The Hunter's Guide to Monsters

Chapter 38 - Last Meal

Krow was surprised that Harnalt wanted to meet in a tower, a restaurant.

Again, between them, lay an array of fingerfoods and tea.

  "I have heard your exploits at the Temple." Harnalt shook his head. "Do you make a habit of throwing yourself into danger for strangers?"

That was accurate as far as quests went, actually.

So it wasn't his fault, it was a game thing.

"News travels fast." Krow snapped up a cannoli-based pastry, crunching into it. He was gratified to find bits of bacon mixed with the creamy stuffing.

"Difficult not to, when one's own children tangle with law enforcement. Try the torch-seared tuna; I hear it's one of the best that this place serves. Very smoky."

They ate, speaking sparingly.

It wasn't long before Harnalt broached the topic he called Krow for. 

"We have never been fond of outsiders," he murmured. "And yet, you have done me and mine a great kindness. There is no reward that can balance the life of a child. Were you of the blood, this may have been easier, to offer you a place in the caravan, a role in the Clan.

But you have plans, that I can see clearly, and we have obligations – the two, I think, do not at this time correspond. Therefore, this I must ask, is there anything you wish to ask of the Clan?"

Krow had been thinking about this since Bassalt had implied they were signed to the Trade Covenants.

He didn't hesitate. "Would you consider writing me a letter of introduction? To the auctionhouse, if possible."

"Certainly."

"I realize this is…eh, you will?"

"It's only an introduction."

Krow must have rolled high persuasion inadvertently. He smiled. "Great, thanks!"

He'd been fairly certain Harnalt would agree, but not without some coaxing. It was, after all, a near-stranger asking if he could trade on Harnalt's reputation. The guy had the caravan and his Clan to consider. That he agreed immediately was a relief.

A Letter of Introduction from a member of the Covenant would save him so much work.

Nyurajke was only a pit-stop.

Krow didn't want to stay long.

Harnalt, across the table, eyed him silently for a long moment. "That's…it?"

Krow nodded, munched happily on some chestnuts.

So much time saved!

Harnalt shook his head, but brought out paper, ink, and pen. He nudged a few bowls closer to Krow.

His stat gain, Krow wanted to huff loudly at the other, was actually faster than his first playthrough. This draculkar body was naturally lean, thanks. He didn't need to be fed.

He stayed silent though, and turned to the window instead, reaching for a bunch of grapes.

The vista that stretched out before him was breath-taking. Mist-faded peaks, purple and pink leafed trees, deep waterfalls in the far distance.

What could be expected, of a world created with emphasis to aesthetic. 

Still. Not even in Zushkenar had he seen anything like it.

Shops in the lowlands didn't quite have the elevated views of draculkar tower balcony restaurants. And on Earth, restaurants built on high floors with such views were out of his price range.

He watched the lazy dancing swirls of the windmill shadows play on the stair railings and delicate bridges between the towers below. 

The noise of people going about the business of living was muted here, blown away by the high breezes. 

There were still crowds around the streets and viaducts, rushing from place to place, slowly strolling, laughing and talking, leading animals, racing carts.

But Krow couldn't hear, like watching a silent art movie with just wordless instrumental music and the low humming of white noise to clarify what was going on.

Relaxing.

Harnalt capped his pen, finally, the click of it distinct in the quiet. 

He flicked a finger, and a stamp appeared in his hand that he pressed onto the paper. A brief glow lit the junction where paper and stamp met, then spread to the edges of the letter.

"I have some understanding with a manager at Orddet's." He folded the letter neatly and sealed it. "She should have what you need."

He dashed a name and address against the outside of the letter with a flourish and held it out to Krow.

Krow could just see 'Orddet's Auctions, Sales, and Trades' on one line and 'Nyurajke Town' below it.

[You've acquired Trader's Letter of Introduction!]

"Thank you. You've no idea how much I appreciate it."

His first playthrough, entry into Orddet's, the system marketplace, needed at least 100 RP with the town or city. That or a Letter of Introduction from a signatory of the Trade Covenants.

He remembered it, that minor trivia from that time, because he spent one whole in-game week doing chores for people in Flaurel Town while getting challenged to battle left and right as he tried to do his quests in the surrounding area.

He'd won some, lost a lot, came out of the experience a better fighter, but so frustrated at the game – the only reason he stuck around was that players were common in news and online flashvids showing off their Redlands earnings.

An elite player in the Redlands of a year's time, the top 100,000 players, could earn 1000 drax per day in the game, just by playing the game.

That was 60,000 drax a month, or 600 ecru – slightly less than Eli's salary before getting fired. 

It was enough for a small family's living expenses.

Eli's current monthly budget was 80 ecru for food and BrainZip packs, 30 ecru for electricity, and the remaining 10 for water, net connection, and others – 120 or so ecru a month. If he paid rent on the apartment, that would add another 120 ecru or so to his expenses.

Then there was the RedVisor vidportal.

Just six months after the Masters of War expansion was released, the best 360* RedVisor videos of combat maneuvers were already garnering 100M views and making money as steadily as a queen ant laid eggs. Even the not-so-famous channels earned 2000-3500 ecru a month; enough to live not in luxury but in comfortable circumstances.

All that, and the top 100 players gaining sponsorships that netted them hundreds of thousands to millions per year just stoked the flames.

In fact, even top 500 ranked players got invited to speak or emcee at conventions, or contracted for voice-actor work and film scenes.

Redlands was such a rich mine that players didn't even need to gain top rankings to earn impressive loads of cash. Some art and music-inclined players got together with friends to form a guild not for battling but to film short fantasy movies and music videos. 

