Firefly lights danced across the neatly paved streets of the main shelter, the streets were free of clutter of both garbage and man, a world apart from the slums outside.
Steam-powered contraptions dotted the shops and pedestrians' attire, while militia guards in tailored uniforms patrolled with their silver sabers and standard pistols. It was a picture of safety and serenity. It was easy to see why refugees dreamed of this paradise.
Ilven was heading home when a sudden thought struck him. A scavenger making straight for home instead of selling their loot would draw attention—especially with the crimson night approaching and people growing skittish. Better to avoid unwanted eyes.
He changed course, and as he neared his new destination, the firefly light intensified. Perhaps the old rumors about their converged lights bringing forth good luck were true.
Through the glow, he spotted a familiar figure stumbling out of William's Delight, servants struggling to support the man's bulky frame. Ilven's hand drifted to his waist, confirming the presence of a fresh vial.
He passed by without a change in expression.
Minutes later, he stood before Hallord's Hidden Treasure, its imposing signboard looming above. Grey Tulip was small enough that the walk had taken less than seven minutes.
Before entering, Ilven crossed a name from his diary: Drunken Williams.
By now, the mixture of green hibiscus nectar and scorpion-tailed monkey urine would be causing organ failure. Lady luck had indeed smiled on him—he'd been waiting for the right moment to settle things with the man who'd robbed him of his copper coins four months, three days and twelve hours ago. The debt was now paid.
The shop's bell rang as he entered. Seeing his youthful face the shopkeeper's surprise was present but restrained, he merely gave Ilven a fleeting glance and refocused his attention on his current customer; while Ilven was an outlier—a five-year veteran scavenger still in his teens—this only applied to refugee-bred scavengers.
Refugees were not the only source of scavengers in the wilderness.
Despite the dangers of the profession, its high profits couldn’t be ignored by the higher class.
Although only nobles were qualified to have concubines, many wealthy men couldn’t help but mimic this behavior due to lust, greed and also as a symbol of their wealth, seeing as only the rich could keep mistresses. While direct heirs of the main wife and favored mistresses were well off this was not always the case.
Sons and daughters with no prospects were known to become scavengers to earn a living but unlike refugees who did so out of necessity they did it as a career, they also had help from their siblings and parents so they were better equipped, additionally they could recruit some cannon fodder from refugees to reduce danger on their expeditions.
Even the most valuable item for ordinary scavengers was available to them with no effort—detailed maps.
Scavenging in the wilderness was a risky endeavor with a high likelihood of death but once successful these established scavengers could repay their families grace and further strengthen their position so many parents were quite willing to support children courageous enough to take the risk.
So, scavengers with long tenures were not uncommon at all, this illusion was only in comparison to poor wretches who had to choose between scavenging and starvation as their means to an end who died with every expedition.
These dandy scavengers hoped to use their career as a springboard to catch the attention of wilderness hunters and move up the social ladder, so they were quite active compared to others.
Ilven was poor in relation to them. A lone wolf with little earning ability.
His only advantage was that he would not earn less or fight with his companions over bounty allocations so the shopkeeper wouldn’t go out of his way to greet him at the door.
It was a small shop so you could hear scavengers bargaining from anywhere inside.
“Fuck you old man! I’ve seen this in a book before, its called Rotten Mud. It’s definitely super valuable and you’re only giving me 200 fucking Kimber for it! I can’t even use that to wipe my ass!” A bearded figure shouted slamming his fist on the counter.
But Old Hallord wasn’t intimidated by him at all, “Did that book tell you how much its worth? Do you know when that book was written? Times change, prices rise and fall. It’s the same price anywhere. 200 after taxes take it or leave it.”
The man argued for a bit longer before he successfully sold it for 212 Kimber.
“We have an updated spiritual plant encyclopedia so be sure to purchase it when you can!” The shopkeeper called out to the departing man who cursed in response. His two servant boys held up a large book and showed it off to all onlookers.
