Chapter 31: Shopping spree

We stroll over one of the rope bridges on the second floor. Midway, I halt and look down at the bustling street below. Beings are packed together like sardines in a can, trading, bartering, and doing all the other stuff you do at a shady market.

It’s different from the forest and the ever-present grassland that stretches beyond it. This is civilisation in this world, and only now I realise just how much I missed it.

The beings that don’t wear robes, most of them merchants, are all different. From humanoid golems to whisps and strange creatures that try to sell their wares. There even is some sort of talking rock.

I reluctantly pull my eyes off the street and follow Sairal down another bridge. Though, I still take in everything around me greedily. From the shop that has floating blades on display to the one that sells magical ink and writing quills that do the writing on their own.

Sairal and I enter the shop that has the logo of a tree. It’s much the same as the previous shops, but this one is slightly more opulent. With quick uses of Identify, it seems that this store sells higher grade ingredients.

“What are we here for?” I ask Sairal.

He stares around the store, “We need a lot of things to survive an army stampeding around the outskirts. First off some medicinal herbs and a few other things I need once I’ll reach (D) grade,” he says.

I nod and go my separate way, looking at the plants behind the glass panels. The few plants that aren’t, I give a wide berth. Some weird plant that’s vaguely shaped like a dog, sniffs the air and tries to crawl out of its pot towards me.

I give it an even wider berth.

There are all kinds of flowers in this shop, varying in size, shape, and colour. There is one that seems to absorb all the light in its surroundings making it difficult to see where the flower begins and ends. Another one has purple petals that turn to a vibrant orange closer to the centre and instead of having the standard pistil, it has a gem at its centre that shines with light.

The list of flowers goes on and on, each one strange in one or another way. I walk past one that grows on the ceiling, downwards as if gravity is reversed around it, and stop.

Something tugs on my soul like that ginseng, but far stronger this time. I let the feeling lead me through the store and find an orb of green floating in a jar. Bright, white flowers grow on the writhing mass of weeds. Bindweed to be exact. The same stuff I’m made of.

Binding of bindweed (G)

A clump of bindweed found in the first layers of the Depths. It has some alchemical uses but is most prized by trappers for the vitality and flexibility of the bindweed.

*Assimilation possible.

I put my hand on the glass and the bindweed reacts to me. The flowers bloom further open and the bindweed strands move towards me, only stopped by the glass.

“You found something?” Sairal asks suddenly appearing.

I let out a startled yelp in surprise, “I think so, the system says I can assimilate it.”

“That’s good,” he says already waving over the shopkeeper.

He haggles with the shopkeeper before reaching a final price. Reluctantly, I hand him three of my gold coins.

Sairal pockets the bindweed, jar and all, and we move on to the next store.

With ease, he moves over the rope bridges knowing exactly where everything is. Sairal already said that he was familiar with how the Bazaar worked, so he must’ve been here several times. I ask the question to him.

“A few times,” he confirms. “How else can I buy the things that I need.”

My mind flicks back to Purple who had all those potions and pills. She said she traded with other dryads, why doesn’t he?

Along with the warning the system gave with the Mandrake of moss and decay evolution, something is strange in his past. I’m certain of it now. He has a secret, and it’s a big one.

I don’t mention it and soon enough we arrive at the next store. A thick earthen smell wafts out the door as it swings open in front of us. The store can only be described as the origin of mushrooms. They are literally everywhere, from growing haphazardly on the ground to the stacked shelves with spores, and finally, the ceiling where a few mushrooms grow between the cracks of the boards.

“Of course you need mushrooms,” I sigh,

“Naturally,” He replies happily as he scans the store for anything valuable. “It’s really hard to find the right spores, infuse them with my magic and turn them into guardians. Let alone in the outskirts where the magic is so thin. It costs a pretty penny, but here I can buy all the spores I need for the foreseeable future.”

I don’t comment on how busy he seems to be with preparing for the future. Maybe he envisions it to be far more terrible than I think. Then again, preparing for fights is his style.

I look over the shop, “Can’t you create your own mushroom farm?”

