Chapter 52: The Shadow of Moster
Linda returned from attending to another patron and found Flynn staring off into space, his gaze unfocused and distant. She paused for a moment, studying him, then let out a tired sigh, assuming he was still brooding over what had just happened with Edruson.
"Forget about him," she said, leaning her weight against the counter, her voice edged with lingering irritation. "None of us can make sense of how a legendary hero ended up like that. A lecherous old creep who can barely hold his own anymore. Honestly, it looks like his skills have hit rock bottom."
Flynn shook his head and forced the thought aside. Edruson was strange, sure, but he had more immediate concerns to deal with. "Actually, Linda, I was hoping you could help me find someone."
Linda arched a brow, curiosity flickering across her face. "If you’re chasing rumors or looking for someone who’s gone missing, you’d have better luck at the Mercenary’s Rest or the Iron Wall Tavern. Those places are always packed, and people there talk more than they should. Still..." she tilted her head slightly, giving him a closer look, "go on. I might know something."
Flynn gave a small grin. "Ever heard of a foreman named Bass? I heard he hires lumberjacks to clear out the forests around here."
Linda’s expression shifted almost immediately, skepticism settling in. "Bass?" she repeated, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait. Don’t tell me you’re with the Department of Forestry."
Flynn blinked, caught completely off guard. The Department of Forestry? The phrase felt oddly bureaucratic for a world like this, and for a second he wasn’t sure if she was serious.
Linda chuckled at his reaction, clearly amused. "Relax, I’m kidding. If you want Bass, head out the door, take a left, then keep going north. You’ll see his face plastered all over the Bounty Board. Big beard, rough features, the kind of man some people would call rugged, if that’s your taste."
Flynn frowned slightly. "Hold on. Why is he on a bounty board? What exactly did he do?"
Linda’s tone sharpened, her earlier humor fading. "You really are new here. Bass isn’t just some foreman. He started out as a local thug, the kind that makes trouble for anyone weaker than him. Eventually, he figured out he could make better money running timber operations in the mountains. On paper, it’s all legitimate. In reality, he’s nothing but a parasite.
He pays his workers next to nothing, and if anyone pushes back..." she shrugged lightly, her expression turning cold, "they tend to disappear. Out there in the wilderness, no one asks too many questions. The Marshals never had enough proof to touch him, so he got away with it for years."
"Sounds charming," Flynn said dryly, though his interest had clearly been piqued. "So what changed? Why put a bounty on him now?"
Linda leaned forward slightly, noticing his empty glass and topping it off as she spoke, her voice lowering just a touch. "This is the interesting part. Don’t let his brute appearance fool you. Bass is smarter than he looks. Turns out he’s been under the protection of someone important all this time. High up. But something went wrong between them. Nobody knows the details, but once that protection disappeared, everything fell apart. Evidence started surfacing, one piece after another. The Marshals finally had enough to move in."
She paused, then let out a small, almost impressed breath. "But Bass didn’t wait around to be caught. He cleared out everything he owned and vanished before they even reached his estate. Not a single coin left behind."
Flynn nodded slowly, piecing it together. "So now there’s a bounty on him. How long has he been hiding?"
"Two, maybe three years," Linda replied. "But he can’t have gone far. The checkpoints between the major cities are tight. No way he slipped through unnoticed. He’s still somewhere within Moster’s territory, lying low and waiting for things to cool off."
There was a faint trace of satisfaction in her voice, as if she took some pleasure in his current predicament.
Flynn felt a quiet frustration settle in. If he couldn’t find Bass, then tracking down John would be impossible. And without John, the thirty pouches of Silver Dust sitting in his inventory were useless. The Elder’s quest would remain unfinished.
A few minutes passed before a Rogue approached the counter and handed Linda a small metallic object. She examined it briefly, then slid it across to Flynn with a look that mixed resignation and mild annoyance.
"Another one," she muttered. "The number of medals that old creep Edruson has been handing out lately is probably more than what we’ve issued in the past decade."
Flynn picked it up, turning it between his fingers.
—
Elite Rogue Medallion (Bronze Grade)
Attributes: +10 Agility, +1% Attack Power
Description: Awarded by the Rogue Guild to members who have provided exceptional service. Grants a 5% discount on all Guild services. Must be equipped to take effect.
—
"Not bad," Flynn said, studying it with interest. "So I just pin this on?"
"That’s right. It won’t do anything sitting in your bag," Linda replied. "And don’t worry about stacking them. They’re not unique. You can wear as many as you earn. No magical interference or anything like that."
Flynn pictured himself covered in medals like some overdecorated general and had to suppress a laugh. "Good to know. And if you hear anything about Bass, let me know."