The Redlands Virtual Actor's and Entertainer's Guild had been massively popular, inducing RSI to start investing in Redlands-based film and entertainment right before the Quake.

It would have sparked a VR-based entertainment renaissance to bolster the flagging non-interactive media entertainment industry, probably.

That amount of exposure, who would not want to grab a plate at the feast?

Unfortunately, him of the past had caught that wave late.

Too late to ride the gentle swell of the tide.

He'd joined at a time that the wave was becoming a tsunami, already difficult to control.

The sound of wood sliding against stone brought Krow back to the present. He'd been absent-mindedly rolling a piee of fire chestnut against his fingertips, only realizing when he refocused on Harnalt.

"Oh. Sorry."

"You seem to be a young man with tribulations older than you are, Krow."

He hacked a laugh. 

"Oh. Oh, that's not…" He struggled to finish that sentence, failed, and turned his attention to the plain case, similar in size to a shoebox, that had been placed before him instead. "What is it?"

"I expected you to ask for it, really." Harnalt gave a wry smile. "Who'd have guessed you only wanted a personal favor from me?"

Krow arched his brows. "Only?"

A Trade Clan caravan leader would say 'only' when referring to the importance of safeguarding his Clan's reputation?

Harnalt chuckled, wrinkles in the dark skin of his face showing lines of humor that had been carved over years of laughter and smiles.

"Give a father some pride. Since my sister died, Seinalt has been my son as much as Einel is my daughter." He smirked at Krow, nodded at the box. "This is a treasure of the Garvan Clan. I know Sein told you about it."

Krow frowned. "Sein told me little, nothing that would compromise you. Why would he tell me about a Clan treasure?"

The smirk widened. "You asked."

Krow's confusion turned into irritation. Was this a trap? Trade Clan gifts were often dangerous double-bladed swords. Was this another like those Mainomai something Earrings?

"I know enough of your people to understand that I'd die if…if…" 

The memory of facing the parent condorowl surfaced in the fore of his mind.

Shkav.

He'd asked if…

No way.

He stared at the box. "And you're just giving it to me?"

The smirk turned smug. "Like you just gave Sein an item made from a legendary material? Thought you could hide that?"

"That is not this." Krow hissed the words as he gestured at the box sitting innocently on the table.

"It's a copy."

A copy? Oh sure, like that's better. Does it change that he was giving Krow a rank-six movement spell!?

Movement spells were rare.

They cost more than other spells of the same rank. There were hundreds of Protection Spells, hundreds of Combat Spells, thousands of Utility Spells. But Movement Spells, there were not more than 20 initial spells.

It was surprising enough that failed-robber-guy had one of the three rank-two movement spells in the game, so early. Now there was suddenly a rank-six?!

Also, he'd actually forgotten Sein mentioned it!

In a year, before the Quake, a rank-six movement spell like the Stormglide Steps would sell for 100,000-150,000 drax. 

Now, it was worth hugely more than that, because other movement spells hadn't been discovered yet!

Harnalt's face fell. "You refuse? I see."

He reached for the box.

Krow grabbed it before the large bark-patterned hand could touch it.

[You've acquired 1 Movement Spell Scroll!]

His quick action left that hand hanging in mid-air over an empty stone table surface as Krow cuddled the box to his chest.

Harnalt stared, amused.

Krow cleared his throat, stated with as much dignity as he could, "If you insist, it would of course be rude to refuse."

"Good," Harnalt gave a small grin. 

Then his face slowly congealed into hard lines, eyes growing cold, and grin widening to show white sharp teeth. "I would've been uneasy, you see, if someone held such a debt over my family and refused to let me ameliorate it. I have a large heart for my people, they say, but no heart in this world is so large as to bear a debt that refuses to be paid."

Krow subtly leaned back.

Whoa.

The murder-face was genetic?!

He should've known.

Cute, mischievous Sein, you're doomed to this being your final form?! Your future isn't cute and fluffy at all!

That's probably not what Krow should be thinking when pinned to his seat by those eyes.

Oh well, if Sein became an Archaeologist, the icy-death murder-eyes would only help, for sure.

"You understand, of course," Harnalt asked.

"...inescapably." 

"I'm happy to know Sein makes smart friends." The gentle eyes and marks of laugh-lines returned.

Krow hadn't even known he'd tensed until he felt himself relax.

Weeping skies.

Scary.

"Between you and I," Harnalt ended, "let there be no debts."

It was not long after, that Harnalt left.

Krow, from the café balcony, watched him exit the tower at street level, moving to where the caravan was already passing through Nyurajke.

Huh, impeccable coordination.

A small figure waved from a horse, arm making great arcs.

Krow lifted his hand in response, wishful thinking with how distant they were, until the caravan disappeared behind the towers.

A brief image of an impressively-muscled Harnalt look-alike with that puppy-excited demeanor, wearing the gold and black travelpack, suddenly flashed through his mind.

…nope.

He buried his expression in a teacup, draining it.

"Young one," came a voice behind him, where the entryway was. "the reservation of this balcony is closing in three minutes. That would be seven drax, six serpens."

Krow's face contorted.

He set his cup down gently.

He glared in the direction of the caravan. In the distance, he could almost see the leader smirking at him.

No debts between us. Right.

*

Krow rented a room for one night in the merchant district, before taking the viaduct to Orddet's.

The game marketplace was the one mechanic that survived the transmigration more or less intact, including the holo-interface where the merchandise could be examined. A place that sold bulk more often than not, mingling NPC and player goods to create the best quality consignments at the best value.

He sat down in the chair the tight-jacketed assistant had led him to, met the eyes of the spectacled draculkar behind the desk.

"I'd like to open an account."