Chapter 5: The Essence of a Deal

Having witnessed countless stars, beauties, and pictures, Constantine was naturally not like the common folk around him, stunned into idiocy by the other party’s looks. Still, a touch of shock was undeniable—that exquisite face far exceeded ordinary imagination. Even in his time, such picture-perfect features belonged only to an extremely rare few top figures or appeared solely in portraits. This beauty undoubtedly transcended gender, ascending to the level of an artwork. Thus, nearly everyone who saw it, including some elegant noblewomen, gasped in astonishment.

Moreover, the grassy green short skirt offered poor coverage. The faint sheen on the Elf’s slender legs combined with her tearful expression was enough to drive all male creatures wild…

“Starting bid two thousand gold coins, each raise one hundred gold coins…”

The room exploded into chaos. The man dressed like a slaver was still shouting himself hoarse, but everyone’s attention was probably no longer on his voice at all. “Four thousand!” “Four thousand five hundred!” “Four thousand seven hundred!”… The two thousand gold coin starting bid was instantly driven to a terrifying figure by the chaotic roars.

“Damn… rich… as expected of the capital…” Constantine touched his nose, murmuring softly. Even though he wasn’t bidding, the relentlessly climbing numbers were strangely thrilling…

Constantine’s past life had been that of a third-rate, deadbeat college student turned lowly clerk… While he’d seen some of this auction-house frenzy on TV, those illusory experiences couldn’t compare to the real sensation… Of course, during his time in the Western Frontier, he’d heard the concept of slave auctions once or twice, but slaves purchased for hard labor were cheap, with prices fluctuating around a hundred gold coins at most. It was a far cry from the spectacle before him.

“Five thousand!”

A voice suddenly thundered nearby, its sound and meaning making Constantine jerk involuntarily. Though gold constantly flowed like water through the hands of nobles, in this world, the purchasing power of these little yellow disks was still quite terrifying.

To give an example, in a typical year, one pound of wheat ground into flour sold for two copper coins. One gold coin was worth roughly a hundred copper coins. Converted in the usual way, the current price of this Elf was at least enough to equip a whole company of soldiers in the Western Frontier… If the merchant had a good head for business, it might even cover three months’ worth of provisions as well.

Constantine turned his head in shock. Seeing the new big spender who had just raised the bid, he inexplicably shuddered again.

It was a girl, looking even a bit younger than Constantine.

Girls of that age weren’t usually tall or voluptuous, but this young girl was well-proportioned, standing there quite gracefully. Her gown, contrasting black and white, made the boy even more astonished – a standard European-style dress, layered and adorned with frilly lace and puffed sleeves that set off her snow-like skin. Several small pieces of jewelry, though not glittering gold, were exceptionally delicate with crystal-clear inlaid gemstones, clearly superior quality. Typically, only those long-established nobles possessing both taste and wealth would choose such things.

But even more striking was the feeling emanating from that face, as inscrutable as an expressionless porcelain doll. It held an unreachable, untouchable mystique that made it hard for people to look away.

Constantine narrowed his eyes. He seemed momentarily dazzled by the hair that shone like golden silk.

Obviously, such a direct, impolite stare would elicit dislike… Constantine quickly noticed several icy gazes sweeping over him, carrying clear hostility – they were from the attendants standing behind the girl. Though all were clad only in the hooded cloaks common to Mercenaries, they revealed studded leather armor beneath. Their waists bore standard-issue longswords. However, from their posture and expression, Constantine could guess that all of them had undergone formal Knight training.

Perhaps because of this, the isolation zone around them seemed especially wide.

Household Knights?

Constantine’s brow arched.

Household Knights were the equivalent of family retainers in his memories, or perhaps family-funded Mercenaries. Considered from their purpose, quite a few among them might be sharpshooters skilled with crossbows or agile Rogues, but the majority were still Knights raised from childhood. They were loyal to the family, skilled with greatswords, and adept at charging into battle clad in heavy armor.

While not supremely powerful, they were troublesome. Certain special training methods often gave them traits reminiscent of suicide assassins. When necessary, they could trade their lives to create opportunities to kill the enemy. Those who could possess such guards were clearly major Nobles of considerable influence. Of course, wielders of military power, like Duke William’s family, naturally had no need for Household Knights – the orthodox Knights of the Griffin Knight Order were undoubtedly far stronger than these fellows.

