The Hunter’s Guide To Monsters

The 'private sale' records kept by Kingdom Realty in Nyurajke weren't extensive. Logical, since they didn't get a cut for the sales that weren't part of their general listing. Most of the record was field knowledge from Realty agents. Even if the sales weren't brokered through the Realty, it was still information that could be useful down the line.

When Krow filtered the instances that weren't the building he needed plus the ones marked 'legality problem' and 'cheaper to demolish', three warehouses were left.

The first was 2700 inventory slots for 71,000 drax.

The second was 1300 slots for 97,000.

The third was 4000 slots for 65,000.

The first had a notation that every possible sale somehow fell through. The second was marked 'possible cleansing needed'. The third was in a mining village six hours from Nyurajke, and the only one without a warning note.

"What can you tell me about these?"

Sucar didn't hesitate.

"The village that one is in…the mine is running out, possibly." He flipped a few pages in a book that he hadn't allowed Krow to see. "Hm, yes…people there started selling their houses to the Realty in droves for a half-decade now. The one near the merchant district…it's a good deal. A trader went bankrupt and the bank is liquidating his property. The cleansing needed, it's because the warehouse is suspected to be haunted but the people sent to subdue the ghosts have all failed. As for the last, it's a below-ground warehouse. Few people want those, but the reason it's not on the listings is that the owner's been rejecting people who wanted to view the property, for years now. She has conditions to the sale, you see, and eccentric besides."

He said all that with no stutter, no slurred words. The facts were laid out unhurriedly. Huh. The boy had some competence after all.

Krow sat back.

The village warehouse was out. Too far from a trading center means more delivery fees. If he were settling in the area, the warehouse would be a steal. The village would transition from mining to become a craft village like Gremut, probably, which meant buying a few houses there now would pay back well in the future.

The merchant warehouse was what he wanted – close to the trade district, no structural problems because it was the ground floor of a tower. If he couldn't defeat the ghosts there, an increased reward posted to the request board at the First Tower would have higher level players clamoring to take the quest.

The problem was that needed cash.

He glanced at his Inventory.

48,700 drax.

Heh.

He transferred, once again, money from his realworld account, topping up the amount by 40,000 drax.

There was only once choice left then.

Sucar looked dubious. "Are you sure? The owner Chanchani – she's old. One of the oldest people in town. People that age, it's no surprise she's gone a little loopy. It says here that no one's passed her tests since the warehouse went on the market."

"The harder the challenge, the better the rewards."

"It's not a challenge."

Krow shook his head, mock despairing. "The fact that you think that makes your life very sad."

"It's not a challenge. She just likes making other people's lives difficult."

"All the more reason!" Krow stood. "Won't you then have saved hundreds from the difficulty?"

"Only if you win."

"Now you're talking fighting words." Krow grinned at him.

"You won't win. This says a professor from Cyzaren University tried and failed. Twice."

"You never know until you try."

The door opened.

Sucar immediately closed the non-listed records of properties, faster than Krow would have expected of him.

"Sucar," the draculkar who enter smirked. "I heard you…"

He saw Krow and cut himself off, the smirk turning into a professional smile. "Ah, is there something I could help you with? I am Varrogar, who has been at this Realty for three years. If there are questions Sucar can't answer, please ask them of me, as he is still new to the Realty. Not that Sucar is unskilled, of course. He's a very good assistant. His brother has no complaints about his work. His reputation for brawling in the streets is assuredly false, as the Realty does not hire people like that."

Sucar glared.

A few sentences and the draculkar had given the impression that Sucar was violent and could only gain a job through nepotism, possibly even that the brother was sweeping complaints about him under the rug.

"I have no complaints. How helpful are the people here! I surely will come again." Krow pretended he didn't get the insinuations. "If you have been here so long, you must be a manager? My questions are unworthy of a senior officer, I'm afraid. Sucar has answered them well enough."

The other draculkar colored darkly. "Yes," he said shortly. "Of course."

"I won't keep you. Sucar was kind enough to search the address of an elder for me." The holo had closed before Krow saw the location map.

Sucar nodded. "Since you're here, Varrogar, I'll guide the guest."

He followed Krow out the Realty before the other could protest.

Krow arched his brows inquisitively at the gleeful grin Sucar sent him.

"He's never been promoted," Sucar explained. "And since last year, he's grown more and more sure it's his turn. Acts like he's already at higher position. But he was passed over this year. It rankles at him."

"He doesn't like you."

"He thinks I'll take his job." Sucar snorted.

"You won't? Pnicky flailing aside, you appear to know the work."

"Maybe." Sucar shook his head. "It doesn't feel right."

"They say you should base your work on things you like."

