Chapter 5—Deal

After satisfying the goblin’s inquiries, Marco replayed the footage one last time before the memory overwrote itself. There wasn't much to see. Their talk, if you could call it that, didn’t go quite as he’d hoped.

He continued working, supported by potions, until his chip reminded him it was noon. Usually, he would set out to a scrapyard by now, but he decided against it. The place still looked the same as before, drowning in junk. Behind him, a chest spilled over with dismantled materials. Soon, he might have enough for another forging, or craft a few more turrets. He’d yet decided which, when he heard someone knocking on the door. The rhythm told him it wasn’t a customer.

The goblin noticed it as well. One of his few talents, maybe his only. His armor rattled as he jumped up the stairs without his helmet, taking only a slight bump against the head, and needing only half an eternity until he thought of the key around his neck. Nyle was probably waiting on the outside, patient until the goblin would figure it out himself.

“Hey there, little guy!” Nyle’s voice drifted down in tune with the goblin’s gleeful giggling. Together they walked down the stairs while the green blur jumped circles around him, causing a ruckus. Goblin-proofed spaced; a close second to his most brilliant ideas. The fellow didn’t look like it, but he could trample his items and turrets to smithereens, if he wasn’t careful, which he was rarely.

A sudden fit of coughs from Nyle cut their frolicking short, causing Marco to look up from his work. Steam from cooling metal and dark smoke had gathered in the ceiling like clouds as his ventilation system had trouble keeping up.

“Been busy, Marco?” He smiled at him from the other room. Nyle wore a long-sleeved shirt under his grey coat that scraped the floor. His pair of pants was stitched together by a bunch of patches that had been poorly tinged in grey. He'd combed his black hair back, but it refused to yield for long. A three-day stubble covered his always-grinning face while his child-like eyes resembled the goblin’s a lot when he was smiling.

Nyle turned his attention towards the green bundle of energy, who was pulling at his sleeves, and took out a half-broken comb from his backpack. He explained to him what humans used it for, and gave a demonstration before putting it into the tiny, shaking pair of hands. The goblin exploded in delight, immediately mimicking his earlier motions along his own bald head.

“You could say so.” Marco said, looking at the fumes. He considered whether spending any more time on dismantling would turn into a health hazard when Nyle walked over to clasp his hand in greeting.

“Gob said you came by yesterday.” Marco made sure the goblin was out of earshot. He would only call him that when the bugger wasn’t around. Otherwise, he might think he’d named him, and that was the kind of trouble he sure as hell didn’t want.

“What gives?”

“Can’t I just drop by to see how you’re doing?” Nyle said, trying to make himself comfortable on a junk pile. “Have some food. I bet you haven’t eaten anything in a while.”

He handed him a few tins containing a sludge that tasted as bland as it looked gruesome, together with two loaves of bread. Marco wolfed them down before rinsing his mouth with a bottle of water, adding a few nutrition pills for dessert. While he was eating, Nyle was talking about what had happened outside.

“District D is a complete war zone. Rumors claim Holden got his hands on the natural-grade item before his barrier gave out, but that didn’t discourage the smaller guilds from banding together and causing some havoc. The smarter residents are fleeing to the other districts, but as you’d expect, ‘C’ is most unpopular.”

“Wussies.” He wiped his mouth after emptying the water. “What problem is a little smell?”

“Easy to say with your ventilation system; lacking as it may be, it keeps the sewage stench out.” Nyle laughed, but his smile broke down quickly. “It’s always a struggle to come to your place...”

“Really? I don’t think I even notice it anymore. You get used to it.”

“Sure, whatever you say... Anyway, I doubt the incident will calm down soon. The wars for homes will increase all districts, though you won’t have to worry about that. What you should worry about...”

“...is the decline in cloth and leather materials.” Marco rested his chin on his hand. The fighting made it almost impossible to enter Scrapyard D without getting involved in it, effectively restricting access to it. This reduced the flow of materials, which dropped most, or only, in that scrapyard.

