An Unwavering Craftsman

Damien watched the [Butcher of Sapients] work, completely transfixed. Lana had bowed out immediately after seeing the dragon's corpse, before his knife had even made the first cut. To be fair, some of the more interesting wards had left her more sensitive than she might otherwise have been, especially when Damien had demonstrated them on the poor, defenceless melon.

Greenhair had remained longer, lasting the draining of blood and the peeling of the scales, but had started heaving once the guild dismantler—a man by the name of William—had started peeling back the thick skin, revealing the dense musculature beneath. He'd fled before the thoroughly abused melon made a resurgent appearance.

Another elvish tradition Damien had learnt—albeit perhaps Greenhair's time on the streets had caused him to take it somewhat more seriously than most—was that they really didn't like wasting food. If the melon wasn't to be eaten, it should have been left on the plant. Damien had resolved not to use fruits for ward demonstrations in the future.

William was, depending on the point of view, either very fortunate or very unfortunate. As his class name suggested, it had a highly specific focus, as would be expected at tier seven. In his case, his skills only worked on natural, sapient life. Monsters were completely off limits to him, however intelligent, as were animals and plants.

One might think that a class with such a restriction would be impossible to level, but there was a wide gulf between a tier seven and lesser citizens. A tier seven with skills the kingdom deemed useful would never be left to languish. While Damien had his parents to rely on, William could rely on Hrellflan itself.

No-one would frown on him using his skills on the likes of goblins or orcs, but neither had established populations on the island. No-one was interested in goblins, but eventual war against the orcs was a near certainty, given their nature. They bred like rabbits, (an analogy that Greenhair understood perfectly,) and each time their island overflowed, they'd attack their neighbours. Either they won, in which case they gained additional territory, or they didn't, in which case their overpopulation was neatly solved.

Given that their waves of attacks were so predictable, it was natural for the kingdom of Hrellflan to prepare. Orc corpses contained valuable materials, so one of those preparations was to ensure they had a dismantler on hand capable of dealing with them quickly and efficiently. Thus William, with a class uniquely suited to the job, had been power-levelled officially by the kingdom, using the most obvious resource available to them.

Human corpses.

At least they hadn't gone out of their way to create those corpses, nor did they use bodies that would cause anyone living to complain too loudly, often ensuring the lack of complaint via the exchange of small amounts of gold. The result was that William had been forced to train on a diet of the poor and destitute. It was no surprise he jumped at the opportunity to work on a dragon, something that looked monstrous, even if it wasn't.

Damien watched him neatly strip flesh from bones, his skills ensuring that his knife barely needed to touch the corpse for the meat to peel away, leaving clean white bone behind. The speed at which he was working meant that he'd finish up before the end of the day, despite the size. Already a substantial pile of bones had built up in front of the pile of red scales.

One thing that Damien noticed, though, was a single alchemical barrel up against the wall. He'd been impressed with Greenhair's alchemical knowledge, but no-one at the dinner table had pointed out the obvious problem with using dragon blood; after the battle with Fleta and Shigeo, the dragon simply didn't have very much of it left. They hadn't been fighting with any regard to the condition of the corpse. They wouldn't have had the leeway, even if they'd wanted to.

The hide was not in great condition, either, but Damien didn't need large, pristine pieces. A bunch of holes wouldn't bother him much, and Lana's materials were in good condition too.

Deciding that, as informative as the demonstration was, there were more constructive things to do with his time, Damien turned and left William to his work. However satisfying it would be to make his very first item from dragon leather and leap from level one to ten in one go, that wouldn't be sensible. The dragon materials were by no means unlimited, and it would pay to feel out the use of his skill using lesser materials. It was time to go shopping.

"Dad? I'm going out to buy some cheap materials, ready for when mum gets back," he called, once he reached the top of the staircase that led from their basement storeroom. There was no response. "Dad?"

Damien spotted him still sitting in the dining room, with his book back out. He held up a hand and waved at Damien, before turning a page, still in silence.

Realising what was going on, Damien couldn't help a small smirk as he headed out of the front door, casually walking north along the seafront, towards the docks. No wonder Shigeo had told him not to cancel his outdoor plans, despite their spy.

Damien's goal was a wholesaler; while he only wanted a bolt of cheap cloth right now, along with whatever he could find for Lana and Greenhair, he'd want higher quality materials in bulk later on. Now was the opportune time to find out what was available.

He ended up in front of a towering warehouse built from white stone. The fancy decorations and painted logo—a quad-masted vessel between a pair of eagle wings—evidenced its ownership by Grand Western, a major trading company that ran routes among most of the islands on the western side of the bowl. As the source of Shigeo's wine supplies, they'd hopefully be receptive to his inquiries, and it was likely they'd have access to varieties of cloth not produced in Hrellflan.

"Greetings. How can I help..." started the receptionist, a slightly pudgy man in a clean, white toga, but he checked himself the moment he took in Damien's face. "Oh, if it isn't Damien! We weren't expecting you for another couple of days, but the boss has been hanging around in case you were early. Please permit me to escort you."

