Monster Hunter
1284 Words
“Gisai people inflate their prices far too much; they treat me like a pig to be slaughtered,” Geralt’s words echoed in his mind.
Klaun fixed his gaze on Leymanski. “Is this truly a fair price for someone wishing to conduct honest business?”
Unfazed, the old man replied, “What price do you wish to propose?”
“For black rat tail, I offer 50 silver coins per stalk; as for the blue tulip petals, 15 silver coins per gram.”
Leymanski emitted a strange grunt, his smile devoid of warmth. “You must have conferred with Geralt, haven’t you?”
Recently, the only buyer from the caravan seeking extraordinary materials was a certain Geralt, a man with white hair and a prominent scar, a figure etched in Klaun’s memory.
However, the real value lay in refining potions into extraordinary elixirs. The Gisai community had its own alchemists, and the prices Leymanski quoted were calculated based on a 20% yield from the alchemical process—indeed, somewhat steep.
“If you’re earnest, I’ll sell you black rat tail for 1 gold shield and 50 silver coins, while the petals will be 35 silver coins per gram.”
Lacking familiarity with the arcane circles, Klaun couldn't discern how much of Leymanski’s pricing was inflated, but he sought to probe indirectly. “What would you offer for the Blood Boil Elixir if I were to sell it?”
Leymanski responded coldly, “Five gold shields per vial, fair and square—no limits on quantity!”
Calculating swiftly in his mind, Klaun frowned. “According to your prices, the materials for a single Blood Boil Elixir would cost at least two gold shields. With a purchase price of only five gold shields, that implies I would need a success rate exceeding 40% to avoid losing money. I cannot believe any herbalist could achieve such a rate with potions.”
Indeed, Klaun’s own success rate for crafting ordinary potions was an anomaly, an outcome of his unique circumstances.
He recalled that during his father’s lifetime, the highest success rate for potion-making barely reached 50%, a result earned through over a decade of experience.
Even with that success, old Moa took great pride in considering himself exceptionally gifted among herbalists.
By that logic, it would be fair to assume that other herbalists could also reach a 50% success rate for extraordinary potions, which would yield a mere 10% profit.
Herbalism was a lucrative profession, and such profit margins hardly justified the effort!
“Why not look to the long term? If you secure a steady sales channel and I can provide a reliable supply, wouldn’t that be mutually beneficial? The elixirs I can produce are far from the limit of my abilities; the only reason I haven’t brought the Blood Boil Elixir to trade is that I currently lack the materials.”
Unfazed by the skeptical and scrutinizing gazes directed at him, Klaun remained composed.
“Give me a moment, and I’ll prove this to be true.
“Business relies on trade and effort, but a wise investment can yield countless returns. A talented herbalist could be secured for merely a few dozen gold shields, granting you friendship and a reliable supply chain.”
Strangely, Klaun felt the gilded walls should possess a skill for deception or manipulation.
Leymanski regarded the confidently radiant young man across from him, his right thumb absently rubbing against his index finger—a habitual gesture he employed when faced with significant decisions.
While a sum of several dozen gold shields was substantial, he could easily manage it. What he couldn’t tolerate was being tricked into relinquishing a batch of materials at a bargain price.
That would be an affront to his intelligence!
The old man clenched his teeth. “Black rat tail at 50 silver coins per stalk, blue tulip petals at 15 silver coins per gram. I’ll offer you ten stalks. If you can deliver a vial of Blood Boil Elixir within two days, I’ll provide materials at that price going forward. We can finalize the transaction when you return tomorrow. Should you fail to produce the elixir… well, you’ll find yourself on our Gisai caravan’s blacklist.”
“Snap!” Klaun snapped his fingers. “A wise choice; you will come to appreciate this decision. Now, could you fetch me a pocket watch? Just a simple one—I only need it for keeping time.”
Leymanski called out in Gisai, prompting a young man to rise, lamp in hand, and step outside.
Moments later, the young man returned with an antiquated box, handing it to Leymanski.
Opening the box, the old man revealed a brass-cased pocket watch. “One gold shield. Affordable, practical, and respectable.”
Klaun took the watch, examining it; the cover bore a pattern of clover leaves and was adorned with a slender silver chain.
“No bargaining,” Leymanski interjected abruptly.
With a light chuckle, Klaun produced a gold shield. “To a fruitful collaboration. See you tomorrow.”
...
As Klaun exited the courtyard, he noticed Geralt sitting quietly, his gaze distant and melancholic, lost in thought.
He seemed completely out of place in this lively environment.
The boy nearby was skillfully handling a dagger, his movements graceful and swift, dazzling to behold.
“Old Jayson, is the roasted leg of lamb ready? If so, bring it out!” Klaun called out.
“Almost there, just a moment!”
“Did the negotiations go well?” Geralt inquired, snapping back to reality.
“Indeed! I found Leymanski to be quite reasonable; he agreed to sell me ten stalks of black rat tail for 50 silver coins each.”
“Brother, how did you manage that?”
Allen’s eyes widened in astonishment. In his experience, Gisai elders were notoriously unyielding, selling materials at inflated prices without room for negotiation.
Klaun teased, “Perhaps I simply possess an exceptional charm.”
Pausing, he asked, “Would you mind sharing what you intend to do with the rat tails? If it involves potion-making, I might be able to assist.”
The boy’s gaze shifted to the white-haired man.
Geralt sat up straight, his expression serious. “Allow me to introduce myself properly: I am Geralt Kent, and this is my student, Allen Berwa. We are monster hunters.”
“Upon passing through the town, we learned of a lurking malevolent spirit. I spoke with the priest and the captain of the patrol. If I can capture the spirit, they are willing to offer a reward. We plan to stay here for a while.”
“The purchase of black rat tails relates to our unique combat methods; we use them to create a special sword oil for hunters.”
Allen felt a twinge of anxiety, worried that this kind-hearted elder might be reluctant to befriend them.
If that were the case, he’d miss out on the roasted leg of lamb!
In the circles of mystics, monster hunters had a poor reputation, having originally been created by sorcerers as combat machines to counter the rampant monsters.
After intense training, sorcerers injected children with mutagenic substances; only those who survived the agonizing transformations without succumbing to madness could become true hunters.
As a result of their extreme suffering, most of the original monster hunters were cold, cruel, and bloodthirsty, with some becoming butchers of humanity in the endless cycle of s*******r.
Though the methods for training hunters had improved, their emotional detachment and susceptibility to madness remained significant issues, and the public’s perception of this profession battling evil creatures was hard to change.
Most of the uninformed populace still harbored fear and disdain for monster hunters.
- Writer