“Good thing I’ll be set for a while.” He thought aloud, tapping his finger on the workbench. “Maybe long enough until this storm blows over, and maybe enough to make a killing. But it’s never that simple, is it? Have you heard nothing about the other district leaders?”

Nyle shook his head with a frown. “Nothing. Zero. Only some of their underlings have been seen making a move. It makes you wonder whether the last time was all just a fever dream. And that was for a bunch of rare-grade items back then. This time, Holden just went and... took it. If rumors are to be believed. The alliance of smaller guilds doesn’t actually stand a chance, and the fighting has likely already lost its original purpose, becoming a pretense. Everything’s a mess, really, and speaking of mess, I have to go fix my own.”

“Did something happen? How’s the guild doing?”

“I'll tell you next time.” Nyle said with a sigh and raised himself up, strapping his backpack on. “I’m not sure if it's a mess yet. Probably nothing serious. I was just in the vicinity yesterday and realized we haven’t met face to face for some time, so I wanted to drop by. Always messaging, don’t you think that’s a little depressing? What would I do without seeing your handsome little face at least once a month? Not laugh and be sad, that’s what.”

“...Nyle don’t hide things from me.”

“I'm not.” He said, but he avoided looking into his eyes. “We'll talk, if it becomes something worth mentioning. Neither of us enjoys wasting time, right?”

The words lingered in the room until Gob's voice broke the silence from afar. “You’re going already?”

“Sorry, Go-... guy. Sorry, little guy.” Marco watched them, his grimace turning into a faint grin. Come on, slip up. “I’ll come back again soon. Until then, take care, my favorite green friend.”

“Aww...” His ears slouched down. “Goodbye, Nyle... Oh, and here.”

He stretched out both of his hands, holding the broken comb for Nyle to take it back. The latter smiled, waving it off with his hand.

“Keep it, this time.”

Gob drew a deep breath, his eyes shining as his ears shot up like antennas. He’d never gotten anything from Nyle before without him demanding it back because he claimed to not want to spoil the green brat.

“What do you say?” Marco reminded him, pulling his head back to reality.

“Thank you, Nyle! Treas-, treasure! I will treasure it!”

The goblin escorted him out, even remembering to lock the door before stumbling down the stairs. Maybe he should reward him more often. He played with the comb, giggling to himself like a little girl while scraping his scalp. Marco watched him for a while before returning to his work to find out just how bad of a health hazard he could really cause.

It turned out, a horrendous one. Gob and Marco both ran out of the hideout in a coughing fit after he’d been multitasking a batch of molten metal. In the middle of it, his potion had run out. Clouds of smoke and steams chased after them, escaping into the sky. Out in the open, they breathed in the fresh air before choking on the not-so-fresh stench. Getting used to it, my ass! What he'd give to move his hideout elsewhere.

The accident wasn’t particularly dangerous. In theory, of course. His workshop was fireproof, and his flammable materials away from his forge. The fumes had mixed into a thick grey mist of water vapor and smoke, so he overclocked his ventilation system through his chip. That should make the place breathable again within a few minutes.

Marco slumped to the ground with his fatigue returning worse than ever. He hadn’t slept at all, and without realizing it, night had fallen again. Dismantling always helped him take his mind off things. For better or worse, it seemed, since he’d even forgotten to ask Nyle to deliver him more potions. What he'd said left him worried, though he knew if it was serious, Nyle would tell him immediately. The matter of the natural-grade item hadn't completely left his thoughts yet either, sticking to him like gooey snot. It was always dreams that died last.

He tried to walk off his sleepiness and bothersome thoughts when he caught a glimpse of someone at the wall right opposite to the entrance of his hideout.

“Have you been waiting there the entire time?" He asked. "How did-, nevermind.” Of course, Nyle wouldn’t notice her if he barely did. Jeanne didn’t give him an answer. She looked somewhat better than last time, but it was a sham. Empty vials scattered around her like bread crumps, but their contents had done little to ease her underlying symptoms, only delaying and worsening them. Didn’t she learn from yesterday?

