"Sanctuary? What sanctuary? Even a rundown shack could be called a sanctuary; what does he really mean?"
Alaric rose to shut the door of his study tightly and re-read the letter.
"I've got it; Lord Toras's lackeys need a base. Let me think, a base... It needs to be convenient for operations and good at keeping a low profile. Right, it must be solitary housing, preferably with a yard. That would be ideal for concealing movements and ensuring the smooth execution of plans."
Alaric smacked his right fist into his left palm as he felt he'd grasped the true intent behind Lord Toras's words.
He then picked up the crystal again, studying it intently. A crystal's appearance doesn't change unless it breaks, which means a brand-new crystal looks no different from one on its last legs.
Considering clarity, there's hardly any difference between the first and the second use. Thus, Alaric decided to check the recorded image in the crystal.
Could it be some secret mission Lord Toras has recorded for me?
Lord Toras said it was part of the old demon king’s collection but never said the content couldn't be altered.
With a mix of nervousness and anticipation, Alaric clenched his fist, channeling mana into the crystal, and unsurprisingly watched a ten-minute succubus dance.
*Sigh*, should I have expected this? Given his standing, I doubt Lord Toras would jest with me. So maybe I'm just overthinking it.
Using this crystal to convey a message without prior notice seems unsafe. What if I’d sold it without watching?
I need to kick this habit of overthinking; it'll get me in trouble one of these days.
As Alaric pondered, gathering his resources to buy a vacant mansion in City of Gath's affluent district was no issue. Yet, it seemed Lord Toras's henchmen were in a hurry.
Rush buying a detached residence with a garden, using my connections, could cost around three hundred gold pieces. Selling this crystal could earn fifty to eighty... Alaric's merchant instincts kicked in as he started calculating, wait a minute!
For the third time, he picked up the letter. He'd been so fixated on finding shelter he'd assumed the crystal was his pay. But the crystal was simply compensation for his family—the real payment still awaited in that tavern's second-floor room. What could it be? Alaric was lost in thought once more.
Lord Toras wouldn't give just money; too tacky, and it wouldn't fit with the 'favor' he mentioned.
Again, Alaric delved into his merchant's intuition to sketch out a character portrait of Lord Toras, whom he’d only met twice.
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Lord Toras is likely nobility, seemingly humble but in fact proud, and doesn't give us the time of day.
He seems to lack nothing and chases perfection in everything he does, even taking into account his subordinates might bother my family.
He also appears to be someone who seeks acknowledgment, evident in both his speeches and this letter.
Considering this, the compensation he offers must be something I'm currently lacking. What could it be?
Alaric shook his head, deciding to get to work immediately tomorrow. That way, he could get his compensation sooner and not delay the upcoming smuggling run.
---
"Master, are you serious? Someone will just give us a big house for free?" The little girl’s eyes were wide with disbelief and anticipation.
"Of course, I’m serious. When have I ever lied to you? Well, except for when we're pretending to be humans. Trust me, we'll be out of here in no more than a day and a half, no, make that a day," Murphy vowed confidently.
While Alaric fretted over Murphy's letter, the diligent demon espionage squad of three crammed themselves into the biggest room at the Silver Cup Tavern.
Gath's Southern District was the commoner's quarter, taking up a quarter of the city but home to over half the population.
Despite being in the best room the Silver Cup had to offer, soundproofing was practically nonexistent—the creaking of the floorboards in the hall and the drunken gibberish from the tavern below were clear as day.
It was the second evening since Murphy entered Gath. He'd spent the whole day darting in and out of Gath's North and West quarters, getting to grips with his "good friend" Alaric's background.
Adhering to the motto 'if it works, run it into the ground,' Murphy set up this all-inclusive arrangement for Alaric and now lay in wait at the tavern.
"Hey now, it's rude to look at your master like that," Murphy observed how Pepe viewed him with a knowing smirk since he’d made his promises—like she was silently saying, "I see your game."
"Though I've set him up, I'll be providing the best assistance, he owes me thanks," Murphy half-heartedly tried to justify his own actions to not completely resemble a villain's plot.
"Now, if Mr. Alaric turns up, you mustn’t give the game away. Let's go over the script one more time..."
---
The following afternoon, alongside the urgent steps and groans of creaky wooden stairs, a persistent knocking sounded at the door of room four on the second floor of the Silver Cup Tavern.
Murphy opened the door to see his good friend Mr. Alaric, gesturing warmly for him to come inside.
Alaric surveyed his surroundings with a frown. The room was cramped and modest; the inn’s staff had done their best to clean up, but the still air was tinged with the mustiness of decaying wood—a reminder of the dingy single room Alaric himself had lived in some twenty years back, dressed in rags.
Yet now, looking at the well-dressed middle-aged man, the young man, and little girl in front of him, Alaric mused, Who would’ve thought Lord Toras would find a special use even for such a small child, truly getting the most out of everything.
"Please, take a seat." The firm voice came through.
Alaric assessed the speaker—the mature face showed little emotion, probably the leader of the three.
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed and began, "I'm here to..."
"I must first apologize for my subordinates' rash actions," interjected the middle-aged man.
"There's no need to apologize, sir. Fulfilling duties assigned by Lord Toras is our responsibility, and I have no complaints about your approach."
Alaric had come to understand Lord Toras's style; had he wanted to snatch his wife and child, he would have left an overt threat, not cryptic minions.
"If that's settled, shall we get to the matter at hand?"
"Yes," Alaric responded, retrieving a magical deed from inside his garment. "Here's the magical contract for a house designated as your sanctuary—a gift from me to you. The property is on West Quarter's Clea Street, a detached building with a yard, surrounded by low shrubbery for privacy. I hope it meets your needs."
Byron lightly scanned the deed before passing it to Murphy, and then remarked, "Lord Toras is aware of your prosperity in Gath. He trusts your ability profoundly, which is why we need not scrutinize too closely. Now, about your compensation..."