Chapter 10:

Goblin Cunning

The trade house, or rather a massive warehouse with all kinds of goods from our world Asshor as well as neighboring ones, had no less security than the city’s main bank—and maybe even more.

Protiy, a young goblin who had reached level 4, was a distant relative of the owner. He'd been working with me for quite a while, and I only ever dealt with him. I was fond of his youthful optimism; he always hoped for the maximum profit regardless of the circumstances. He never succeeded, but the young merchant never gave up trying. After all, what could be more pleasant than the chance to trick an old Decurion, selling him worthless junk for priceless SP? He could boast about that for years among his colleagues. He always received his clients in a lavishly furnished office.

"Greetings, Protiy," I hissed, extending my hand.

He let out a slight squeak when he saw my hand but quickly composed himself. The two guards somehow gave him a bit of confidence, though their level 5s didn't impress me at all.

"Mister Irchin, what a surprise," he said, shaking my hand. "May I congratulate you? You've finally increased your Strength, just as you planned. I assume you now wish to sell your medium armor."

As always, Protiy was quick on the uptake and had an excellent memory. I handed him the wrapped armor. The merchant began to meticulously examine every inch of it before finally speaking.

"Due to the damage, I can offer 7 SP for it," he said, but I didn't let him continue.

I threw my hood back and hissed coldly.

"That's less than a quarter of the price I paid for this armor."

Protiy's eyes widened. He lurched and fell out of his chair as his guards bolted for the front door and scurried out of the room. I remained seated comfortably on the soft leather couch. I even had the fleeting thought of buying one for my own office, but I immediately dismissed the idea. Too expensive and impractical.

Protiy kept glancing from me to the doorway. Finally, it dawned on him that I wasn't moving. As dangerous as I looked, I wasn't making any aggressive moves.

"Mister Irchin, what happened to you?" he asked, getting up from the floor. "Oh, forgive me, that's none of my business. My sincerest apologies for my behavior, it won't happen again." He bowed low.

One might think that merchants held a high position in the city's hierarchy, but that's not true. In my world, Asshor, your level and rank are your status. They are the power you represent personally. It's hard to feel superior to someone who has a dozen more attribute points than you. That means they're smarter, faster, stronger, and more resilient. That feeling is ingrained in our blood by the System itself.

"I need a list of everything I can get in exchange for my old armor. And set the price at a reasonable level. I'm not in the mood for jokes or haggling." I lazily opened my eyes and stared intently at the merchant.

"Mister, I apologize, it was just a poor joke. I'll find you the very best options right away," the merchant rattled off, scurrying back to his chair and flipping through a large product catalog.

After half an hour of searching for suitable armor in the price range of up to 12 SP, he had found nothing decent.

"Mister, here's another wonderful piece of light armor made from ash lizard hide. It's the right size, has good fire resistance, and the price is only 10 SP."

"No, that's junk. I can buy a medium armor with similar stats for gold."

"Mister is as perceptive and wise as ever," Protiy mumbled with a weary smile.

Another twenty minutes passed, and I was starting to lean toward just buying something simple with regular gold coins. It was no surprise. I'd bought my previous armor, with its incredible resistance to slashing and piercing weapons, for 40 SP. But then, the merchant suddenly flinched as he turned a page, and his lips stretched into a wide smile.

"Mister, forgive me, may I ask a question?" Protiy continued in an apologetic voice. "It's very important to know this, as it determines whether the next item is worth offering."

"Ask, but I hope you understand the consequences," I said, looking at the guards who were now standing behind him again. They had returned a little earlier and were now shyly staring at the floor beneath their feet.

Protiy looked over his shoulder with distaste and waved the guards out. He was also very disappointed by their behavior; such dishonor was rare even among goblins, as protecting their employer was their direct duty. When they had left, the merchant continued.

"Mister, I don't need to know what skill you've learned. It's only important whether your skin's current toughness is comparable to that of wet wood. Tougher is good, but if it's softer, you won't be able to wear this armor."

I looked closely at the goblin across from me. Only those with the Appraisal skill, like Lurion Zhurek, could know such things. For everyone else, personal skills were a secret, and sharing such information, even with family, wasn't common. Any information known to your enemy made you weaker and more vulnerable, as there was always a countermeasure. It was the same with my medium armor. Knowing its properties, an aggressor would arm themselves with hammers and clubs instead of swords and smash my bones. All the miraculous features of the armor would simply be ineffective. But he was only asking a small part of it, and I figured I could tell him.

"The toughness is comparable to wet wood."

"Mister, that's simply wonderful!" Protiy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in delight. "Then I can offer you a military techno-magical exosuit. It's incredibly durable, made from a very rare metal. It has a function to resize itself to the wearer's body within a very wide range. My master said the limit is no less than a Strength attribute of 15. It also has built-in breath filters in the helmet and a fully closed cycle. And most importantly, its cost is exactly equal to your 12 SP."

