Claiming the Troll at the Crossroads
The woman floundered helplessly, her face drained of color as she apologized profusely. There was a reason she was suddenly so flustered. The identification I carried wasn't the ordinary kind. It was issued by the royal palace itself—a nationwide unlimited travel permit that let me roam anywhere freely. Back in my hero days, it had been essential for handling the palace's absurd commissions. No one had told me to return it upon retirement, so I'd pocketed it on my way out.
The woman asked cautiously, "Are you... perhaps... a prince...?"
I nearly burst out laughing at the ridiculous guess.
"Or maybe... a duke... or a marquis...?"
"Just a commoner. I got it for work when I was briefly employed at the palace."
But she didn't buy it. "N-No, that can't be..."
"Think about it. If I were really some high noble, would I slink into this backwater town all alone? Dressed like this?"
She scrutinized my outfit again. A rough woolen cloak to block the wind, a plain tunic anyone could wear, greaves wrapping my shins, and sturdy boots studded with hobnails. Pick out anyone dressed like this from the capital's markets, and you'd fill this city hall in no time.
"So relax."
She pressed a hand to her chest and steadied her breathing. "Phew... I thought my heart was going to drop out."
From her earlier reaction, it already had a few times. Even as she said it, wariness lingered in her eyes. She'd probably sussed out that I was hiding something and was playing along to avoid trouble. Smart woman—decided it wasn't worth digging deeper and risking backlash.
I glanced around the city hall and asked, "Where's the city administrator?"
The woman, righting a toppled chair, replied, "That's me."
Her answer caught me a bit off guard. Administrators were usually grizzled bureaucrats dispatched from the capital, but she looked too young—barely past thirty at a glance.
She pointed to the wall. Framed there was her official appointment certificate, stamped with the seal: 7th Grade Administrator Hildeva Amer.
A 7th grader at her age? She'd passed the central civil service exam, no doubt.
"Sorry. I misunderstood—you're too young for an administrator."
"Fair enough. It's a city in name, but the population's dwindled to almost nothing."
It made sense now. City-sized on paper, but population-wise more like a village, so they'd sent a lower-grade official to match.
"Have a seat."
I sat across the desk from Administrator Hildeva. She adjusted her glasses and asked, "I was too flustered earlier... What was it you said about settling down?"
"An inn."
"You mean a place with a restaurant on the first floor and rooms upstairs for travelers?"
"You know your stuff."
"Haha... An inn... When even locals are fleeing and outsiders won't come near..."
Hildeva forced a smile, clearly baffled.
"There must be a suitable building. Maybe an old inn from before?"
"Sure, there is. It's been abandoned for ages, though."
Hildeva pulled out a land and building registry as thick as her forearm. Adjusting her glasses, she flipped through the pages.
"Hmm... Let's see... Here it is. The 'Crossroads Troll' Inn."
"Romantic name. Does the owner still live here?"
"No. Fled three years ago... The building was confiscated by the treasury per the law."
In directly ruled territories, abandoned property reverted to the state. They resold it dirt cheap—well below market value. That was how these lands repopulated fast. Direct-rule zones were prime tax revenue for the crown; more people meant more profit.
That's exactly why I'd chosen this dying city on the brink. Any property here was a steal.
"Can I take a look?"
"Follow me."
Outside city hall, Mollo's wagon was nearly unloaded.
"Ah, Bertrand. Business done?"
"Mollo. Got a minute for me?"
"What's up?"
"Need some supplies."
Mollo, smelling profit, agreed instantly.
The inn sat at the crossroads of the north-south highway and the west-leading city road. Prime spot—no wonder it existed.
A three-story gabled building, impressively large. The exterior paint was peeling from neglect, but a little work would fix it right up. A big inn like this hinted at the city's bustling past, when north-south travel flowed freely.
"What do you think?"
"Not bad. Let's go in."
I pushed open the stiff wooden door. Dim inside, but sunlight filtered through scattered windows.
First floor was a classic tavern layout: hall right at the entrance, lined with four-person tables and benches. Past the hall, a long bar with oak barrels laid horizontal, and on the back wall—a massive skull trophy.
The skull was huge, with prominent upward-fanged canines that stole the show.
Hildeva adjusted her glasses, squinting. "What bone is that? Puma?"
"Troll skull."
"Troll...? A monster?"
"Rare here, but swarming in northern Apenzel."
"How'd you know from the bone?"
"Seen plenty before."
That explained the 'Crossroads Troll' name.
"Ceiling's awfully high," Hildeva said, craning her neck. True—the ceiling loomed way up, thanks to the double-height mezzanine to the second floor.
Beyond the bar wall was the kitchen: massive hearth, pots, chimney thick with dust.
We toured the rest. Rooms varied from singles to dorms; beds, wardrobes—all intact. Even the cluttered attic top floor.
Enough for a rough estimate. Back at a first-floor table, I pulled out paper and pen, listing supplies swiftly.
"Mollo, bring these next time."
Mollo gawked at the list. "All this...? In one go? I'm a middleman—prices are marked up..."
Hildeva peeked and gasped. "Good lord...! All of it...?!"
"Price doesn't matter. Just quality."
"Got it..." Mollo pocketed the list, dazed.
"No credit or installments."
"Cash upfront. Don't worry—have change ready."
Mollo shook his head in disbelief.
Outside, Mollo headed south to Bue. Hildeva eyed the inn.
"First time I've seen inside. Better shape than expected."
"Good enough. I'll buy it."
She stared. "That order with the merchant... You're loaded, huh."
"Savings from work, plus a severance."
"Really not nobility...?"
"Heard of Duke Balder or Earl Balder?"
"You serious about buying?"
"Dead serious. And other properties too."
Her face lit with realization. "Speculator, eh? Bad eye, though. For flipping, head to Basel or Interlaken."
I just smiled.
"What kind?"
"Back to city hall. No need to see the rest—just list what's available."
At city hall, she handed me the registry. All the facilities I wanted were state-owned. Failed city—most properties confiscated.
"Blacksmithy, mill, brewery, weavery, bakery. I'll take 'em."
Hildeva gaped. "Like you're the lord or something..."
Instead of answering, I pulled a fat gold pouch, extracting three thick coins. Her eyes bulged.
"No way...! That's Abys gold!"
"Enough?"
"Enough? You'd get change..."
Confiscated properties went for three Abys golds easy. She turned one over, marveling.
"Never thought I'd hold one..."
Abys gold circulated among big merchants for major deals—rare for common folk.
After fussing, she weighed them, calculated. True to her youth and grade, no haggling or skimming.
We drafted and signed the contracts.
I'd have bought everything if allowed, but limits capped personal purchases to curb speculation. I'd maxed it out.
Pocketing the contracts, I caught her suspicious glance.
"What?"
"Nothing... So, living at the inn from today?"
"Planning to."
"Risky. If golluks come down at night..."
"What could happen."
She frowned, exasperated. "Can't force you, but rethink it. Don't get hurt right after arriving. No guards even."
She sighed deeply. "This place... No dreams, no hope... Can't fathom why you'd settle here, Bertrand."
I stood with a grin. "Heading back. See you."
"Yes. Safe travels."
Back at the inn, I dusted the kitchen, lit the hearth. Simple dinner from my pack's ingredients.
Rosens, nestled between Vurn Mountains flanking the Buren River, saw night fall fast. Sun vanished; hall went dark.
A faint howl carried on the wind from afar—the golluks stirring at dusk.
Strangers might mistake it for beasts, but I knew better.
I stroked the horse pacing the stable, drew my sword from the saddle, belted it on. Opened the inn door and stepped into the dark.
Time to kick off the business proper.