Chapter 7: The Alchemy of Perception
Mark stared at the immense, rune-etched gates of Port Elmswood City, the air thick with the noise of thousands of people and the distant hum of urban magic. He felt a profound sense of inadequacy. He was a small-time country boy with a limp and a dirty cart, carrying a fortune, about to walk into a den of professional wolves.
"Jarvis. What's the first step to surviving a city full of Level 8 crooks when you're only a Level 3 trash man?"
"Simple, Host. You cannot outmuscle them, and you cannot outwit them on their home turf. Therefore, the first step is to change the game's location."
"Change the location? We're standing in line for the gate."
"Correct. The moment you enter the city, you will be overwhelmed by market scouts, guild agents, and low-level thieves. They will assess your low Charisma and fatigue, offer you 10 Silver Shillings for your materials, and threaten you if you refuse. You must eliminate the initial threat model."
Jarvis overlaid a complex diagram onto Mark's vision, highlighting the city's immediate perimeter.
"The Plan: Do Not Enter. We will utilize the Outer Market, located immediately outside the main gate. The Outer Market is uncontrolled, high-traffic, and critically, lacks the organized presence of the City Guard and the Merchant Guild, shifting the initial power dynamic slightly in your favor.
Target Buyer: An independent buyer seeking quick, untaxed inventory."
Mark's eyes scanned the area Jarvis highlighted. A chaotic sprawl of tents, temporary stalls, and open fires huddled against the massive stone wall—a place where goods changed hands fast and regulations were forgotten. Perfect.
"So we sell our prized possession in a shantytown?"
"Affirmative. We sell the knowledge of the existence of the prize possession in the Outer Market. This generates immediate, concentrated interest. We then use the [Eccentric But Official] reputation established at the checkpoint to avoid direct confrontation. Proceed to stall location Gamma-3."
Mark adjusted the tarp covering the precious hide and nudged the rickety cart toward the Outer Market.
Stall Gamma-3 was a cramped stall run by a squat, nervous-looking half-elf named Krik who specialized in selling low-grade monster bone dust and cheap medicinal poultices. Mark approached Krik, not with a plea, but with an air of professional exhaustion.
"Krik," Mark stated, using the name Jarvis had provided from a quick scan of the immediate area. "I need a service. I need to get a message to the most discreet Elemental Alchemist in Port Elmswood. One who deals only in untaxed, high-tier inventory."
Krik, startled by the direct approach, stopped grinding his pestle. "I don't know what you mean, traveler."
"Of course you do," Mark insisted, leaning in just enough to show his limp and the exhaustion, but keeping his eyes sharp. "I've just completed an emergency contamination transport for the Church out of Oakhaven. I killed the Variant Alpha Goblin-Fox. The hide is extremely unstable, saturated with raw Earth elemental residue, which you already know is required for the new Stone Golem stabilization recipes."
Mark used the jargon—Elemental Alchemist, Contamination Transport, Stone Golem—all fed by Jarvis's memory bank of common fantasy tropes and market rumors.
Krik's eyes flickered, calculating the risk and the reward. "And what do you want me to do with this... information?"
"I am an Elemental Courier, not a merchant. My instructions are to sell the processed elemental glands and hide to the highest bidder in the next two hours, outside the city walls, before the hide starts to degrade and attract unwanted attention."
Mark pulled out a single, crystallized fragment of bone from his pouch and slammed it onto the stall. It wasn't the main prize, but it glittered with a faint, crystalline green light.
"This is a sample. Tell your most discreet contact that the asking price is 85 Silver Shillings. No haggling outside the negotiation window."
Mark walked away and sat down ten feet from the stall, pretending to nurse his aching leg while Jarvis monitored the reaction. He had intentionally set the price high—Jarvis calculated 50–100 SS was the actual worth—leaving room to be negotiated down to 70 SS, which was his true goal.
Krik stared at the fragment, then at Mark's worn cart, and immediately vanished down a side alley.
Mark waited twenty minutes. The Outer Market was a blur of noise and chaos, but all Mark saw was the timer in his head.
When the buyer arrived, he didn't appear from the city gates; he emerged from the shadows behind a cluster of livestock pens. He was a man in his late twenties, immaculately dressed in emerald-green velvet robes, carrying himself with the easy confidence of someone who had never done manual labor.
