Chapter 37

“You’re certain?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Victor said. “I prefer to make my own way in life. I always have. I will take the lump sum.”

“Okay then,” the teen summoner said. It still boggled Victor’s mind that he owed his new life to a brat like this, but although he had many doubts about this new life, nothing he’d seen contradicted what he was being told. “Would you prefer it on the kingdom’s network or mine?”

“The kingdom’s,” Victor answered immediately. He intended to spend most of it in the crafting quarter.

“Okay,” Tom said. He produced a voucher from his pocket. Victor was tempted to see if he could pickpocket the boy, but stopped when the boy focused on the tablet for a second and it changed. Ah, so it was like a check. Useless until signed, and it was signed by magic.

“You can take that to any money changer in the city and they’ll put three thousand marks into your account,” Tom informed him. “Once you have that, you can withdraw however much you need, or you can use the Cores to make payments for larger sums directly, so that you don’t have to carry too much coin around.”

“I understand,” Victor said.

“I’m sorry that you don’t want to work with us,” Tom said. “I hope that you find success in this world, Victor.”

“Thanks,” he said, and that was the extent of their conversation. Tom looked ready to extend the conversation, but Victor had gotten what he needed, so he simply walked off.

The last few days had been decent. He’d eaten for free, he’d had a nice inn to sleep in, and he’d spent the time learning all that he could about the world of Reus, the kingdom of Welsius, and the rumors of war with Velund.

But he had no intention of working for Welsius.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t. In fact, with his skills, he was quite certain that he could earn a lofty position and rank. But although they were threatened with war, he didn’t sense the desperation that he was looking for in an employer.

He made his way into the crafting quarter, where he exchanged the token for his kingdom credit, which he promptly turned into two hundred marks worth of cash. He asked directions to the nearest alchemy shop, and was surprised that he’d have to cross the river to get there.

When he arrived, recognizing the sign out front as his destination, he was surprised to find the door locked. He tried knocking. After a few moments, a wizened old woman answered.

“I’m looking to buy some compounds,” he informed her. “I require saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur.”

The woman snorted. “What do you need that for?”

“Is it any of your business?” he asked.

She snorted again. “How much of each?”

Victor considered for a few moments. He knew the ratio for relatively pure substances, but he doubted that what this old woman could provide would be laboratory grade chemicals. “Why don’t you show me what you have and I’ll figure that out?”

She snorted. “Have you coin?”

He produced the pouch that they’d given him at the money changer. Her eyes bulged at the size of it, and he cursed himself as an idiot.

“I doubt what I’m asking for is expensive,” he said. “If you attempt to cheat me, you’ll regret it.”

“Of course, sir, of course. Come right in. I’ll fetch you my finest ingredients. I apologize for my earlier rudeness. I’m certain that I can suit your needs just fine, there’s absolutely no reason to go searching for another apothecary. I have just what you need!”

The woman vanished into the shops basement. Victor looked around for a moment, but the majority of the wares on display were medicinal herbs or powders. Or at least that’s what he assumed they were. They could have been poisons. But then, the primary difference between poison and medicine was the dosage, after all.

The old woman returned after ten minutes carrying two bowls. The potassium nitrate looked fine to him, but the sulfur wasn’t anywhere near the purity he was looking for.

“I’ll take four kilos of your saltpeter for five marks,” he said.

“Certainly!” she said with an eagerness that informed him that he’d vastly overshot their worth. “And how much for the sulfur?”

“Nothing. What you’ve shown me isn’t worth what I left in the chamberpot this morning.”

“Is that so?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “Very well.”

“What of charcoal?” he asked.

“That I have aplenty as well,” she said. “It sees more use than the other two you asked for, so I have it right in back. This way, I’ll show you.”

He examined the product, but was ultimately unsatisfied with this apothecary’s charcoal as well as her sulfur. He convinced her to, reluctantly, direct him to one of her competitors.

If he couldn’t find any better ingredients, he might be back. But sooner or later, the land of Welsius would have black powder.

After that; a trip to the smithies to find steel worthy of being made into a rifle. Once he had that, he’d begin exploring the metalmancy of his new class.

He’d assembled thousands of guns in his time. Tens of thousands. This would be the first time he’d crafted one from the start, but he knew enough of the principles involved to craft a basic flintlock firing mechanism. That would be the bottleneck if anything, he expected. But once he had a working prototype, he’d have proof of concept.

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He was certain he could sell his rifle to Welsius.

But he was just as certain that Velund would pay more.

It came down to desperation. The people of Welsius were too calm, too secure in their safety and certain of their kingdom’s ability to protect them. They would see his ‘invention’ as little more than a curiosity. They weren’t desperate for a new weapon.

Velund, however, would pay through the nose for a better way to equip its soldiers. He just had to show them proof of concept, and they’d right a blank check. He was certain of it. He could taste their desperation in the rumors he heard of their situation. They were in the market for weapons.