"Of course," Linda said easily, though her tone shifted a little. "But you’ll have to do something for us in return."
Flynn raised an eyebrow. "What do you need?"
She tapped her fingers lightly against the wooden counter, her expression turning more businesslike. "With all these adventurers flooding into the city lately, the Guild is running low on equipment. If you bring us gear, we’ll reward you with Guild Points."
"Points?" Flynn leaned in slightly. "How does that work?"
A sly, almost fox-like smile spread across Linda’s face. "They’re more valuable than gold, if you know how to use them. You can exchange them for specialized Rogue equipment, rare skill books, or various consumables. And if you save up enough, you can even hire some of our best operatives for certain jobs. It’s a pretty good deal."
Flynn nodded, though his expression remained cautious. "Sounds useful. But I’ll need to see the rates first. I’m not getting ripped off."
"You earn points either by donating equipment or completing Guild contracts," Linda explained. "For example, rescuing Edruson from the Ceylan Ruins earned you a hundred points. As for what those points can get you... take a look."
She slid a ledger across the counter. Flynn opened it and began flipping through the pages. The catalog listed equipment ranging from Bronze to Silver, all the way up to Gold-grade items. The prices, however, were steep.
A Level 16 Bronze item cost around 30 points. Silver gear was three to four times higher. At the very end, his eyes landed on a Level 23 Gold-grade dagger: The Blood-Stained Fang, priced at 850 points.
"Eight hundred fifty... that’s not too bad," Flynn murmured. Since his first hundred points had come so easily, he assumed reaching that amount again wouldn’t be too difficult by the time he hit Level 23.
Without hesitating, he reached into his pack and placed several Bronze-grade items onto the counter. "Alright, let’s see what these are worth."
Linda picked up a piece of Paladin plate armor and examined it carefully. "Level 17, decent quality, a couple of minor enchantments... I’ll give you three points."
"Three?" Flynn stared at her in disbelief. "You’re selling Level 16 gear for thirty points, but you’re only buying it for three? That’s a tenfold markup. You’re basically robbing me."
Linda shrugged, completely unfazed. "You can always earn points through contracts. We keep the exchange rates low to prevent point inflation. It’s just how the system works."
"It’s how you make a killing," Flynn muttered under his breath. He remembered Amy mentioning how valuable gear was right now. A Level 15 Green-grade item could fetch twenty or thirty gold on the open market, yet here it was practically worthless.
Linda smiled brightly, clearly unconcerned. "Don’t think of it that way. We’re offering convenience. You get training, equipment, and opportunities. Everyone benefits."
Flynn shook his head but said nothing, flipping through the ledger again. Then something caught his attention. He paused, tapping a finger lightly against the page before looking up at her.
"Linda... there’s something that doesn’t quite add up."
Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Oh? And what would that be?"
"You only sell Rogue gear," Flynn said, tapping the ledger again. "But you’re buying equipment from every class. So where does everything else go?"
He watched her closely, curious to see how she would respond.
For a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes. Then her composure returned, replaced by a look of mild offense. "We have agreements with the other Guilds," she said evenly. "We exchange equipment of equal value. They run similar point systems, so it works out. That’s how we maintain our supply of specialized gear."
She crossed her arms lightly, clearly putting on a show of indignation. "What, did you think we were just hoarding everything for ourselves?"
Flynn laughed and raised his hands slightly. "Hey, I didn’t say that."
But he had seen it, just for a second. That flicker of unease before she recovered. She was definitely hiding something. Maybe those agreements existed, maybe they didn’t, but he was willing to bet the Guild was skimming far more than it let on.
Still, it served as a useful reminder. The people here weren’t just static NPCs. They had their own motives, their own flaws, and their own secrets. Treating them like simple quest dispensers would be a mistake.
After leaving the Guild hall, Flynn found himself wandering without a clear direction. Chad had already told him to hold off on grinding until later so they could chase some "Glorious Achievements" together, which meant another dungeon run was off the table for now.
He checked his inventory instead. His supply of bombs was running low, and he was nearly out of ore.
’Might as well gather some more.’
The nearest mines lay about twenty miles south of Moster. On foot, it would take close to two hours, but the city’s carriage service could get him there much faster, provided he was willing to pay.
Flynn handed over five silver coins and climbed into the back of a coach. The carriage lurched forward soon after, rolling away from the city gates.
Not long after he left, a young man stepped out from the shadows of a nearby alley. He moved quietly, approaching the stable master with practiced ease. After tossing him two silver coins, he spoke in a low voice.
"The Rogue who just left. Where’s he headed?"
The portly stable master pocketed the coins with a greasy smile. "South gate," he said without hesitation. "Black-Iron Mount."