"... What?" asked Damien, somewhat thrown by this development. Why would they be expecting him? "Wait, I don't need to disturb anyone important, I just wanted..."

"To enquire about a source of tailoring, smithing and alchemy materials," interrupted the receptionist. "Type and properties unimportant, but as high a tier as can be supplied regularly and in bulk, I believe."

"... What?" Damien repeated, utterly blind-sided. "Has my dad been here already?"

"I couldn't say. All I know is the instructions I've been given. Now, if you would care to follow me."

Damien did, following the receptionist up some stairs and into a bright space, the corridor wide and lined with plants, the floor looking suspiciously like marble. The receptionist continued to chatter, introducing himself as Harry, but Damien wasn't in a mood for idle conversation. If it wasn't for his dad 'reading', he may not even have followed the man, suspecting a trap.

Harry knocked politely on a wooden door with golden filigree. Damien was no expert on woods, but the door was definitely not made of any common variety. Another casual display of wealth, presumably, for those who could recognise it. Damien didn't need to, being more than capable of recognising the gold instead.

"Yes?" called a voice from the inside.

"Damien here to see you, sir," answered Harry.

"Then by all means, show him in."

Harry pushed open the door, gesturing Damien to enter. He didn't set foot in the opulent office himself, leaving Damien alone with an elderly man, sat behind a desk and almost hidden by paperwork. The desk was the same wood as the door, as were several packed bookcases against one wall. Another prominently displayed a piece of artwork, a canvas three metres in length. More of the potted plants were against the back wall, bordering a wide window that overlooked the docks. More than one ship was visible outside flying the same symbol as was displayed on the warehouse.

"Well, you are eager, aren't you?" chuckled the old man. "Eager and, perhaps, judging from your surprise, a little arrogant."

Damien narrowed his eyes, not having walked all this way just to be insulted.

"Don't look at me like that. It's well known what class you have, at least to anyone who bothered to find out, and your mother placed a very public request for a tier one smith and alchemist. There was, some time ago, a bit of a scandal in Illuganasis caused by groups of people with that set of classes, so it doesn't take a great detective to figure out what you're up to. You have been somewhat foolish if you believed no-one would work it out. I strongly advise you to look up those events, by the way, before making any deal with me."

Damien had to hand it to him; he was completely correct. There was more than enough public knowledge available to work out what he was doing. If the 'accidents' were human-sourced, then he'd already painted a target on his back.

Then again, secrecy hadn't protected the third research group.

"I'm well aware of the fate of three separate research groups," admitted Damien, trying to relax his expression.

"And yet you're here anyway," he answered, nodding approvingly. "Good. Then let me introduce myself. I'm Viscount Flemming, the owner of this trading company."

Damien had thought he'd already been blind-sided, but compared to that revelation, it was more foggy-fronted. When Harry had talked about a 'boss', Damien never dreamed he was talking about the owner of the company! Not only that, but a Viscount. The second lowest tier of the nobility, but a noble nonetheless. And not one who was born into the title, either, but someone who had earned it. Why was he here?

No, Harry had already said why he was here; he was waiting for Damien!

Damien's eyes flickered around the room. No visible guards or weapons. Nowhere to hide, other than behind the desk. Perhaps there could be someone with stealth skills hiding in plain sight, but why bother? It didn't seem like a trap. And this Viscount had advised him to look up what had happened in Illuganasis...

"Damien. Pleased to meet you," responded Damien, politely tipping his head, deciding the man was likely to be friendly. He just needed to figure out why.

No, after another second of thought, it was obvious. This guy ran a highly successful trading company. If Damien succeeded, he would be producing some very valuable goods. And this guy knew it.

"You already know what I'm after, but what do you want out of it? An exclusive contract when the time comes to sell my products?"

Viscount Flemming stared at Damien, his face set in an appraising expression as his eyes bore into Damien's skull. "You don't seem frightened," he commented in the end.

"Frightened? Of you?"

Now it was the viscount's turn to look surprised, bursting into laughter a moment later.

"Well, that's some confidence you have there, considering you claim to know what happened in Illuganasis. If I shared it, perhaps I would be willing to give you materials for free in exchange for a promise of exclusivity. But, I'll be honest; I pride myself on knowing when to gamble and when to fold, and that hand is far too risky for me."

"What do you want then, that was worth... No, sorry, it's obvious. If you know about the requests Mum placed at the guild, you know about the dismantler too. That's it, isn't it?"

Viscount Flemming nodded in satisfaction, pleased that he was dealing with someone who could think for himself. "Yes. Not every part of a dragon can be used for training your team's skills, after all. I was hoping to buy the leftovers."

"I'll warn you now that Dad has called dibs on the meat, so there's really not much left."

"I'm sure he could be convinced to part with some of it, in exchange for help cooking the rest."

Damien nodded, unable to poke any holes in that assumption. "Okay. So what are you offering for it?"