"Stop, don't talk nonsense," I hissed angrily. "Samples from other worlds can easily cost more than 1,000 SP."

"Mister, forgive me, I got a little carried away. This exosuit is slightly damaged and is meant for a race with a very strong outer covering. Therefore, even if our Great Miliurion Tarak the Bloody wanted to wear it, he couldn't. Upon activation, this exosuit attaches to the body with dozens of sharp spikes, and no amount of regeneration will help you. They pierce the body almost a finger deep, and it won't activate over other armor. Many have tried, but it just doesn't work. I'm telling you honestly, this is a very good option."

"Bring it," I said thoughtfully.

Five minutes later, Protiy returned and pulled a badly damaged exosuit from a Bag of Holding. This model was clearly a light one, judging by its small size. A hole gaped near the chest plate, revealing damaged internal cables, wires, and mechanisms. There was also significant damage of various types on each limb. Some were energy-based, others clearly looked like the aftermath of an explosion.

I lifted it; it weighed no less than 50 measures, which was roughly my old weight when my Strength was 5. For a light or even heavy armor, that weight was clearly excessive. When I put it on, it hung like a metallic sack. I wasn't worried about my safety; this little merchant wouldn't have the nerve to cross my Centurion Otsev and kill me in such an extravagant way.

Protiy scurried over and, with a quick motion, pressed a small niche near the chest plate. A receiver smoothly opened. The merchant placed a small mana crystal, no bigger than 20 units, inside and quickly closed it. The exosuit began to move. Artificial muscles started gripping my body as if testing its strength. When it felt like I couldn't even take a single breath, a hundred needles pricked me along the entire inner surface. But besides a slight discomfort, it didn't cause any major negative effects. If it weren't for the blunted senses of my Chitinous Hide, I don't think any sane person could wear it. You could put up with the pain to put it on, but the spikes stayed in place, and I suspected they would only retract when I took it off. What also worried me was the state of my chitin—how long would it take for so many punctures to heal? The process of adjusting to my body was now complete, as the outer plates also changed their position.

In the mirror, a fully functional light exosuit was reflected. The protective plates were no thicker than a quarter of a palm, and the parts not covered by armor plates were even thinner. This would definitely make everyone envious. And it was hard to say whether that was a good or bad thing. It was mostly a facade, as no systems had been activated. Not even a damage check went through.

Over my many years of service, I had heard countless stories from our Centurions about techno-magical armor—they almost all had something similar, and of course, theirs were fully functional. After moving and jumping a bit, I realized the armor significantly restricted my movement, and its weight was excessive. But I could quickly get used to and adapt to this equipment. It wasn't some crudely forged heavy armor made by my clumsy goblin kinsmen, which no one could ever fight in properly because it wasn't ergonomically sound from the start.

This exosuit's movements were tied to artificial muscles, and even though they weren't working, their movements completely mimicked my own. But Protiy didn't need to know that. Overall, the impression was very mixed. I couldn't expect any genuinely positive qualities from this specific exosuit other than good protection, like a regular heavy armor made of thick steel plates. Perhaps in a fully functional state, it had truly terrifying potential—the artificial muscles hinted at that, at least—but those times were clearly long past. Whoever killed the wearer of this armor was definitely aiming to destroy them with maximum certainty, without worrying about trophies. Therefore, the haggling was going to be tough.

"I thought we understood each other today, but it seems your love for ill-timed jokes has led you to your death," I hissed, taking a step toward him.

"Mister, I apologize," Protiy squealed in a pleading voice. "I truly don't know what you're talking about."

"So you think you can sell me a heavy, I'd even say unmanageable, armor that requires mana crystals to take off and put on and, to top it all off, punctures the wearer's body with hundreds of needles? What makes its positive qualities better than the usual heavy armor from our fortress's blacksmiths, that you, a belch from the abyss, want to get precious SP for it?"

Protiy visibly flinched and, to himself, regretted his plan to trick the old Decurion three times over. He knew, of course, that the Decurion was right and there was no point in buying this junk at all. It was only fit to be a decorative object. Even then it was useless, as the external damage made it visually unappealing. Yet he, the merchant, had enthusiastically praised this travesty and seriously expected 12 SP for it.

When the thought occurred to Protiy, he realized how much this could infuriate the outwardly calm Irchin the Malicious. Misleading someone for such a sum was definitely excessive. And as the city gossiped, the old Decurion could easily deprive you of an ear or a couple of fingers for such an offense. Protiy had hoped that at the sight of a techno-magical exosuit from another world, the old goblin would forget everything and snatch up such a rarity with both hands, without looking at the price. But that was clearly not the case.

"You've finally realized how much you've insulted me," I hissed, lifting him off the ground, holding him by the top of his skull with one hand and looking into his horror-widened eyes. "Now you'll think very carefully about how to atone for your guilt. Asking for 12 SP for an item worth a handful of gold at most—I've executed people on the spot for less."

Protiy squirmed and looked at me in horror, unable to believe his ears. I think he's sufficiently scared for a mutually beneficial deal.

