My Demons

In an era devoid of the internet, locating an honest merchant was an arduous task, akin to finding a needle in a haystack. This was especially true in the medieval period, where the absence of law enforcement, legal proceedings, financial oversight, or regulatory bodies made matters even worse. In such a scenario, if I were to be treated unjustly, there would be no authority to administer justice.

The only recourse available would be to approach the ruler of the city, the lord, and implore for a fair resolution. However, why would the lord show any concern for a stranger they had just encountered? It seemed highly improbable.

Thus, how does one avoid being betrayed in a place like South Harbor?

When I voiced my concerns, Ellen responded with a simple yet profound answer.

“Just don’t have expectations.”

“What?” 

I found her response too simplistic for such a grave question.

Currently, Ellen and I were traversing the plaza on our way to the trading post to procure the necessary goods for our sewer-related task.

“Is it really that difficult?”

Observing her expression, it appeared that she was deliberately provoking me. She possessed the talent to look down on me even while tilting her head upwards to meet my gaze.

“Give me a proper explanation. What do you mean ‘don’t have expectations’?”

“Don’t rely on people. Regard everyone as a potential thief or murderer and conduct yourself accordingly. It simplifies matters, doesn’t it?”

“That’s… remarkably cynical of you.”

Despite being a middle schooler, she displayed the demeanor of a woman who had endured the trials of three divorces. Her life must have been considerably challenging.

Navigating through the bustling crowd, I furrowed my brow.

“Wait a minute. You don’t consider me a potential criminal as well, do you?”

Throughout my thirty years of existence, I had never been fined or penalized, let alone committed a crime.

“You’re being overly dramatic. We owe each other our lives. Don’t you think that’s going a bit too far?”

“Don’t worry. I believe you’re better than most.”

“What?”

I had never expected her to utter such kind words.

A peculiar sense of emotion overwhelmed me as I gazed intently at her.

“What are you staring at? Don’t obstruct the path. Let’s keep moving.”

Ah, her pouty lips were quite adorable just now.

Indeed. So what if she can’t use skills well? As long as she remained cute, that was all that mattered.

In truth, Ellen’s advice to be skeptical of everyone wasn’t entirely misguided.

Maintaining vigilance and suspicion reduced the likelihood of being betrayed. However, how does one strike a balance in making transactions?

Hence, prior to leaving the inn, I had already inquired about the merchants’ reputations from Daria.

“The general merchant… the elderly ‘Oleg’ stationed in front of the trading post offers a wide range of products. Our shop frequently engages with him.”

I harbored concerns due to the disparities between the game and reality, but Oleg remained the same.

In the game, Oleg served as the sole general merchandise NPC in South Harbor.

While reality featured several other general merchants, it seemed unnecessary to fret over them.

The issue at hand was the blacksmith shop, as Daria lacked information about it or perhaps couldn’t recall anything significant. It was only natural, considering she was an innkeeper. It would have been odd if she had any involvement with armor or weapons.

The blacksmiths known to Daria were mainly involved in tasks such as crafting hinges and locks. While it was possible that these blacksmiths had some expertise in ironwork, my objective was to acquire new equipment.

After contemplating for a moment, I casually asked her, “Do you happen to know a craftsman named ‘Ilton’?”

In the game, Ilton was an NPC who dealt in various equipment, offered repair services, and occasionally sold magical items. If Ilton existed in reality, he would have been exceptionally skilled and consequently well-known.

However…

“Ilton… Ilton? I’m not certain. Well, I don’t know everyone in the city.”

That was peculiar. Why was she unaware?

I couldn’t determine if it was a flaw in my memory or a disparity between the game and reality, but…

Regardless, my primary concern was finding a capable blacksmith. If that proved unsuccessful, I planned to visit the location where Ilton was situated in the game.

In any case, Ellen and I arrived at Oleg’s general store approximately ten minutes after leaving the inn.

As soon as I stood before the shop, an unpleasant odor greeted my nostrils—a strange blend of spoiled food and medicinal herbs filled the air.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?”

“It seems they’re brewing some herbs.”

While I instinctively wrinkled my nose, Ellen sniffed the peculiar scent and appeared to savor it.

“Herbs? Ew, it’s awful.”

“They’re likely using magical ingredients. I believe we’ve come to the right place.”

With that remark, she swiftly entered the store.

I didn’t want to be overly picky about such a smell, so I followed suit.

Upon stepping inside, my attention was immediately drawn to a table cluttered with items: a furnace, a mortar and pestle, glass bottles, brass jars, ladles, and an assortment of other objects.

Adjacent to the table hung a large pot, its contents boiling with a thick, ominous-looking liquid.

As I surveyed the surroundings, I noticed tall shelves lining the walls, divided into sections. It resembled a junk shop or an antiquarian bookstore.

While Ellen and I explored the store’s interior, an elderly man emerged from between the shelves behind the table.

Cloaked in a long black robe that reached his ankles, adorned with a brown hat, the man appeared thin and aged.

“Who’s there?”

“We came to see some goods. You’re Mr. Oleg, right?”

“…Are you mercenaries?”

“Haha, indeed we are. Daria from the Bells & Whistles Inn recommended us to you.”

When dealing with an elderly individual, it was best to be polite and wear a smile, regardless of the circumstances.

Of course, under different circumstances, I might retort with, “Who are you to speak informally to me when we’ve just met?” However, given my current predicament, I found myself in a slightly disadvantaged position.

Nevertheless, despite my customer-service smile, Mr. Oleg regarded us with suspicion and suddenly flipped open his robe.

“Look, see this?”

“Huh?”

Mr. Oleg pointed to the glass bottles and orbs that dangled heavily within his robe.

The glass bottles were filled with a slimy, viscous liquid, while the orbs, crafted from glass or perhaps crystal, emitted a brownish glow.

