The Nertin Appraisal
This village of Hapim sits close to the Belota Mountains and the Empire’s border, which is why so many trading companies buy magic beast carcasses here. There are several reasons for that. First, the Roderick Kingdom beyond the border is renowned for its magic tool craftsmanship. Normally, taking the carcasses straight to Roderick would fetch the highest prices. The problem is that Roderick’s workshops never purchase carcasses individually. They are extremely particular about quality, so they refuse anything that hasn’t been properly verified. In other words, they only buy from trusted sources that can guarantee authenticity. Those trusted sources are the trading companies right here. Naturally, the companies in Hapim are just as strict. If there’s even the slightest flaw or defect, they slash the price mercilessly—enough to make you wonder if they’re outright scammers. That’s why getting a fair price feels like waging a war. I did nothing during the actual hunt, yet this part might end up being more exhausting.
So we head to the Nertin Trading Company. Nertin is one of the three largest guilds in the Empire. Noonbori, Perdes, and Nertin—these three are roughly equal in scale and constantly compete to become the Empire’s top trading power. Thanks to them, the Empire’s commercial scene is fiercely competitive. Rivalry between equals is what drives progress, after all.
“Welcome. How may I assist you today?”
“I’m here to sell magic beast carcasses.”
“Pardon me, but do you have your grade certificate?”
I pull the certificate marked “3” from my pocket. The clerk smiles and politely guides me deeper inside. I once sold a grade-5 carcass here before, which instantly raised my customer rank from 1 to 3. That’s why I came. Higher ranks receive better treatment. Though grade 3 isn’t exactly prestigious.
“Welcome. I hear you’ve brought carcasses to sell.”
Appraisals are handled by a dedicated specialist. In other words, the man in front of me is the one who will try to lowball me—the professional hagglers, the negotiation specialists. The magic beast carcass appraisers. The sworn rivals of every hunter.
“Yes. May I take them out?”
“Please do.”
I lay out the goods. Four grade-4 Pachi horns. The appraiser gives a faint smile. Grade-4 beasts are common; dozens of hunters probably bring them in every day. No surprise there. I keep producing more grade-4 horns until I finally set down a grade-5 Driller horn. The appraiser gives a small nod. Prices jump starting at grade 5, so that reaction is expected. Still, we’ve barely begun.
“Could I trouble you for a tray?”
The appraiser prepares one with practiced ease. I catch a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he glances at my bag. I reach inside and pull out the hide and meat still attached to the skin—a grade-6 Roller’s hide and flesh. I’d cut it carefully, so the condition is excellent. When I glance at the appraiser, his expression has changed. Understandable. Grade-6 beasts aren’t common prey. His eyes are practically sparkling.
Once I empty the entire Roller carcass onto the table, the appraiser tilts his head, puzzled.
“Half a carcass. Hide and meat only, no bones.”
He has a sharp eye, as expected of a professional. He recognized the quantity at a glance. Estimating the original size from just hide and meat isn’t easy, but this is his job.
“That’s everything.”
“I see. Then allow me a moment to examine them.”
I step back while the appraiser begins his inspection. He measures the hide with a ruler, peers through a loupe, and scrutinizes every inch of the surface. His work is meticulous, and it matters to me too—his evaluation could decide whether I have to pack everything back up. After weighing the entire lot, he records his findings on a sheet of paper. His handwriting is so messy I can’t read a single word. Not that it matters.
“Shall I prepare the quote right away?”
“Please.”
He writes it out and hands it over.
Grade-4 beasts: 4,000 marcas. Grade-5 beasts: 5,000 marcas. Grade-6 beasts: 42,000 marcas. Total: 51,000 marcas. Roughly what I expected. Strangely, that makes me suspicious. If this is the quoted price, then it must already be discounted. Is there something I’m missing?
“You seem quite accustomed to dismantling beasts.”
When I nod, the appraiser leans in as if sharing a great secret.
“I was surprised by how clean the cut edges on the hide are. Most people can’t slice it this neatly, so a fair amount of hide gets wasted. Yours doesn’t have that problem, so its value increases. The size is also ideal—cut exactly to cloak dimensions.”
