"Lord Toras never shortchanges his friends, and you must be aware that some merchants in town caught a whiff of something and may want to 'collaborate' with you in ways that aren't so friendly, right?" Byron lowered his voice, the heaviness evident.
"Yes, that’s indeed happened, but I assure you, I won't divulge any information regarding Lord Toras," Alaric replied, his voice a mix of pain and resolve.
"Every trader like you is facing this peril, but you, you won't have a problem because you're the best of the lot."
"For your compensation, I'll be ensuring your safety in the upcoming smuggling venture. Any future protection depends on the value you demonstrate and Lord Toras's wishes."
"You—you’ll protect me?" Alaric's voice tinged with disbelief.
"Yes." Byron stood, pulling a longsword from the wall, the blade whistling crisply through the tight air of the small room.
"Let me introduce myself. Name's Byron, you can just call me by my name, forget the formalities. Adventurer, level eighteen warrior, skilled in close combat and cavalry charges. With me here, there's no one in this city who can take you down. My protection starts now."
Byron's statement was a bit of an overreach; in a city governed by an earl, more than a handful of adventurers around level twenty could be found, forming the upper crust of the Adventurers' Guild. But Alaric knew his safety was locked down because those green-eyed jackals couldn't afford a level twenty mercenary.
That moment, a giant weight lifted from Alaric's shoulders. He'd been planning to leave a letter for his wife and child in case of his demise, instructing them to take the money and live modestly in White Wolf City—a smaller place, but rumors had it that it was quite safe under its old-fashioned baron. Now, with Byron's aid, he was in for an easy ride.
Alaric, astonished that he, a mere merchant, received such attention, expressed boundless gratitude as he left the Silver Cup's room, taking the already-dedicated Byron with him.
Their departure, down the wooden steps filled with parting groans, left Murphy alone to unfurl the magically imbued parchment.
The contract had just a few lines. It started by lauding the ultimate trio of another realm: humanity's champion who defeated the Demon King, the ubiquitous source of magic, and the radiant, sacred Goddess of Victory. Then it listed the residence's address and the rights the signatory had within its walls, ending with thanks to the lofty ones whose gaze blessed the contract, space for the signatory's name at the bottom right.
After confirming the contract was sound, Murphy handed it to Pepe, motioning to the signatory line, "Sign here."
He couldn't shake the feeling that he was more fiend tricking a little girl into signing away her soul with an unfair contract than a kindly master gifting her a house.
"For me? Why?" The girl's voice was saturated with surprise. Though she'd never been to a grand city house, every child dreams of having a pretty residence to call their own.
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"Ah, consider it a perk of being my apprentice. If I'm pressed for a reason, it's because out of our little squad, you're the poorest." Murphy's laughter trailed off as he spoke. "Look, I'm practically a demon king. Land, minions, all mine—what use do I have for a house? And Byron here—may look plain as porridge, but his riches are practically rushing down the street toward him. You'll be gobsmacked soon enough."
"As for Buster..." Murphy glanced down at the napping pup.
"Woof~"
"As you can see, he's just a dog," Murphy explained, throwing his hands up in resignation. "So I reckon you're the best fit for this estate. After all, isn't there a saying about peace of mind coming with owning a house?"
"Really? I understand, thank you, Master."
"Hey, it's nothing. Stick with me and I'll have you living in palaces." Murphy beamed as he watched his apprentice light up with joy.
The girl picked up the feather pen but hesitated to write.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you signing?"
"Master, I can't read or write," she confessed softly, her head bowed in embarrassment.
Five minutes later, after an emergency literacy crash course, Pepe scrawled her name in shaky letters across the parchment. As the final stroke fell, a gentle glow radiated from the paper, which then drifted into the air and turned to ash.
Pepe, covered in a dusting of grey, asked bewilderedly, "Is the contract in effect now?"
Murphy brushed the ash from her hair, "Seems like it. Pack up, we're headed to our new home."
It cost Murphy six silver and forty-five copper for less than three days' lodging and food. Leading a skeletal horse, he took Pepe to the residence specified in the contract on West Quarter's Cleast Street number two.
Though dubbed the West Quarter, number one and two were quite near the North Quarter, and the house next to number two backed onto an artificial forest—a part of Count Reed's castle grounds.
"Nice spot! Alaric's come through for us." Murphy gazed through the trees at the distant castle, sincerely impressed. "We'll have to give him a ring next time; it's like striking granny's old gold mine."
The duo began moving into the unexpectedly sprawling house, even Murphy—a demon king who didn’t count bedless palaces—hadn’t seen anything on this scale. The only downside was a thin film of dust due to neglect. But with Buster around, that was no issue.
While their cleaning Slime churned into overdrive, Murphy and Pepe walked the grounds.
"Master, the house is huge!"
"Yeah."
"And the yard is so big!"
"Yeah."
"With such a big house and yard, you could hide hundreds of skeleton soldiers!"
"Yeah, wait—what?" Murphy snapped around to gaze into the girl's earnest eyes. "What are you plotting, you little rascal?"
"Did I say something wrong? When the time comes, at your command, I’ll lead hundreds of skeletons to dismantle the count’s castle. Serve him right for hiking taxes every year, hmph."
Murphy found himself at a loss for words and comforted her, "Don't worry. I've come here to make these people pay."
"But we'll do it differently. A full-on assault on the castle, should the heroes show up... Well, not even I can guarantee victory there. We have to play the long game."
"Okay, I'll follow your lead." The girl lowered her head, "We have a deal, though—we'll make that fool of a count pay."
"Rest assured, my word is my bond."
---
Alaric feels like he hit the jackpot.
As Alaric loaded his wares, Byron was practicing his swordsmanship on the nearby grass, exhibiting skills that Alaric felt eclipsed level eighteen. Even against Gath's famed adventurers, Byron would more than hold his own. An adventurer of that caliber would cost hundreds of gold pieces a pop and he'd still have to tiptoe around them, like they were his own father—and even then, most couldn't afford it.
Alaric's son gazed enviously at Byron, his sword spinning like a pinwheel in the distance. Noticing this, Alaric mulled over the potential long-term collaboration with Byron, entertaining the idea of asking him to tutor his precious boy.
With the carriage packed, Alaric set off, his modified cart draped with a layer of black waterproof canvas, common enough among traders to ward off the rain. But unnoticed by many, the edge of a sword scabbard peeked out from under the black cover.
As Alaric left the city, a few figures darted in different directions, and soon several fully armed adventurers on horseback followed suit out of the gates.