Another man came up representing his scavenger team and handed out a few corpses selling them for several hundred coppers and three hundred Kimber. The shopkeeper repeated his pitch for the new spiritual plant encyclopedia. His servant boys’ thin arms struggling to hold up the heavy tome.
Ilven joined the line of scavengers until it was his turn at the counter.
He heard quite a bit of gossip while waiting.
“Have you heard? We should stay away from the laughing pines, the guardian has moved there.”
“Tsk, I understand why its exists but such a disgusting thing being raised by us is off putting. At least it hasn’t killed any of us for more than three years.”
“I don’t know, those Blood Sun disease like fuckers have spread as far as our little corner. They could cause trouble here.”
“Not likely, its times like these I’m glad were just a small unknown spot on the map. Calamities like those don’t sniff us out.”
“Anyways where are you going to spend your coin from this haul? William’s chicks are tasty, but everyone has tasted them, if they were like—”
The conversation continued on a tangent, but Ilven was still thinking of what they said before.
…Blood Sun and the Guardian.
Before he knew it, he arrived at the counter.
“It’s the little wolf cub, still kicking I see. Of your year I think other than the Smith family’s eighth son who’s bedridden, it’s just you that’s left. Impressive. How’s Old Wugou these days?” Shopkeeper Hallord greeted him warmly.
Ilven responded to the greeting perfunctorily, then presented his loot. One whole corpse of a flightless bird and one damaged one.
The flightless bird was quite stupid, so it was a common target for scavengers, long term consumption of the flesh decreased insomnia, increased digestion and heightened energy so it was quite popular for the wealthy families within the shelter.
A few of its organs were materials for scent covering and beast repelling powders.
“82 coppers for the whole corpse, 35 for the other one.” Old Hallord said with a smile.
Ilven pondered a moment before adding three plants, they were Green Striped Hibiscuses. This mutant form had a chance of being born among a patch of Green Hibiscuses, it had dark yellow stripes, a bright green stamen and pale white leaves.
“For these three I’ll give you 350 Kimber each.” He quoted after inspecting them. He gestured to his servant boys who began to collect and sort the beast materials.
Ilven nodded in approval. Spiritual plants were typically cheaper than monster parts which was understandable, otherwise scavengers would have a much better time and target plants instead of desolate beast remains.
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350 Kimber for each plant is worth around seven or eight copper baht in total.
Currency items like copper, silver and even gold were only manufactured in higher level shelters. The counterfeiting means were quite sophisticated resulting in their universal use by humans within the Four Symbols Desolate Continent.
The base materials were also quite rare and had many uses apart from currency.
This rarity naturally means that wisp shelters couldn’t use this as their base currency for all transactions since wisp settlements were the smallest, most scattered and numerous of all the different types of shelters.
Kimber was the local currency named after Billy Kimber, the local tyrant who had control over a purple zinc mine, the metal was of a low purity which was just right for creating currency. Grey Tulip, Black Flower, Worm Hole and Sunshade, the four wisp settlements within this region as well as two neighboring regions all used the Kimber as their base currency for everyday transactions.
You could exchange Kimber for copper currency similar to how you could exchange 1000 coppers for a silver baht or 100 silvers for a gold baht, but the strength of the denomination fluctuated greatly on whether or not the bandit camp led by Billy Kimber was causing trouble for any of the shelters within the region. In normal cases it was around 120 Kimber for a single copper, it chaotic times it could go as high as 150 Kimber.
“Okay, I’ll sell these and I need to stock up on the usual.” Ilven requested.
“We have a few new arrivals, don’t worry they’re the same price with the same effects.” Old Hallord chuckled seeing Ilven hesitate before pointing out a few items for him.
Quickly he stocked up on all his different powders, bought a few decent blades and other supplies before voicing his main goal.
“It seems you’re recovering well little wolf, after that incident a few months ago I thought you would take a while to get back on your feet, not only are you recovered but you’re doing quite well.” Old Hallord couldn’t help but say.
“It’s just luck.” Ilven replied plainly.