Her eyes still had trouble focusing, and they were blood-shot from irritation, as were their rims. She slouched against the wall with her legs stretched out and her arms falling to her sides like a puppet’s. She put her head back, looking upwards, when she noticed him. He was only worth a quick glance from her, and she returned her gaze to the sky above.

“What have you been doing, not leaving for an entire day?” She mumbled, more to herself than to him, and he thought he heard a sniff.

“Dismantling.” Marco walked towards her and crouched down. “Hey, mind if I borrow one of those?”

He pointed to the empty vials.

“...For ten natural-grade pellets.”

“Here’s five refined iron pellets and some extra.” He grabbed them from his pouch. “That’s above market price.”

She still didn’t look at him when she reached under her cloak, throwing him a vial. The pellets had already disappeared from his hand when he caught and drank it.

Greater Potion of Concentration consumed

Fatigue reduced for 2h.

Recent usage detected in host system. Diminishing return.

Concentration increased.

Status Effect: Exhaustion [Lv. 12] removed [temporary]

“That’s one problem postponed.” His exhaustion had risen to Level 12, but he'd felt little of the ‘impediment to his mental faculties’, aside from usual tiredness. Safety warnings were always exaggerating, no matter where, but he doubted that was the case for the girl in front of him. It seemed like they had been made with her kind in mind, only to fall on deaf ears.

“Now,” he said, sitting down next to her, “if you’ve calmed down enough, I'm willing to talk about your problem. Someone stole an item of yours, right?”

“What’s the point?” Her scoff was empty, and her voice a whisper. “I know you don’t have it. I knew it when I saw you again, but I... Sorry for what happened. Please, just forget about it and leave me alone.”

There was no intention of her to leave herself. She downed two more potions, letting the vials roll out of her hand as she stared at the glimmers above as if she could find what she was looking for among them.

“What if I can find it?”

“How?” Her voice lacked expectation, but he caught the movement of her eyes.

“You leave that up to me. I can locate the item, but I won’t help you get it back. As long as someone has stolen it, I will find it. Guaranteed.”

“Bullshit. And why would you even help me?” She sounded almost offended, as if he was making fun of her.

“I’ll take it as a job, of course. I’m not offering a free lunch here.”

She sneered, but his words had eased the tension in her eyes when she turned her head towards him. “What do you want? Even if I offer you all the money I have, it won’t be enough.”

“I’d expect that much. A rare item, and a necklace, no less. If I liquified all of my assets, I might afford one; if there would be anyone willing to sell.”

“If you're just mocking me, then-”

“Pay up front all that you have. And pay the rest later by working for me. Do you understand? What I want from you is you being in my debt.”

“You want a slave?” She sounded disgusted, but also as if she’d expected something along those lines. Interesting enough, she didn’t outright refute him as her eyes wandered, considering the notion.

“Don’t put it like that. I want to hire you.”

“Great difference.”

“Fine. You don’t like pretty words?” Marco shrugged. “I’ll give it to you straight, then. We’ve just met. We don’t know each other, and I don’t expect any trust between us. I mean, you broke into my house.”

She rolled her eyes as if telling him not to make a fuss about such a small thing.

“But I’m offering you a chance, possibly your only one. What's in it for me? I believe I can find great use for your skills. You can agree to my deal, believing in my intentions or not, or you can find another way. Or give up on it. It’s just one necklace; just one rare-grade item. You seem to have enough of those already. But, if you agree to my terms, I won’t renege on my part of the deal as long as you won’t."

Jeanne was silent. She looked like he'd punched her in the gut as she weighed her options, but his words had hit home. This necklace was worth quite a lot to her. He’d already thought so, after her outburst in his hideout, and now he was even more certain. She didn't even need any more convincing from the looks of it. Maybe she was just that desperate.

“You will find my necklace, and I’ll work for you.” She nodded to herself. “I can live with that.”

“Great!” He stood up and stretched out his hand, which she grasped after a brief hesitation. Marco felt the extravagant, black-tinged silk of her gloves as he helped her up, putting his thoughts on a scale.

What kind of risk was he taking here? A calculated one, he told himself, but was there ever a way to know, really?