After a solid night's rest, the next day brought bright skies and drifting clouds. Once again stepping off the ferry into the swamp forest south of Vizima, the Phantom Troupe's commander Victor and his chief enforcer Angoulême didn't need to run for their lives this time. They walked into the little fishing village with heads held high—a place that had recently boomed thanks to a newly established logging area.
Since it was a support village for the logging camp, timber was the one thing it would never lack. Freshly built houses were everywhere, standing in stark contrast to the old, battered structures. Even the clothes on the people coming and going made it obvious who was local and who had only just arrived.
While the troupe was still sizing up the town, someone who'd clearly been watching them approached. He was a shifty-looking man with thinning hair, dressed in plain cloth—every inch the middleman.
"Hey, welcome to Murky Waters. Judging by how you're dressed, you're new mercenaries, right? This town's full of chances to strike it rich—if you've got what it takes to grab them!"
Victor glanced at the man's shiny scalp and gave a faintly amused smile. "Heh. I'd say meeting you means we've already grabbed the tail end of an opportunity."
The man burst into laughter. "That's the spirit! Kid, the moment I laid eyes on you I knew you had a future—big money in your bones. I'm a businessman, and as it happens, I've got a fantastic deal you can get in on.
You know there are plenty of wolves in the forest, and their pelts can be traded for orens. No question, my buying price is the best in Murky Waters.
So here's what I propose: you go into the forest and bring me ten wolf pelts, and I'll pay you a full one hundred orens. You won't find that price anywhere else!"
The moment he finished, Angoulême didn't even bother giving him a real look. She raised her left wrist and rolled it once—an eagle's cry cut through the air, and Catherine dropped from above to land neatly on her bracer. It wasn't just flashy; it instantly made the whole scene feel like it was happening on a different level.
With a partner helping set the tone, Victor said nothing. He simply smiled at the "businessman" who was obviously a broker—smiled until the man's skin started to crawl.
Realizing he'd probably chosen the wrong people to hustle, the balding man waved both hands in front of his chest. "Uh… sorry, I misspoke about the price. Ten wolf pelts should be worth one hundred and twenty—no, one hundred and forty orens."
Victor shook his head with a cheerful grin. "Your price isn't bad, but I'm afraid I can't take your 'get-rich' opportunity. Because I saw a notice in town—Mr. Jean-Pierre is offering one hundred and fifty orens for ten wolf pelts."
Ignoring the broker's complicated expression, Victor pulled his coin pouch off his belt and held it up in front of him as if presenting something pitiful. "Sir, would you say my purse looks miserable?"
The balding man just stared, dumbfounded. He had no idea what Victor meant by holding up a bulging pouch and calling it miserable.
"Look—" Victor continued, voice perfectly sincere, "it's packed so tight with orens it can barely breathe. Don't you want to help it a little, so it doesn't have to suffer like this?"
As he spoke, he tossed the pouch lightly upward—then caught it firmly in his palm. Thunk.
Watching the man's face from the side, Angoulême nearly lost it when she saw the broker's eyes track the pouch up and down like it was hypnotizing him.
This was the "signature move" Victor had promised to teach her during idle chatter on the boat—the unbeatable technique that dominated all of Temeria: the O-cane Shock.
After taking it point-blank, the poor broker's eyes practically bulged out of his head. His face flushed, his breathing turned ragged—Angoulême quietly etched the image into her memory.
It really was exactly as the captain had taught her: money was the strongest known magic in the world. More magical than magic. If a problem could be solved with money, then you solved it with money.
Last night, when she'd finished playing around with Catherine and returned home, the captain had—as expected—already been back for a while, milk finished, brewing in the basement.
She'd walked in at exactly the wrong moment, so Victor called her over and demonstrated—right in front of her eyes—how a Temerian lily turned into a Redanian silver eagle, and how handsome Foltest "transformed" into a bald Radovid.
The performance was so dazzling her jaw nearly dropped. Even if the whole thing took two hours, and even if making too much at once would make you pass out, it was still the kind of godlike trick that would drive anyone insane.
The captain said he didn't want to draw attention, so the troupe needed to look like they had legitimate income—monster contracts, potion sales, that sort of thing. But privately, it was still easy for the two of them to live without worrying about coin.
Angoulême would never forget it: the crown was the most dominant currency in the Northern Kingdoms. One crown could be exchanged for two orens—or three ducats.
Before long, after "only" ten orens went missing, the poor, overcrowded coin pouch finally had room to breathe again, and Victor got the first-hand local information he wanted out of the balding broker.
Next, they had the broker lead them to the tavern to find Mr. Jean-Pierre—a brown-haired man with a faint noble air, chest thrust out and belly proudly forward.
After Angoulême and Catherine put on another little man-and-hawk display—proving, once again, that higher style demanded a higher price—the troupe secured a purchase agreement: ten wolf pelts for two hundred orens.
Then they knocked on the wooden door of the largest house in the village and spoke with the village elder, Madame Vaska. She was an old woman who looked like she'd almost completely withered away, leading the villagers in worship of some nameless water god said to dwell in a nearby lake.
After a brief exchange about faith—and confirming she was, in fact, the kind of old woman who was a bit touched in the head—Victor accepted her commission to "find the missing villagers." He tossed the clingy, thinning-haired broker five orens to send him on his way, then left the village with Angoulême and headed into the forest.
…
They walked along the route toward the Scoia'tael camp. If they wanted to clear out the archespores efficiently, they needed an elven guide to find the targets.
"Vic, I don't really get it," Angoulême said after they'd walked for a while. "Taking the wolf-pelt deal makes sense—the price is good. But why did we go out of our way to accept that 'missing villagers' commission too?"
Hearing her start to think through the reasons behind each move on her own, Victor felt genuinely pleased.
"Mm. Good question. The answer is reputation. You can think of reputation as another kind of currency—one that's accepted in places where money can't do its job properly.
Like the night before last: if we didn't have the reputation of wiping out drowners, Siegfried wouldn't have helped us, let alone Grand Master Jacques backing us.
I taught you tricks like the O-cane Shock—throwing money at people's faces—but you have to remember this: money is almost all-powerful, but it's not omnipotent. Compared to that, a shining reputation isn't just something you can turn into profit—it can even do things gold can't."
With that settled—and feeling like they were already close to the Scoia'tael camp—Victor decided to switch topics. "We'll need it soon, so tell me: what did you take away from your morning reading? Your thoughts on Research Notes on Archespores."
Tsk. Failed to hijack the conversation first. The captain still came back to the book report…
Angoulême stuck out her tongue, pulled a miserable face, and started anyway. "The notes describe three types of archespore, distinguished by color. Brown is the least dangerous, green is medium, and purple is the most dangerous.
Their leaves have evolved into shapes like sharp lower jaws, and they hit with terrifying force. If the target is far away, they spit a highly corrosive acid—if it touches skin, it causes a reaction like severe poisoning.
Like with other plant monsters, the best ways to deal with them are fire or heavy weapons like an axe. Given how they're said to come into being, you can also use oil meant for cursed creatures against them…"
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