"Of course I'll sell it! Who wouldn't want to sell hardware to make money?!" Lorne roared internally.
If this "silly son of a landlord" could become a walking advertisement and spark a trend among the upper class, Lorne would even consider giving him a unit for free!
Suppressing the excitement in his chest, Lorne kept his expression calm and said, "Naturally, sir. The price for a Magic Tablet is 5 silver coins."
"That cheap?!" Chris couldn't believe his ears.
He had assumed all magical items were astronomically expensive. His family owned an enchanted armillary sphere that did nothing but spin on its own, and his ancestor had paid three hundred gold coins for it at an auction.
How could a tablet this miraculous, with such a fun game, be cheaper than a useless spinning globe?
Chris had already prepared himself to shamelessly beg his father for money, but he never expected that just 5 silver coins could take a Magic Tablet home.
"Um, Boss, maybe you should charge a bit more," Chris said sincerely. "I'm genuinely worried you'll lose money."
This price was the result of Lorne's careful deliberation. He had originally thought about setting it at 1 gold coin—nothing to the middle class or nobility, but far too steep for commoners. A typical working-class salary was about 2 gold coins a month; how many would spend half their monthly income on a pure entertainment device?
The dungeon lacked money, but it lacked mana even more. To get enough mana, he had to ensure a massive player base.
Rather than serving a few high-end clients, Lorne preferred high volume with thin margins—letting the Magic Tablet seize the market first. Once the mana started flowing, he could put more monsters to work on game development and release more titles. By then, would he really have to worry about profit?
Isn't this the same logic as Earth's apps burning cash in price wars to attract users with subsidies?
So, Lorne gritted his teeth and slashed the price to a quarter of its potential value.
As for those who couldn't afford 5 silver coins, Lorne had a plan. What do you do if you can't afford a computer but want to play games? You go to an Internet Café. The experience store only cost half a copper per hour—the price of a newspaper. Anyone with a tiny bit of spare change could afford that.
In the future, he could release a "Magic Tablet Lite" for the budget-conscious and a "Premium Pro Edition" for the wealthy, covering every tier of the population.
"Thank you for your concern. Our cash flow is manageable," Lorne said politely. "Would you like to pre-order a Magic Tablet?"
Chris asked, "If I pre-order now, when will it arrive?"
"It will be released approximately this winter," Lorne replied.
"That long?" Chris pouted in disappointment. It was only September; Norelia's autumn was long, and winter didn't officially start until the Winter Solstice. That meant waiting months.
"Can't you sell me one of the ones on the table?" Chris looked longingly at the units.
"Those are prototypes for in-store experience only. I need to collect player feedback to make improvements, so they aren't for sale. The first batch of Magic Tablets is limited to 500 units. Aside from pre-orders, there will be very little stock available at launch..."
"I'll buy it!" Chris slammed his wallet onto the counter. "I want ten!"
Mentioning "limited edition" was like lighting a fuse. To Chris, this was a treasure you either got now or missed forever. It was better to pre-order early to be safe!
Besides the two for himself and Miss Yvette, the rest would be gifts for friends and family. His cousin in the capital was always writing to brag about the trendy foreign goods he bought, looking down on Chris for being in a "border city." Now, Chris had a counter-attack. Who cared about the capital? Could they buy a Magic Tablet there? The thought of his cousin's envy made Chris want to whistle.
With him taking the lead, the other playboys couldn't sit still and placed their orders. Even some curious passersby joined in.
When the clock struck ten, Chris and his group left reluctantly. Miss Yvette practically had to be dragged away from her tablet. Their empty seats were instantly snatched up by other guests. A small scuffle even broke out over a seat, forcing Lorne to deploy "Head of Security" Wolf to quell the chaos.
"Twenty... twenty-five... thirty... A total of 30 gold, 16 silver, and 5 copper!"
After closing at dawn, Wolf and Silas cleaned the shop while Serina counted the earnings. To monsters who had been penniless for a century, 30 gold was a fortune—not to mention the dozens of pre-orders!
"As expected of Lord Lorne, you've completely grasped human weakness!" Silas held the gold coins, his voice trembling with excitement. "Once you said they were 'limited,' those humans rushed to give us money! You're so devious!"
Lorne: "..."
Actually, I wasn't trying to do 'scarcity marketing.' It's limited to 500 because that's literally all we can produce!