And Victor would be their merchant of death.

~~~~~~

“It’s not surprising that someone would strike out on their own,” Grant said. “In fact, I’m surprised that more haven’t left already.”

“I know,” Tom said. “It’s not that. There was just something about him that I found off-putting. Like he was looking at right me and didn’t see me as a person or something.”

Grant nodded. He knew exactly what the boy was talking about. His own social senses had screamed in alarm in the man’s presence. The man hid it well, but Grant identified a number of red flag’s in his behavior. Not the least of which was the fact that the man was lying about his class. Was anything he’d said since arrival the truth?

“Try to put him out of your mind, Tom. He’s chosen to walk his path by himself. There’s nothing left to do except wish him well,” Grant said. And hope that he’s not the sociopath that Grant feared he was, but the former senator let that go unsaid.

“I suppose you’re right,” Tom agreed.

They sat in an office of the Adventurer’s Guild Hall. Grant’s office, specifically, which was half the size of Tom’s. Tom had actually built this office intending it to be his own, giving Grant the larger space since he figured that the man who actually ran the organization would require it. Grant insisted on this arrangement, however.

According to Grant, it simply wasn’t suitable for the Founder of the organization to have a smaller office than the Manager. Even if Tom insisted on calling him President.

Tom was unable to convince him otherwise, so the largest office in the building sat mostly empty. Tom had a few duties to attend to personally, but only those which Grant passed on to him. So far he’d spent less than half an hour per day reviewing documents and effectively rubers tamping them.

Not that he actually had a rubber stamp. With a little bit of focus, he simply Customized his personal seal wherever relevant. Since it changed the paper itself rather than using some sort of ink or wax, it was virtually impossible to forge. Or so they assumed at least. According to Ubo there wasn’t any known magical technique which could duplicate Tom’s Skill, but who knows what a motivated criminal would come up with?

“How are the rest of the summonees doing?” Tom asked. “Do you think anyone else will leave?”

“It’s hard to say at this point,” Grant said. “A few have already accepted jobs or positions within the A.G. Several are exploring their classes before making any sort of commitment. Your parents need to interview Ingrid, by the way. She was a fashion designer in her past life, and her Craftsperson/Seamstress combination seems like it will be a natural combination with their business.”

“Right,” Tom said. “I wrote to Pa, but Ma is still out looking for people to buy their cloth. He’s not willing to make any sort of decision like that without talking to her first.”

“Of course. That’s what I told Ingrid when I spoke with her, but she seems like a fine woman. I’m certain that she’ll get along fabulously with your parents.”

“I hope so,” Tom agreed. “Anything else?”

“The Artist, Elisa, is suffering from a bit of … I’m not certain what to call it. Culture shock, perhaps? I tried talking to her and assuring her that she’d have a place in this world no matter what, but I believe her death is still bothering her,” Grant explained.

“How did she die again?” Tom asked.

“She refuses to answer the question,” Grant said. “I believe it was particularly traumatic, although I can’t be certain. I think you should talk with her.”

“Me? Why?”

“You’re the Founder of the A.G., Tom,” Grant reminded him. “You’ve got to get used to doing this sort of thing. Besides that, you’re also her Summoner. You’ve agreed to support her for at least three years. Possibly longer, if she hasn’t managed to integrate into the world by then. I believe it would reassure her greatly to hear from you in person.”

Tom considered for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll talk with her. I have no idea what I’ll say, but I’ll talk to her.”

“Let’s see, what else,” Grant said, shifting through his papers. “Yes, that’s right. Akira and the two other heroes are requesting permission to begin delving.”

“Do they need my permission for that?” Tom asked.

“No, I’m just keeping you informed. Akira was apparently a kendo practitioner in his previous life. He’s waiting to attend the Urban School for Magic to learn the Magic part of his Magic Swordsman class, but he feels confident in his ability to fight in his current state.

“Marcus possesses archery skills, he was apparently an avid bow-hunter. His new class allows him to infuse his arrows with electricity, allowing him to literally fire lightning.

“The third heroine, Ophelia, has a rather unique power. She reports that her proprioception and situational awareness has increased significantly from her previous life, and that she is able to slow her perception of time. In addition to the fact that she’s physically stronger than I am, I’m certain that she’ll make either a fantastic rogue or a dangerous warrior, depending on which way her inclinations take her.”

Tom nodded. Those did sound like a powerful combination. Still, they would be starting out at level one. “I guess I’m okay with them delving, but I don’t think they should go by themselves.”

“Jessica has volunteered to take them,” Grant informed him, and Tom exhaled a sigh of relief.

“In that case as long as they listen to her and don’t delve deeper than the fifth floor they should be fine,” he said. “I’m sure that Jessica can handle deeper floors than that, but I’d rather they stay to the shallower areas until they’ve leveled up some.”

“I’ll share your wisdom on the matter with them when I inform them that their request has been approved,” Grant said. “Aside from that, most of the remaining summonees are taking positions inside the A.G. I don’t think any of them are particularly interested in learning to fight even if their class allows that possibility, and I don’t want to force them. I’m assigning most of them to administrative duties.”

“Do whatever you think is best for the guild,” Tom instructed. “Is there anything else?”

“Tomorrow we have interviews for the president of the Petoshian branch of the A.G. And before long you’re going to have to make good on your promise to start evolving people for King Fenard.”

Tom sighed. Even with Grant handling ninety percent of the workload, the Adventurer’s guild created so much work for him.

“I think I prefer the days when I was conquering dungeons,” he confessed.

“Really? I much prefer this sort of work,” Grant admitted. “Although I suppose I will have to level up some more. It won’t do for the President of the A.G. to be less than level fifty, I think. I have more than twenty levels to go.”

Tom sighed again. “I’ll go talk to Elisa now, unless there’s something else we need to discuss?”

“That should be it,” Grant said. “Good luck with our new artist.”

“Thanks.”