Chapter 331: Be Careful What You Wish For
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 331: Be Careful What You Wish For
A long journey demands a slow start. We were just entering the Fallen Dominion. A single misstep here could send us wildly off course later.
The Regressor wanted to head east, toward Claudia, but if the Golden Palace was in the west, all that travel would be for nothing. Even the great Regressor didn't want that, so she pulled out all the stops to pinpoint its general location. In a rather… economic fashion.
The Fallen Dominion's camp was currently on the receiving end of a happy economic retaliation, courtesy of the Regressor's injection of funds.
Tch. She could've given that money to me.
In any case, people may lie, but money never does. The Regressor's financial blitz seemed to be paying off, but it was taking some time, forcing us to stay at the camp for the night.
The camp of the Fallen Dominion was nothing like the silent nights of the Military State. Even in the dead of night, people ducked in and out of each other's tents without a second thought. A man on horseback galloped furiously down a narrow path. People screamed and leaped out of the way, then went on their way, shouting curses after him.
There were no streetlights. But thanks to the lamps people carried and the alchemical glow emanating from the roadside alchemists, the camp was filled with a soft, ambient light from all directions.
In the midst of it all, I was walking through the camp alone, a deck of cards in my hand.
"Finally, a proper restock."
I'd only been using my cards lately, not replenishing them. Even if I could take my time refilling the mana in the Clubs, my consumption of Diamonds had been severe.
I'd lost a good number of them, and a few were so damaged you could see right through the back. They were useless for games anymore. On top of that, since the skewer I made in the Abyss survived, my deck now had two Aces of Diamonds, which was incredibly annoying.
A magician should at least have a matching set. This is just a junk deck.
But we were on a busy journey. It would take me too long to make them myself. Since I’d gotten some spending money from the Regressor, I decided to entrust the job to a skilled alchemist.
I walked through the camp's night market, searching for one.
The Dholes scavenged and sold the byproducts the Golden Lord left behind. That meant someone was buying them. In the Fallen Dominion, there were trading companies that turned all sorts of materials into goods.
A major player like Juggernaut was one thing, but smaller companies were bound to set up shop in a crowded camp like this. I had to carefully pick someone competent.
Unlike the Military State, where everything was standardized, the markets of the Fallen Dominion were a battleground where you had to wage war just to buy a scrap of iron.
"Official rum from the Drum Trading Company! 990 Alke for 50 liters. Not a single Alke less!"
"Fuck! The official price is 500! What do you mean, charging double?!"
"If you don't like it, go get it and sell it yourself. Next!"
Even buying simple goods required a drawn-out haggle.
"Looking for someone to fix my ride!"
"What kind?"
"A Gearwheel Bike!"
"Gears? Is it Maximilien-made? Shit, you're riding a relic…"
"None of your business what I ride. If you're not gonna fix it, get lost!"
"When did I say I couldn't? Lead the way. Just make sure you've got plenty of cash for the repairs."
The parts and the people were all so different; everything had to be custom-fitted.
"Are you rich?"
"Excuse me, sir. If it's not too much trouble… could you possibly buy me a glass of rum…."
And amidst it all were those trying to beg for even a single bite. A motley crew of every human type imaginable had gathered, creating a crucible of chaos.
Naturally, that motley crew included swindlers. Just then, I saw an old man in rags somehow manage to grab a merchant by the collar from across a desk.
"Cough, cough. You son of a bitch, are you kidding me! How is this only worth 14 Alke?!"
"Sir, please calm down and look at the scale. How can I offer you more for scrap iron of this weight?"
"This is a broken arrowhead I found in the cracks of a castle wall! There's no way it's scrap iron! And! I could feel it was over 30kg, so why does your scale only say 28kg?!"
"Would a scale lie? Perhaps there's a problem with your senses… Well, I suppose with only three fingers, even this weight might feel heavy."
Hahaha. Laughter erupted from the onlookers. The mocked old man's face turned red, then purple. But no matter how angry he got, the reading on the scale wouldn't change.
If you want to change the reading, you have to step on the pedal on the side.
"Whoops. My foot slipped!"
It looked like the scale was just sitting on a wooden box, but the box was actually part of the setup. Feigning a slip, I naturally stepped on a pedal on the side of the box as I passed. The needle on the scale jumped, moving up three notches.
For a brief moment, the crowd fell silent. I walked leisurely through the quiet I had created.
"Oh, my apologies~. Hope you make lots of sales~."
"You, you…"
A moment later, a storm of curses and shouts erupted behind me. A three-fingered fist slammed into the merchant's face, knocking out three of his teeth. The old man seemed taken aback, as if he hadn't intended to go that far, but the merchant's teeth were valuable gold teeth, crafted from precious metal. The merchant scrambled to pick them up, but a few quick-eyed Dholes had already snatched them and hidden them up their sleeves.
All sorts of commotion broke out, but it had nothing to do with me.
"A bit noisy. Don't they manage the riffraff around here?"
I grumbled, leaving the chaos behind me and scanning the now relatively quieter street.
What I needed to make was a multipurpose alchemic tool, one that focused on portability over destructive power or durability. It was a product that required an absurd amount of delicate work for the materials involved.
That meant I needed an exceptionally skilled alchemist. But could I find someone who could do it overnight?
As I walked and pondered, a small tent with a carelessly made sign caught my eye.
[Anything.]
Hmm. That's confident. But is it a good idea? I've never met anyone who says 'anything' and is actually happy when you ask for just anything.
Well, let's see what they've got. I pushed aside the tent flap and went inside.
"Attend me. A customer has graced us with their presence…"
"…A spy."
A familiar face looked up at me. Ah, it was that woman from earlier today.
