[The Twining] 26. One Does Not Simply Sell Tier Three Items (Patreon)

“Isen?” Druinala said, interrupting his thoughts. She pointed to the counter where a man Isen thought must be a half elf stood, his hands spread on the wooden counter.

The shopkeeper was tall, with a slight gut, his middle-aged face amused. Isen wondered how aging worked when cultivation was concerned—did people simply age slower, or did they remain young for decades until close to the end, when age caught up to them?

Talis thankfully didn’t need to translate for the shopkeeper—apparently it was common for half elves to speak common, depending on how far back their human ancestry went, and if their human relative was still alive. Most half-elf shopkeepers would know enough of the common human tongue to get by.

“You’re here to sell?” the half elf asked.

Isen nodded. He considered what to offer up, ultimately settling on some of the red silk. The monster hide was less useful and easier to part with, but all he had in his pack were squares of hide, none larger than a foot. They wouldn’t be sufficient for crafting most leather goods. The silk, on the other hand, would probably be useful even in small quantities—and was thus far more valuable.

“I have tier three silk from an unknown insectoid monster. It’s red and extremely sticky.” He turned and gestured to his bag. “I made this by gluing sections of hide together with the silk.”

The shopkeeper blinked. “Can you show me some, so I can appraise it?”

Isen expected the question and reached into the bag, pulling out his dirty red shirt. “This is a sample of the silk; I’ve coated it in monster hair so it doesn’t stick to everything. I have more in my bag.”

The half elf didn’t seem to notice the haggard quality of the garment. He ran his fingers over it, then grabbed it and pulled, revealing the slight elasticity in the material. He called something out in elvish. Soon after, a half elf in a clean, simple dress and a brown apron stepped into the room, coming down the stairs. She dropped off a rectangular box the size of a large brick.

The shopkeeper flipped the lid off, revealing a set of unfamiliar instruments.

Isen leaned toward Talis and whispered, “What are those?”

“Appraisal equipment,” the guard replied.

Isen worked to hide his surprise. First the water bucket, now the appraisal equipment—it seemed that enchanted mage goods really were significantly more common here.

The shopkeeper placed a circular stone that looked like a paper weight on top of the red shirt. It flashed with light, then revealed a glowing panel in the air, one covered in the elven script. Isen couldn’t read it, but he was taken aback. Was it saying something about his shirt? Some kind of readout?

The man turned to Isen. “This is a general appraisal—it’s not optimized for tier three materials. I’ll do my best to translate. It says, ‘Arachnid monster silk. Mutations: color. Strengths: adhesiveness, flexibility, tensile strength. Weaknesses: difficult to weave with, extremely thin. Estimated rank: 3-B.’” The man paused. “This is quite an excellent material, though its value will depend in part on how much of it you’re willing to sell.”

Isen glanced at Talis and Druinala, but both were just staring at the silk with intense expressions. “Can I consult with my companions outside?” Isen asked.

The shopkeeper gestured to the door. “By all means. While you’re gone, I’ll run a few more tests. Do you mind if I run a knife across the fabric? Just a tier two blade.”

Isen hesitated—the tier two bat had scratched through the material, though technically it hadn’t harmed the silk, just Isen’s skin. “That’s fine,” he assented. Then he strode outside, Talis and Druinala following.

Once the door closed behind them, Talis exhaled slowly and stretched his arms. He turned to Druinala and spoke in rapid fire elvish. Druinala’s expression morphed, growing darker and more severe. By the time Talis finished, Isen felt antsy.

“I have a feeling the silk is more valuable than the average item brought here,” Isen stated. That fact filled him with equal parts exhilaration and dread. Isen had never held any kind of wealth before, not as an urchin and not with Lady Jin. She’d kept him like a pet, caring for his needs but not allowing him to have any wealth of his own. After he’d left, he’d exchanged some of the things she’d given him for simple, utilitarian items, like his long-lost leather belt, pack, knife, and waterskin. He’d never earned the money to really buy anything of worth before.