The girl herself seemed utterly unconcerned with the gazes directed at her. She observed coldly in another direction, where a group of servant-like men were clustered around a short, plump figure, someone seemingly of considerable wealth. Up to now, he had been leading the bidding trend. Though Constantine didn’t fully grasp the tricks of auctions, he guessed that ownership of this particular Elf should now rest between these two individuals.

Sure enough, after some brief deliberation, the opposing group raised the bid once more: “Six thousand.”

This seemed like an attempt to deter further bids by exceeding the typical incremental raises significantly. But the girl remained seated quietly, without a shred of expression. She seemed too lazy even to breathe; she simply waved her hand. At her signal, a Household Knight behind her called out loudly: “Seven thousand!”

When money became figures shouted aloud, its importance seemed to diminish considerably… Instantly, the chaotic space filled with low sighs before plunging into an eerie silence. People held their breath, listening as unimaginably large numbers spiralled upwards between two voices, each new bid tugging at their heartstrings. In truth, the process lasted only two or three rounds, mere seconds, yet to everyone, time itself seemed warped and slowed, stretching unbearably long.

“Ten thousand!” From afar, the pudgy Noble shook his head, sighed, then slumped wearily in his chair. But in the next instant, seeming to decide something, he mumbled, jumped up again, and snarled viciously, gasping as if his last breath: “Ten thousand gold coins!”

Ten thousand gold coins… equal to a hundred thousand silver coins, a million coppers. In this world, it could likely buy an entire small town, including the surrounding farmland… Even Constantine, heir of a major noble house, was somewhat stunned by this sum.

“Ten thousand gold coins! This generous gentleman bids ten thousand gold coins! Ten thousand gold coins… is there anyone offering more?!”

The auctioneer screamed shrilly, but was met only by the spectators’ noisy murmurs, filled with various exclamations about the terrifying price. After three calls, no one raised the bid again.

“That fellow… he’s a famous figure in Hayton… Count Feesman. His lustful habits have caused him endless trouble, who would have guessed he still hasn’t changed a bit… Young Master Constantine, that is the dead end of nobility. Please… I beg you to take warning…”

Old Steward Walter’s hushed admonition reached Constantine’s ears. Clearly, this decision was far too foolish; even the old steward’s voice carried a rare thread of scorn.

“A candle? Burning oneself to illuminate others… not actually a bad act…” Constantine recalled a similar character from a famous work in his memories. A wry smile touched his lips. “If there were more people like that in the world… perhaps our lives would be better somehow…”

Constantine habitually touched his nose.

By then, the transaction was settled… It must be said that desire truly steers people toward evil. An amount like that could grant an ordinary person a kingly life, yet now it exchanged only for one Humanoid Creature.

The auction’s climax moved forward; another rare commodity was pushed onto the fore stage. But watching the plump Count eager to hurry towards the contract signing table amidst the crowd’s noisy sighs and chatter, Constantine suddenly lost much interest. Evidently, wealth didn’t correlate with looks. Seeing the man’s near-spherical body and a head reminiscent of a pug, the youth couldn’t help but shake his head with a soft sigh.

What could he do? Severely condemn this inhumane trade? Unfortunately, Constantine held no interest whatsoever in such righteous actions. The Empire’s slave trade had persisted for over a century. Across the Continent, this custom likely spanned millennia. He didn’t believe he currently had the power to fight an entire society and era, nor was he one to rashly act righteous.

As for outbidding? That was even more unimaginable—ten thousand gold coins was far beyond his means. Though this item clearly justified the price, perhaps even double wouldn’t be unexpected. Duke William might afford it, but Constantine doubted his so-called father would spend such money for him, a mere kid.

Strange… something didn’t seem quite right…

Seeing the beautiful figure led away from center stage, Constantine’s eyes suddenly flickered. Something felt off, though the feeling remained indistinct. The youth touched his nose and noticed the girl and her servants, previously standing near, had already slipped away unnoticed. He sighed, dismissing the elusive thoughts, and followed Old Steward as they squeezed into the tide of people streaming towards the exit.

