’re quite fortunate.”

The merchant continued his greasy sales pitch.

“If you had tried anywhere else, you’d be searching all day.”

What a nuisance.

The man dug through a cluttered shelf of materials.

“Let’s see… it should be tucked away back here…”

He produced three small, dust-caked pouches.

“Here. One gold coin each.”

“That’s steep.”

“Low demand means low production. The price reflects the difficulty of finding it. How many will you take?”

“All of them.”

The rarer the mana, the more she would value the amount. Having gone through the trouble of blocking heroes and securing a minion, Berge was willing to part with a little demonic heart for the cause.

“Three gold, then. A wise move. Everything here is of the highest caliber.”

Berge doubted that, but he didn’t feel like arguing. He just wanted to pay and leave before any heroes crossed his path.

Berge pulled open a pouch to check the contents and went still. Seeing his face darken, the merchant forced a nervous grin.

“Is there a problem…?”

“It’s purple.”

“Beg pardon?”

“The Seniel powder I am familiar with is a light green.”

“T-That can’t be right…”

The merchant scrambled to check the bag. He moved to the second, then the third.

“Or perhaps a new variant was created without my knowledge?”

“…Would you actually believe me if I said yes?”

Berge’s hand tightened into a fist.

“I’m joking, just a joke.”

“It’s so amusing I’m tempted to tear you limb from limb.”

“Haha, what a sharp wit you have.”

“You think I’m being funny?”

The merchant remained blissfully unaware of the murderous intent radiating toward him.

“But you are mistaken if you think the quality is compromised.”

“The quality isn’t the issue—the state of your health is.”

“Listen for a moment. Seniel powder is usually green, yes, but a change in hue doesn’t make it a failure, does it?”

“Go on.”

“When blades were first forged, they were simple short swords. But look at us now! Claymores, rapiers, sabers—endless variations. That is called innovation.”

“So Seniel powder turning from green to purple is ‘innovation’…”

“Can you not sense the absolute purity of this mana?”

“No.”

It was so contaminated it was practically useless for spirit work.

“This would likely summon a demon rather than a spirit.”

“Now, sir, that’s uncalled for. Look at the concentration of mana here.”

It was ground-up stones, so yes, there was mana. But compared to the potent blood or flesh used in the dark arts, it was incredibly weak.

“Must be my eyes playing tricks. In that case, I’ll give it to you for half price!”

“Can I fold your spine in half?”

“A quarter price…?”

“…”

“What about my other supplies? Seniel is just the most famous aid—I have others! Some are even superior, just lacking the brand name.”

“Seniel is already hard to find, and your stock is rotten.”

“Ahem…”

A heavy, cold silence filled the room.

“Where is the proprietor?”

“You’re looking at him.”

Berge considered his options.

Should I kill him?

Showing my hand in Amur is risky. But I don’t even need my powers to end this man.

A killing in the magic quarter would cause an uproar. But is killing a stray dog really a crime?

*Ding-a-ling—*

If a new customer hadn’t walked in right then, the man might have actually died.

“Welcome!”

The merchant—the owner—greeted the arrivals, unaware he had just narrowly escaped death.

“Did we really have to start at this hovel?”

“If he has any sense, he wouldn’t register with the Mage Tower. The crown would demand his services, and Akan can’t say no.”

“So he’s lurking here?”

“There’s a high probability he’s in the district. This is as good a place as any to start.”

“A dwarf, I see. My establishment is quite popular among your kin.”

Louise looked at the owner, intrigued by his rapid-fire pitch.

“This dump is popular with dwarves?”

“Indeed! We don’t focus on ore, but we carry magic components that complement smithing perfectly—only the best.”

“We aren’t here for shopping. We are searching for someone.”

“I see. However, how about this? If I don’t make a sale, my brain tends to get a bit foggy…”

“…What in the world is this garbage?”

“M-Murder is a crime in the capital!”

Louise gripped her weapon. The owner flinched but didn’t stop talking.

It was like watching a cheap comedy. Berge watched the pathetic display from the side.

“…And if you’re going to threaten me, couldn’t you buy something first?”

“…Are you insane?”

“No disrespect intended. If you buy something, I’ve made a profit, so I can handle a little intimidation.”

“You’re an odd one.”

Louise began to laugh instead of taking offense.

“Fine, show me what you have.”

“How about this?”

The owner held out the ruined Seniel powder Berge had just refused.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

“It’s a brand new invention: Artsha powder. A blend of mana stones and various catalysts—a superior auxiliary agent.”

“Aren’t those common?”

“This is different. It shifts mana closer to a demonic frequency, making it incredibly potent for working with monster or demon parts. As a dwarven crafter, you know how vital that is, right?”

“Interesting. If it works. Does it have the Mage Tower’s seal?”

“It’s a private craft, so no seal, but it’s the truth! A merchant’s reputation is his life. Especially for me, here in Amur.”

“The mana is slightly tainted. It’s not a total fraud, then.”