He turns back to me, “I don’t have the tools or the resources for that. Maybe in the future. Then I’ll have all the guardians I could desire at my disposal.”

In my head, I imagine an army of mushroom guardians chasing the human groups that now wander the forest. “Isn’t that too powerful?”

“What do you mean?” he asks as he starts to pull bottles and vials out of racks and look at the spores inside. They don’t seem much different to me but he clearly checks something I can’t see.

“Well, if you start a mushroom farm and have endless spores you can make an infinite army, right?”

He turns back to me, “It doesn’t work like that. Any type of guardian and almost all types of constructs are linked to the creator. They either cost mana to keep active or give the owner temporary conditions until the construct is deactivated or if the guardian is commanded to hibernate. Also, all guardians created will start on (I) grade and will have to advance through the grades just like us.”

“You have mana as a resource?” I ask.

He continues to look over the spores, occasionally shaking his head at a vial. “I have mana but I don’t use it for spells. Only to keep my guardians active.”

The dryad of moss and decay pulls out a vial of pink spores that seem to glow like stars. “Isn’t that a waste? Using it only for guardians, I mean.”

He nods, “It is. But we don’t get infinite skill slots,” he replies, his tone slightly hurt.

He continues to lecture me on guardians and how they work as he looks over hundreds of bottles and vials.

Seemingly satisfied, he walks over to the counter where the attendant has been watching us the entire time, “What is the awakening rate of these spores? And can you tell me why they feel so different?”

“A being with a keen eye,” the attendant comments, “The awakening rate is quite high, around one in two hundred billion. As for their strangeness, it is their origin. A delver took some time to harvest when he was in the spore struck sky. I do have to admit that he only used a collection jar so the spores are mixed.”

At the mention of the location, Sairal takes another look. “How expensive are they? And how much of them do you have?”

“Since they are from the third floor, it makes them rare. As you know not many can delve that deep. Around one silver per billion spores?”

Sairal immediately shakes his head, “One silver for three billion. Strong they might be, they still have a low awakening rate.”

The attendant frowns and looks around the store, “In that corner, there are spores that are more in your price range,” he points to a shelf close to the door that holds spores that are far less interesting.

For the first time, he’s outmatched in haggling. Defeated, he looks at the corner the attendant pointed at. He shakes his head, “I can do one silver for two billion. And I will buy the rest of the spore-related items I need here.”

The attendant lets out a thoughtful ‘hmm’. “Very well. What else do you need.”

Sairal looks around, “I know that you have it in the back. I need something that is able to give guardians personality.”

“Why would you want that?” the attendant asks, “Isn’t it better to have them all mindless?”

Stolen novel; please report.

I look at the dryad wondering the same thing.

I get the feeling that he gives a wink to the attendant, “I’ll tell you if you give me a discount.”

The attendant lets out something that could be interpreted as a groan, “Fine. Now tell me.”

“Personality creates creativity. Mindless beings rarely travel unique paths. And as you know, beings that travel special paths, or ones that lie close to their heart will always get rewarded for staying true to themselves,” the dryad beings to lecture.

I listen to them as I explore the rest of the store while spores, jars, and empty vials are exchanged for coins.

***

Half an hour later we walk out of the store and over the rope bridges again, “Is there anything else that you need to buy?” I ask the dryad.

He shakes his head, “Don’t have any coin left.”

“Then let’s go. I feel tired,” I say while thinking back to the street without lights and how I had to sell that human.

Something pops into my mind, “Where did those spores come from again? It sounded like it was a big deal.”

“It is,” he says, “The third layer of the World below. I always wanted to delve that deep, but things got in the way. Maybe once I’m a dozen levels into (D) grade, I can head there.”

“Do you need to be that strong to head to the third layer?” I say, disbelieving.

“Not really. But I don’t want to take chances. The Depths are always unpredictable. I’ll teach you about the layers and treks I know later when we head back. Now that you are in (G) grade it’s also time to start lecturing you on the minutia of the system.”

We move down from the second layer to the ground floor. We pass one of the stalls that sell books in all types of languages.

Sairal stops, “Speaking of knowledge, want to buy a book? Then I’ll finally be free from answering all the questions you have for me.”