“Ahead is the free market. Sometimes there are decent items there. Would you care to take a look?”

Though arriving in Hayton with Constantine, Old Steward Walter demonstrated truly outstanding competence as a steward. Turning down a small alley behind the arena and walking several hundred feet, their next destination was almost immediately visible.

Walking along the street, the youth casually glanced at the small stalls lining the surroundings. This so-called free market wasn’t well-regulated. Most merchandise consisted of items made by commoner artisans or farmers, or second-hand goods, looking much like the flea markets he frequented in his past life. Vendors were unlicensed black-market dealers whose goods were either stolen or smuggled imports. The variety was surprisingly extensive; some Adventurers also peddled loot here, ranging from ores and weapons to even Magic Items. Of course, while nominally trophies from explorations across the land, the true origins were murky. Prices were unbelievably low—curiosities costing five gold coins in a regular shop went for fewer than three copper coins here, but quality assurance was nonexistent.

Yet, on this Plane, such markets had become a necessity in citizens’ lives. Goods here were much cheaper than in city shops. Being locally made, they held unique styles and characteristics; those countless bizarre little trinkets could indeed draw tourists and buyers. Admittedly, as the stalls mainly dealt in trinkets, and rare good finds were usually acquired illicitly, Nobles only visited them occasionally out of curiosity. Certainly, much like the antique markets the youth recalled, if one possessed rich knowledge and sharp discernment, yet surprisingly not a bulging wallet, treasure-hunting here was undoubtedly the best choice.

For instance, right now, three shifty-eyed fellows hurried over to encircle the master-servant pair, hawking dazzling Gemstones in their palms with ingratiating smiles. But Constantine’s gaze drifted to another stall.

Compared to the surrounding clamor, this stall appeared rather desolate. Just a filthy burlap mat laid on the ground, its surface haphazardly strewn with unsorted items, mostly weapons, plus a few less conspicuous small toys. But what caught the youth’s eye was the stall owner—a young man likely in his early twenties. His fiery red hair was dulled reddish-purple by dust. He wore a grubby, half-length leather jerkin favoured by Rogues, its surface crisscrossed with numerous fine cuts, evidence of long use. Yet, his belt bristled with an assortment of objects, holding four or five daggers and short swords alone.

Constantine’s gaze swept over the hands the young man was using to gesture and attract customers, then he approached and began rummaging through the items.

“Young master! Fancy something? Our goods here are straight from the Drow in the Underdark… the quality’s beyond what you’d imagine…”

The fellow was young but clearly had some business experience; at least his smile was professional enough. Only, his Common Tongue was thick with a strong local accent—Constantine noted it seemed like the dialect from Dellan County, a western region of the Empire.

His stall was overly modest, with not many items worth noticing. As Constantine crouched down, he already spotted something of interest—a rather unremarkable piece of stone. Its surface was damaged and pitted, likely by flames or acid. Only its soot-blackened silver chain and sparse ornamentation lent it any hint of value. It seemed to have once been an amulet or ornament. But as the youth’s finger touched it, he distinctly felt a tingling numbness, almost like a static shock.

“Something strange…?”

The youth’s brow lifted slightly. Legend said anything touched by magic fetched an extraordinarily high price. While this small item looked unassuming, based on knowledge gleaned from his time with army Mages, when an enchanted item like an amulet truly exhausted the magic sealed within it, it usually shattered or vanished. This one here clearly retained some value. At least it could be recharged or used as material.

However, if just that, it wasn’t enough to cause alarm… The crucial point was that upon contact, Constantine sensed a sudden flow of heat rising under the skin on his back. This was no illusion. Though the sensation vanished almost instantly, it was pronounced enough to stir the youth.

Because the heat had flowed along a distinctly unusual pattern. He recalled the shape effortlessly—it perfectly matched the colossal mark on his back!

Had he finally found some clue?

Constantine’s heart surged. The mysterious Magic Array on his back had long puzzled him. Yet lacking leads and not being a Mage himself, he’d found no relevant knowledge in books, and those around him were tight-lipped. Had Lady Tymora finally bestowed a blessing today, allowing him to find something connected?