You’re a cultivator now, he thought. You’re no longer who you were.

Talis muttered something to Druinala before giving the teen an exasperated look. “Isen… I have no idea what rock you crawled out from, but bringing tier three items to a general shop in a random town isn’t typically done, especially higher quality materials. 3-B—where did you even come across something like that?”

“Does it matter?” He shook his head. “I thought these kinds of materials might be more common given what you said about, well, all half elves being cultivators and all elves being mages.”

“You killed a beast king?” Druinala suddenly interjected, her green eyes practically glowing.

Isen frowned. “No. Too weak.” He sighed. “Well, what should I do? I’ve already shown the silk.”

Talis steepled his fingers. “What you need will cost mere silvers. That silk? Even a small section is worth gold.”

Isen’s stomach dropped. He didn’t know the exchange rate, but he assumed that gold was worth a sizable amount of silver. The implications were obvious: Isen was sitting on a vast nugget of wealth in the form of the red silk.

Isen shuddered. He knew very well what happened to people who tried to hold onto more valuables than they could protect.

More than ever, he was determined not to unsheathe the Shard of Erasmus. If someone used a proper appraisal kit on his weapon, he had no idea what they’d see. It was only made from the bone of a beast at the beginning of the fourth tier, but even that was a qualitative leap from tier three. And that was before it had received the mysterious tempering of the Compass of Legacy.

Talis rubbed at his jaw. “Damn. You really can’t sell the silk here—it’ll be too much of a waste, and the shopkeeper should know it.”

“Sell an inch,” Druinala suggested. “Inch or nothing.”

Isen balked. Would the shopkeeper even bother to buy such a small amount? But Talis considered Druinala’s words thoughtfully. “It might be a good material for weaving an enchantment into cloth. No way to know since the appraisal equipment is only fit for tier two goods and below. To do something like a sticky feet or hand enchantment, I’d expect a skilled enchanter would need maybe… two or three inches. I’d suggest selling three inches, for fairness’ sake.”

“How much should I expect to get in return?”

Talis smiled. “For truly so small a length, a few silvers. Maybe two silvers per inch, so six?”

“How much are a pair of shoes?”

“Mundane waterproofed shoes should run you two silvers. You’ll have plenty left for a nice cloak, which I still highly recommend getting.”

Isen chewed his lip as he turned back toward the store. “Is someone going to come after me because of this?”

Talis’s expression hardened. He exchanged a few words with Druinala. “Well, what are your plans? Given your general… situation, we’ve been working under the assumption that you’d want to continue with the caravan until we reach a larger city. Whether that’s Eldrassin or back in Shor Mei, where the first wagons of the caravan set out from, remains to be seen.”

Isen fingered his belt. He knew what the sixth sense was telling him to do—to stay with them. But he still didn’t get it. “You’ve already done enough just getting me through the gates here. You really don’t need to keep helping me.”

Talis’s brow furrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “Isen, you’re a child. How you came to the Elven Lands, I have no idea, but within the elven states, you need a guardian.”

“You’re not my guardian, though,” Isen said slowly, suddenly growing cautious. “Besides, I’m completely self-sufficient. I can take care of myself.”

Druinala chuckled softly. “Human way of thought.” She then spat out a string of words to Talis.

Talis gave her a cross look, then said, “In short, things just work differently here than wherever you’re from. Unless you cross the entire continent and go somewhere else, those who haven’t reached the age of majority can’t just be left alone.” His eyes had a knowing glint to them. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to spurn the rights guaranteed to minors within the Elven Lands. Make sure you fully understand what you’ll be giving up if you really do choose to leave.”

Rights guaranteed to minors? Isen couldn’t fathom what Talis meant. For now, just go along with it, he reasoned. Learn as much as you can about everything, then make your choice whether to stay or go.