“I don’t think they sell English books,” I say looking at the pristine stall that is stacked with books bound in leather. A few of them have gems set on the cover or have strangely coloured pages, which I presume are magic-related books.

“There is a language that you can understand. Sadly, books written in the language of thought are expensive, but it never hurts to ask, does it?” he says while dragging me over to the stall.

I look over all the books, not a single one in the same language, “And which one can I supposedly read?” I say looking dubious.

“The ones not written in words but concepts the brain can understand,” the owner says. The man, a humanoid-looking golem with a voice that sounds like rocks grinding together continues, “It is the only thing that is universal amongst all the races Great, small and the monsters.”

“What kind of books do you have in that language,” My interest is peaked.

“The general information of this world. It is something that any second-lifer desires,” he says pulling out a book.

He rolls his eyes at us as we freeze up, “Don’t you think I can sense my own kind?”

He hands me the book and I page through it, looking at the letters that shift into something that I can comprehend. It’s weird. It isn’t a language that I know, and yet somehow my brain seems to understand it with a single glance.

Next to me, Sairal continues to talk with the man about second-lifers and things like that.

I tune them out and continue to page through the book. It doesn’t seem to be written by a single author, dozens if not hundreds of snippets, important topics, and fragments written down by someone.

What lies in the World below. Written by Auziar Firewarden

The system and its magic. Written by Magula Miraza

The secrets of this world. Written by Belheria

The titles go on and on, the book never ending. I close the book, interrupt Sairal and the man and ask how much it is.

“Three gold and fifty silver?” I repeat not believing it.

“It is a fair price. More than fair even. The book is written in the universal language which makes the price go up. And as you might have noticed, the book is enchanted. It holds more pages than you can imagine. Just try to flip to the last page and you will see,” the merchant says.

I open the book in the middle, grab a bunch of pages and turn them. When I look at how many pages remain till the end, it hasn’t changed. Neither side of the book has changed, making it look exactly like when I opened It. However, when I look down, there clearly is different information on the pages.

I put the book back on the stall, “I can’t afford it.”

“How much do you have?” the merchant asks.

“Three gold.”

“Then the book now costs three gold. We second-lifers have it hard. We need to stick together,” he says.

“We?” I repeat and he nods.

“Remember, we are everywhere. We are in every nation, above and below the ground. Someday you might make a friend in enemy territory just because you come from the same place.”

Sairal and I chat a bit more with him before we leave the Wandering Bazaar for real.

Before we exit the tunnel Sairal stops me, “We are still being tailed.”

“Tailed? You didn’t tell,” I feel slightly hurt.

“Ignorance is bliss. You didn’t have to worry since I had it covered.” He pulls out a mushroom with a cap that’s smokey white. I lean closer to observe it. The smokey white isn’t just a colour. This mushroom literally contains smoke.

“It’s always mushrooms with you, isn’t it?”

Sairal shrugs, “If it works, it works.”

He pops the cap of the mushroom and smoke explodes outwards.

Safely, we make it out of the Wandering Bazaar. Sairal had a few more tricks up his sleeve, only one not containing any mushrooms. Then finally we make out way back to Luxia.

***

Something is put beneath his nose as he continues to slumber in a deep dreamless sleep. The suffocating smell pulls him out of it. His eyes shoot open in fear, scanning his surroundings, looking for his captors. Or worse the beings he was sold to.

“Good, you’re awake,” General Aïska says pulling his attention towards her. The frown on her face slowly melts away and makes place for concern and worry as she continues to stare at his face.

“Did those two weeds hurt you? What happened to the rest of your group,” she fires. Normally, she forces soldiers to run for miles if they don’t answer her in a split second. Mart knows this, having been on the receiving end several times. Though, this time, her cold, unbending demeanour is nowhere to be seen.

He repeats the questions in his mind and the bitter memories of fighting that mandrake, that demon, resurface. He can still hear the sound of swords and claws cutting through his friends. When the snap of Helk’s neck echoes through his mind, he shivers.

General Aïska grabs his shoulders, dragging him out of the memory. “They are dead. It…he killed them,” he says his eyes growing glassy as he begins to relive it all for a second time.

