Chapter 46: A bold request, it is!

***

Meanwhile, two days ago...

Resven and his small group of men had entered the city and were on their way towards the Heavy Haunch.

Resven realized something was amiss upon entering the city. The guards were on high alert—more so than a few days before—but they did not stop to inspect the group.

The eyes of the guards and many nearby were locked onto their ’small’ caravan as the group moved through the archways, heading together towards the market district.

It was during this time that one of Resven’s men, Doric, had spoken up. He had mentioned that it felt like somebody was watching them, and Resven did not deny the feeling as he, too, had realized there were prying eyes in their vicinity.

He had commanded them to move with vigilance. They were True Red Warriors; most people wouldn’t have stood a chance. That didn’t even include Resven, who was a capable warrior on his own.

It didn’t take them long before they reached the market square, and like always, as if it had become a ritual... he took a deep breath to calm himself. For a storm was about to blow around him, and he needed to keep his mind rational.

Once they reached the Heavy Haunch, he stepped inside without a moment’s hesitation.

–

The bell above the door gave a sharp, brassy chime as Resven stepped through the heavy timber frame of the shop. Instantly, the familiar scent of old leather, dried herbs, and metallic oils washed over him.

From behind a cluttered counter piled with iron fittings and cured hides, Balkas popped up. A wide, toothy grin spread across his face the moment he saw the disciplined warrior.

"Ah! Resven, my favorite stickler for the rules!" Balkas cheered, wiping his hands vigorously on a grease-stained apron as he hurried around the counter. "Come in, come in! I was just sayin’ to myself this mornin’, ’Balkas, you old dog, it’s about time Resven brought you some proper plunder from the wilds.’ So, what’s it today, eh? Did the lads bag a prime beast? Tell me you brought a pelt, Resven! Or maybe some rare bone-marrow for the alchemists? Come on, don’t keep an old merchant starvin’—let’s see the goods!"

Resven stood perfectly straight, his expression an unreadable mask of cold discipline. He waited exactly two seconds for Balkas to finish his energetic outburst before speaking, his voice crisp, clear, and utterly devoid of the merchant’s excitement.

"I have brought nothing to sell today, Balkas."

Balkas froze mid-gesture, his hands dropping to his sides as his shoulders slumped. The bright grin vanished from his face, replaced by a look of profound, exaggerated disappointment.

"Nothin’?" Balkas groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. "Not even a scrap of iron or a wolf tooth? Ah, Resven, you’re breakin’ my heart, you really are! A man can’t pay his taxes on pleasant conversation and proper manners, ye know! Why walk into the Heavy Haunch if your sacks are empty?"

"Because," Resven replied, his tone remaining deadpan and precise, "while my sacks are empty, our purse is quite full. I am not here to sell. I am here to buy."

Balkas blinked. Just like that, the disappointment vanished. His eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. A slow, greedy purr returned to his voice as he leaned against the counter.

"To buy, is it? Well... now you’ve got Balkas’s ears ringin’," the merchant chuckled, rubbing his palms together. "What does your Lord need from my humble shelves today, then? A fresh crate of steel arrowheads? A new set of chain rings?"

"Not quite," Resven said smoothly, holding the merchant’s gaze. "We require two Orange-Tier Primal Blood items."

Balkas blinked, the initial shock on his face quickly settling into a sharp, calculating gleam as he tapped his grease-stained fingers against the wooden counter. He leaned forward over a jar of glowing monster bile, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial purr.

"Two Orange-Tier Primal Blood items, aye? Ah, Resven, you certainly don’t come knockin’ for cheap ale, do ye?!"

He let out a short, wheezing chuckle, shaking his head in sheer disbelief.

"A bold request, it is! Do ye even comprehend the weight of the coin we’re talkin’ about here? Twelve hundred Gilded Gold coins a piece—twelve thousand Silver Talons! To put that in perspective for your treasury, you’d have to go out and harvest the pelts of nearly two hundred Dark-Red apex predators just to trade for the value ofonesingle vial, and that’s just the weakest of them! It’s a fortune that could buy a winter’s supply of grain and iron tools for an entire province!"

He wiped his palms on his apron, his eyes dancing with pure mercantile delight as he looked at the disciplined warrior.

"Yes, Balkas can certainly source it for ye... oh, Balkas likes a grand transaction very much! But it’ll drain a pretty coin from your purse, it will. Tell me, what’s the plan, then? What kind of monster are you plannin’ to hunt with that kind of power?"

Resven didn’t bat an eye at the massive numbers, completely unfazed by the small fortune Balkas was laying out. Instead of answering the merchant’s prying question, he simply reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, intricately woven leather purse.

It landed on the wooden counter with a dense, metallicthud, the distinct and heavy ring of Gilded Gold coins echoing clearly through the shop.

"The coin is right here, Balkas," Resven said, his voice calm and direct as he rested a hand near the purse. "Everything, all 240 gilded gold coins."

He leaned in slightly, looking the merchant dead in the eye with a serious, no-nonsense look.

"Do you have it in stock, or shall I need to wait for you to get it?"

Balkas went entirely still, the greedy gleam in his eyes instantly freezing. He stared at Resven for a long, heavy moment, his gaze dropping to the thick leather purse before rising back up to study the warrior’s face.