“This is Firetree Oil and explosive orbs. If you mess around, this whole area could blow up. Keep that in mind,” Mr. Oleg warned sternly.

I was taken aback. Was he always this cold and serious? This was completely unexpected.

And Daria, didn’t you like me? Introducing me to someone like this… I’ll remember it.

Nevertheless, I maintained a bored expression and nodded vigorously.

Observing my reaction, the bomb-keeper—no, Mr. Oleg—parted his robe and inquired, “What are you here to buy?”

“Ah, well…”

I pulled out a piece of cloth from my pocket. It contained a list of the items I wanted to purchase.

Mr. Oleg briefly glanced at the cloth before retrieving each item.

“Going to the sewers, huh?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I wondered how he knew, but considering the current state of the city, the sewers were the only place where mercenaries armed with an oil-filled lantern would venture at night.

Leaving the city at night would be madness.

“Then, take this Bull’s Eye Lantern. It should illuminate at least to the other side of the sewer.”

“Ah, yes. Please give me that.”

“Two bottles of lantern oil should suffice. As for torches… They can get wet, so it’s better to use those made with sulfur rather than pine. They may be a bit of a hassle to unwrap and burn out quickly, but it’s preferable to rendering them unusable.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, Mr. Oleg meticulously selected the items. I had initially assumed he was merely a cantankerous old man, but it seemed I was mistaken.

Ellen and I assisted Mr. Oleg in packing the items into two backpacks. Once we finished, including a bundle of ropes, Mr. Oleg spoke once again.

“I only have a map of the second level of the sewer. The first level is guarded by the city’s guards, so it shouldn’t be a problem, and I suggest avoiding going below the third level if possible. Dangerous creatures occasionally make appearances.”

The structure of the sewer varied randomly in each campaign, but it typically consisted of five to eight levels.

The secret passage leading outside the city could be found somewhere between the third and sixth levels, depending on the sewer’s size.

Thus, while Mr. Oleg’s advice wasn’t applicable in my case, I obediently nodded for the time being. After all, I had no intention of descending more than four levels at once. It was far too perilous.

“Thank you for the advice.”

“Don’t expect to find food here. Head to The Drunken Horse Tavern and inquire there. They sell biscuits to sailors. Is there anything else? Do you require any medicines?”

Medicines? Could it be?

“Do you happen to have potions?”

“…You’re saying strange things. I’m not an alchemist. Why would you expect to find potions here?”

Mr. Oleg wore an expression that clearly questioned my reasoning. It was akin to ordering a steak in a soup restaurant. Well, fine. I had gotten my hopes up for nothing.

“Then what kind of medicines do you have?”

“Let’s see… First, you’ll need antidotes, as Ratmen occasionally coat their arrows with poison. This should neutralize most common paralytic poisons. You might also encounter dung beetles, so it’s wise to have antidotes for neurotoxins as well.”

“Neurotoxins?”

“…Aren’t you mercenaries?”

Ellen frowned and jabbed my side in response to Mr. Oleg’s reaction.

“It’s like snake or spider poison. Don’t show your ignorance,” Mr. Oleg responded bluntly.

“There’s no harm in asking! You learn by asking questions,” I retorted, defending our curiosity.

Observing us with a mixture of pity and exasperation, Mr. Oleg retrieved a basket from under the cluttered table.

“Take these hemostatics and ointments as well. I made them myself, and they’re not bad. Do you need bandages?”

“Uh… Yes, please give us bandages as well.”

Mr. Oleg placed a small paper bag, a glass bottle, and bandages into our backpacks. Then, he shifted his gaze towards Ellen.

“Is the little one there a wizard?”

“…Mind your own business.”

Wow, the tempest of adolescence truly is something remarkable. Such a cold response to that bombastic old man.

I nudged Ellen with my elbow and maintained a smiling face as I said, “Ahaha, yes, you’re right. She may appear young, but she’s incredibly intelligent.”

“……Hmm.”

After scrutinizing Ellen for a moment, Mr. Oleg briefly raised his eyebrows before accepting the statement with a nod.

“Alright, none of my business. That will be four silver coins.”

“Excuse me? Four coins? Why is it so expensive?”

This was outrageous! It was four times more costly than I had anticipated! Granted, there were additional items, but wasn’t this excessive?

Observing my stunned expression, Mr. Oleg sighed and remarked, “What do you expect? Both the land and sea routes are blocked. Do you think goods will be sold at their original prices? Either pay up or leave if you plan to haggle.”

“No, but still…”

What should we do?

Considering this store was recommended by the game itself and witnessing how meticulously Mr. Oleg selected the items, he didn’t seem like such a bad person… Could he really be trying to deceive us?

While contemplating, Ellen nonchalantly chimed in, “Just pay him. There’s no other way.”

“What? But we still have so much left to buy…”

“What choice do we have? We can’t simply purchase a pair of boots and neglect the essential items.”

“Well, yes, but what I’m trying to say is…”

Observing Mr. Oleg’s reaction, I whispered, “Hey, shouldn’t we at least check if this is the market price or not?”

“It’s fine. If he’s overcharging us, we can always burn his store down. There seem to be plenty of valuable things to loot.”

“Hey, hey!”

Ellen boldly uttered these reckless words.

Why was she making such a dangerous statement?

Upon hearing this, Mr. Oleg’s expression turned icy, and he glared at Ellen.

“It seems our little wizard doesn’t know what an Explosive Orb is.”

“And it seems you don’t know what a magic tool is.”

At Ellen’s cheeky retort, Mr. Oleg adopted a stern expression.

Their gazes locked, and it felt like sparks were about to fly. I watched their tense exchange in astonishment.

Honestly, what was Ellen relying on to be so audacious?