Ah. I had considered the cloak size when cutting. Roller hide is used for armor, but cloaks are its most common application. A single seamless piece without any seams commands a much higher price. Seams require extra labor to stitch, and Roller hide is notoriously tough—sewing it takes enormous time and effort. Seams are also the first places to wear out, and they compromise waterproofing and heat resistance. So a single, unbroken sheet is naturally worth more. The appraiser mentioned the cut edges, though. That’s probably because I used Strength magic to slice through everything in one go. Most people can’t manage that kind of force.
“I’ve gotten used to it after doing it so often.”
“You’ll be pleased with the quote. It isn’t the usual lowballed price you hear rumors about. Merchandise of this quality lets us pay out happily. I prepared the estimate in good conscience—of course, you already know that.”
Only a fool would take a merchant’s word “good conscience” at face value. The problem is I have no choice but to accept it. The price matches what I anticipated, and even if they did lowball me, I wouldn’t know the difference. So for now, this is the best I can do. I’ll still haggle a little, though.
“Since a professional appraiser gave me this quote, I suppose it must be accurate. Still, accepting a merchant’s first offer without any negotiation would imply I’m either fabulously wealthy or a naïve child who knows nothing of the world. I’m neither, so I imagine you could add a little something extra.”
A polite negotiation. Demanding more outright never works well—especially not at Nertin. They pride themselves on their reputation, so a courteous, direct approach is far more effective than stubborn haggling.
“Simply raising the price would be difficult. I do have performance targets to meet. If you were a regular customer, I might be able to pull some strings, but unfortunately that isn’t the case.”
Hmm. He’s firm. I didn’t expect him to shut it down so cleanly.
“All right. How about raising my customer rank to grade 4 instead?”
“That’s not within my authority. There are strict criteria for rank increases. If you bring in this many more grade-6 beasts, it should be possible.”
“I plan to sell the Roller’s bones tomorrow.”
“In that case, if you bring the bones in tomorrow for appraisal and sale, you’ll qualify for grade 4 immediately.”
As expected. They don’t hand out favors easily.
“Then how about this? Instead of cash, I receive a spatial expansion bag?”
The appraiser smiles faintly.
“That, I can arrange.”
And so I leave the trading company with a spatial expansion bag instead of payment. The bag is worth roughly 55,000 marcas. Since the original quote was 51,000, I effectively knocked off 4,000 marcas. Bags of this capacity don’t sell well—most people prefer buying several smaller ones. That’s why they agreed so readily. It’s better for them to move inventory this way than to keep it sitting in storage. Either way, it works out for me. I don’t feel like I took a loss. At least, not emotionally. A bag this size can easily hold an entire Roller. Combined with my old bag, I should have plenty of storage now. And tomorrow I’ll get more money from the bones, plus the rank increase. Using Berserker once really paid off. Everything went so smoothly. If I’d known it would be this easy, I would have tried it sooner. Still, better late than never. I should be grateful.
When I return to the inn, Ar startles awake. She must have been sleeping. A quick nap in the tree probably wasn’t enough.
“Hungry?”
She shakes her head vigorously. Come on, that can’t be true.
“Really? I was going to get something delicious.”
Ar glances at me for a moment, then mumbles softly.
“Actually… I’m hungry.”
I almost laugh, but I hold it in—she’d probably sulk. Still, it’s funny. A master reading his slave’s mood. Ridiculous.
“All right. Don’t go back to sleep. Wait here. I’ll order something and bring it up.”
I head downstairs, order food, and ask for it to be delivered to the room. When I return, Ar is already sitting at the table, clearly eager for the meal to arrive. If she was that impatient, why claim she wasn’t hungry? She really is an odd girl.
Soon the food arrives, and we eat heartily. Eating properly is important. No matter how exhausted you are, you have to keep your strength up. A mercenary’s body is their greatest asset. If hardship and poverty lead to skimping on meals, you fall into a vicious cycle that ends in a miserable death.
“Tomorrow we’ll go recover the Roller bones we left behind. If possible, I want to hunt one more grade-6 beast as well.”
“Yes.”
“Travel time is precious, so I’ll cast Haste. Keep that in mind.”
Ar tilts her head, confused. She’ll understand tomorrow. No need to explain now.