This was Alchemist Rhys, known in Jarvis's database as a talented, but dangerously arrogant, apprentice to a major City Guild.
Rhys stopped a few feet from Mark, his expression one of bored dismissal. "You're the one claiming to have an Alpha's hide? That pathetic crystal is worthless, peasant."
Mark remained sitting, letting Rhys come to him. He didn't rise; he let the exhaustion speak for itself.
"Master Rhys," Mark said, using the correct title. "If the crystal was worthless, you wouldn't have run all the way here in your expensive shoes."
Rhys's eyes narrowed. "I am offering you 40 Silver Shillings. That's more than you've seen in a lifetime. Hand over the hide and the fragments now."
"Warning, Host. Rhys is attempting to utilize [Intimidation (Lvl 5)].
Counter-Strategy: Employ the Scarcity and Expertise defense.
Deploy [Basic Negotiation (Lvl 1)] now," Jarvis prompted.
Mark activated the skill. The tiny boost of confidence allowed him to meet the Alchemist's arrogant gaze without flinching.
"Forty Shillings is what I was paid for a day of security work in Oakhaven," Mark replied, his voice calm. "The hide is worth more than that as low-grade leather. I know exactly what this Elemental Contamination is needed for, Master Rhys: stabilizing the foundational Earth runes for the new Royal Tower construction. The Mage Guild needs this specific resonance. You are offering me the price of the low-end fragments. I need the full value."
Mark paused, letting the mention of the Royal Tower and the Mage Guild hang in the air—linking the transaction to high authority and high stakes.
"The asking price is 85 Silver Shillings. You have thirty minutes before I take the entire shipment to the Grey Market on the docks, where they pay cash and don't care about the Church or the Guild."
Rhys bristled. He couldn't afford to let this rare, contaminated hide—required for his Guild's prestige project—fall into a competitor's hands, especially not a chaotic entity like the Grey Market. He was trapped by his own arrogance and need for the goods.
"Seventy Silver Shillings," Rhys snapped, throwing a heavy pouch that jingled with the unmistakable sound of high-denomination silver coins onto the ground near Mark's feet. "Take it or leave it, peasant. That's the highest price untaxed goods will ever fetch outside the gates."
Mark let the offer hang for two agonizing seconds.
It was exactly his target price.
"Make it 75 Silver Shillings, Master Rhys, and I'll throw in the precise coordinates of the Goblin-Fox den. It's a guaranteed breeding ground for future Elemental variants."
Rhys stared at him, the arrogance giving way to grudging respect. "Coordinates? A location is valuable. Fine. Seventy-Five. And you clean this mess up."
Rhys counted out the final five shillings, his hand shaking slightly with frustration. Mark accepted the pouch, the weight of 75 Silver Shillings—a true fortune—feeling heavy and cold in his hand.
Mark gestured toward the cart. "The cargo is yours. The den is three kilometers west of the Oakhaven perimeter, near the old Whisper Tree. Look for the stripped carcass."
Rhys vanished as quickly as he arrived, pulling the rickety cart back toward the shadows to smuggle his illicit purchase into the city.
Mark sat there alone, the heavy pouch resting in his lap. He had outmaneuvered a Level 5 threat using nothing but information, jargon, and a single level of a Negotiation skill. He had turned forty shillings of seed money into seventy-five shillings of pure profit.
"Transaction Complete.
Gross Revenue: 75 SS.
System Assessment: Host has achieved Low-Tier Financial Viability.
Congratulations.
New Skill Unlocked: [Advanced Analysis (Lvl 1)]"
Mark carefully counted the silver, separating the clean profit from the original seed capital. He was no longer broke. He had saved his mother, and he had secured his future.
He slowly rose, his limp still present, but his posture straightened by the weight of the silver. He looked toward the city gates he had deliberately avoided.
"Jarvis," Mark whispered, the excitement of the win thrumming beneath his exhaustion. "We have money now. What's the next step? We need to secure that long-term income stream."
"Analysis complete, Host. The primary impediment to your long-term wealth is your Reader/Courier class, which is a support profession. You must acquire a more lucrative class. Strategy: The city is a hub for high-level Adventurer Contracts. You need equipment, a temporary safe house, and a contract that rewards knowledge over brawn. We are going inside."
Mark walked toward the main gates, no longer smelling of the forest, but smelling faintly of success.