Chapter 16
621, ever silent and composed, presented three items on the worn counter of the mysterious emporium. The shopkeeper, unkempt and still nursing the fumes of alcohol, cast an impatient yet curious eye on the offerings.
First, a pearlescent spherical orb, about the size of a hand, pulsed with a dim, otherworldly glow. Brown lights danced within its core, creating an ethereal spectacle that captured the essence of hidden energies. Placed carefully on the counter, the orb seemed to hold a secret resonance with the arcane forces that permeated the pocket dimension.
Next, an empty dimensional bag, its deflated form emphasizing its apparent emptiness. It lay innocuously on the counter, a paradox of space and nothingness, awaiting the discerning gaze of the impatient shopkeeper. The bag seemed to mock the notion of vacancy, hinting at the potential it held for the storage of unseen wonders.
Finally, a dimensional bag adorned with strange mystical symbols on its surface. It exuded an air of enigma and hidden purpose, as if the symbols were a cryptic language whispering ancient truths to those who dared to decipher them. Placed alongside the other items, it beckoned the shopkeeper's scrutiny, promising a trade steeped in the unknown—a gamble.
The shopkeeper, still emanating a volatile impatience, directed his gaze at the presented items. His eyes seemingly blurring with the effects of alcohol, struggled to focus on the trio of peculiar offerings.
"Well, what's this then?" he grumbled, his words laced with annoyance.
"Some glowing bauble, an empty sack, and a bag with doodles on it. You better not be wasting my time cunt."
Despite the rudeness, 621 remained stoic, his silence a testament to the discipline instilled by the Order of Shadows. The shopkeeper, after a dismissive huff, leaned in to inspect the items with a begrudging curiosity.
"Alright, let's have a look," he muttered, his eyes squinting as if trying to discern the value hidden within the peculiar trio.
"Glowing thing first."
The shopkeeper extended a grubby hand, fingers reaching toward the pearlescent orb. As his rough fingertips grazed its surface, a subtle energy pulsed through his hand, causing him to jerk back with a surprised expression looking bewildered.
“Wh-whats this?, oh my lord it can’t be!”
“Oh dear heavens!”, the shopkeeper exclaimed as he covered his eyes with exaggerated movements.
621's stoic demeanor persisted as he observed the man’s odd actions with a long stare.
Realizing that the silent pawn was not to be swayed by the facade, the shopkeeper sighed, a mixture of resignation and begrudging respect crossing his features.
"All right, all right, you little shit,” he grumbled.
“You're not dealing with an amateur here," he cocked, the impatience still present but now accompanied by a more authentic tone. "I know what these are."
As he pointed to the pearlescent orb, his fingers traced the arcane glow within. "Soul core, this one. I can feel it.”
“From a young Otso, that's for sure, almost in the Qi condensation realm too," he deliberated.
“Eight no maybe in the ninth Mortal transformation stage perhaps.” The shopkeeper seemed to be somewhat disappointed as he turned the orb sideways.
“What a shame, which useless bastard prevented its advancement?” he looked towards 621 with a mocking glint.
His gaze then shifted to the deflated dimensional bag, he prodded it with a knowing smirk.
“So which poor bastard did that belong to huh?”
“And that one over there, clearly still locked” the condescending man said in a carefree manner as he pointed towards the other bag.
“Aren’t you just a thief?” he mocked.
He eyed the silent pawn before him, as if prodding for a reaction, seeking to disrupt the composed demeanor that seemed impervious to the taunts.
However, to his dismay, 621 remained stoic, unfazed by the attempt to provoke a response.
621's unyielding composure only deepened. His gaze, an unblinking stare that seemed to pierce through the shopkeeper's attempts at disruption, conveying an unwavering patience.
Frustrated by the lack of a reaction, the shopkeeper's demeanor shifted. Vehement curses erupted from his lips, perhaps not directed at 621, but at the enigmatic members of the Order of Shadows.
His expressions twisted with indignation as he hurled invectives at the ether.
