A Bizarre Business Plan (4)
Kosa's staff tapped the floor between Pelle's feet. Pelle bit her lip and pressed herself as flat against the wall as possible. The staff slipped out from between her legs and prodded elsewhere. Kosa glided past her like a ghost. Watching the back of Kosa's head as she passed, Pelle tiptoed toward the door.
"Sorry to interrupt your good time, Lady Pelle."
At Kosa's soft, flowing voice, both Pelle and I froze solid. Kosa turned her head slightly, smiling as if she could see us perfectly.
"No problem. A fortune-teller's lips must be sealed, after all."
I shot Pelle a look, and she finally got her legs moving, hurrying out the door. Once Pelle was gone, an awkward silence settled over the room, just Kosa and me. She stood there gripping her staff with both hands, so I had to break it first.
"Uh, so... what did you want to talk about?"
"I've finished the epic you asked for last time. I wanted to perform it for you and see if it's to your liking."
Right, I'd asked her to compose an epic poem to sing. I knew she composed her own music too, but damn, she worked fast.
"Let's hear it, then."
I pulled a chair over for her. Kosa groped for the backrest and slowly sat down. Must be tough without sight. The Goddess had lifted her curse but hadn't restored her vision. Being blind was her karma or whatever... What kind of past could curse someone with eyes that kill on sight? Was the story Kosa told me about her past even true? I couldn't see the past myself, so I'd never know for sure. Not unless that saintess who saved her testified. Hell, maybe that saintess was just a fictional cover Kosa cooked up to hide her history.
"Then, I'll begin."
The greedy and ferocious Blue Dragon Lurtjog,
Slaughtered the Demon King's army to sate his violent lust,
Yet still unsatisfied, reduced Myanfeld to ashes.
Then the guardian dragon of Myanfeld, Atergar, returned from distant seas,
And struck down Lurtjog in righteous fury.
In the kingdom's central city Rosens, the wicked dragon met its end, beheaded.
Thus Atergar soars periodically over Rosens, where she passed judgment,
A stern and solemn warning to all evils that threaten the world.
Remember Lurtjog, felled by her blade.
I sat there dazed even after it ended, then slowly clapped.
"Impressive..."
"Thank you, Master."
Kosa bowed her head slightly with a smile.
"But Master, what do you plan to use this epic for? I have a rough guess."
"Wanna take a shot?"
"Probably... something tied to dragon tourism, using Lady Atergar."
Spot on. I planned to spread this epic far and wide, turning Rosens and our inn into ground zero for the dragons' clash. A place where flames and lightning flew, ancient blood rained like a storm. Monster fans would flock there, along with story-hungry bards and rumor-loving gossips. Truth doesn't matter. Only the story does.
A few days later, I had Kosa ride the Hell Horse with me, touring nearby territories and performing in town squares. Atergar's epic was simple, with repetitive melody and lyrics easy to sing along to—it spread like wildfire. Rumors of the Lurtjog-Atergar clash hadn't died down yet, so the effect was even stronger.
Meanwhile, Ammugar and Orkog holed up in their workshop, pulling all-nighters to mass-produce dragon figurines. Soon, simple food and drinks lined up alongside them on the stall out front. They were small, housecat-sized at best, but the detail was unreal.
Crowds swarmed like clouds to glimpse Lurtjog's head or catch Atergar's sporadic appearances. Idwild sweated buckets selling snacks from the stall, and I hawked the figurines. They were a smash hit—I tripled the initial price just to test demand. Monster enthusiasts threw open their coin purses without hesitation. On Atergar sighting days, I could charge six times and still sell out.
Some days, stall sales outpaced the inn's. I even fantasized switching businesses entirely. But this was just opening hype. Once the initial rush passed, sales would taper. Whether to ride it out or build the next stepping stone—that was up to me and Ammugar.
For now, maximize the boom and milk it dry. Next steps later.
Just in case, though... I called Ukun and asked if he could whip up a simple workshop.
I'd housed the demons in a nearby building instead of the inn for a reason. At first, it was just for short-term seasonal sales, and unlike Pelle, they looked like textbook demons—fearsome, typical fiends. Especially Orkog; he looked monstrous enough to pass for a beast. Him traipsing in and out would've spooked guests.
No room at the inn, no annex... so that's how it went. But if sales kept strong, building a workshop next door as a side wing might be smart. Prep now—even if it flopped and they went back to Amerd, repurpose it as storage or whatever. Return their deposit after settling rent.
Wait, no—I'd been the idiot. Should've just asked Ukun to build fast and bunked them at the inn for a few days.
"You idiot. A simple building like that's done in days flat."
Ukun boasted he'd handle it for pay.
"Oh, and come with me."
I led him to the half-built construction site next to the inn—the spot where Grancis's caravan tried building a rival to strangle us, then bailed.
"Let's build here. What do you think?"
"Good spot. What kinda building?"
"Dunno. Your take?"
"You've got the inn and bathhouse already; tweaking those or repurposing ain't easy. So something totally new. But what..."
Ukun scratched his neatly trimmed beard, pondering.
"With dragons roaming and turning it touristy... how 'bout a small theater and casino, like Grace Bay?"
"Not bad. Or lure in shops we don't have downtown."
"One issue, though, Balder."
"Shoot."
He jerked his chin toward the inn.
"Big facilities like that need crowds. Right now, all we've got is that red dragon."
"Hm... yeah. Not enough spectacles or fun to pack the place."
"Build first and hype too soon, we'll just pay taxes on empty space."
He was right. No guarantee Atergar draws crowds for years. Needed more hooks beyond her. Vurn Mountains views and the inn's wild services helped, but Rosens wasn't a tourist town— not enough on its own. Needed steady, reliable draws...
That night, lying in bed by the Buren River, I racked my brain on turning this riverside into a Grace Bay-style resort. Ideas bubbled up, but nothing killer. Chat with the staff? Or hit up Marquis Kekers—he's the expert. Talk to Hildeva too; tourism needs city hall buy-in.
Head hurting, I shelved the hard thinking for something else. Reached into the desk drawer, fishing out the black orb. A bizarre find from Lurtjog's treasure chest. Fist-sized, jet-black glass etched with script. I'd tried every language I knew to decipher it—nothing. Not Common, maybe ancient divine tongue or some shit. Damn. Trying to unwind, now headache worse. But it was cool and smooth; fiddling calmed me a bit. I toyed with it blankly till sleep took me.
Next morning, I woke and tried sitting up—but felt something off. What the hell... this shitty sensation...? I twisted around, hunting the source of the creepy vibe. Then I pinpointed it and screamed at the top of my lungs.