Right now, I am sitting in a tavern in the Frozen Peak. I didn't really expect one in a place like this. (A tavern in a fort usually is not a good thing.) It is afternoon, and yet there is proper chaos in the place. There is a bard in the middle, playing songs. There are a bunch of people to the side, dancing to the tune. (Or so they think.) The drinks are certainly flowing more freely than expected.
None of the people here do anything more than glance in my direction. (Though a couple of them do look like they are itching for a fight.) The reason for that is Eric, who is glaring at everybody in the room. He has yet to touch a drop of alcohol. There is an odd tension between the man and the folks here. Now that I think about it, I also could be a cause for that.
The chances of that is actually pretty low. While I am infamous, everybody in this place is a commoner. They are unlikely to know who I am. Still, I have admit that coming in here was a risk.
Honestly, I don't know what I am doing here. The drinks here are quite shit. The only reason that I am even drinking right now is to buy myself some time. Otherwise, Eric is going to drag me back to the guest room. If I were to return now, I don't think that they will allow me out here again.
Eric has been tasked with escorting me through the Frozen Peak. He is supposed to be a guide and an additional layer of security, really. The only problem is that the man has not forgotten his defeat yesterday. Due to that he has a sullen expression on his face that makes me very wary of the man. (The man looks like he will be the first to do me in.)
He has been taking me from shop to shop since morning. There is nothing to show for it, though. The people here have nothing to make formations with. I can't use the materials here to patch up the ship, let alone craft a new propulsion formation. This is going to be a problem. (Formation cores are not the only reason I came out here, but it was a key reason.)
"Soldier Eric. I have to wonder, what happened to all your formation cores?" I ask the man. "I would have thought that your markets would be flush with them. There have been quite a few Dwarves here over the years."
It is one of the tasks of the Black Mountain to always keep an eye on the Dwarves. Tracking their movement is one of the best ways of knowing what precious stuff every group has. (And what weapons those precious stuff will end up making.) The Dwarves have been swarming this place for the last couple of decades. Now they have cooled off a bit in the last few years, though.
"Every store that you have visited had weapons made of mithril, guard," he replies. "If you do not consider that precious, I don't know what else will be."
"Don't get me wrong, mithril is a useful metal to make a weapon," I reply. "But, if Dwarves want mithril they don't even need to leave their houses. I would have assumed something a bit rarer would have moved them into action."
"The Dwarves made a deal with the Commander, guard. The nobles were not involved in the matter," he replies. As he speaks, the panic on his face makes it clear that he just told me something interesting.
"I would have assumed that you nobles would have forced yourself into the deal?" I inquire.
"What the Commander wants to do is his wish. Regardless, do you think maintaining this fort is a cheap or an easy task? He needs to earn his profits from somewhere," he replies, with a wary expression. The man knows he has slipped up.
"That is true," I reply, going back to my drink. I don't point out the fact that the man would have sold off all that he had if he wanted to earn money. That would leave the market flush with formation cores. No, there is something else going on here.
"How long shall we waste our time here? None of the shops that we have visited have down you want," he says. His annoyance is barely concealed as he does so.
"What I want is vital, my fellow," I reply. "Anyway, this is a fort. Why do you have so many shops? A single shop would have been enough for most purposes."
"That is related to how many families make this place their base," he replies. "Every noble family here maintains their own shop. Not having a shop would damage their reputation a bit too much."
"That is quite surprising if I am honest," I wonder. "I was under the assumption that you nobles were not ones to come to the Frozen Peak. With that many shops, there must be quite a few nobles here."
"All you shall find here are bastards, guard. Even the nobles need a place to throw their useless ones," he replies, a touch defensively. "That is why you shall find the fighting between nobles even more cutthroat here."
"Is this the reason that you are so worried about my safety?" I ask.
"Something like that. You are something of a problem to the nobles, if I have to be honest," the noble speaks. "They don't want to kill you directly. That would offend the Black Mountain. At the same time, Let's just say if some noble bastard were to kill you. Their family would "punish" them by sending them down south. That is why it is stupid of you to come to a place full of bastards."
It would be more accurate to call that a reward. The southern border of the Snowwind Empire is a bloody mess, if I am honest. It is a profitable mess, though. It is the only place you can go to build a reputation in this nation. I am sure that every ambitious person in this country hopes to be stationed there.
"Then it must be quite annoying to have to guard me," I reply. "If I am supposed to be such a reward."
"It would be wise if you do not provoke us too much," he replies, with a rare bit of passion. "It is only the presence of lord Jacob that you are alive. That, too, is only because he does not want his honor to be blemished."
I am sure that Jacob and Eric would be the very first people to stab me in the back if they could. The only reason they are not doing anything is that they fear the Commander. The Commander will not let me die. He won't mind if I am tortured or maimed but he won't see me die. (It would damage his interests too much, though I have no idea what his interests are yet.)
"Then I will have to bow to the Young Master," I finally reply. "If only your markets had what I needed, it would be perfect."
"Why can you not use mithril? Your formations need materials that can allow mana to flow through them. I don't know of anything that allows mana to flow better than mithril," he says, a bit flustered at my nonchalance. (It is considered to be an insult to be considered dependent here.)
"Can you draw on water?" I ask him.
"Well, no," he replies.