"Damn Order and their bloody secrecy," he spat, his tone a mix of frustration and resentment.
"Always lurking in the shadows, never straightforward. Can't trust a damn one of 'em. All you fuckers sure are ungrateful as hell."
621, observing the shopkeeper's outburst with the same impassive gaze, began to entertain the notion that this man might not be directly affiliated with the Order.
The vehement curses, tinged with a personal resentment, hinted at a connection tainted by frustration rather than loyalty.
The shopkeeper, fueled by his frustrations and fortified by the potent liquid courage, chugged down the entire bottle of strong alcohol that he was previously holding with a fervor.
A burp, carrying the stench of potent spirits, escaped his lips, echoing through the oddities-laden emporium. His gaze fixed on 621 with impatience, as if daring the silent pawn to disrupt the air of discontent that hung between them.
Despite his inebriated state, he managed to articulate a gruff inquiry, his words laced with a continued disdain for the pawn.
"Well, what the hell do you want to do with these things, you shit stain of a fucker?" he demanded, impatience accentuating each word. He didn't miss the opportunity to throw another curse in 621's direction, as if the act itself provided some semblance of solace in the face of his frustrations.
621, maintaining the same calm and composed demeanor, engaged with the inebriated shopkeeper as if navigating the eccentricities of a delicate situation. He spoke with a tone of respect that seemed incongruent with the shopkeeper's abrasive attitude.
"I wish to sell or trade these two items," 621 stated, his voice measured and unwavering. He gestured towards the soul core, and the deflated dimensional bag.
"As for this dimensional bag," he continued, indicating the one adorned with mystical symbols,
"I wish for you to unlock it."
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed as he regarded the items. "Sell or trade, eh? Fine. And unlocking that bag, that'll cost you extra, not everyone has my expertise afterall."
The shopkeeper, having appraised the items with a gruff expertise born from the mysterious trade of his emporium, conveyed his terms to 621. The shopkeeper's words, tinged with a mocking tone, unfolded like a dark bargain.
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"I can offer you 10 silver coins for this soul core," he grumbled, indicating the pulsating orb.
"And 40 silver coins for this tiny dimensional bag. Size matters, you know."
His eyes narrowed as he considered the prospect of a trade. "As for trading, that depends on what you're after. What tickles your fancy, huh?"
A wicked grin crept across the shopkeeper's face as he addressed the next matter,
"Now, unlocking this bag, my special service, comes at a cheap price—10 silver coins," he declared, the emphasis on 'cheap' implying a false sense of benevolence.
"A discounted price, just for you. You won't find a better deal in these parts."
Despite the apparent mockery, 621 remained stoic, unfazed by the shopkeeper's theatrical pricing. He acknowledged the terms with a simple nod, as if playing along with the charade.
"I'll take the coins for the soul core," he agreed, his voice a calm river in the face of the shopkeeper's turbulent demeanor.
"But for this empty dimensional bag, I'd prefer healing potions and poisons in trade."
The shopkeeper, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected request, raised an eyebrow. Yet, true to his disposition, he grinned and agreed, sensing an opportunity for a fair transaction.
“Excellent!” he intoned.
With a quick and practiced motion, he pocketed both the soul core and the empty dimensional bag, as if sealing the deal in a manner that left no room for renegotiation. The items themselves seemed to vanish into thin air.
621 observed the shopkeeper's actions with an unyielding gaze, his confidence undiminished by the rapid exchange. The silent pawn remained unfazed, seemingly assured in his decision and the outcome of the deal.
A snap of the shopkeeper's fingers echoed through the emporium, and in an instant, four items materialized across the counter. Three potions, identical in appearance, emitted a hazy green light that flickered with an ethereal glow.
The fourth item, a vial containing a transparent liquid, bore a simple and innocent appearance that betrayed the deadly nature it concealed. 621, attuned to the subtleties of such items, recognized the potential within the seemingly mundane vial.
The shopkeeper, reveling in the unveiling of the items, introduced the trio of potions with a flourish.
