C164: T-03-083: The Golden Contract and T-04-112-004: Coin of Fortune
"Quite terrifying, would you not agree?"
The Golden Trader crouched down before the pile of smouldering ash that had once been the proud and fearsome Danz Johnson.
With a casual sweep of his gloved hand, he brushed the ash aside. The grey-black powder lifted into the air like smoke, drifting around his gloves and sleeves before scattering. His lips curled upward as something soft and round pressed against his hand.
"How sweet. He has left his finest part behind for me."
The Golden Trader picked it up. It was the remaining eyeball, which was still intact. Its surface was slick and glossy, with veins visible beneath the wet white surface. The crimson pupil continued to pulse with residual heat, as if the rage within it had not yet fully died.
Without hesitation, he flicked his wrist and tossed it toward Roson.
“Tch. I lost.”
Roson caught the eyeball deftly, grimacing as she felt its warmth against her palm. She dropped it into another glass jar of clear preservative, identical to the one Rosen had carried earlier, before handing the sealed vessel back to the Trader.
Half of her long black hair had been burned away, the remaining strands hanging uneven and brittle, clumped together by dried blood. One of her eyes had swollen shut, dry blood seeping through her lashes, and her once-pristine white attire was scorched, its fabric hanging loose and tattered from her shoulders in blackened ribbons.
"Haha! Two Alan coins, was it not?" The Golden Trader stood up and nudged Roson’s arm with playful familiarity.
"Ouch." Roson shot him a tired, irritated glare.
"What did I tell you?" the Trader laughed, spreading his hands wide. "It is my lucky day. Acquiring a Foundation-stage characteristic from a Gladiator is a stroke of great fortune."
Roson raised her eyebrows and glanced down at the spot where Danz had vanished, where only scorched earth, drifting smoke, and a bitter smell of burned flesh remained.
“You used the lucky coin,” she stated flatly.
With a swift motion, Roson slipped her hand into the Trader's leather pouch and pulled out a small, ordinary-looking coin.
The coin had a dull brown colour, glinting in the weak afternoon light. On its surface, an eight-like symbol was etched, accompanied by a small clover leaf.
[T-04-112-004 Cursed Artifact: Coin of Fortune]
Roson frowned as she clicked the coin in her hand.
"Is this the reason you chose not to kill him directly, but to seize his mundane eye instead?"
“There is a fair chance that my ability would fail if I directly issued his death on the spot, due to his Path and his powerful will.”
The Trader shrugged his shoulders.
"And I did not employ it to improve my fortune. I am not that reckless. I only used it to ascertain whether luck would favor my endeavor. The future does not simply change because one becomes aware of being fortunate, does it?"
The Trader stroked the pristine white sheet of shimmering paper, now completely empty of all inscription, its golden glow fully faded. He carefully rolled it up into a tight cylinder and slipped it back into his pouch.
He then pointed his finger at Roson.
“That is what you two are compensated for.”
Roson’s eyes twisted.
"You are merely obsessed with his unusual, scarred eye."
“...”
“What a freakish hobby.”
The Trader offered no verbal reply, only favoring her with a smile.
“A bet is a bet,” Roson sighed. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out two gleaming golden Alan coins, and placed them into the Trader’s hand.
In exchange, the Trader produced two small yellow vials from his pouch and tossed one to Roson and one to Rosen.
Rosen uncorked his vial and drank the contents without a moment's hesitation.
Slowly, before their eyes, Rosen’s fractured arm realigned itself, the bone settling back into its proper place as the flesh knitted clean. The ugly puncture wound in his stomach sealed shut, the skin closing over the injury and leaving behind only a pink scar.
As for Roson, she looked down at the vial and eyed it skeptically.
She shook her head before depositing it into her coat. Then, she reached into another pocket, produced a small bottle of dark red liquid, and drank from that instead.
Roson's ears slowly ceased their persistent ringing, and the blistered patches of burned skin across her face and arms gradually regained their pale coloration.
"My thanks."
The Trader glanced at the glass jar in his hand, watching the preserved eyeball drift lazily in its viscous bath, and pondered aloud.
"Would one hundred Alan coins constitute a fair price for such a specimen?"
"I should say two hundred and fifty is more the ideal figure," Roson replied.
Rosen retrieved a black cloak trimmed with golden frays and intricate patterns from his pack. He stepped forward and draped it carefully over Roson’s shoulders, hiding the still-scorched, tattered remnants of her form from view.
"My thanks, brother."
Rosen nodded once in acknowledgment. He turned his gaze toward the barn, which was now utterly and irreparably destroyed.
