The two carriages slowly made their way towards the town, the small dirt road that they had been riding on merged with a larger dirt road. Hammered into the side of the road was a wooden sign post with foreign text scribbled on it. Ishmael could only assume that it was the name of the upcoming town.

With every kilometer passed, Ishmael saw more and more signs of life. The road got progressively bumpier as dozens of wheel tracks from previous carriages cut through the wet dirt like angry drunk snakes.

Ishmael’s rear felt sore, the carriages had no suspension and the seats had no cushions, apparently ailurs such as Crassus often sat on their tails, eliminating the need for any padding on seats. Despite the lack of amenities that the carriages provided for non ailur passengers, it was infinitely more comfortable than sitting in a ZSU-23-2 anti-air gun that had been haphazardly welded onto the back of a Toyota Hilux with god knows how many kilometers on it.

The Caravan entered the city gates just as the sun started approaching the horizon. Crassus parked the carriages in a designated area and flicked what seemed to be a coin to one of its attendants. As soon as they came to a stop, Crassus and the other Ailurs began quickly unloading goods from the carriages with practiced ease. It was impressive to see such small creatures carry things that even he might struggle with. Ishmael made a mental note to be weary of the physical strength of the creatures that inhabit this world.

Ishmael ended up helping the group haul their wares to the marketplace. It turns out that other than being a traveling merchant, Crassus’ business also provided delivery services for non-traveling merchants. The next half an hour was spent going around town dropping off goods to various merchants.

Ishmael didn’t mind helping out, it was a good way to explore and gain intel on the world he was in. one of the things that he noticed was that humans made up the majority of the town inhabitants. He let out a sigh of relief, he was afraid that he was the only human in the world. Though to be fair, he should have noticed that Crassus was not shocked by his appearance, therefore he could not have been the only human. Ishmael pinched the bridge of his nose; he was losing his edge. The stress of the past 24 hours had made him sloppy, he needed proper rest. At least he learnt the name of the town though, it was Lardale.

Another observation that he made was that there were at least 4 sapient creatures that inhabited this world based on the small sample this town provided; humans, ailurs such as Crassus, a large bipedal reptile that had crocodilian features and another fur covered bipedal race that the head of big cats such as lions, tigers and cheetahs. The lack of information made him very nervous, out of the 4 species that he had seen in town. The humans were the only one he had confidence of beating in a fair fight, especially in hand to hand. Even the ailurs were deceptively strong. Ishmael’s analysis resulted in a single grim recommendation, avoid hand to hand combat at all cost.

“Here is your cut.”

Crassus said as he suddenly tossed three cylindrical objects to him. Having been lost in thought, Ishmael barely managed to catch them. The cylindrical objects turned out to not be cylindrical at all. They were coins linked together with a rope. The coins had a hole in the middle where the rope could go through, similar to beads on a string except with coins. The ends of the rope were tied together into a knot forming a closed loop ensuring the coins can’t fall off. The three bundles were then tied together forming a somewhat easy to carry package that could be easily split if needed.

“150 Sarvian Guras, 50 for each of the [Minor Cyvern]’s”

“Thank you” Ishmael said professionally.

He had no idea what a [Minor Cyvern] was but if he had to guess, it was probably the three giant chickens that he had killed. He placed the bundle of coins into one of his empty grenade pouches. He didn’t know if he was getting ripped off or not, once again he cursed at his lack of what should have been common knowledge for this world’s inhabitants.

“The administration guild has probably closed already, lets get you a room in the local inn first and go there tomorrow.”

Crassus said as he led the way, presumably to the said inn.

“Administration guild?”

Ishmael furrowed his eyebrows, because he had no plans on choosing administration as his career.

“The Administration Guild is in charge of connecting and maintaining relationships between the different Guilds. They also act as mediator in time when two different guilds have a conflict of interest.”

Crassus explained.

“So, why can’t we just go directly to the other guilds?”

“The guilds would lose money if they opened a branch in a town of this size. Not enough people to stea- I mean serve. This town only has an administration guild branch. Anyone here who wants to talk to other guilds has to either travel to a bigger town or they can use the administration guilds vast communication networks. For a fee of course.”

There was absolutely no way such a system would breed corruption, no sir. Ishmael sarcastically thought in his mind.

“Awfully bureaucratic, no?”

“Such is life.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The little red panda creature shrugged nonchalantly.

The trip to the Inn was short, as Crassus said, it was a small town. In fact, it was the only inn in town. It would seem that his world had an unhealthy relationship with monopolies.

Crassus pushed the inn’s double doors open; the two storied wooden building had doubled as both a tavern and an inn, with the inn occupying the second story of the building.

“Crassus you furry bastard! I heard a couple of [Minor Cyvern]’s jumped you. Was hopin’ I’d never see your ugly mug again but here you are.”

Hollered the taverns bartender as soon as he saw Crassus enter the establishment.

“Gavin, pleasant as always I see. You aren’t far off actually, almost bit the dust if it weren’t for Ishmael right here”

Crassus pointed at Ishmael who was too busy inspecting the Massive crocodilian bartender who towered over him.

“Ishmael, was it? for that I should charge ya double. Trust me this ailur is nothing but trouble.”

Gavin the Crocodilian let out a guttural laugh.

“Now now, Gavin no need to be like that. We are only here to spend coin on your fine establishment.”

Gavin gave Crassus a non-existent eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“And perhaps even a once in a life time Investment opportunity for you!”

Gavin rolled his reptilian eyes.