"Using mithril to make formations is like drawing on water. I can send in every bit of my mana into the material, and still I won't be able to stick any runes to it," I reply. "Now, Dwarves make use of formations even more than we humans do. Their demand for formation materials is tremendous. Now, if they keep coming to this place, it is formation cores that should be prevelant in your markets."
This makes the man opposite me pause for a moment.
"Well, if you consider that the Dwarves value these materials so much. Maybe they would have taken it all with them," he replies, pondering on it. "After all, the Commander would be more interested in mithril weapons."
"Now, you would think that," I reply, wondering if I should reveal it. Fuck it. "Dwarves are more creative than that. The Dwarves tend to leave at least half of the things they mine to the local lord. After all, anything that the Dwarves give to you will finally end up back in their hands."
"Now, why would that be?" replies Eric. I can see the man's focus shifting.
"Well, everything that the Dwarves give you will always be something that you can use only to make weapons. Whether that be metals like mithril or materials that can be used to craft formations on weapons. They do this to cut the costs of their mining," I reply. Now comes the bait. "As long as it is a weapon, it will ultimately end up in a dwarf's forge, my friend. It does make one wonder, though, where all of these materials are?"
The man sits there for a few moments as if he is deciding whether he should speak on it or not.
"Well, there is a shop. Though it is in one of the more shady parts of the fort," he speaks finally. "The owner of this shops had helped the Dwarves in prospecting their mines. She might have something that you might need."
I am a bit disappointed that the man did not take the bait. I was hoping to find how bad the relation between commoners and nobles had actually gotten.
"How can a fort have a shady place?" I ask.
"Well, it exists," he replies. "The person who runs this shop is a friend of mine. She might have what you need. Though you shouldn't pry into her identity."
"Well, if she has what I want, why would I be worried about who she is?" I reply while getting up.
(After about half an hour.)
After reaching this place, I understand why Eric calls this part of the fort shady. Firstly, the buildings here are so close together. It is very claustrophobic.
Right now, there is barely enough space on the road for me to walk. The roads here are thin enough that I can barely stretch my hands. The people here are also quite miserable. Every soldier here has some serious injury or the other.
Some of them have their hands in splints. Some of them have missing limbs. The only thing that is truly common among them is a sense of desperation. We do not spend a lot of time in the streets, thankfully. Looking at these people leaves me a bit uncomfortable.
The shop itself does not deserve to be called a shop. (Unless you consider a table with a few materials placed on it to be a shop.) Most of what is on the table are various ores of iron, with a few ores of mithril mixed in. With Eric in here, the shop is full.
The owner of the shop does not inspire confidence. Compared to the people outside, he is leagues better. All of his limbs are intact you see. The worst feature to him is his eyes. The man looks at me like he is appraising how much he can loot from me after killing me.
"Where is Lady Emily?" Eric asks. His expression is somewhere between annoyance and confusion.
"She is with her cohort. They have been assigned a mission," He replies. "She will return by the end of the week. Until then, I will take care of her shop."
Hearing this, Eric's expression turns to annoyance. He doesn't speak anymore as he stands aside.
"Are you going to even be buying anything?" the shopkeeper asks.
"That depends on what you have to provide. What you have on the table is nothing special," I reply.
"You certainly talk big, bastard. The only reason that I am not kicking you out is because lord Eric brought you," he says. "Show me that you can pay, and I will show you the good stuff."
Hearing this, I feel a twinge of annoyance. I don't reply to this other than throwing a bag in his direction. He opens it and quickly begins to count the mana stones that are present in it.
"Three class seven mana stones in total. You are certainly a rich man," he says. "Fine, I will show you the good stuff."
The way the man speaks, it seemed as if I was somehow disturbing his peace. He disappears for a few seconds but finally appears with the smallest chest I have ever seen in my life.
"I have three things that will be worth your time," he says.
He proceeds to remove a piece of rock from the box. Even as he removes the rock, I can feel the abnormal amount of fire mana coming out of it.
"This is supposed to be a piece of mithril ore that has been strengthened by a strain of sun stone," the man says. "It is supposed to be a very rare metal. You would be able to craft weapons of the fire affinity."
The material itself is pretty useless to me. Firstly, it is mithril, and then there is the fact that there is no fire mana in the Frozen Wastelands. At least not enough for me to use. (If fire mana were a part of my vital mana, things would be different.)
"I do not want that," I reply. "Do not show me anything related to Mithril."
"Fine," he says, annoyed as he removes a piece of wood from the box.
"This is a piece of ice bark tree," he says. "It is supposed to be able to channel massive amounts of ice mana into itself."
"How would you be pricing that?" I ask the man. I can't use it to make a formation core, but I will be able to use it for some other things.
"I will require at least a class 7 magic stone for it," he replies.
"For that I would be willing to give at most two class 8 magic stones," I reply. "The thing barely has any use for me."
"You bastard, that is a fifth of what I stated to you," he replies, getting agitated. "This is a high-quality piece of ice bark tree. I can sell it to the soldiers here, and they would be willing to give a couple pieces of class 7 mana stones for it. It can absorb the chill from your flesh, you know."
"Then go and sell it to them. I am sure that they will put you to death," I reply, finally losing my cool. "I am sure that you must have stolen it from somewhere yourself. Whose grave did you rob?"
Saying this, I leave the damn shop in a huff, my guard behind me collecting the bag that I had forgotten. I do not notice the dagger flying at me as my hand moves to intercept it, almost on instinct.