CHAPTER 26: Dirty Money, Broken Calculators, and Moonshine

Crossing the blue portal left a taste of electrified copper in the mouth. Space folded with a quiet hiss. We were spat out into a blind alley. We were in the Lower City. These were the true guts of Oakhaven. The sun rarely pierced through the smoke of artisan chimneys. I blocked my weaves. I choked my aura to zero. After the sterile terror of the third floor, the hit of city stench acted like a physical blow to the back of the head. The air lacked its former crispness. It stank of urine, cheap moonshine, and rotting wood.

I took a breath. The corner of my mouth twitched in an expression of pragmatic amusement. This dirt suited me very well. It provided perfect camouflage. I held stuffed pouches in my hands. The leather straps strained under the weight of the cores. We headed towards Silas's office. Pure logic suggested simple math. We had capital. I looked deep into the alley. Two thugs peeled themselves off the slimy wall. They had pockmarked faces. They held dull knives in their paws. They saw a guy in a black coat. They saw a petite silhouette by my side. Most of all, they saw heavy sacks. Primitive greed flashed in their eyes. These were typical small fry. Street trash. They could not identify a predator until it closed its jaws on their necks.

"Lost, little lord?" the first one croaked. He let out a choking chuckle. "Leave your pretty coat and pouch here politely." "Maybe today we won't give you a second smile on your throat." I did not slow my pace. I did not take my hands out of my pockets. My facial expression did not change by a millimeter. I maintained Brazen chill. These types of pawns did not deserve my attention. I did not intend to fire up my weaves. I had no intention of drawing weapons. Instead of casting spells, I appealed to raw physics. I focused my intention. I allowed a minimal fraction of my density to pour out through the blockades of the Vessel.

There was no explosion of light. Cheap effects were absent. The physical force in the alley simply jumped. The air hardened. Gravity suddenly felt heavier. The survival instinct of the bandits, encoded deep in their genes, sounded an air-raid alarm. Their brains registered an encounter with a wall. One of the thugs turned pale. His face resembled old parchment. He dropped his knife. The steel hit the cobblestone with a clink. Both stepped back in panic. They ran into each other, tripping over the mud. They fled into the dark without a single word.

Ordinary trash. It was a waste of a drop of mana for a fight. Shnee glided a step behind me. She did not grace them with a glance. Her senses were still tuned for slaughter. "Pure Trash Cleaning," I muttered indifferently. "Time saving." We moved on. Silas's office was just around the corner. The moment of valuation was approaching. The time was coming to brutally overturn the economy of this city. We left the gutter behind. We stopped in front of the iron-bound doors. They were located between a tanner's workshop and a slaughterhouse. This was Silas's hideout. The true center of the underworld. This is where business was done that the aristocracy had no idea about.

I pushed the doors with my boot. We entered the stuffy office. Candlelight illuminated the room. The air stank of ink. Tobacco scratched the throat. Silas sat behind a massive desk. The counter groaned under books. The merchant puffed his pipe nervously. He scratched his quill on parchment. His bald head shone. It was obvious that accounting was burning the remnants of life out of him. He looked up. The quill froze. He scanned my figure. He shifted his gaze to Shnee. The elf stood in the shadows. She crossed her arms. She was disgusted by the smell of this place. Oakhaven did not smell of roses.

"You again?" the merchant croaked. He wiped his face with his sleeve. "Guilds are screwing me on taxes." "The office added a tribute." "The western district is lowering prices." "The aristocracy is watching my hands." "I'll go bankrupt soon." "What do you bring, Dave?" "Just don't tell me you brought rusted scrap." "I don't buy trash from amateurs." "I have a lot of work." I did not answer. My chill dominated. I walked at a leisurely pace. I approached the desk. I had no intention of pitying his fate. Economics was governed by hard laws.

In silence, I took the pouch off my shoulder. The leather strained under the weight. I slammed the sack onto the counter with a crash. The wood groaned. The inkwell jumped. It spilled blackness onto the bills. I ignored the mess. Pure logic suggested a simple presentation. I untied the straps. An avalanche of loot poured out from inside. Purple stones from Ghouls buried the parchments. They clinked against each other with a musical echo. Between them rolled three gigantic cores from the Butchers. Their orange glow flooded the room. The color of the room drastically changed. The massive weight pushed copper coins onto the floor.

Pretty good loot for a short walk, I thought with satisfaction. This drop will set us up for a long time. Silas froze. The pipe fell from his mouth. The wood hit the boards. Hot embers scattered under his boots. He did not even notice it. The merchant fell back against the backrest of his chair. His eyes bulged from their sockets. He stared at the capital with open mouth. He swallowed his saliva with a gulp. His hands began to tremble. In this city, such a sight broke minds. Artisans worked for years for a fraction of this value. The stones pulsed with raw power.

"Oh, fuck..." he babbled finally. His voice caught in his throat. He grabbed the edge of the counter. "Where did you pull this from? From the abyss itself?" "This weighs ten pounds!" I smiled brazenly. I slipped my hands into my coat pockets. "These are just pennies, Silas," I threw with a cold tone. "A warmup before real business." "Close that notebook." "It is time to talk about serious cash." Silas stared at the cores with his mouth open. His fence brain needed a moment to process the data. In this city, such capital broke minds. Artisans worked for years for a fraction of this value.

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The merchant cleared his throat. He wiped his bald head with a dirty sleeve. He reached his hand toward the orange stone.

