Chapter 24: buy a dream house
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The Slum Ring was gray with morning mist.
Ren woke to the sound of silence. No dripping water. No wind. Just the soft breath of the jungle outside his window.
He lay on his straw bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling. His body was still healing—the Thorn Walker's claw had left a star-shaped scar on his chest, and his back was a map of thorn punctures. But the pain was manageable now. A dull ache instead of a sharp scream.
He sat up slowly. Opened his system screen.
Level: 40. XP: 95/700. JC: 72,056. Lifespan remaining: 269 years.
Bloodline: Shadowstring. Ability: Shadow Walk (45 seconds, 24-hour cooldown).
Soulbound: Thorn Walker's Spine (+15% sound suppression).
He closed the screen.
Seventy-two thousand coins. More than enough.
He stood up. Walked to the wooden box under his bed. Opened it.
The coins glowed—green shards, jungle bits, crown tokens. Stacked in neat rows, filling the box to the brim. He had never seen so much wealth in one place.
Grandmother. I did it.
He closed the box. Put it in his Storage Belt. Walked to the door.
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The Slum Ring was busy.
Children played in the mud. Women hung laundry. Men sharpened tools. No one looked at Ren—but today, that didn't matter. He wasn't invisible because they couldn't see him. He was invisible because he chose to be.
He walked through the alleys, past the shacks, past the well where he had fetched water for three years. Past the blacksmith where he had bought his first arrowheads. Past the shrine where Old Sol's arrowhead had been blessed.
Three years of surviving. Today, I start living.
He reached the wall between the Slum Ring and the Middle Ring. Passed through the gate.
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The Middle Ring was bright with morning sun.
Ren walked to the Central Ring gate. The guards recognized him now—or maybe they recognized the blood on his clothes, the scars on his hands, the quiet confidence in his step.
"You're the one who killed the Thorn Walker," one of them said.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
The guard stepped aside. "Go ahead."
Ren walked through the gate.
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The Central Ring was beautiful.
Paved streets. Tall buildings. Gardens with real grass. People in silk and leather, gold and silver.
Ren had never been inside a real-estate agency. He didn't even know where to find one. He stopped a passerby—a well-dressed woman with a silver bracelet.
"I'm looking to buy a building," he said. "Where do I go?"
The woman stared at him. His leather armor was torn. His face was scarred. His hands were calloused.
"The Silver Quill," she said. "On Market Street. Ask for Aldric."
"Thank you."
Ren walked toward Market Street.
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The Silver Quill was a small shop with a glass window and a wooden sign.
Inside, a man sat at a desk, writing in a ledger. He was middle-aged, with gray hair and a neat beard. His clothes were expensive—silk vest, wool coat, leather boots.
He looked up when Ren entered. His eyes flickered to Ren's scars, his torn armor, his worn boots.
"Can I help you?" the man asked. His voice was polite but cautious.
"I'm looking to buy a building."
The man—Aldric, according to the nameplate on his desk—raised an eyebrow. "This isn't the Slum Ring. Buildings here cost tens of thousands of coins."
"I know."
Aldric leaned back. "How much are you looking to spend?"
"Sixty-five thousand. Maybe more."
Aldric's expression changed. The caution faded. A smile appeared.
"Then you've come to the right place. Please, sit."
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Aldric pulled out a stack of parchment sheets—listings with sketches and descriptions.
"I have three properties that might interest you," he said. "First: a two-story shop on Rose Lane. Fifty thousand. Needs repairs."
Ren looked at the sketch. The building was narrow, the windows small.
"Next: a three-story building near the guild hall. Ninety thousand. Too expensive?"
"Too expensive."
"Understood." Aldric flipped to the last listing. "Then this one. Two stories. Two hundred square meters. First floor shop, second floor living quarters. White stone walls. Red tile roof. Large window on the first floor. Balcony on the second. Sixty-five thousand."
Ren stared at the sketch.
That's the building. The one I saw in the park.
"I want to see it," Ren said.
Aldric smiled. "I thought you might."
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The building was on Sunflower Street, a quiet lane in the heart of the Central Ring.
White stone walls. Red tile roof. A large window on the first floor, facing the street. A balcony on the second floor, wrapped in iron railings. The door was solid oak, carved with a simple pattern of leaves.
Ren touched the wall. The stone was cool, solid, real.
"May I go inside?"
Aldric produced a key. "Of course."
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The first floor was empty.
Stone floors. White walls. High ceiling. A fireplace on the north wall. Shelves built into the east wall. A counter space near the back.
Ren walked through the room, his footsteps echoing.
"The shop could hold a hundred customers," Aldric said. "Or you could divide it into sections. Display cases. Storage. A workshop."
Ren imagined the shelves filled with arrows. The counter displaying bowstrings and quivers. A glass case for monster parts.
"It's good."
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The stairs were wooden, sturdy, creaking slightly.
The second floor was smaller, but warmer. A bedroom facing the street, with a window that let in morning light. A smaller room that could be a kitchen. A living area with a fireplace. A door leading to the balcony.
Ren stepped onto the balcony. The street below was quiet. Trees lined the sidewalk. A fountain bubbled in a small square at the end of the lane.
No more leaking roof. No more straw bed. No more mud paths.
