Korn's smile froze on his face.
"Lord Klein, three thousand Gold Suns... that price is simply too high. Vines may have remarkable effects, but it's still a new product that hasn't been tested on the market. The risks are enormous. Besides, that money would be enough to buy a town with a dock in the southern lands."
Holding his cup of water, Veylin gave him an impassive glance. "Risks? Steward Korn, you see only the risks. Don't you see the profits behind it, enough to transform the entire construction industry?"
"My lord, I represent the Golden Sail Merchant Guild. I must answer for its interests. I can't justify a flat price of three thousand Gold Suns to my superiors."
Veylin sneered inwardly. These merchants really wouldn't act without a guaranteed payoff.
He set down his cup. "It seems the Golden Sail Merchant Guild isn't serious about this. Very well. There is more than one merchant guild in the Haiti Duchy. The Blackstone Hand Merchant Guild deals primarily in ore, while the Lapis Lazuli Merchant Guild specializes in stonemasons. I imagine they would be more interested in my technology."
He had thought those words would make the other man nervous and set up a bidding contest.
Instead, Korn looked startled, then regarded Veylin with confusion. "Lord Klein, why would you say that? In the Haiti Duchy, all the major merchant guilds have powerful nobles backing them. They've already divided up the market. Stoneheart only handles ore and transportation, and Lapis Lazuli specializes in the Masons' Guild. All they want is to protect their monopoly profits. They wouldn't take even the slightest risk on an innovative product!"
"Lord Veylin, only our Golden Sail Merchant Guild, only our guild president Caroline, has a passion for this! You came to trade with us not because we're your best choice, but because we're your only choice!"
He had miscalculated. Veylin admitted that he had underestimated this world's barriers to commerce and overestimated the daring of its entrenched powers.
The competitive advantage he had tried to create had been effortlessly dismantled with a single remark.
No change in emotion showed on Veylin's face, but his mind raced. "Then... what about the Carson Alliance? They're a merchant guild that deals in timber, aren't they?"
The expression on Korn's face froze.
Veylin pressed his advantage. "What I'm selling has never been Vines. It's an opportunity. An opportunity for you to rise from the steward of a minor branch to an honored guest at the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's headquarters. Three thousand Gold Suns. I won't change that price. Take it back and show it to someone who can make the decision."
Blood rushed to Korn's head. His eyes grew bloodshot, and his heart pounded. He understood now. Veylin was right. This wasn't just an opportunity for the guild, but a chance for Korn himself to soar! Both sides would win!
"I... I understand! I'll see to it at once!"
Korn left brimming with ambition. That quote of three thousand Gold Suns was like a decree issued by a god, and it would keep burning in the steward's heart until he reached the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's headquarters.
Veylin, however, couldn't be bothered to spare him another glance.
Business was a minor matter. There was a more important problem now.
He headed toward the building being used as a warehouse. Barrett and Old Walker were already waiting there, the former looking stern and the latter somewhat nervous-the hunter had performed admirably during the defense, and Veylin intended to cultivate his talents.
"My lord."
Veylin nodded to them and led the two men straight into the depths of the warehouse.
A strong smell of blood mingled with coarse salt assaulted them. On a tarpaulin in the middle of the warehouse lay the skinned carcass of a Gray Swamp Crocodile, its pale fat interwoven with dark red muscle around its bones.
"My lord, why did you summon us?" Old Walker asked, puzzled by the bloody scene.
Veylin circled the carcass, finally stopping beside the Giant Crocodile's back. "Don't tell anyone about what happens here today." He pointed toward an inconspicuous spot.
"Barrett, come here."
The seasoned captain of the garrison immediately stepped forward, then his distinctive thick eyebrows drew together.
It was a hideous wound, a round hole nearly as wide as the mouth of a bowl, punched cleanly downward through the Giant Crocodile's thick back muscles.
"We didn't do this." His voice was a little dry. "Our heavy crossbows couldn't cause a wound like this... unless some madman jumped off the wall holding a spear. But that's obviously impossible."
"Could a Rockshatter Rhino's horn have done it?" Barrett instinctively suggested.
"No." Veylin rejected the idea at once, as calm as though he were presenting an experimental report. "Rhinos attack by charging and goring. The wound would show tearing, and the angle should run upward or straight through. But this..."
He traced the edge of the wound with his finger without touching it. "Look. The edges are very smooth, as though some enormous spike pierced it, with no additional tissue damage."
Old Walker leaned closer too. He reached out to touch it, but abruptly pulled his fingers back when they were still a few inches from the wound.
"And this angle..." Veylin's gaze sharpened. "Straight down. More importantly, look at this puncture wound. It was lucky enough to miss the spine, and it also happened to avoid the vital organs. That's why it could keep besieging our camp with a wound like this."
Barrett, a veteran who had lived on the edge of a blade for years, instinctively reached for the sword hilt at his waist, only to find nothing. He remembered then that he had removed his weapon when entering the warehouse. His heavily callused hand closed awkwardly against his empty waist.
"Then the most likely explanation is that it was already wounded."
Veylin paced as he thought.
"And with an open wound like this, even if its organs weren't damaged, it couldn't survive for long. Infection would only be a matter of time..."
Old Walker, who had spent years as a hunter, suddenly raised his head and met Veylin's gaze.
"They were attacked in their own lairs?" He shuddered. "So... they were... driven out?"
Level-three magical beasts, driven from their own territory by something.
"Based on what we can deduce so far, that's the most likely possibility." Veylin's voice remained calm.
His gaze swept over the two men as he asked, each word distinct, "Barrett, you've fought in large-scale wars. What was the highest-level magical beast you've ever seen?"
Barrett drew a deep breath, his lone eye aching faintly. "Level four... a savage Earthshaker Bear. Our hundred-man heavy infantry unit was only caught by the aftermath of its charge, and more than thirty of our men were killed or wounded. That thing... we couldn't even get within a hundred paces of it."
"Could that Earthshaker Bear have done this?" Veylin pointed at the hole in the carcass.
Barrett shook his head furiously, his face deathly pale. "Impossible. An Earthshaker Bear is stronger than a Gray Swamp Crocodile, but it couldn't win with a single blow. It might smash the crocodile into pulp, but it wouldn't leave just one clean wound."
The air in the warehouse grew heavy.
Old Walker's lips trembled. He wanted to say something, but no sound came out, and his brows twisted together.
Barrett's breastplate rose and fell sharply. As a veteran mercenary, he understood what this meant better than anyone.
With difficulty, he raised his head and looked at Veylin. His eyes no longer held the reverence he showed his lord. Instead, he looked like a drowning man staring at his only lifeline.
"My lord..." His voice was painfully strained, as though every word had to be forced through his teeth. "If... if a magical beast did this, then its level... could very well be..."
"Level five," Veylin calmly finished for his subordinate.
Level five.
The words seemed to take physical form, looming between the three men. None of them wanted to look at them, yet none could look away.
Old Walker murmured to himself, "Level five... a magical beast on the same level as a juvenile dragon..."
Barrett stared at Veylin, the lord to whom he had sworn allegiance, the man who had just created a miracle.
But at that moment, all the joy of victory, all their hopes for the future, were swallowed by the fear of the unknown that this puncture wound had brought.
With difficulty, he forced out a question.
"My lord... perhaps we should just run."