Talis coughed. “As long as you pull your own weight as a tier two cultivator, Sorina should welcome you to the caravan. We won’t let you work as a guard—you’re a child—but you can help out with various tasks, maybe shadow some of us, learn a thing or two.” He smiled. “Maybe teach us a thing or two as well.”

Isen considered for a moment, then nodded. He ducked back inside the shop to find the shopkeeper working a small knife over his shirt. The rough cloth looked much fresher than it had a few minutes ago—had the man used magic to clean it?

He looked up. “You’re back!” Talis and Druinala filed in as he spoke.

“How much can you give me for three inches of the silk?” Isen asked.

The shopkeeper’s expression fell. “Only three inches? What if you sold this shirt?”

The shirt was truly hideous and misshapen; Isen had considered it trash-worthy before realizing the value of the third-tier silk. “How much would you offer for it?”

“Three gold,” the man said. “It’s far less than you’d get if the thread used to make it were all in a bolt, but it’s still workable as it is. To be clear, it would be deconstructed.”

Isen swallowed. He glanced at his escorts, who gave him stern expressions. “How much would you offer for three inches of silk?”

“Four silver.”

“Eight,” Isen said. He’d never had many chances to haggle, but he’d heard countless adults engage in the practice.

“Four.”

“Eight.”

“Five.”

“Six is the lowest I’ll go.” Isen tried to keep his expression unbothered, but it was hard. He didn’t really know what he was doing.

Isen thought he maybe saw a hint of pity in the shopkeeper’s eyes, but it disappeared as soon as it came. “Alright, six.”

Isen turned to Talis and Druinala and grinned. They matched the expression with smiles of their own, Talis’s broad, Druinala’s little more than a quirk of her lips.

Isen took out his pack and gingerly removed the bolt of silk wrapped in fur. Then he realized he had no way to cut the silk without using his dagger… which he’d sworn not to reveal.

“I don’t want to accidentally ruin the silk,” Isen said, placing the bolt on the counter. “Do you have the means to snip three inches free?”

The shopkeeper held up his knife. He oriented the poorly bundled bolt of silk, grabbing a needle and inserting it into the sticky mass to pull a thread free. He stretched it out to the three-inch marking on a measuring stick, then sawed into the thread with the knife. Isen had been worried his movements would be rough and inaccurate, but the back-and-forth motion was practically surgical. While the silk was pulled taut, it didn’t stick to the knife, but Isen figured that once it was officially severed, it would cling to the surface.

When that time came, however, the knife flashed a light blue color and the silk fell across it, unable to find purchase. The shopkeeper then grabbed another needle and threaded the other end with careful finesse.

Soon, two expendable needles held up a thread of tier three silk. The man reached into a locked box and withdrew six silver coins with the visage of an elven man in profile, handing them over.

Returning the bolt of silk to his bag, Isen and the guards left.

While they walked to the cobbler, Isen asked a pressing question on his mind. “How much does the average guard make per month guarding a merchant caravan?”

“Twenty silvers.” Talis didn’t question why he had asked. The answer confirmed what Isen already suspected—the silk bolt was already worth killing him over, were Talis and Druinala unscrupulous people.

As for his dagger?

He almost wondered if he’d be better off hiding it under a rock and coming back for it later. But he just couldn’t. It was his most powerful weapon in a hostile world, and his only hope to survive against stronger threats.

If anyone found out about it… Isen would decide what to do then.

The cobbler was on the other side of a large square where a brilliant blue-green fire burned—the queen’s funeral pyre. Billows of smoke dark as tar snaked into the air. The area was empty aside from two half elves attending to the pyre, stoking it with pokers, and a few scattered individuals and couples walking briskly in different directions.

Isen almost felt like the sky should be gray, and indeed it technically was, at least directly overhead. But aside from the smoke, the sky was a brilliant midday azure.

As they passed by the pyre, Isen nearly missed a step when words of Legacy invaded his mind.