Louise let out a snort.

“The price?”

“Usually four gold, but for you, I’ll make it three!”

“…A total swindler. Three gold for this? Even high-end Seniel is only fifty silver.”

Fifty silver?

Listen to this guy.

“Never mind. We’re in a hurry; no time for small talk.”

Louise signaled to her escort. Three gold coins were handed over to the merchant.

“Much obliged! May fortune follow you!”

“Now answer: Has a dwarf named Roger passed through the market lately?”

“I know most of the dwarves in this area—none by the name of Roger.”

“For three gold, that better be the truth, or you’ll regret it.”

“There’s a shop called Roe Deer’s Leaves near the main plaza. It’s the largest in the bazaar and stocks everything. Newcomers always go there first. They might know.”

“Not a bad lead. Let’s go.”

Louise sheathed her blade and walked out.

“What a pathetic display.”

In that moment, her gaze swept over Berge. But she didn’t recognize him. Their previous encounter had been masked by different appearances.

“Quite the performance. Selling trash at a king’s ransom.”

“Thanks. You didn’t interfere. That made it a success.”

“It wasn’t my gold. You have guts, staring down a sword like that.”

“The people who shout and draw steel usually don’t use it. At worst, I lose a little stock.”

“And you inflated the price significantly.”

“She had ‘wealthy lady’ written all over her. Dwarves are rich anyway. I figured she’d drop three gold without a second thought.”

Berge knew little of trade or merchants. But one thing was certain: this man was a natural.

A born liar.

Deceiving people to their faces even when they knew better. Berge actually liked it.

“I’ll take the remaining two bags of Seniel.”

Rotten or not, it was better than nothing.

“Truly? A special deal for you: two for one gold!”

“Do I look like a mark as well?”

“Pardon?”

The owner gave a strained laugh.

“…A misunderstanding. She must have been confused about the market rates…”

“So my knowledge is correct. Spoiled powder is worthless—zero, correct?”

The merchant’s expression soured.

“Sir—no, customer—that’s pushing it. Robbery is a serious offense in Amur.”

“Didn’t you say threats don’t lead to actual blades?”

“Why are you changing the subject?”

“Oh? That woman was Louise Beruft.”

“…The mad dog of the Berufts?”

“One more second, and your head would have been off your shoulders.”

“…Guh.”

“Should I go back and tell her the truth? Or…”

“Take them! Just take them!”

Damn it all.

The owner muttered under his breath.

“I never thought I’d be the one getting played…”

“One more thing.”

“Go away!”

“This is for your own benefit. I want to hire you. For the Golden Moon Trading Company.”

“Golden Moon? You’re with them?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Isn’t that place collapsing? Why would a talent like me join a sinking ship?”

“Because the alternative is dying at the hands of Louise Beruft?”

“Blast it!”

“I’m joking.”

“Your sense of humor is terrifying!”

“But the offer for Golden Moon is genuine. We could use someone with your… skills.”

Those who understand humans best are humans. Those who can deceive them most effectively are humans too. Berge wanted Golden Moon to squeeze the pockets of others to fill his own.

*Thud.*

A small bag was dropped in front of the merchant.

“What’s this?”

“A signing bonus and your first month’s wages. There is plenty more at Golden Moon.”

“…A whole gold coin?”

A salary of one gold?

A spark of avarice lit up the owner’s eyes.

“And bonuses based on how much you bring in, of course.”

“…I’m on board!”

“A wise choice. When you arrive, tell them you are ‘from the mountains.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Just say it.”

“Understood.”

“And for genuine Seniel powder, that shop I mentioned earlier will have it.”

“Of course! Roe Deer’s Leaves has everything!”

“Right. What is your name?”

“Jetson!”

Berge stepped out of the store.

*Heh heh heh.*

Left alone, Jetson stroked the gold coin with a look of pure bliss.

“The man throws gold around like it’s dirt—he must be loaded…”

He grabbed a handful of salt and threw it at the entrance.

“Why would I ever go there?”

A difficult road ahead—why sign up for misery? To Jetson, Berge felt like a brutal employer.

“Curse you, you heartless bastard. I hope you get swindled for every penny you have. *Ptooey*.”

Jetson emptied the entire container of salt.

“Go on, get out. Don’t ever come back, either of you.”

He didn’t realize it.

“…”

The customer he thought was gone was watching him through the window, his presence entirely masked.

Berge silently made his way toward Roe Deer’s Leaves. He caught up to Louise, who was currently interrogating a shop assistant.

“Hey.”

“What now?”

“That powder from before? It isn’t a new invention. It’s just old, rotten Seniel. You paid a fortune for garbage.”

“…What?”

Louise’s face twisted in fury.

“Ask any of the merchants here to look at it. You’ll find I’m telling the truth.”

“…That absolute piece of filth.”

Back at the small shop, Jetson—who was still salting the floor—suddenly shuddered as a chill ran down his spine.

“…Why did it get so cold all of a sudden?”