Despite his swirling thoughts, outwardly, Constantine revealed nothing. He didn’t even inquire about the price of the item, merely idly sifted through the weapons, perhaps pretending that finding a suitable weapon was his original intent.

To be fair, the items on this small stall were of decent quality. Several weapons were finely crafted, even two blades contained traces of real Mithril. Sadly, Constantine had no strong urge to buy. His final choice was a dagger about three fingers wide at its broadest point. Its oddly shaped form arguably resembled a spearhead more than a short sword—flat like a diamond shape, narrowing to a small grip at the base. Its edge wasn’t especially sharp; it looked like an ordinary self-defense tool. Only upon close inspection could one tell it was hollow. The tiny needle holes near the blade’s edge and a faint smear of green revealed what had likely been inside.

Its shape recalled the Shurikens of his memories, sparking his mild interest. Another key reason was… this item shouldn’t be too expensive.

Though Heir Apparent to the Duke, first in line to the Connellyvis legacy, Constantine wasn’t wealthy. In the Phoenix Empire, Nobles received only fixed weekly allowances before coming of age. William the Duke, as a soldier, wasn’t generous in this regard. Hence, Constantine’s savings over ten-plus years remained modest, under a hundred gold coins—a middling sum among Nobles.

Naturally, weapons of such craftsmanship were uncommon, and he rarely had chances to wander markets. Walking away empty-handed seemed a waste. So, after hesitating slightly, Constantine picked another real weapon.

This was a rather impressive-looking scimitar. Its sheath glittered with numerous low-grade Gemstones—turquoise, red zircon, topaz. The hilt’s guard was made of copper. The grip itself was wrapped with grey animal leather, tightly bound in linen threads.

When the youth casually drew the blade partway, its seemingly light-absorbing darkness shimmered under the sun with deep, dim gold flecks—the unique hue of Adamantine only found in the Underdark. Simultaneously, a faint scent akin to rust wafted out around the blade. The youth knew it was the smell of dried blood.

“That’s sharp eyesight, young master! Truly! That there… we won it only after sacrifice—taking down a Drow warrior! A genuine magic blade! Someone else offered three hundred gold coins just moments ago, I turned it down…”

The Rogue’s proud introduction drew a soft chuckle from Constantine. At least the aspiring vendor wasn’t lying completely; the blade was indeed Drow-made. However, it wasn’t anything extraordinary, just an ordinary militia-grade weapon. Hardness was high thanks to trace Adamantine, true, but special attributes ended there. As for the gaudy sheath, it was clearly a later addition to inflate value. Creatures primarily relying on infravision wouldn’t prioritize colour coordination anyway.

“I hate blathering. These two items. Thirty-five gold coins.”

The youth sheathed the blade, deadpan, hammering the price down to a tenth.

He wasn’t sure if the price was right. Recalling the Western Frontier, hiring a decent Mercenary for a single, shallow expedition into the Underdark might barely fit within that budget. This blade shouldn’t cost drastically more. Still uncertain? Well, we know Constantine’s origin: a world of advanced commerce, where he’d struggled financially through thirty unremarkable years. Bargaining skills were perhaps the life skills he’d honed best.

Soon, Constantine was relieved. He caught a flicker of hesitation on the Rogue’s face, fleeting but pleasing—it indicated his estimate wasn’t grossly mistaken.

“Young master, you must be joking! Such a fine blade…” Hesitating, the vendor’s voice suddenly rose theatrically, preparing for a final stand. Constantine coolly cut him off.

“So, thirty-eight. Or find a fool willing to pay three hundred.”

Thus the deal was finalized amidst the stall-holder’s resigned expression; the brown-haired man looked utterly dejected, as though countless efforts had been wasted. Only the sharp-eyed observer could have noted the flicker of excitement concealed deep within his gaze.

And even the sharp-eyed would likely struggle noticing the young master cleverly sweep that tiny gemstone into his sleeve while retrieving the scimitar and dagger… the disordered pile of weapons Constantine had already rifled through, plus his body, served perfectly as cover. The vendor’s attention was fixated on the glinting coins Old Steward produced, clearly missing the reduction of his stock by one item.

The essence of a deal carried deception… didn’t it?