I wondered why the Primarch of the Fallen Dominion was doing odd jobs like this, but then again, I, the King of Humans, was currently rolling around in the dirt myself. I decided not to ask. Everyone has their reasons.
First, I just had to confirm one thing.
"This is the place that makes 'anything,' right? Not the place that turns 'anything' into dust? I just witnessed a plow turn into a pile of ash a moment ago."
"…Get out."
"I'd like to commission this alchemic equipment."
I spread my cards out on the desk. It was once a full deck of playing cards… or it was supposed to be, but it was now worn and missing pieces, as if burned away in spots.
The woman picked up one of the cards, which was frayed and worn away like unraveled fluff. Diamond 8, All Things Long and Thin. She examined my favorite, ambitious creation from all angles and muttered.
"…This."
"What do you think? It's pretty worn, but that's how much I've used it…"
"…It's trash. I wonder who made it."
What? How dare she insult someone else's work like that?
Wait. Calm down. She doesn't know I made it. As lacking in communication skills as she is, she probably wouldn't belittle a creation right in front of its creator.
This is actually an opportunity. I'll reveal that I made it myself and make her squirm.
"Ahem. Actually, that's my work. Something I scraped together all my knowledge and funds to create back when I was young and didn't know any better…"
"…That explains it."
"Explains it? What explains it?! You can't even farm properly, yet you have the gall to criticize something someone else poured their blood, sweat, and tears into! Have you no sense of decency?! I held my tongue earlier, but let me be frank. You're doomed to fail as a farmer! The laziest farmer in the world would look like the god of agriculture next to you!"
As I shouted, incensed, the woman seemed a bit intimidated and offered an excuse.
"…Useless. A waste."
Was that an excuse or an insult? Fine. Let's see what she's really thinking.
‘…Expensive and complex. A lot of work. But it's not worth the price. The result of using precious Alchemic Gold and high-level techniques is just… unfolding a thin wire. It's extremely inefficient. It would be better to make a different weapon…’
Now that I read her thoughts, it actually makes sense. I'll let it slide since I can read minds. If I were anyone else, I might have grabbed her by the collar by now. She should be more careful in the future.
"…What do you want? Repairs?"
"Repairs, I guess. I'd like to restore all 13 cards in this style. Do all of them. I'll pay whatever it costs."
The skewer, hook, horn bow, short spear, scythe, revolver, wire, hatchet, shield, and sword.
Most of them had been consumed or damaged in battle while escaping the Military State's capital, Amitengrad. I'd given the revolver, one of the few remaining pieces, to Ria, and though I'd done my best to retrieve the wire each time, more than half of it was gone.
I'd been in too much of a hurry to replenish them until now, but this was my chance to fully restore my arsenal. How much could it possibly cost?
The woman stared intently at the cards, then shook her head.
"…No."
"You call it trash and then say you can't make it? Is this how you do business these days?"
"…No. It's easy to make. But."
"But?"
"…It's a hassle."
Is she really trying to run a business? She won't do it because it's a hassle?
Of course, that wasn't her true reason… Let's see, mind-reading.
‘…It's not a matter of difficulty. It just takes too much work. Making a transforming weapon is easy, but making it change into the shape of a card… it takes the same amount of effort as knitting something stitch by stitch. Besides, creating a specific shape is more in the realm of art than skill.’
She's definitely skilled. To figure all that out in such a short time.
It was a pain to make. Even the simplest one, the Diamond 1, the multipurpose skewer, took me a full night. I can't even begin to describe how long the rest of the set took.
…Tch, that's why I was trying to hire someone else.
"If you pulled an all-nighter, you could probably finish three of them, couldn't you?"
"…Don't want to."
"Hey, aren't you sitting here to work and earn money? Why are you on strike with a customer? You don't want to make money?"
‘…Chirp, chirp, so noisy. I'm not here for the money…’
The woman let out a small sigh and raised her hand.
"…Instead."
She placed her palm flat on the table. The tattoo on her arm flashed, and mana flowed into the steel tabletop, causing it to glow white-hot. The moment the table was engulfed in white light, she lifted her hand.
And then something bizarre happened. The table, which should have been solid steel, came away with her palm like sticky dough. A glittering light fell like powder.
It wasn't melting. The steel, having entered a malleable state through alchemy, had become soft while remaining cool. It looked just like a skein of thread made of light. The woman wrapped the steel threads around her palm again and again, drawing them out even thinner. When the bundle was fine enough, she clenched her fist and poured it over my card.
There was a flash of light, and a moment later…
"…Here."
Before my eyes was a perfectly restored Diamond 8.
I spoke, a note of admiration in my voice.
"Wait a minute. You fixed this in one second? And you were complaining this whole time?"
"…The structure is repetitive. I just copied it."
Even if the structure was the same, to think she could alchemize the entire structure and just paste it on? She even managed to give the wire its elasticity back!
There was a reason independent alchemists operated under the names of trading companies. If you could process raw materials and manufacture products all by yourself, you were a one-person factory, a trading company unto yourself. What else would you need?
The power to understand and alter structures in an instant—alchemy.
Because everyone here had mastered it, the people of the Fallen Dominion, paradoxically, didn't really need other people. If they needed something, they made it themselves, only trading for things they absolutely couldn't acquire on their own.
That was probably why the Fallen Dominion had never formed a large society. They just didn't need each other that much…
"Nice. While you're on a roll, please fix the other cards too!"
"…No."
‘…This one just needed the missing threads filled in, but the other cards have fixed forms they transform into. That's partly in the realm of art, so it's difficult for me to touch.’
"Tch. Fine. In that case, how much do I owe you for the repair?"
This was the important part. The Regressor had given me spending money, but she never said anything about giving back the change. That meant any money I saved by haggling would go straight into my pocket.
To spend like a king, I have to haggle like a dog. I waited for her to name her price, ready to read her mind.