"Is that what you do?"

Hah. What he was doing now was more 'must' than 'want'. "Not at your age."

Not to say that he didn't enjoy playing Redlands. It had its high points.

"We're the same age!"

"As you say."

Sucar rolled his eyes and decided not to pursue the subject. He led Krow to the lower reach, then some ways out of the town.

They ended up before a small cottage built atop a pointed mound of stone. Walking up the steps carved into the rock formation, Krow marveled again at the places that draculkar decided to build their houses.

Below them was a precipice, and the cottage seemed all but poised to leap off the edge.

Krow knocked.

The door cracked open.

Sucar greeted the person eyeing them suspiciously. "Greetings elder, we—"

"How old are you?" barked the old draculkar.

Krow, taken aback, answered after a moment. "…twenty-seven."

"Twenty three," muttered Sucar.

"Have you taken the Gauntlet?"

"No." Both answered.

Krow wondered silently: what is the Gauntlet?

Fortunately, Sucar answered the same.

"Where do you get dragonhair silk?"

"Bluebark banana trees," Krow answered alone. How many of those trees did he chop down on that blasted plantation?

There was a pause. The eye at the crack of the door appraised him.

"How do you make moondrenched salt?"

"Ferment mountain rocksalt in a solution of bloodmoon flower milk, then boil dry."

"What is the color of a ripe lemon when a red-eyed beetle is looking at it?"

Krow smirked. He'd been a master forester and a master leatherworker. That question didn't work on him.

"Red-eyed beetles don't have eyes. They can't see color. Also, for everyone else, it's the same color of ripe lemon it always has been."

"What will the High Council of Durfadhan say if you inform them the Compact destroyed the Empire?"

Krow lost his smirk.

There was a leather curing concoction called the Durfadhan Recipe. Otherwise, he'd never heard of whichever council of whichever empire.

But if said empire was destroyed…

His lips curled upward at the edges. "Nothing. They're dead."

"Hmph. Humor me."

Shkav.

"If they still existed," Sucar interjected. "They'd say 'All that begins must end'."

Krow shot him a grin.

"Tsk. What was the last contest Reidhel the Silver proposed to Anandhe the Dawnwing, when they could not break their stalemate?"

Krow's grin widened just a bit. "A drinking contest."

The door opened fully. "Come in."

"What, really?" Disbelieving, Sucar followed Krow inside. "All the songs say it was a contest of strength."

"There are many kinds of strength." The elderly draculkar waved them into seats.

She had a slight limp, Krow noticed. And her hair was the gold-limned platinum shade that said she'd passed her 500th year.

That was old, even for draculkar. The average draculkar lifespan was 400 years or so. There are outliers that may reach twice that age, but statistically less than 5% of the population lived 500 years.

At least, that was in Zushkenar.

How did he know that? There was this cult that sprung up, which worshiped those of advanced age. Krow mentally snorted at the memory of getting tangled in that mess.

He understood respecting age because of the wisdom and stories and skills that an experienced person would have gained. But revered just because they lived a long life? What was the point?

"I've survived on the strength of my stomach many times when I was your age." The elder draculkar hummed.

Sucar nodded, looking around in awe. He leaned toward Krow. "How did you know it was a drinking contest? Which history did you read it in?"

Krow hid a grin, met Sucar's eyes solemnly, and said, "There's a dwarviran drinking song called "Dragons Sway Like Thunder Boom' that describes the situation in great detail."

Sucar's jaw dropped.

"It has a dance routine," Krow further informed him.

Chanchani cackled. "That one's been around for a long time."

"Do you want to learn it?" continued Krow, shamelessly.

"We'll need good booze for that," added Chanchani.

"No!"

"What kind of draculkar are the young today," Chanchani sighed. "Not taking advantage of free alcohol?"

"So sad," nodded Krow.

He really should buy a few bottles of hard alcohol before he left.

"Sorry elder, but we're not here to drink." Sucar still looked a little stunned that they were sitting inside the cottage.

"Indeed, it is sad." The elder shook her head. "You are here to buy the building. I have conditions."

Krow nodded. "I'll hear them."

"First, 71,000 drax. No more, no less."

"Agreed."

"Second, you'll keep the caretaker on for at least five years. No less than 5 drax a month."

Caretaker? That was fine. He did need to hire one, as he did in Zushkenar. But the price was a little steep. "Three drax."

She leaned forward, eyes lit with stubborn unyieldingness. "Five. No less. This includes the maintenance fees of the warehouse."

That was 60 drax a year. Still steep. But now somewhat bearable. "Agreed."

She studied Krow for a moment, then sat back, satisfied.

"You have yourself a deal."