The orange hue of the setting sun bled through the gaps in the timber buildings of Orilon, casting long, distorted shadows across the cobblestones. Montu walked with a deliberate, slow stride, the heavy canvas of his merchant's cowl snapping against his shins.
Inside his mind, a golden window flickered to life.
[NOTIFICATION: Quest Complete - 'The Shepherd of Souls']
Reward: +2 Mana Points.
Current Mana: 2.0
'Finally', Montu thought, a cold spark of satisfaction warming his dead chest. I suppose the system waited until Anna felt safe enough to breathe before completion.
He didn't slow down. As he neared the center of the village, the whispers followed him like a wake behind a ship. The villagers leaned out of their windows, their faces etched with a mix of primal terror and intense curiosity. To them, he was a walking contradiction-a creature of the night dressed in the garb of a traveler, escorted by their own elite guards who looked like they were marching to a funeral.
"System," Montu commanded silently. "Show me the progress. I want to see the numbers."
The blue interface materialized, glowing softly in his peripheral vision.
Strength 5, Speed 3, Montu noted. He felt the change in his joints; they no longer groaned like rusted hinges. He felt more like a weapon and less like a corpse. But his eyes lingered on the 0.5 Evolution Points. It was a pittance, a mere fragment of what he needed to shed this rotting skin, but it was a start. He had tasted power in that tavern, and he wanted more.
He reached the Village Chief's office. It was a sturdy, two-story structure of polished oak and stone, significantly more refined than the wattle-and-daub huts on the outskirts. Two guards stood at the entrance, their halberds crossed. They weren't part of the escort; they hadn't seen Montu's "magic" in the woods.
As Montu approached, their eyes went wide. One guard's jaw actually dropped, his grip tightening on his polearm.
"Halt!" the guard barked, though his voice wavered. "State your... your existence! No monsters are permitted within the inner sanctum!"
Montu stopped three paces away. The air around him seemed to thicken. He didn't reach for a weapon; he didn't need to. He simply looked at them, the red veins in his eyes pulsing faintly under the shadow of his hood.
"One of you can go inside," Montu said, his voice a low, vibrating rasp that seemed to echo off the walls. "Ask Anna about what business I have here. Or stay here and let me find out how many 'Jab' strikes it takes to crack those breastplates. Your choice."
The guards flinched, the sheer weight of his presence-fueled by his hidden appearance -making their knees weak. Before they could respond, the heavy oak doors creaked open.
Anna came running out, her face flushed and her breath coming in short gasps. She looked at the guards with a flash of genuine anger. "Step aside! Now! You fools, do you wish to bring ruin upon us?"
The guards scrambled back, their halberds clattering against the stone. They looked at the ground, trembling as Montu brushed past them. The smell of old earth and dry rot followed him into the building.
The office was warm, lit by a dozen tallow candles and a crackling fireplace. The scent of beeswax and old parchment filled the room. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat a man in his late forties. Veric, the Village Chief, wore a simple wool tunic, but his eyes were sharp-the eyes of a man who had survived a dozen border wars.
Veric stood up, his gaze locked on Montu. He didn't recoil. He was a leader, after all.
"My name is Veric," the man said, his voice steady but respectful. "I am the Chief of Orilon. My daughter tells me we owe you a great debt for her life. We are honored to have you as a guest. Please, sit."
Montu pulled a wooden chair, the wood groaning under his weight. He moved with a grace that was unsettling for a zombie. "You can call me 'Dark'," he said. He had chosen the name on the walk over-simple, imposing, and distant. "I am a wandering merchant. I deal in things that are... difficult to find. I was passing through this region when I heard your village was struggling. I came to see if your coin is as good as your reputation."
Veric leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. He was studying Montu's cowl, trying to see the face beneath. "Anna told me of your... unique abilities. Your 'Void Storage.' I was skeptical, but seeing you here, speaking our tongue with such precision... it changes things."
"I am a businessman, Chief Veric," Montu replied, leaning back. "If you have a need, I have a price. If not, I can be at the gates of the next town by midnight."
"We are in need," Veric admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Our negotiations with the merchant caravans from the Southern Cities have collapsed. They've tripled their taxes. We are a frontier village; without spices to preserve our winter meat and fuel our festivals, we lose our morale. And our health."
In the world of Destiny Eternal, spices weren't just for flavor. They were rare, labor-intensive commodities that acted as minor preservatives and status symbols. For a village like Orilon, they were lifeblood.
"Spices?" Montu's voice carried a hint of a dry, rattling chuckle. "I have spices that would make a King weep with joy. And unlike your southern caravans, I don't care about taxes. I care about gold."
Veric's eyes narrowed slightly. "Many claim to have quality, 'Dark.' But high-grade pepper and salt are not easily transported through these woods."
"I told you," Montu said, "I do not carry my goods. I command them."
He tapped into the System Shop.
[SHOP SEARCH: REFINED SEA SALT - 10Gold/KG]
[SHOP SEARCH: BLACK TELLICHERRY PEPPER - 10Gold/KG]
'Ten gold a kilo?' Montu thought. 'I can flip this for five times the price easily. This isn't a trade; it's a heist.'
He purchased one kilogram of each. Ding! In a flicker of blue light that made Veric jump in his seat, two objects appeared on the desk. They weren't wrapped in burlap or kept in ceramic jars. They were in vacuum-sealed, transparent plastic bags-the pinnacle of Earth packaging.
"What... what is this material?" Veric whispered, reaching out with a trembling finger. "It feels like... thin, flexible glass?"
"It is a high-level stasis field," Montu lied smoothly, his voice brimming with confidence. "Crafted by the mages of my guild to ensure the product never touches the air. These spices are as fresh as the day they were harvested. They will remain so for five years, provided you do not break the seal."
Veric picked up the salt. It was pure white, crystalline, and perfectly refined-unlike the grey, sandy salt common in Destiny Eternal.
Montu reached forward, his blue-skinned fingers deftly tearing the notch on the plastic bag. The sound of the vacuum seal breaking-a sharp psshht-made the Chief flinch. Montu pushed the open bag toward him.
"Check the quality, Chief. Smells don't lie."
Veric leaned in. The scent hit him immediately-the sharp, clean sting of pure sea salt. He then mimicked Montu, tearing into the pepper bag. The aroma of the black peppercorns was intense, earthy, and spicy, filling the small office in seconds.
"This..." Veric stammered, his eyes wide. "I have never seen salt this white. Even the Royal Kitchens use salt with more impurities than this. And this pepper... it's potent. One grain is worth ten of ours."
Veric looked at Montu, his skepticism completely evaporated, replaced by a greedy, desperate hope. "What is your price, Master Dark?"
Montu let the silence hang for a moment, the fire in the hearth popping. He knew he had them by their throat. He wasn't just selling spices; he was selling a miracle.