Chapter 132 : Fifty Gold Coins, Profit or Loss?
Chapter 132: Fifty Gold Coins, Profit or Loss?
Regarding the assassin Dean, who slipped into Lemon Port like a shadow.
The other mercenaries might have had all their attention drawn by the insect tide.
But it had not escaped the perception of Avril, this third-tier Magician.
“Miss Avril, you truly have piercing insight.”
Old Cat chuckled softly.
There was not the slightest hint of embarrassment at being exposed.
“Also, no need to be so polite. Just call me Old Cat.”
His eyes narrowed slightly beneath the shadow of his hat brim as he sized up Avril.
This female Magician was unfathomable.
She could casually take out large sums of gold coins to post missions.
The light magic she cast possessed astonishing power.
And she even dared to operate alone on the edge of this land of death.
If she could not even detect that he had sent someone to infiltrate, that would have been truly strange!~
Toward this kind of figure whose background was unknown yet obviously not easy to provoke.
Old Cat, like most seasoned mercenaries.
Adhered to the principle of avoiding offense whenever possible.
“Alright, Mr. Old Cat.”
Avril went along with it smoothly, her tone unchanged.
“Please hand over your intelligence. I will judge its value accordingly.”
She did not beat around the bush and went straight to the point.
Time was precious, and she had no interest in going back and forth with a mercenary leader.
Old Cat was likewise straightforward, knowing that with smart people it was best to be direct.
He put away that faint, indistinct smile, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice.
He recounted word for word the information brought back by the message bat.
Old Cat kept his tone flat, carrying a trace of professional detachment.
As if he were describing a task report unrelated to himself.
Yet Avril could still sense a ripple of emotion from his occasional pauses and the slightly tensed line of his jaw.
After all, losing a good assassin was a serious blow to any mercenary group.
Listening to Old Cat’s account.
Avril’s expression changed again and again.
Lemon Port was fraught with danger at every step, with secretions on the ground able to transmit vibrations and attract insects.
This did not surprise her much.
She had long been mentally prepared for the strangeness and difficulty of those black insects.
But… there were still living people inside the city?!
And they were living in a way that was “farmed”?!
Imagining those people struggling helplessly inside the nests, unable to live yet unable to die.
A chill mixed with fury surged to Avril’s head.
These damn insects!
What did they take humans for?
Incubators for reproduction?
Or livestock to provide nourishment?
Not even granting a swift death, instead subjecting them to prolonged torment, squeezing out the last bit of value!
“Simply unforgivable!”
Avril forced those words out through clenched teeth.
This kind of act that desecrated life and trampled on dignity.
Made her far angrier and more disgusted than mere slaughter.
This intelligence did indeed have value.
It revealed the horrifying situation inside Lemon Port and the cruel habits of the black insects.
But the most crucial point—whether high-tier undead were hidden deep within the port.
Such as that possibly existing “Rotting Lord”.
In the intelligence Dean had traded his life for, there was no clear answer.
He had only seen the insect nests and the farmed humans, and had been intercepted and killed before he could conduct deeper reconnaissance.
This left Avril somewhat disappointed.
An unknown high-tier existence was the greatest threat.
However, once Ulf delivered the Holy Light Grenades, the situation might be different.
If this new weapon truly could effectively clear out the black insects, it might tear open a breach.
Giving her a chance to personally go inside and see everything clearly!
As for those survivors inside the city…
Lord Angel’s divine oracle was very clear: act within one’s ability.
After all, even if those people were rescued, their condition would likely not be good.
Moreover, if the black insects sensed danger, they would certainly slaughter them all at once as nourishment. Safely rescuing them would be far too difficult.
“Mm, Mr. Old Cat.”
Avril raised her eyes, her gaze returning to its usual calm.
“Your intelligence is of some use to me. It confirmed the internal dangers and the plight of those pitiful people.”
“But it did not provide the core information I want most, regarding the possible existence of higher-tier undead.”
She continued, “Therefore, I am willing to spend fifty gold coins to buy this intelligence. What do you think?”
“Fifty gold coins…” Old Cat repeated softly.
The shadow beneath the hat brim made it impossible to see his eyes clearly.
This price was neither particularly high nor particularly low.
It was enough for a small mercenary group to live comfortably for a while.
But if one used this sum to measure Dean’s life, to measure the value of a good assassin…
A complex feeling welled up in Old Cat’s heart.
Was it profit, or was it loss?
For a moment, he could not quite calculate it.
Dean had been a brother he personally trained—sharp and capable, having survived countless dangers—yet he had fallen in this cursed place.
Fifty gold coins could not buy back his life, nor could they make up for the loss the Platinum Mercenary Corps suffered from losing him.
But he was, after all, Old Cat—the mercenary leader who had long been accustomed to life and death.
He merely fell silent for a few seconds, then gently exhaled, as if expelling that bit of useless emotion.
“Deal.”
Old Cat extended his gloved hand.
And took the heavy pouch of gold coins Avril handed over.
The money pouch felt icy cold in his grasp, yet inexplicably scorching hot.
The transaction completed, there was a moment of silence between the two.
Only the crackling of the campfire, and the faint clamor drifting over from the distant camp.
Sounded exceptionally clear in the night.
Avril had already begun planning in her mind how, once the Holy Light Grenades arrived.
She should make use of this group of mercenaries to the greatest extent, to test the weapon’s effectiveness and create opportunities for her next step of deeper reconnaissance.
Meanwhile, Old Cat rubbed the money pouch in his hand.
On the face hidden in shadow, only the calmness and utilitarianism belonging to a mercenary leader remained.
People died, money still had to be earned, and the group still had to be led.
This was their fate.