“That’s all you need, look at me I didn’t live this long solely based on my skills.”
“I also want a gun.” He added after looking around seeing just three individuals behind him and five more in the shop.
Old Hallord exclaimed in surprise, “Did you hit the jackpot somewhere kid, I didn’t peg you for the gambling type.”
“Saved enough.” Ilven curtly responded. Old Hallord still had customers, so he simply gave him a thin booklet introducing the weapons available.
The cheapest option cost 300 copper baht and had several glaring issues from the cost of maintenance to the reloading times. Ilven even saw a familiar model he came into contact with.
No wonder Galdor didn’t shoot a lot, his gun was simply a piece of crap.
The best-looking ones were quite outrageous costing dozens of silver baht which was plain impossible for the ordinary scavenger.
The average earning ability of scavengers ranged from hundreds of copper baht to dozens of silver, which had to be split amongst the team. They also had various expenses to cover when thoroughly preparing for each expedition, including their entertainment costs, feeding their families and so on, there often was very little left to purchase anything at all. Having dozens of coppers in excess was worthy of celebration, much less dozens of silvers.
Perhaps only the leaders of competent scavenging teams could afford the costs of a gun. Ammo was another expense.
Owning a firearm was like feeding a gold eating beast. Ilven was only looking for references at this moment with no intention of buying an extra gun.
As he had expected, even the most expensive guns available couldn’t hold a candle to Old Driver after all it was a gun once used by the leader of a team of wilderness hunters.
The real reason he checked the local gun supply was to compare it to the first gun he bought from Reshal’s group before he was given Old Driver by surprise. However, he found that not only his guns, but even the bullets he had received were of a higher quality than what was available in shop.
Grey Tulip was truly a backwards place.
Of course, the guns in the hands of wealthy should be a notch higher than what’s seen in the catalogue, but he estimated that even then it would still be lower in quality than his current arsenal.
He bought some ammo and left the shop under the old shopkeeper’s weird gaze. So, you already have a gun but say you want one to look at my catalogue?
He pitched the new encyclopedia again which Ilven ignored, he never bought one since it was so expensive, the new one was even five silvers.
While having descriptions and growth environments for special plants was useful five silvers was far too expensive for the three lines they gave for each plant.
He also was taught by his mentor to recognize several plants that appeared nearby, that was more than enough for his needs furthermore he didn’t have enough money.
Although Ilven still had 1582 silvers left on his bank card, but he didn’t dare use it in the shelter, news travelled fast in such a small place and it would be foolish to think that as a loyal customer Old Hallord wouldn’t betray him in the face of such great profits.
Bank cards were universal and could be used to pay at any shop worth a damn.
Though there were no banks within wisp shelters, so to claim just a piece of his fortune, he had to travel to a shelter that was ember level or higher which was quite the journey. Fortunately for now he had no such needs, the copper on hand was enough to buy food for a few weeks.
Ilven navigated through the streets paved with blue limestone and made it the northernmost area. There he came to a wooden house with a small courtyard, it was a bit rundown with the color of the materials fading away, but this was where he called home for five years.
“I’m back.” Ilven declared upon his arrival.
There was a clatter in a pile of miscellaneous items as a dwarf like figure poked its head out. Shaking off the pile of items the tiny figure made it to Ilven and began sniffing him.
You could make out two large violet eyes underneath the unkempt dirty gray hair. As if finding the correct scent, the figure darted off and began playing in the pile of items once more.
“Oh, look whose back, I’m surprised you remember that you live somewhere you damn brat.” An old voice harrumphed as a one-legged middle-aged man walked over from the next room.
“I was held back. Sorry I missed the deadline.” Ilven apologized bowing his head slightly a slight smile on his face.
“You missed the deadline by ten days, your supplies should have run out long ago, I’ve told you numerous times not to take risks if you want to live as long as I have, you… forget it. You’ve been on your own for years now its your call to make, you must have had a good reason.” Old Wugou habitually reprimanded but then he remembered that Ilven was a smart kid and not rebellious at all, he was also taught well by himself and was a competent scavenger worthy of his mantle.