"May I?" he asked hoarsely.

I nodded. My chill dominated the room.

Silas closed his eyelids. He activated his innate talent. The Merchant's Eye was not artificial magic. It was a rare gift. Golden light filled his pupils. The glow fell on the gathered loot. The trader examined the mana density. He assessed the purity of the minerals. He inspected every edge.

His hands began to tremble. He swallowed his saliva with a gulp.

"Pure anomaly..." he muttered with fascination. "Perfect extraction. Zero cracks. Zero energy loss. Usually, mercenaries bring chipped rubble. You pulled this out with a surgical cut."

I leaned against the edge of the desk. "Combat resource management," I answered coldly. "Ordinary slaughter wastes resources."

Shnee smiled in the shadows. She knew the value of precision. Her trust in my tactics grew with every second. She saw downstairs how precise sapphire cuts prevent loot destruction.

The merchant fell back against the backrest. The golden light faded in his eyes. He looked at me with genuine respect. He saw a predator in me.

"My talent values this at a fortune," Silas choked out, wiping his mouth. "The third floor does not generate such profit. I will extract a fortune for the elites alone from the alchemists. Ordinary silver will not cover this, Dave. I must prepare the payment in gold. This merchandise will set you up for months."

I laughed quietly. Pure logic suggested simple math. The economy of Oakhaven just started working on my terms. Pretty good drop, I thought with satisfaction.

"Gold is a good start," I threw indifferently. I slipped my hands deep into my pockets. "But I did not come here for rent pennies, Silas. Make room in the ledgers. This loot is just an entry fee."

I smiled with the arrogance of a predator. I unfastened the clasp of my coat. The heavy material fell looser on my shoulders.

"The third floor was just a warmup, Silas," I said quietly. Every word weighed a ton. "This is starting capital. I intend to clear this dungeon to the very bottom. In ten months."

A dead silence fell in the office. Even the candle flames seemed to stop in place for a fraction of a second.

"I expect you to scout the market and update the books," I continued, completely ignoring the petrified merchant. "I want to know what margins in platinum I can expect for loot from the fiftieth, maybe eightieth floor."

His merchant brain just caught a massive lag, I thought with amusement, observing his reaction on pure logic.

The merchant's eyes widened to the limit. He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried to say something. He only let out a quiet wheeze. He stared at me in disbelief. He searched my face for a shadow of a joke. He found nothing there but mathematical certainty.

"Eightieth...?" Silas finally stammered. His voice broke like a maturing boy's.

He fell into his chair so heavily that the wooden backrest cracked.

"In ten months?" he gasped, grabbing his bald head. "Dave. Do you have a fever? On the fiftieth floor, elite inquisition squads piss themselves! Guilds send raids there once a decade! Eightieth?! The gravity there crushes Vessels into pulp!"

I rested my hands on the pile of coppers. I maintained my Brazen chill.

"I will do it in ten months," I repeated with icy calm. "So start preparing space in the vaults for gold and platinum. Soon this city will drown in my merchandise. And anyone who tries to stop you will disappear faster than they can scream."

Silas stared at me for long seconds. His hands shook noticeably on the edge of the desk. He realized the gravity of the situation. The guy in the black coat did not throw cheap threats. I was a predator who intended to devour the entire ecosystem.

The merchant wiped his bald head with a dirty sleeve. He pulled out the bottom drawer. He pulled out a heavy bottle and three clay cups from it.

"Dwarven moonshine," he babbled hoarsely. "Stinks of vomit. Burns holes in the bladder. But I have to drink. I will not process this sober."

He poured the oily liquid. He pushed the vessels our way.

"To this suicidal plan of yours, Dave."

Instead of refusing, I smiled brazenly. Pure logic suggested simple math. My modernized organism easily ignored such toxins. I reached for the cup with Brazen chill.

I raised the vessel to my mouth. In one gulp, I poured the murderous alcohol into myself. The liquid burned my esophagus, but I completely ignored this discomfort. I put the clay back on the counter with a hollow thud. I did not grimace. I did not blink.

His fence brain just caught a massive lag, I thought with internal amusement.

Silas opened his mouth. He stared at my face with absolute disbelief. This beverage laid powerful mercenaries on the ground, and I drank it like ordinary water.

At the same moment, Shnee emerged from the shadows. The white-haired elf did not intend to be left behind. Possessive pride guided her. Since her leader could absorb acid without a stutter, she had to prove her worth. She did not have the seal yet. Her body was still fragile after months of captivity. But her will remained hard as diamond.

She grabbed the third cup. She raised it to her lips. She poured the burning spirit into herself in one fluid motion.

She put the vessel down next to mine. Her porcelain face expressed no emotions. She did not cough. Only a delicate blush bloomed on her pale cheeks. She looked at me, and her eyes burned with predatory satisfaction.

Silas fell back against the backrest. The wood cracked under his weight. His worldview finally collapsed. He sat before two anomalies that broke the laws of biology before his eyes.

"Alright. I withdraw my objections," the merchant muttered. He downed his own cup. He grimaced powerfully. He gasped eagerly for air, wiping his mouth. "Respect."

I fastened the clasp of my coat.

"Do the valuation, Silas," I threw with a cold tone. "Prepare the books. We return tomorrow for the cash. Time to move the economy."

I turned to the exit. We walked out into the gloom of the city. We left the fence with his ruined mind and a mountain of valuable loot. The machine started. The clock began to count down those ten months.