The Pass to Montelli
The Demon Realm Merchantry
"Th-that's...!" Hob Goblin pointed at me with trembling fingers, spilling out his explanation in a rush. "This guy's a merchant who sells things called 'ghost stories'! He can speak our language too! He just gave me huge help wiping out those invading hunters!"
"......"
The gaze of the goat-headed demon, an employee of the Demon Realm Merchantry, slowly turned toward me. His vertically slit yellow eyes scanned me from head to toe. The moment that gaze touched me, goosebumps prickled across my skin.
The pressure is no joke.
It wasn't just his size. Our very existences were on different levels. Just standing before him made my breath quicken, my instincts screaming at me to run.
But I swallowed hard and forced the corners of my mouth up into a smile. Showing fear here would end any chance of negotiation.
Then, the demon spoke curtly. "...Human?"
His voice dripped with doubt. As if he couldn't believe it, he sniffed the air and leaned his head toward me. A foul sulfur stench wafted from his damp nostrils.
"Hey, human. Can you hear me?"
Sweat beaded coldly inside, but I nodded calmly and replied politely. "Yes, loud and clear. Nice to meet you."
"......!"
The demon's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't hide his surprise and took a step closer, as if this reaction was utterly unexpected.
"If I may ask... are you really human?"
"As you can see, yes."
I answered flatly. The demon's expression twisted into something bizarre. It wasn't wonder in his eyes. He stared at me like I was some exotic specimen under observation.
Soon, he turned his head and looked down at Hob Goblin. "So. Why did you call me here?"
"I wanted to officially register this guy with the Demon Realm Merchantry!"
"Register?"
"Yes! The 'ghost stories' he has are incredibly rare! I guarantee it!"
"Registering a human as a merchant... That's unprecedented."
The demon muttered to himself. But from the way his curious eyes flicked toward me, it was clear he was intrigued.
The demon extended a hand toward me. "Very well. It's not against regulations. Let's inspect the goods first. Can you show me this 'ghost story' right now?"
"Of course. This way."
I guided the demon to the section where the 'Watcher' ghost story was deployed.
At that moment.
Woooong—.
Space warped.
And the sight that unfolded before us.
In endless darkness, colossal piles of clothing reached toward the ceiling like grave mounds. Between them stood thousands of mannequins, densely packed like an army.
"......This."
The demon's jaw dropped. He backed away, looking around in disbelief.
"...Impossible. A manifested world."
It was astonishment. The demon reached out a trembling hand and stroked the smooth arm of the nearest mannequin.
"This isn't an illusion. It has mass. Precisely... a backworld materialized from false phenomena..."
The demon muttered as he peered into the mannequin's face. A mannequin smeared in blood, grinning grotesquely. His expression grew gravely serious.
"Every single one... infused with the power of heteromorphs. The wavelengths match those of the unidentified 'entities' recently observed."
He slowly turned to look at me.
"...You."
The demon asked in a low, sinking voice. "Are you perhaps a heteromorph?"
"No. As you see, I'm human."
I smoothed my clothes lightly as I replied. "Just an ordinary merchant selling ghost stories."
No sooner had the words left my mouth than the demon's face contorted grotesquely. It wasn't anger. Nor pure surprise—his lips curved up, but his eyes weren't smiling. Like a beast forcing a human mimicry, his facial muscles twisted unnaturally.
......What?
Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
What went wrong? Was saying I'm human a mistake? Or does he think a human like me is arrogant?
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through my head. Should I run? As I hesitated, the demon abruptly reached into his robe.
I flinched and stepped back instinctively. But what emerged from his hand wasn't a weapon.
It was a black leather pouch, luxurious at first glance.
"......Take it."
The demon held out the pouch. His voice had suddenly turned polite.
"What's this?"
"A temporary pass."
"The official one requires a visit to headquarters. This is like an invitation—valid until then."
I cautiously accepted the pouch. The leather felt smooth and cold, like human skin.
"Headquarters... where is it? Coordinates?"
"Location doesn't matter."
The demon answered curtly. "Tear the pouch open. A door will appear."
"A door?"
"It'll activate a summoning circle to Demon Realm’s trading hub, 'Montelli'. A human merchant... You'll be quite the topic there."
The demon closed his robe, leaving those meaningful words behind. "I look forward to seeing you at headquarters soon."
Fwaaah—!
Pale smoke billowed up. He melted into it and vanished.
Only the acrid sulfur stench remained, proving he'd been there.
"Haa......"
Tension released, my legs buckled. I leaned against the wall and sighed.
I'd barely survived.
Then.
Hob Goblin, who'd been watching from the side, sidled up slyly.
"Hey, merchant buddy."
"......Speak."
"About the gear those dead hunters left. Don't we need to discuss how to handle it?"
"Discuss?"
"Yeah. The ghost story killed 'em, sure, but it happened in my turf... and I'm handling the bodies too."
He eyed me cautiously. "How about the split...?"
I stared at Hob Goblin. The guy had an uncanny nose for money.
If I try hauling that gear out myself, I'm screwed.
B-rank hunter equipment. They'd have unique IDs, registered with the Hunter Association. An F-rank like me fencing stolen goods? I'd get caught instantly and branded a murderer.
I can't sell it. But...
I glanced at the black pouch in my hand.
The Demon Realm Merchantry. A monster black market changed everything. Untraceable sales channels. A perfect money laundry.
"So, how does the Demon Realm Merchantry handle sales? Like the human world?"