"I'll guarantee you a steady supply of tier five materials, or higher tier whenever we're able to source them, and I'll get anything above the value of the dragon remains to you for a fair price. And if, by some miracle of the Five, you pull it off, I'll trust in the fact that we already have a healthy and honest trading relationship to encourage you to sell your creations through me, rather than forcing it through a contractual obligation."

Damien was rather hoping for there not to be a miracle of the Five, given the rather miraculous fates that befell his predecessors. So, the viscount didn't have enough faith in Damien's success to finance him, but still considered this deal important enough to deal with it in person. No doubt he'd come out of it quite well, even selling things at a 'fair price', given the quantity of materials required to push three people to level eighty, but that on its own wouldn't be enough to justify him handling things personally. This company had plenty of large clients, after all.

How much was dragon meat worth? Or the dregs of the carcass that couldn't be used by any of Damien's household? Surely it wasn't that much. There was the prestige of dealing with a tier nine material, however small the amount, but again, did it deserve his full attention? It might be different if it was the full corpse, but for the leftovers, Damien couldn't see it.

Perhaps it was, once more, an attempt at his parents. This time by diplomacy, rather than subterfuge or force. If Damien had a personal relationship with the viscount, and relied on him for a material supply, and that supply happened to be interrupted by, for example, pirates, those pirates would likely find a very angry Shigeo looking for them. It wouldn't be the same as employing them outright, but earning goodwill from both Damien and his parents, dealing in dragon parts and making a long-term supply contract added together could explain his presence. Maybe. It still seemed like too small a deal to be involved personally, but Damien didn't know exactly how high he rated such nebulous things as 'goodwill'.

If he was convinced Damien was going to end up dead, perhaps he thought he'd never need to supply them with materials covering the value of the dragon.

Either way, to Damien, it seemed an acceptable arrangement. Whatever he thought about unscrupulous nobles, there was no reason to deny a mutually beneficial deal with an honest one. Assuming he was honest, of course. Fleta was the one who should be negotiating, not Damien.

"To be honest, I only came here today to see what sort of options would be available, and to buy low ranked materials to earn my first few levels. Obviously, I don't have the money or authority to sign any sort of large contract, nor do I have the right to decide what to do with the dragon remains. They aren't mine. I'll need to come back with my parents."

Lord Flemming gave a small smile that suggested he would be very happy to have a personal discussion with one of the kingdom's eighth tiers.

"Of course. I'll be here all week, and will look forward to your visit. And while I'm not prepared to finance your entire experiment, I will, of course, supply you with some samples of what we can provide. They should suffice for your first levels."

Damien blinked as the viscount pulled a small bag from a drawer in his desk. How was such a tiny container supposed to contain enough material to work with?

"That contains varieties of cloth from tiers three to six, matching threads and sundries, a range of metal ingots, and a set of alchemic ingredients, mostly derived from monsters and plants."

Damien switched from confusion to incredulity. An item bag. He was using a spatially expanded item bag to deliver samples?! Those things were as valuable as... well, maybe not dragon materials, but certainly a small house.

Once again, he was left with a horrible feeling that things were going too well. First a pair of teammates dropped pretty much into his lap, and now a noble was falling over himself to get their business. Was Viscount Flemming being manipulated somehow?

His reaction caused another burst of good humour from the viscount. "I've tried to impress upon you that I'm taking this seriously," he supplied. "Nevertheless, please take care of it. I suspect you'll want to hide the sort of deliveries you're receiving, so I propose that each one is delivered in an item bag, and you return the previous one on receipt of the next. I'll expect you to return that one on your first delivery."

That was reasonable, but... "You must have good confidence that we'll sign."

"Of course. I am, frankly, lucky. We own a substantial portion of the port, have extensive warehouses a ten-minute walk from your home, and have well-established trade routes able to procure what you want. The result is that I am positioned perfectly to supply you, and can state with absolute certainty that no-one else will be able to provide for you with the reliability or at the price point I can."

No, he wasn't being manipulated. He was legitimately perfectly placed to supply Damien's plans, which suggested Damien was the one being manipulated. Why wait five years after Greenhair? Because there was no-one better placed than Damien to succeed. Powerful and fully supportive parents, who had largely put their adventuring on hold to help him get on his feet. Easily accessible materials. A good location in a relatively peaceful kingdom. Maybe the dragon was blown here in a storm, just like Greenhair had been; it would certainly explain what one was doing so far from the Thief's Wastes.

Damien suspected he hadn't gained this class because he'd asked for it, but simply because he was in the right place at the right time. To some extent, it was comforting to have some sort of divine power on his side. He just wished he knew who it was, and what was trying to stop them.

"Then I have little more to say other than thank you, and I look forward to our continued business relationship," said Damien, doing his best to be polite while slipping in the point that the deal was strictly a professional one.

"Indeed," replied the viscount as he reached out to shake Damien's hand, not having been hoping for anything more.