The dwarves could only cut 1,000 slabs a month. But a slab wasn't enough; it needed a game. The number of monsters capable of copying runic arrays was small. At full capacity, they could only make 500 units of Five-Color Stone Match-3 a month.
As customers increased, the Dungeon Core's mana rose. Lorne could have put more monsters into production.
But he didn't want to.
The reason was simple: developing new magic takes more mana than copying it. Lorne wanted to build a dev team; the mana had to be spent where it mattered most.
He closed the ledger and signaled to Serina.
"That skeleton you brought in as a tester... wasn't he a Bard once?"
Ghouster the skeleton nervously smoothed the wrinkles in his tattered robe with his bony fingers.
A minute ago, he had been in the production workshop—actually a spacious cavern once used as a battle arena—toiling away at copying the exquisite runic arrays Lorne had designed into obsidian slabs.
A minute later, he was summoned by the Demon King and stood at the door of the royal chambers.
Instinct told Ghouster that a summons usually meant big trouble.
"Did Lord Lorne find out about the gossip I was sharing with the Siren the other day?" Ghouster shuddered, nearly rattling a rib loose.
He wanted to run, but before he could turn, a muffled "Come in" echoed from inside, as if the Demon King knew he was there without looking.
Ghouster pushed the door open, resigned to his fate.
"M-m-most supreme Lord Demon King, Ghouster... as you commanded... I am here to pay my respects..."
The chambers were "simple" at best and "shabby" at worst—nothing but a stone bed and a stone table. The table was littered with blueprints and obsidian slabs. Lorne was hunched over, writing furiously, occasionally sparking mana from his fingertips to manifest complex magic circles in the air.
"Oh, you're here." Lorne extinguished a spark and looked up. "You were the tester Serina found, right? Sorry, you Undead all look similar, I have trouble telling you apart."
"Y-yes..." Ghouster shook harder.
The Demon King said sorry to him!
Why would a mighty King be so polite to a lowly undead? Was he planning to obliterate him and just being polite first—like humans giving a prisoner a nice "last meal" before the execution?
"I recall you saying you were a Bard in your previous life?" Lorne asked.
It definitely is about something I said! Ghouster thought desperately.
In his past life, he had been hanged because his songs offended the nobility. Perhaps because of his lingering resentment, he crawled out of his grave to start a second life.
"You flatter me... I was hardly a Bard... just someone who wrote doggerel verse..." Ghouster's knees knocked together. He didn't dare look up.
"How did you end up in the Gloom Catacombs?" Lorne continued.
"Because undead wandering the wilds usually end up as practice targets for church priests. I wanted somewhere safe. Other monsters recommended this place, so I signed a contract with the Dungeon Core..."
Lorne paused. This conversation felt suspiciously like a corporate job interview.
—Applicant, tell me why you chose our company? —My last place was a trap; they didn't even have insurance! I wanted a more stable environment! —Where did you see our job posting? —A friend told me you were hiring, so I thought I'd send in a resume.
Lorne realized that besides being CEO, Producer, Writer, Artist, and Programmer, he now had to be HR. Will a Demon King really not die of overwork?
Lorne shook his head, clearing the thoughts. "At the staff meeting, I said I would train monsters for game development. I think you have potential..."
Before he could finish, the skeleton collapsed to its knees with a "thud."
"T-t-thank goodness, you're not going to 'humanely' destroy me..." A few suspicious drops of liquid leaked from his empty eye sockets. Lorne wondered what they were made of, but decided not to ask.
"Stand up. No kneeling."
Ghouster scrambled up immediately.
Lorne said, "Since you were a Bard, your writing must be decent. I want you to be in charge of the script for our new game."
"But I don't know the first thing about writing a script!" Ghouster was self-aware. "If you want something like the background of Match-3—with the pillars of heaven falling and goddesses mending the sky—I really can't do it!"
I wouldn't let you write that anyway! Lorne thought.
"I'll teach you the format. I don't need a myth. Serina says you've been here for eight hundred years. You're one of the oldest residents; you've seen more Heroes than most monsters have seen other monsters. You are exactly the person I need."
Lorne picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Ghouster.
On the paper was a small character—unlike the fluid, beautiful figures in Match-3, this character seemed to be made of distinct blocks of color. It looked crude up close, but it had a strange, undeniable charm.
"The new project is a pixel-art game called "Hero's Legend"," Lorne said. "To put it simply, it's a game where the player plays as a Hero to save the world."