Hob Goblin lit up and launched into explanation.
"Similar but different. Four main ways."
He folded fingers one by one.
"First: 'hawking'. Wander the markets, touting your wares directly. Most primal method."
"Second?"
"'stall setup'. Pay rent for a spot on Merchantry’s streets, open a proper stall. Steady customers."
"Third?"
"'bulk consignment'. Hand everything over to the Demon Realm Merchantry HQ. No haggling, clean payout."
He paused, then folded the fourth. "'Auction'. Once a year, festival-style... but forget it. Only VIPs and Merchantry-vetted bigshots."
It clicked.
"Any downsides? Don't wanna rush in blind."
"Oho, merchant caution! Alright."
Hob Goblin explained eagerly.
"Hawking's pure luck. Gotta pick marks carefully."
"How so?"
"Bad luck, piss off a high demon? 'Hey, nice sword—hand it over.' Refuse? Head rolls right there."
"......"
A chill ran down my spine. Selling could cost your life. Demon world gonna demon world.
"Stall setup?"
"Money pit. Prime spots? Brutal rent wars. Sell a few, pay up—nothing left. Seen trucks of guys bankrupt into slavery."
"Bulk consignment safest then?"
Hob Goblin scowled suddenly, spitting on the ground. "Safe? Yeah! But those bastards are highway robbers! Appraisal fees, commissions—they gouge you to the bone! Last time I sold hunter gear there, got peanuts. Still wake up raging!"
He pounded his chest in fury. Looked like he'd been fleeced hard.
"But..."
Curiosity struck. I eyed him. "For a goblin, you sure know economics. This whole distribution setup inside out."
"......What?"
Hob Goblin glared, offended. "That's rude. Speciesism!"
"Sorry, no offense..."
"Drop the 'goblins are dumb' prejudice! We're the sharpest, slyest with numbers among monsters. Math wrong? Starve that day. I scavenge demon econ books in my downtime!"
He snorted indignantly.
"Ahem. Anyway."
Calmed, he shot a sly glance. "Explanation enough? Back to business... gear split?"
I averted his gaze, pondering.
Any reason to share?
Cold logic: I'm the merchant who sold the weapon—ghost story. He's the buyer who waged war with it. Spoils of victory belong to the victor, Hob Goblin. Lockheed Martin doesn't get U.S. war gains.
Merchant takes payment, done. So why offer me a cut?
Not just for killing the hunters?
No, goblins are calculators. One reason: Owe me a favor.
Give me gains, build rapport, lock in a friendly merchant. Bait for future crises. Fine by me.
"Straight fifty-fifty."
"Oho! Fair! Perfect!"
Hob Goblin grabbed and shook my hand. Then, sidelong: "By the way... got other ghost stories? Stronger than this one."
"......"
I closed my eyes, recalling the list.
Only one left.
'Plastic Surgeon' ghost story.
Can't sell here. Save for the big leagues, the Demon Realm Merchantry. Not dumping premium at a backwater dungeon.
"Sadly, sold out. Stock's gone."
"Ah, too bad. Your stuff's top-notch."
Hob Goblin smacked his lips. I flashed a sales smile to soothe him.
"Don't be too down. New stock? You'll be first. VIP perks, right?"
"Ooh! Real merchant! Loyal! I'll prep funds—come anytime!"
Hob Goblin hummed off to direct body cleanup.
I confirmed he was gone, slipped to a cave corner.
No one around. I pulled out the demon's pouch.
Opening the smooth leather revealed a yellowed parchment.
This... the pass?
Center: A vivid, ferocious demon portrait, mouth torn in a grin. Painted, yet its eyes seemed to follow me.
"Ugh... creepy."
The touch felt damp. Like live skin. Instinctual revulsion surged.
Tear it for Montelli, demon trading hub.
Should I really go?
Hands shook. Trading with Hob Goblin was one thing.
Just scrape by here?
No. Too risky on one goblin. Hunters could seal this dungeon anytime. Needed stable gigs—even if hellish.
Then.
A metallic scrape echoed in my head.
[Why hesitate at all?]
......What?
[You know this is opportunity?]
He wasn't wrong. Prime sales channel for ghost stories. Stake a claim there? Immense lifespan gains.
But.
Still... I'm human.
A petty bourgeois conscience clung like grime. Selling human-killing weapons to humanity's enemies? Crossing that line makes me abandon humanity for monster.
I just wanted normalcy. How'd life twist like this?
Mocking my pathetic waffling, the voice snapped coldly.
[Pathetic. Skip the morals—check remaining lifespan? Time ticks even now.]
That jolted me. I hastily summoned the window.
Remaining Lifespan: 84 hours 42 minutes
"...Not enough. Way short."
Morals, ethics—poof, gone. 84 hours. Barely three days. Stay put? Dead in three.
Need more channels. Bigger fish.
Morals? Human love? Grandiose crap for heroes, sages. Not bottom-feeders like me facing tomorrow's death. Dignity don't pay bills.
I bit my lip. Desperation to live overrode the last hesitation.
All or nothing.
I tore the yellow pass in half.
Fwoosh!
Crimson-black flames erupted from the ripped edges. They spread to my feet, etching complex geometric runes in the air.
Woooong—!
Space twisted, ears ringing like tearing. Weightless drop. Vision stained red.
"Ugh, urk...!"
I squeezed my eyes shut.
My body was sucked into another dimension entirely.