“Here we go, the last time you offered me an ‘Investment opportunity’ my wife nearly divorced me, damn near lost my tavern too!”

Ishmael was confused, he had no idea if they were friends or enemies at this point. He kept a weary hand on his rifle just in case.

“It was not my fault that Synerian fashion trends changes so quickly, Investment is all about risk. Has becoming a bartender made you soft Gavin ol’ pal.”

Ishmael raised an eyebrow at Crassus’s last statement. He looked at Gavin again and he noticed some fine scars crisscrossing across the visible parts of his body. Crassus noticing Ishmael’s confusion opened his mouth.

“This lowly Level 2 merchant you see in front of you right now was actually once a level 5 adventurer. The highest-levelled adventurer this shithole town ever spat out.”

Crassus said as he made a dramatic gesture with his paw-hands.

“And look at him now, wasting away serving people that should really be kissing his clawed legs.”

Continued Crassus after taking a swig from his tankard. Ishmael blinked, when did Crassus order a drink. He looked towards his part of the bar counter and sure enough there was a tankard for him. Ishmael was spooked, why was everyone able to sneak up on him without him noticing. He looked a Gavin and the Crocodilian only gave him a signature side eyed smile that crocodiles like to do. Mentally, Ishmael moved Gavin from the ‘potentially dangerous’ box to the ‘avoid fighting at all cost’ box.

“I got married Crassus; the missus told me to get a proper job. One that didn’t have a 30% death rate.”

Said Gavin, longingly.

“That’s why you shouldn’t get married, it’s a bad investment.”

Crassus said looking at me as if he was giving life advice.

“You’re unmarried because you are a slippery cheapskate Crassus.”

The friendly bickering between Crassus and Gavin caused Ishmael to ease his grip on his rifle.

“So, what is this ‘Investment’ you were talking about?” Gavin asked.

“You are looking at him.” Crassus answered with a hand-paw on Ishmael’s shoulder.

Ishmael blinked. He was the Investment?

“I would like to sponsor his adventuring career; I was wondering if you would be interested in splitting the cost 50-50?”

“Him? No offence, but he is a scrawny human. Not really the best stock for an adventurer, no?”

"he might be scrawny but he has some, interesting gear.” Crassus emphasized the word interesting.

“Show your strange musket to Gavin, Ishmael.”

Ishmael was hesitant to handover over his prized AK-74n. He needed to build a rapport with the locals if he is to survive in this world, just like earning the trust of various tribal leaders in his old country.

Before placing the AK onto the counter, he detached the magazine and rendered the weapon safe. The Crocodilian picked up the rifle with one hand. It was comical how small the rifle looked in Gavin’s hand. The Crocodilian inspected it thoroughly. Ishmael cringed as he flicked the dust safety through its various positions, he was afraid that the crocodilian might bend the stamp sheet metal dust cover.

“What fine craftsmanship. It’s a [Relic] too? It’s been years since I’ve seen another [Relic] grade weapon”

Gavin was clearly lost in his thought as he admired the weapon.

“That musket killed 3 [Minor Caverns] in less than 10 seconds.” Crassus added.

“Impressive, but why should I invest in Ishmael? Why don’t we just sell the gun. [Relic] grade weapons like this can easily get 10-20,000 Sarvian gura’s.”

Ishmael was about to open his mouth to complain, he didn’t like where this conversation was going. But before he could say anything, he was cut off by Crassus.

“We could, but we would be stupid to do so. Ishmael’s the only person who knows how to use it, that [Relic] is bound magically to him.”

That was a lie, Crassus looked at Ishmael and gave a very discreet wink. Ishmael got the message and played along.

“Yes, I am the only one who knows how to, uh… conduct the rituals necessary for it to function.”

Ishmael was a terrible liar, but apparently Gavin bought it. The crocodilian made a clacking sound, he wasn’t fluent in Crocodilian but he noted that Gavin sounded disappointed. With a sigh Gavin returned the gun to Ishmael.

“Fine, how much of an ‘Investment’ we are talking about here?” He asked.

“I was thinking of 5,000 Sarvian Guras, split 50-50” Crassus answered the Crocodilian.

“And what will I get?” The Crocodilian asked again.

“We each get 10 percent of his Income as an adventurer.”

10 percent? So, together they would take 20 percent of his income. That is… That isn’t that bad actually. In comparison the Northern Liberation Front took half his meagre salary in taxes.

“Alright fine, as long as it has nothing to do with fashion, I’m in. I will get the money tomorrow since the bank is closed already” The Crocodilian said dejectedly.

The next hour spent having dinner. A very hard cracker like bread made of rye served with a generous serving of cheese and meat, during said dinner, Crassus retold Ishmael’s story to Gavin, except very heavily hyperbolized in favor of Ishmael. Truly an excellent merchant.

After dinner, sleeping arrangements were made with Crassus negotiating with Gavin for the lowest price as possible. In the end they settled on a Gura a day, breakfast included. Truly a monstrously good merchant.

Fifteen minutes later, Ishmael was staring up at the wooden ceiling of his new room. As he laid there, he contemplated about the past 24 hours of his life, he never got the opportunity to process his emotions and all that he had been through since arriving in this new world. He took out his wallet, and pulled out a few faded pictures. His father that was killed at the start of the civil war, his mother who died during their exodus from the city that they called home, his brother who died of pneumonia not long after they reached the mountains, Nasir his mentor, Sayed and all of the Northern Liberation Front soldiers who died under his command during the mountain ambush. For the first time in 5 years, Ishmael cried himself to sleep.