The Scammer Jetoson
“Akan has policies favoring dwarves. There are plenty of workshops, and even more dwarves. Especially around the magic market—quite a few dwarf workshops there. Check them one by one, nice and slow?”
“Let’s go.”
The spirited princess’s footsteps turned toward one corner of the capital.
Berge quietly followed behind.
Is she really out here looking for Roger?
Comparing it to her actions from before his regression, it wasn’t entirely impossible.
But that didn’t prove she was an idiot.
She’s still a crazy bitch.
Berge snorted and lost interest.
She was a princess, so she piqued his curiosity, but kidnapping her would be the worst possible move.
Getting tangled up with the dwarves would be a hassle.
The dwarf kingdom itself wasn’t all that impressive, but their skilled artisans—and the connections those artisans brought—were not to be taken lightly.
The moment you kidnapped a prince or princess, they’d call in favors from every kingdom they were tied to, directly or indirectly, and flood the Hero Guild with priceless artifacts.
In fact, there was that one demon king in the past who snatched a dwarf kingdom’s prince and ended up crushed under a continent-wide alliance.
After that, the unwritten rule was to leave the dwarves alone unless absolutely necessary. Or so he recalled.
Lost in idle thoughts, he turned his steps toward the magic market.
True to its name as a magic kingdom, Akan’s capital boasted several magic markets.
As Berge stepped into the magic district, he concealed his presence even more thoroughly.
This was a place teeming with mages hunting for spell ingredients and mercenaries or merchants chasing quick fortunes by supplying them. There’d be heroes here too, without a doubt. Of course, compared to the Magic Tower, they were weaklings—few if any could sense him.
Berge slipped into a quiet shop with fewer people. Fortunately, no heroes.
“Welcome!”
The air smelled of aged wood, mingled with a sharp herbal tang that was oddly off-putting.
Bubbling sounds came from somewhere. The shelves were crammed with glass vials full of reagents.
Drykan roots. That’s a lycanthrope heart. And vampire blood?
Not just reagents—magical beast byproducts, spirit herbs, and oddities too.
But the quality looked dubious.
Roots half-rotted. Heart’s in chunks. Blood from some low-grade vampire, barely any magic left.
Even without the Magic Tower’s standards, this was pitiful. No wonder it was empty.
“What can I help you with?”
The clerk stepped closer.
“Seniel powder.”
“For spirit contracts?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect timing! I’ve got a rare few stashed away!”
“Rare?”
“Spirit mages are so few these days. The reagents and magic crystals alone jack up the price, and the shelf life ain’t long.”
Like I care.
“Right.”
“It doesn’t even grant spirit affinity to total nobodies, so it’s basically just for spirit mages—and they’re dying out. What do you think happens? Shops stop stocking it unless they’re desperate.”
You’re really lucky to find it here.
The clerk yapped on obsequiously.
“You’d have hit at least a few dozen shops otherwise.”
Annoying bastard.
He rummaged through a display cluttered with ingredients.
“Lemme see… it’s around here somewhere…?”
Out came three small pouches, caked in dust.
“Here ya go. One gold each.”
“Pricey.”
“Low demand means low production. Rarity bumps the cost. How many you need?”
“All of ’em.”
The mana was thin, but more was better. He’d blocked heroes and turned one into a minion—splurging a bit on magic points was fine.
“Three gold then. Smart choice. Everything in my shop is top-shelf.”
Didn’t look it, but no point arguing.
Buy and bounce. Can’t risk running into heroes…
Berge paused as he peeked inside a pouch. His face hardened. The clerk forced an awkward grin.
“Something wrong…?”
“It’s purple.”
“Pardon?”
“Seniel powder I know is a soft green.”
“N-No way…”
The clerk frantically checked the pouches—one after another.
“Or did they invent a new one while I wasn’t looking?”
“…Would you believe that?”
Berge clenched his fist silently.
“Kidding. Kidding.”
“So funny I wanna rip you apart.”
“Haha, you’ve got a sense of humor.”
“Think it’s funny?”
The clerk had no idea death’s shadow loomed over him.
“But you’re mistaken if you think there’s a problem.”
“Not with the powder—with your body soon.”
“Hear me out. Seniel is made green originally, sure. But different color doesn’t mean defective, right?”
“Keep talking.”
“Swords started as basic shortswords and longswords. Now? Bastards, zweihanders, gladii, broadswords, rapiers—you name it. That’s progress.”
“Seniel going from green to purple is ‘progress’…”
“Can’t you feel this pure mana?”
“Nope.”
It was so murky, he doubted it’d work for spirit contracts.
“This’d be perfect for demon pacts.”
“C’mon, sir, that’s over the line. Look at this thick mana!”
Ground mana crystals made it dense, sure. But compared to blood or corpses brimming with life force for black magic? Watered-down slop.
“Eh, just a hunch. How ’bout half price special?”
“Can I fold you in half?”
“Quarter…?”
“……”
“What about other reagents? Seniel’s the famous one for spirit summons, but there’s tons more! Better ones overshadowed by name alone.”
“Seniel’s already scarce—and spoiled.”
“Ahem…”
A chill silence fell.
“Where’s the boss?”
“That’s me.”
Berge pondered it dozens of times.
Kill him?
Showing power in Amur’s a bad idea.
No need for power. Just do it quiet.
Murder in the magic district? It’ll blow up.
But killing a scumbag ain’t murder, right?
Ding-a-ling—
If not for the timely new customer, he might’ve actually done it.
“Welcome!”
The clerk—no, the owner—greeted them, oblivious he’d just cheated death.
“Did we have to start at this dump?”
“If he’s got half a brain, he won’t join the Magic Tower officially. Kingdom requests? Akan wouldn’t refuse.”
