The flickering candlelight in the Chief's office cast dancing shadows against the oak-paneled walls, creating an atmosphere of heavy, breathless anticipation. Veric, a man who had led Orilon through famine and bandit raids, looked like a child discovering magic for the first time.
Montu watched from the depths of his cowl, his red-veined eyes tracking every movement. He felt a twisted sense of amusement. On Earth, this was a fifty-cent grocery item; here, it was a relic of the gods.
Veric pinched a few crystals of the pure, white salt. He held them up to a candle, squinting as the light refracted through the perfect, unblemished cubes. In this world, salt was usually grey, clumpy, and bitter with impurities. This was different. He sniffed it cautiously, then, satisfied it wasn't a contact poison, he touched a few grains to his tongue.
His eyes widened. His shoulders, previously hunched with the stress of the village's failing trade, suddenly relaxed. Next, he turned to the pepper. He didn't just smell it; he leaned in until the sharp, spicy aroma made his eyes water. He took a tiny fragment and crunched it between his teeth.
"By the Ancestors," Veric whispered, his voice thick with awe. "This isn't just spice. This is... it's concentrated sunlight and earth."
Montu leaned back, the wooden chair creaking under his dead weight. "Your verdict, Chief?"
"Master Dark, I must apologize for my earlier doubts. These are the finest condiments I have witnessed in my forty years of life. To say they are 'high quality' is an insult; they are divine. And the shelf life you mentioned—five years? If that is true, this village will never fear a winter again. We wish to purchase fifteen kilograms of each... if our treasury can withstand your price."
Montu tilted his head, playing the role of the disinterested merchant perfectly. "I am a man of simple numbers, Veric. Both the salt and the pepper carry the same premium. Tell me, what is a miracle worth to the people of Orilon?"
Veric's mind raced. He knew the market better than anyone. Typically, the southern caravans sold sandy, bitter salt and stale pepper for eighty gold coins per kilogram. That was for trash. For this? He could easily justify paying double. Moreover, he didn't want to offend a being who could summon items from the void. If he lowballed this 'Master Dark,' he might find his village reduced to ash by morning.
"Master Dark," Veric said, his voice solemn. "I wish to build a bridge of trust between us. I will not insult you with common prices. Would one hundred and forty gold coins per kilogram be acceptable? If it is too low, please, we can negotiate."
Underneath the heavy canvas of his hood, Montu's jaw nearly dropped. One hundred and forty gold? He had just bought those packets for ten gold each. That was a fourteen-hundred-percent markup. He felt a surge of cold triumph—the thrill of the conqueror, though this time the battlefield was a ledger.
However, Montu knew the art of the "long game." He didn't let a single muscle twitch. He remained as still as a statue, letting the silence stretch until Veric began to break into a cold sweat.
"I see," Veric stammered, misinterpreting the silence as offense. "My apologies! One hundred and sixty! One hundred and sixty gold coins per kilogram! It is the absolute limit of our current assets, but for your quality, it is fair."
Montu's internal processor whirred. 15kg of salt, 15kg of pepper. 30 kilograms total. 30 multiplied by 160... that's 4,800 gold. He decided to pull a masterstroke. He wanted Veric to feel indebted to him, to see him not just as a merchant, but as a patron.
"There is no need to bleed your treasury dry, Veric," Montu rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering over stone. "I am a merchant, not a tyrant. I will sell them to you for one hundred and thirty-five gold per kilogram. Consider it a gesture of goodwill, and relationship for our future trade."
Veric was stunned. A monster—an Undead, no less—was offering a discount? He looked at Anna, who was standing in the corner, her eyes wide with relief. "You are... most generous, Master Dark. Truly a savior."
"The total," Montu calculated aloud, "comes to four thousand and fifty gold coins. I require the payment upfront. My goods are summoned from a distant vault, and the 'toll' must be paid in gold before the gateway opens."
"Of course, of course!" Veric didn't hesitate. He stood up and disappeared into a secure side room.
Montu waited, his mind buzzing. He only had twenty gold left after his previous purchases. He literally couldn't fulfill the order without Veric's money first. It was the ultimate "drop-shipping" scam, performed at a divine level.
Veric returned, lugging a small, reinforced iron chest. He set it on the desk with a heavy thud. "Four thousand and fifty gold. I have organized them into pouches of one thousand for ease of counting."
Montu placed his hand on the chest.
[NOTIFICATION: 4,050 Gold Coins obtained. Total Balance: 4,070 Gold.]
"The count is perfect," Montu said, his voice dripping with mystery. Veric shivered; he hadn't even seen the merchant open the chest. To him, it was just more terrifying sorcery.
Montu immediately accessed the Shop. Purchase: 15kg Sea Salt, 15kg Black Pepper. (He already had the 1kg samples on the table). Cost: 300 Gold.
With a dramatic wave of his arm, Montu triggered the Inventory release. Blue light flooded the office, illuminating the stacks of vacuum-sealed bags as they materialized on the desk, one after another. The sheer sight of so much "void-glass" (as Veric thought of it) was overwhelming.
"The order is complete," Montu stated. "And the two kilograms I opened for the tasting? Those are a gift. A merchant's bonus for a wise leader."
Veric was speechless. He stared at the mountain of treasure on his desk. He felt like he had just saved his village from doom. "Master Dark... I don't know how to thank you. If you ever need a place to rest, Orilon is your home."
Montu stood up, his tall, hooded frame casting a shadow over the Chief. "My work here is done. But before I depart, a piece of advice, Chief Veric."
Veric leaned in, his expression dead serious.
"In twenty-nine days," Montu said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "strange people will begin to appear at your gates. They will dress like heroes but act like locusts. They will be loud, immortal, and greedy. They call themselves 'Players.' If you value the peace of this village, Veric... keep your gates closed. Do not let the 'Immortals' in until you are ready to see your world burn."
Before the confused Chief could ask a single question, Montu turned on his heel. He swept out of the office, his cloak billowing behind him. He walked through the village with the confidence of a king. The guards at the gate, already warned by their comrades, didn't even dare to breathe as he passed.
The moment he cleared the gates, and entered the cool, dark embrace of the forest, Montu let out a jagged, raspy breath that might have been a laugh. He reached up and yanked the heavy cloak off, stuffing it into his inventory.
The humid forest air hit his blue, mottled skin, and for the first time, the rot didn't feel like a curse.
"System," he whispered, "Current balance."
[TOTAL GOLD: 3,770. PROFIT MARGIN: 1,250%.]
[○_○ - THE SYSTEM IS IMPRESSED. YOU ARE OFFICIALLY THE MOST OVERPAID ZOMBIE IN THE MULTIVERSE.]
"It's basically free money," Montu smirked, his skeletal fingers flexing. "I didn't even have to swing a fist."
He looked toward the direction of the goblin camp. He was Level 2, he had nearly four thousand gold, and he had 29 days to prepare for the swarm.
"Now," Montu muttered, his eyes glowing with a renewed hunger. "Let's see what that 'Hobgoblin' is worth."