"Basic healing potions," he declared, his tone carrying a sense of assurance in their efficacy. He then gestured towards the transparent vial, a sly smile playing on his lips.
"And here, my friend, is a special concoction. Quite deadly, if I do say so myself."
The emporium's atmosphere thickened with his words.
621, swift and efficient in his actions, deftly stowed the four vials into his personal dimensional bag. A simple "thank you" escaped his lips, a gesture that seemed to convey trust in the shopkeeper's words. The shopkeeper, unimpressed and dismissive, snorted in response, ignoring the gratitude as if it were an inconsequential nuisance.
The shopkeeper's impatience manifested as he shifted his attention toward the locked dimensional bag. With a brusque turn, he hid his actions from 621, reminding the silent pawn that revealing his methods wasn't part of the bargain.
"Relax, I'm not in the business of stealing from my customers. Your secrets are safe with me, for now."
The mysterious aura of the shopkeeper enveloped the room as a blue haze suddenly manifested around the shopkeeper as he delved into odd incantations which he whispered into the void.
A brief luminosity illuminated the emporium before swiftly diminishing, leaving an air of intrigue in its wake. The shopkeeper turned nonchalantly toward 621, tossing the now-unlocked dimensional bag in his direction with a carefree manner.
“There goes your silver, thief” he mocked.
621, ever observant, caught the bag with a wary gaze. A hint of suspicion lingered as he wondered if the shopkeeper had seized a moment to pilfer an item from within. His accusing gaze met the figure before him creating a silent standoff between them.
With a taunting demeanor, the shopkeeper provoked with a playful smirk as he stared back at 621.
He taunted 621 further, "So, that's it, huh? We done? If so, quietly fuck off from my shop. I've got better things to do."
In the dimly lit emporium, 621 calmly observed the shopkeeper's expressions, his inscrutable gaze studying the man's demeanor. A mental sigh escaped the silent pawn as he muttered a silent curse in his mind.
‘Troublesome swine…’
Despite the apparent annoyance, 621 allowed a brief moment of contemplation before deciding to reveal another facet of his mysterious trade.
With a swift and practiced motion, 621 summoned a gruesome item from his dimensional bag—a lifeless corpse, severed at the neck, with its head conspicuously missing.
Grasping the body by the nape, 621 positioned it in a vertical stance, preventing the immediate gush of blood from the exposed neck.
The lifeless form, a male, bore a pallid complexion marred by numerous gashes and missing patches of flesh. White cloth pants, stained with a macabre blend of dirt and blood, clung to the body's lower half.
What drew a more disconcerting gaze was the injuries inflicted upon the lower legs, particularly toward the calves. Gaping holes adorned both limbs, as if a force of unfathomable devastation had impacted the region.
As 621 tried to mitigate the macabre display, his attempt to prop up the corpse inadvertently led to blood gushing out from the gruesome wounds in the legs.
The body, a canvas of horror, began to exhibit signs of blackening, and even the blood that flowed from the wounds seemed tainted, darker than the usual crimson, as if infected by an insidious foreign substance.
With an eerie countenance, 621 presented the gruesome offering to the shopkeeper, questioning,
"What can you offer for this?" he asked.
However, a palpable displeasure darkened the shopkeeper's expression as he gestured for the corpse to levitate from 621's grasp.
Uttering an incantation of unknown origin, the shopkeeper cast a spell that arrested the flow of blood, freezing it in mid-air as if subjected to an unnatural force. Even the spilled blood on the floor responded to this mystical command, levitating and pooling toward the suspended body as if magnetically drawn to it.
The shopkeeper's displeasure transformed into a more ominous demeanor as he unleashed an unfriendly curse, his tone taking on a more demonic quality compared to his previous mocking intentions.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he shouted. “What makes you think that I indulge in corpse trading, huh?”
“You dare sully my shop, my reputation?” the shopkeeper snarled, his tone venomous.
The air crackled with danger, whilst an instinctual urge for escape immediately surged within 621, warning him of potential peril.