It had been burned to the ground, its walls collapsed inward, its support beams reduced to charred, skeletal husks that jutted from the earth like blackened ribs. Blackened marks scarred the surrounding soil in concentric rings, and acrid smoke billowed upward into the afternoon sky in twisting columns, carrying the bitter smell of ash.
The Golden Trader followed Rosen's gaze toward the smoking ruins of the barn, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his cracked lenses as he took in the lingering heat distortions rippling through the air above the wreckage.
“You erected the barrier, did you not?” he asked calmly.
"I did," Rosen replied in a low voice. In stark contrast to the boisterous, provocative persona he had displayed during the engagement with Danz, he was now much more reserved, almost silent.
"Good." The Trader nodded, tucking his cracked pince-nez glasses into his leather pouch. "It would prove rather inconvenient if anyone were to take notice of this... unsightly affair before our departure."
He turned, surveying their surroundings.
Dozens of men, ranging from ordinary thugs to Entry-stage Stagefarers, lay scattered about the grounds in various postures of unconscious defeat. Some sprawled face-first in the dirt, while others slumped against broken crates or fallen beams.
A few had already begun to stir, only to freeze again under Roson’s glare.
A rare handful of Apprentice-stage members remained conscious throughout the carnage, including Loyal and several of Danz's personal underlings.
However, having witnessed the power unleashed a moment ago, there remained no courage left in them to resist. Not in their current, depleted state.
"What of the rats that escaped our net, Customer?" Roson asked casually, her fingers busy counting the coins in her pouch.
"How many were there, would you estimate?"
"Nine, by my count."
The Trader rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes half-lidded in contemplation.
"I would like to say leave them be, but..."
He turned his gaze toward Roson's side, his expression hardening.
"That Deceiver must be disposed of. If I leave him to his own devices, who knows how troublesome that one might become in the days ahead."
"Understood," Roson replied without question. She, too, harbored a personal score to settle with that man.
The Trader plucked the dull brown coin from his pouch once more.
The Coin of Fortune still had two uses left.
He flicked it high into the sky with a snap of his thumb.
The coin tumbled end over end, catching the dying light as it spun.
When it finally descended and landed in his open palm...
"..."
It had landed upon the back side.
"Unlucky. Ominous. Certain death."
The Golden Trader narrowed his eyes. The coin had issued its warning. Roson's endeavor would be marked by misfortune.
"Watch from a distance first, and proceed with extreme caution. That Deceiver must have more to him than meets the eye."
"..." Roson's eyes twitched with poorly concealed annoyance at the pronouncement, but she nodded in acceptance nonetheless.
"What of these men?" Rosen raised his voice slightly, gesturing broadly toward the unconscious bodies littering the ground.
"Bring them along with us. They shall fetch a reasonable price from the Dispute Order," the Trader said flatly, his voice carrying the casual detachment of a merchant discussing a shipment of grain. "Kill any who resist."
Roson nodded, her violet eyes gleaming.
"[Submit]."
At her command, the unconscious men slowly rose to their feet, their eyes now fogged with a faint, luminous violet hue.
"Grrr."
As the three of them crossed beyond the boundaries of the abandoned barn's region, all three figures suddenly stiffened in unison. At the same moment, they stumbled and crouched, clutching their heads as a wave of disorientation crashed over them.
"Ugh..."
"I have still not grown accustomed to this sensation," Rosen muttered through clenched teeth, his face pale.
They all turned to look back in the direction of the barn.
In their collective gaze, where the burning structure had once stood, there lay now only a peaceful, undisturbed open field.
There was no trace of the burned-down barn, nor any smoke rising into the sky. The ruins had simply... vanished.
"When does the barrier's effect expire?" the Trader asked, eyeing the empty field with an impassive gaze.
"Tomorrow," Rosen replied curtly.
The Trader nodded. He looked back at his two underlings and smiled, a genuine expression of warmth that seemed entirely at odds with the cold-blooded merchant they had witnessed moments before.
"It is time for us to part ways. Miss and Mister Rowan, pray convey the merchandise back to our campsite."
“Returning to be a doting papa?” Roson smirked, planting her hands upon her hips.
The Trader offered only an enigmatic smile in response. He tucked the golden chain necklace with its square pendant into the leather pouch and turned away without another word, walking alone toward the village path.
"Be careful, sis." Rosen moved his head in a gesture of farewell, before urging the men forward with a wave of his hand.
Roson nodded. Her eyes flared brilliant violet once more as she issued commands, compelling the shambling men to walk deeper into the forest, heading north, before she herself returned to the village.