“What happened?” Old Wugou asked, seeing Ilven acting abnormally hesitating to speak, his hand twiddling around as if there was no place to put them.
A few moments later he exclaimed loudly, “You fucking Roland be damned imbecile I told you numerous times to avoid the Scorpion tailed monkeys, those fuckers are more demonic than demons!”
There was a low clacking noise after that as the screams grew louder and louder in fury.
“Well speak, who’s outside?” Old Wugou calmly took a whiff of his pipe and exhaled some smoke with the thick scent of herbs.
Ilven watched speechlessly as a monkey shaped contraption shouted in Old Wugou’s voice berating him with all sorts of insults.
I know we are masking the noise, but did it have to be a recording of you hurling insults? Also, it sounds a bit different, did you rerecord it while I was away?
The pair of teacher and student were in tune with each other’s every action, they didn’t need specific gestures to get any points across, Old Wugou instantly picked up on Ilven’s random signal that indicated they were being watched.
“No one, I was a just bit lucky this time around.” Ilven explained with a sigh, luck was an understatement, but he achieved it by brushing against death one too many times the past few days.
“You do look like absolute shit. What was it a natural treasure? Why would you bring it home with you? Is it last time’s issue with that snake’s bastard Fenri?” Old Wugou puffed as he noticed Ilven’s haggard state, despite resting a day he was still too worn out. Before the chase he was lying in wait for a long time close to starvation, during and after the chase was also quite taxing physically and mentally, it was no surprise he wasn’t in a good condition.
“Yes and No.” Ilven replied as he undressed habitually.
Old Wugou quickly grabbed the first aid kit and began to look over Ilven’s wounds as Ilven explained everything that happened.
“What?!” Old Wugou was on the edge of his seat and interrupted Ilven several times even slapping hard on his bandages causing him to wince in pain.
“I see. I see.” Old Wugou paced around the rooms several times devouring smoke and spitting it out.
“This changes things, I was on the fence about what to do and wanted to let you make the decision for yourself but now you have to go! If you dare to try to be stubborn, I’ll break your legs!”
Ilven: “???”
Where did the sudden threat come from?
“You must have seen the commotion on your way here, Black Rock Citadel is conducting the 51st Human Flame Project, it’s a recruitment to screen out Beastmasters.” Old Wugou sat down, his chest still heaving with excitement hearing of Ilven’s exploits.
Beastmaster
The word when spoken ignited something primal in Ilven's soul. His mind plunged back to that horrific day on the road to Grey Tulip, after a Horned Giant Lizard had overturned their ember level settlement rising from deep underground. The survivors scrambled to escape, their refugee group—over two hundred strong—then stumbled upon a Beastmaster’s retinue on route.
The beast came without warning. Screams erupted as its massive jaws tore through flesh and bone. Ilven watched his mother disappear into a maw larger than a carriage. His father's last act was hurling Ilven clear of the carnage, and in that final moment, Ilven felt every detail burn into his memory—the goosebumps on his father's skin, the trembling in those usually steadfast calloused hands, the tears mixing with blood on his face.
"Tsk, just some flesh materials." The words drifted down from atop an enormous armored tortoise. A youth in black and white luxurious robes adorned with mysterious patterns gazed at the massacre with emerald eyes, his blonde hair catching the sun. "What an insult to be the same species as these things. How foul."
He spat on the ground as half their group was devoured.
"We need to catch up to that Horned Giant Lizard. I know you're cranky about the upcoming battle, Drago. Just take these flesh materials as grinders for your teeth and claws to relieve some stress."
The sounds haunted Ilven still—bones snapping like kindling, desperate prayers turning to wet gurgles, children's cries cut short. The thick iron stench of blood, the taste of tears and snot as he lay frozen in the grass. But what burned deepest was how the Beastmaster looked at them: not as humans, not even as animals, but as things. Training dummies for his precious beast.
The culprit who caused all this was one of those accursed Beastmasters!