"I'll take it," Ren said.
Aldric nodded. "Sixty-five thousand coins. I'll need the payment today. The deed will be registered with the guild by sunset."
Ren opened his Storage Belt. Stack after stack of coins appeared on the wooden floor—green shards, jungle bits, crown tokens. Glowing in the afternoon light.
Aldric counted. His eyes widened.
"Seventy-two thousand," he said. "You've overpaid."
"Keep the extra. For the memories this building will hold."
Aldric was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Your name?"
"Ren."
"Just Ren?"
"Just Ren."
Aldric produced a parchment deed, sealed with wax. He wrote Ren's name in elegant script, then handed him a quill.
"Sign here."
Ren signed. The letters were shaky—he had never been good at writing. But they were his.
"This building is yours," Aldric said. "Congratulations."
Ren took the deed. It was warm in his hands.
Grandmother. I promised.
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Rin arrived at the building an hour later.
She stood in the doorway, looking around. Her missing fingers gripped her staff.
"You actually bought it," she said.
"I promised."
"It's a good building. Solid walls. Good bones."
Ren nodded. "I need help. Furniture. Supplies. A sign for the shop."
Rin smiled. "I know a carpenter. And a painter. And a woodcarver."
"How much?"
"Consider it a gift. For killing the Thorn Walker."
Ren looked at her. "You don't have to."
"I want to." Rin walked to the window. "Old Sol would be proud."
Ren touched the arrowhead on his belt. "I hope so."
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Dorian arrived at sunset.
He looked at the building. At the white stone walls, the red tile roof, the balcony.
"You're really doing it," he said.
"I'm really doing it."
"What kind of shop?"
Ren thought about it. "Archery supplies. Arrows, bowstrings, quivers. Maybe monster parts. Things hunters need."
Dorian nodded. "I know a supplier. Good quality. Fair prices."
"How much?"
"First shipment is free. From me."
Ren looked at him. "You don't have to."
"I want to." Dorian walked to the door. "Old Sol would have wanted it."
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Kite, Mica, and Finn arrived at dawn.
They had heard the news—the whole guild had. Ren had bought a building in the Central Ring.
"Ren!" Kite shouted, running toward the door. "You did it!"
"Yes."
"You're a property owner!"
"Yes."
"With a shop!"
"Yes."
Kite grabbed his shoulders. "You're not a slum rat anymore!"
Ren almost smiled. "I'm still a slum rat. Just one with a building."
Mica walked through the first floor. "It's beautiful. What are you going to sell?"
"Archery supplies. Maybe monster parts."
"I can help. I'm good with numbers."
Finn was standing in the corner, looking at the walls. "This is where you'll live?"
"Yes."
"No more leaking roof?"
"No."
Finn smiled. It was a small smile, but genuine. "Good. You deserve it."
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The next week was a blur of activity.
Ren hired a carpenter to build shelves, a counter, and a display case. He hired a painter to whitewash the walls. He hired a woodcarver to make a sign.
SHADOWSTRING ARCHERY
Fine Bows. Quality Arrows. Expert Repairs.
Ren watched the woodcarver paint the sign. The letters were gold, the background black. Simple. Elegant.
Shadowstring. My bloodline. My name. My shop.
He hung the sign above the door.
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The furniture arrived on the eighth day.
A real bed—wooden frame, cotton mattress, wool blankets. A table and chairs for the kitchen. A desk for the shop. A rack for bows. A cabinet for arrows.
Ren arranged everything himself. The bed went against the east wall, facing the window. The table went in the center of the kitchen. The counter went against the back wall of the shop.
He stood in the middle of the second floor, looking around.
This is home.
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The first shipment of arrows arrived on the tenth day.
Dorian's supplier had sent a crate of ironwood shafts, steel tips, and goose feather fletchings. Ren sorted them by type, placed them on the shelves.
Fifty JC each. Twenty for a bundle.
He priced the bowstrings, the quivers, the repair kits. He left space for monster parts—the hearts, the spines, the eyes he had collected from Crown Beasts.
The Vine King's heart-wood. The Sun Serpent's scale. The Bloom Mother's petal. The Thorn Walker's spine.
He placed them in a glass case near the counter. Rare items. Expensive. For hunters who could afford them.
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On the fifteenth day, Ren moved out of the Slum Ring.
He packed his belongings—Old Sol's arrowhead, the wooden box that had once held his savings, the straw blanket from his bed. He walked through the mud paths one last time.
The children were playing. The women were hanging laundry. The men were sharpening tools.
No one looked at him.
But I'll remember them.
He reached the Central Ring. Climbed the stairs to his new home.
The bed was soft. The roof didn't leak. The walls were warm.
Ren sat on the bed. Opened his system screen.
Level: 40. XP: 95/700.
Jungle Coins: 7,056 (after spending 65,000).
Lifespan remaining: 269 years.
Home: Shadowstring Archery, Sunflower Street, Central Ring, Mudwall.
He closed the screen.
Seven thousand coins left. Enough for supplies. Enough for emergencies.
Time to hunt the Fog Drinker.
He lay down. The roof didn't leak.
The jungle breathed outside his window.
Ren closed his eyes.
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End of Chapter 24
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