"Mister, I beg of you, forgive me," he squealed in a pleading voice. "Greed clouded my mind."

At that moment, I squeezed my palm a little harder around the merchant's head.

"Please, I beg you, I'll meet you on any issue. Whatever you need. We'll find the very best protective suit," Protiy babbled, choking on his words.

At that moment, the guards opened the door and, seeing the ongoing commotion, rushed to help the merchant, but I squeezed my palm on his head again.

"Get out!" Protiy howled at his guards.

I relaxed my grip, and the small goblin plopped awkwardly onto the floor. His guards stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. But it was no surprise; judging by their faces, they hadn't been allowed to put any points into their Intelligence attribute.

"What kind of alchemical compounds can you offer? Let me specify: expensive ones, but with your personal discount," I hissed into the silence.

Protiy instantly went deep in thought, considering his options, not even bothering to get up from the floor. He was so relieved that Mister Irchin still wanted to buy something, which could only mean one thing: he wouldn't be killed immediately, and most importantly, the old Decurion wanted to come to an agreement. He wouldn't forget his mistake, of course, but if the item pleased Mister Irchin, they could safely forget about the continuation of the conflict. And he wouldn't have to fear walking the city streets, expecting a knife in the back.

"Get out, I said!" the merchant growled at his guards. "You're useless."

And he was right; while the two goblins were quite large, their level 5 meant that not a single development point had been invested in any of their other attributes. Such warriors could only frighten peasants in a tavern with their size, but they had no chance in a real fight.

The guards left and closed the door behind them. And Protiy finally found a suitable offer in his memory.

"Mister, we recently received some very rare samples. One of them is called Embrace of the Stars. When it activates, this alchemical compound releases an enormous amount of heat in a one-step radius for the duration of two heartbeats. It's not an explosion, but a localized increase in temperature. During this short time, regular armor and swords turn red-hot and melt as if they were made of wax. If it weren't for the small radius, the price could reach 200 SP, but currently, they are valued at 30 SP. For you, I'm ready to make a huge concession and trade it for your medium armor."

"Two vials of the mixture and this wretched exosuit with a hundred small mana stones," I interrupted his long speech.

He was about to object but didn't get the chance.

"Bring an experience accumulator. I have 11 free SP; I'll give them along with the old armor."

Protiy thought for just a moment, then jumped up and said happily as he ran off.

"Mister, everything will be brought to you immediately!"

Ten minutes later, my SP had been transferred to the empty accumulator, and I quickly counted the mana crystals. The two glass vials, with their two unmixed liquids, looked quite dangerous. The principle of operation was standard: twist the two sides against each other and throw it at the target.

I didn't need to worry about the merchant deceiving me, but I should be concerned about the specific effects. You can never be 100% sure how effectively it will activate. I left Protiy's place feeling quite satisfied; it was nice to give him a good dressing down for last time. He had significantly inflated the price of those fire vials. But that's something I can't easily avoid. Merchants only deal somewhat honestly with senior officers and the aristocracy, simply out of fear of retaliation. As for me, if I were to kill this little nothing, I'd surely get a big fine, no less than 100 SP. And prices would definitely not get any lower after that.

Chapter 10.1

Protiy at the Table after Lord Irchin's Departure

Meanwhile, Protiy was smiling happily and rubbing his hands together. Of course, the bargaining was difficult, but this time the profit exceeded all possible expectations. Just thinking about it, I can't even believe it myself. I sold an old, broken armor that had been sitting in the back of the warehouse for so many years. No one even believed it could ever be sold. Young employees of our trade house are shown this very item as the pinnacle of all possible mistakes. And not for gold coins, but for priceless SP.

It doesn't matter what Mister Irchin thinks about it, or how he calculates things; what matters is how I fill out the documents myself. That's what will determine how incredible today's trade deal was. And the buyout price for that very rare medium armor was so high because the old Decurion simply wasn't aware of the significantly increased prices for such items over the last five years. The size was also the most common, since the overwhelming majority of soldiers have 5 Strength points. And there's no need to mention the mana crystals; they're practically worthless. Stones of that size are rarely bought, and there's an endless supply of them in the warehouses.

But even the fear he had just experienced—hanging above the floor with his head squeezed, terrified that it would burst like an overripe fruit—couldn't dampen his mood. Not even the soul-chilling eyes of the old Decurion that would now haunt his nightmares. No, what spoiled Protiy's mood was having to sell the alchemical mixtures practically at cost. This oppressed the very nature of the cunning merchant.

Of course, it was still very profitable, since mixtures of this type are very rarely sold for a number of objective reasons. Those who have the funds usually have skills that more than make up for the need for alchemy, and those who need it simply don't have the funds. A real market paradox.

Nevertheless, sitting at his desk over the sales forms, Protiy was satisfied with the work. Not everyone gets to sell such unsellable junk. His boss would definitely appreciate his creative approach and ingenuity.