The General shakes him by the shoulders, dragging him back again. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says her voice softening the slightest amount, “Now, what can you tell me about those two dryads?”

Mart, the human in question, looks up in confusion. “Dryads?” he asks confused. Wasn’t there a mandrake?

Aïska shakes her head and mistakes the confusion for shock, “Let’s get you some food first. I can’t imagine what those dryads would feed a human. You must be famished.”

Once again Mart is in the past, this time looking up at the bright night sky, trying to decipher the conversation between the mandrake and the dryad. They gave him food, they kept guard around him and even protected him to a certain extent. perhaps only because he was meant to be a bargaining chip all along. But maybe…

A bowl of hot steaming stew is set in front of him. He stares at it for a second before digging in.

More memories flick through his mind. The mandrake spared him and protected him from those devilish mushrooms.

Maybe it took pity on him? Mart couldn’t utter a single spell in the fight, too scared as his friends were cut down in front of him. Was he spared because of that?

“Mart.”

Why didn’t that mandrake kill him? It makes no sense. It’s a monster. Monsters never spare humans, except when they…no that didn’t happen either. He’s sure of that. And that mandrake, it wasn’t just a monster; it was a demon. Someone that committed acts so vile that the gods saw fit to let him be reborn as a monster.

“Mart?” the general asks.

He finally looks up from his bowl of soup that he was eating mechanically. The general’s eyes are stained with tears at the edges, making her blue eyes stand out even more than before.

She shakes her head, “They must’ve hurt you. Tortured you. Those filthy monsters. I will get them. But before that, tell me about them.”

He stares at her for a long moment, considering his choices. “I don’t know much. They had me asleep most of the time,” he says turning back to his bowl of soup.

“The one that killed my team used green roots. He fought well. He went after Seiha first, killing her with her own sword. When Helk tried to kill him, he threw the sword at him. After that he beheaded Helk,” he pauses not knowing how to continue. He can feel the tears stream out of his eyes. He can’t lie, the general must have a small truth stone hidden somewhere.

All the guards and generals in Zulis have them, so most learned to speak in half-truths.

He shivers, seeing his friends get killed. He should be mad, itching for revenge. But why does it all feel wrong? As if his whole world is collapsing around him bit by bit. Demons should have killed anything close to them, it is their nature and yet…he somehow that mandrake didn’t. Did the gods make a mistake?

“I don’t know why I was captured,” he admits to himself and to the general.

“Did they…” she asks. The general’s face almost tears up further as she is unable to finish her question.

He shakes his head, “I don’t think so. It’s all so foggy.”

Aïska nods, “You’re doing great. We’re almost done with the questions,” she says pushing her voice to be as gentle as she can muster. “What did the other one use?”

“Mushrooms.”

“Thought so. When they dropped you off, I sent out two to trail them through the market and write down which shops they went into.”

Mart nods and stands up. He needs some time alone to ruminate over everything that happened. He can’t forgive the mandrake. He will never forgive it for killing his friends. And yet, was it in the wrong?

A monster that is not a monster. A demon that is not a demon. It almost hurts to think about it. Are the church’s claims wrong, or is he?

The discussion ends with that he can always meet general Aïska when he remembers something new. When he has come to a conclusion he can say that the mushroom’s spores cleared up and that he now remembers.

Before he can walk away, general Aïska tugs on his arm, “Mart. I want you to know that I sent a duo after them. You will get revenge, be it through me or through some other means. I will deliver justice, even if it is the last thing I do.”

Mart simply nods, “Thank you general. Please excuse me, I…I need to mourn,” he undoes the tent flap and walks into the frigid night air.

One thing is certain in his mind. The dryad and the mandrake will survive the ambush. The only thing that remains to be told is if there will be any human survivors.

Mart looks up at the sky, stars painted on the black canvas of night.

A monster but not a monster. A demon but not a demon. A dryad but not a bloodthirsty one. An idea, a doubt, begins to grow in the back of his mind. Fervently he shakes it away.

Again, he looks up at the stars.

What a strange world.