However, before 621 could even make a move, the ominous aura dissipated, leaving a lingering uncertainty in the air.
The shopkeeper, in a tone that still carried a mocking and playful cadence, admitted:
“Fuck you! That was a lucky guess; you little shit”, he confessed.
The man’s expressions seemed to savour in the reactions that played out on 621's countenance as he smirked playfully.
Eventually, the shopkeeper, in an eerie jest, remarked seriously,
“So, this must be the poor fucker who had his dimensional bag stolen huh?”
“Don’t you think so, pawn?” he mocked playfully.
With an air of expertise, the shopkeeper commenced a meticulous inspection of the suspended corpse, circling it as if he were a pathologist examining a specimen. His comments, delivered with clinical precision, delved into the intricate details of the injuries that marred the lifeless form.
"Ah, severed neck, clean cut," the shopkeeper mused, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the neck wound. "A skilled hand did this, a blade no doubt. Swift and precise, almost like an execution it would seem."
He moved to the legs, his fingers hovering over the gruesome injuries. "Legs mangled, but not by conventional means. Seems like something tore through them with ferocity. A creature, perhaps? Or a potent force like a spear maybe." The shopkeeper then gazed at 621’s form as if contemplating a scenario.
“Yes…the latter” he muttered.
The shopkeeper's tone took on a diagnostic cadence, his words painting a macabre picture of the final moments of the unfortunate soul.
"Poison, yes. A simple concoction that crept through the veins, spreading slow, too slow in fact. What a shitty poison." His disdain for the poison used was clear.
“Hemlock…the smell of Foxglove and perhaps Castor bean?”
“Which dimwit created such a useless poison? I just can’t help but wonder who.” He deliberated with a slow cadence.
“Surely it couldn’t be you right?”
The shopkeeper smiled mockingly as he continued to observe the quality of the item.
“Right no way, I expect more from the Order after all.”
As the shopkeeper continued his unsettling yet mocking commentary, 621 felt a shiver crawl down his spine. The overall accuracy of the shopkeeper's observations bordered on the supernatural, leaving him in a state of disquiet.
‘A dangerous man…’, 621 suddenly thought.
The shopkeeper's evaluation of the lifeless body reached its conclusion, and he promptly made an offer to 621, his words carrying a mix of dark amusement and businesslike pragmatism.
"50 silvers, whad'ya think?"
The shopkeeper's lips twisted into a smirk as he began explaining his rationale to 621, his words carrying a mix of dark amusement and businesslike pragmatism.
"Look, the poor bastard got a missing head, mangled legs and poisoned veins—pretty much a tragic canvas, ain't it?" The shopkeeper's eyes gleamed with a perverse fascination.
"But, I guess he’s worth a little something; Qi condensation at the initial realm. Got a little fire spirit root to boot just looking at his energies."
He paused, enjoying the macabre theater of the transaction. "Now, had this fella been in better shape, I might've been more generous. Pristine bodies fetch a higher price, you see dimwit? But alas, this condition…”
“50 silvers is a fair deal. Take it or leave it."
His words hung in the air, a sinister melody in the dimly lit emporium. The shopkeeper's logic, drenched in the dark ethos of the Order resonated with a grim tone.
621, weighing the offer in the balance of practicality, deliberated for a few contemplative seconds. The deal made a perverse sense given the state of the body. Therefore, with an eerie calmness, 621 accepted the offered price.
“Deal.”
With the agreement sealed, a macabre magic unfolded. The lifeless body, along with the levitating blood, vanished from view, leaving behind a spectral emptiness. The shopkeeper, not one for prolonged farewells, tossed a bag of silver coins toward 621 with a dismissive command.
"Fuck off, then," the shopkeeper uttered, his voice carrying a mixture of impatience and disdain.
The bag of coins landed in 621's possession with a weight that mirrored the unsettling transaction that had just taken place.
As 621 turned to leave the eerie emporium, the shopkeeper's lingering gaze seemed to follow him. The unsettling presence now a peculiar memory deeply etched into his consciousness.