“So he’s hiding here?”
“High chance he’s in the magic district. This is just one spot.”
“A dwarf, eh? Our shop’s famous with your kind.”
Luize took interest in the clerk’s slimy pitch.
“This rundown joint’s famous with dwarves?”
“Yes, indeed! We don’t deal much in metals, but magical stuff that pairs great with ’em? All top-grade!”
“Not here for goods. Looking for someone.”
“Ah, gotcha. But… what about this? If I don’t sell, my memory gets fuzzy…”
“…What the hell is this trash?”
“M-Murder’s banned in the capital!”
Luize drew her weapon. The owner panicked but kept yapping.
It was like a damn play. Berge watched the pathetic show.
“…If you’re threatening, buy something first, then threaten?”
“…You nuts?”
“No offense. Buying gives me some profit—makes the threat easier to swallow.”
“You’re a funny one.”
Luize burst out laughing instead of raging.
“Fine, let’s see the goods.”
“How’s this?”
The owner shoved the discolored Seniel powder Berge had rejected.
“Never seen that powder.”
“New product: Artsha powder. Magic crystals mixed with reagents for summons.”
“Don’t those flood the market?”
“This one’s different. Converts mana closer to magic points—way better for beast or demon byproducts. You dwarven smiths know the edge that gives.”
“Not bad. If it’s real. Got Magic Tower certification?”
“Artisan-made, no official mark. But it’s legit! A merchant’s credit is life. Especially me, in Amur.”
“Mana’s partially tainted. Not total BS.”
Luize snorted.
“How much?”
“Four gold normally—three special!”
“…Definite scammer. That crap for three gold? Even prime Seniel’s fifty silver.”
Fifty silver?
Look at this guy.
“Whatever. We’re in a rush—no time for small fry.”
Luize jerked her chin. Three gold coins passed from her guard to the owner.
“Thank you! Blessings on ya!”
“Now spill. Any dwarf named Roger hit the magic market lately?”
“I know most dwarves here—no Roger rings a bell.”
“Three gold for that? I’d be pissed.”
“Central square’s got Deer’s Leaf—biggest shop, every item imaginable. Newbies always hit it first. They might know.”
“Not bad. Let’s go.”
Luize sheathed her weapon and stormed out.
“Sorry for the scene.”
She’d locked eyes with Berge just before. But she didn’t recognize him—last time, illusion faces separated them in battle.
“Nice hustle. Peddling junk at premium.”
“Thanks. No interruptions helped.”
“Wasn’t my coin. Gutsy with a blade at your throat.”
“Threateners with drawn swords never swing for real. Worst case, a little merchandise damage.”
“And jacked the price.”
“Looked like highborn lady. Dwarves got cash anyway. Figured three gold was easy pickings.”
Berge knew zilch about commerce or merchants. But one thing: this guy was exceptional.
Born scammer.
Lying bold-faced with a truth-knower watching. And Berge liked it.
“I’ll take the other two Seniel pouches.”
Spoiled, but better than nothing.
“For real? Special: two for one gold!”
“I look rich too?”
“Huh?”
The owner chuckled awkwardly.
“…Misunderstanding. She must’ve misread the market…”
“Then my price is right. Spoiled junk’s worthless—zero, yeah?”
The owner’s face crumpled.
“S-Sir, c’mon. Stealing in Amur’s a heavy crime.”
“Didn’t you say real threats don’t swing?”
“Why change the subject?”
“Oh? That was Luize Berft.”
“…Berft’s mad dog?”
“One more step, and your head’s rolling.”
“…Hic.”
“Want me to run tell her the truth? Or…”
“Take it! Take it!”
Damn it.
The owner grumbled.
“Never thought I’d get screwed over like this…”
“One more thing.”
“Eat flea liver!”
“Not bad for you. Wanna recruit you. For Golden Moon Merchant Company.”
“Golden Moon? You with them?”
“Close enough.”
“Ain’t that a sinking ship? Why’d a bright guy like me join?”
“Or die to Luize Berft?”
“Damn it!”
“Kidding.”
“Your jokes pack a punch!”
“But Golden Moon’s real. Could use a guy like you.”
Humans know humans best. Humans who fleece humans best.
Berge wanted Golden Moon fleecing humans to fatten his purse.
Thud.
A pouch dropped before the owner.
“What’s this?”
“Advance and first month’s pay. More at Golden Moon.”
“…One gold?”
One gold salary?
Greed lit the owner’s eyes.
“Bonuses based on performance, naturally.”
“…I’m in!”
“Good call. Tell ’em at Golden Moon you’re from the mountains.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Just say it.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, Seniel’s at that Deer’s Leaf spot, right?”
“Yep. Deer’s Leaf has everything!”
“Name?”
“Jetoson!”
Berge left the shop.
Heh heh heh.
Alone, Jetoson caressed the gold coin with a blissful smile.
“Flings one gold like nothing… guy’s loaded, sure…”
He sprinkled salt at the door.
“Why the hell would I go there?”
Tough road ahead—no thanks. To him, Berge screamed brutal boss.
“Bloodsucking merchant-eater. Go get royally scammed out there. Ptoo.”
Jetoson dumped the whole salt jar.
“Shoo, shoo. Begone, both of ya. Don’t come back.”
He didn’t know.
“……”
The “gone” customer lurked, presence hidden, watching through the window.
Berge silently sought Deer’s Leaf.
He approached Luize, grilling the clerk.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“That powder? No special new dev. Just old, spoiled Seniel. Junk with a markup.”
“…What?”
Luize’s face twisted in fury.
“Ask the locals to appraise it. Won’t be lying.”
“…That fucking prick.”
Back at the shop, Jetoson rubbed his sudden goosebumps while salting the door.
“…Why’s it suddenly cold?”