“Welcome. What might we help you with today?” His voice rang much brighter than the dim room in which we stood. Weighing scales of varying sizes were arranged all around in an almost Middle Eastern design. A brawny, bodyguard-type man wielding a large sword stood next to the shopkeeper at the counter. As soon as I entered the store, the man who had been lurking in the shadows by the entrance positioned himself behind me.
Guess it’s better safe than sorry when you’re dealing dangerous sums of cash.
“I’d like to change these into the local currency,” I announced, placing gold bars on the counter. They’d been packed in a container to help with garnering initial funds. Only three damaged bars and half of a whole one had made it.
“One moment, please.” The shopkeeper wiped the bars down with a cloth and ran his eyes along every inch of them from several angles. “Sir, it appears the stamps on these have been filed down.”
“They slipped and fell from my hands. It was an accident.”
“Ha-ha-ha, well, let’s leave it at that,” replied the shopkeeper with a pointed grin. He placed the bars on one half of a scale, then filled bags on the opposite half with sand. Once they balanced out, he moved the bags to another scale and weighed these against round pieces of metal. “It amounts to forty gold and eight silver pieces,” he announced. “That’s a fair appraisal based on the rigorous standards of the Zavah Night Owl Trade Group. Would you like to have these evaluated at another location as well?” That came to five gold pieces more than Machina’s estimate.
“No, that’s fine. I’d also like to break some of that into smaller pieces if you could.”
“Of course, not a problem.”
Unless there had been some extreme fluctuations in the market, ten copper pieces should have been worth one silver, and ten silver pieces worth one gold piece. “I’ll take fifty pieces of copper and silver.”
“If I may, we also handle Mythlanic gold,” suggested the shopkeeper.
“Myth-what?” I repeated, not really understanding what he’d said.
“Are you perhaps from a different continent?” he asked.
“No, I’m from another dimension.”
I’d let the cat out of the bag yet again.
“I see. No wonder. I had thought the fabric of your cloak looked rather unfamiliar,” he remarked, his eyes fixed on my poncho.
“Ha-ha-ha.” I laughed it off and forced a polite smile.
“My apologies. Mythlanic gold pieces were once used as common currency among the three countries that controlled this region at the time. These historical coins are enriched with magic, albeit trace amounts. We no longer possess the technology to manufacture them. They’re rare and valuable. The current rate is twenty gold for one piece.”
“No thanks, I’ll pass.” Stocks and futures trading were a bit much for me.
“Very well. Your coins, sir.” The shopkeeper took three leather bags from a worker in the back of the shop. “Fifty copper, fifty-three silver, and thirty-five gold pieces, if you would please confirm.”
“Thank you.” Tedious as it was, I got to work lining up the coins in rows of ten to double-check.
“Are we in agreement?” he asked.
“All in order.” It was all there.
“Our fee comes to one silver piece.” I took two silver from the leather bag and placed them on the counter.
“Thank you kindly. Our trade group offers all manner of wares essential for the prepared adventurer. I do hope you’ll have a look around our flagship store down the main street from the First Gate.”
“How did you know I was an adventurer?” I asked.
“This is an adventurer’s town; nobody but adventurers and those who seek their fortune serving them live here,” he replied.
There was at least one of those men right here, shriveling before me, very much not in the dungeon. I put a few coins in my pockets and the rest in my backpack.
“I pray you’ll forgive another impertinent question, sir,” began the shopkeeper as I fixed the straps on my shoulders, “but is that perchance a gun?”
“……” It’d been one surprise after another since I came here, but this made me break out in a cold sweat. Nobody had warned me about this. Did people here understand the value of a gun?
“Uhhh, well,” I hemmed. It would’ve been easy to refuse to answer outright, but information was a thousand times more valuable here. I chose my next words carefully. “You surprised me. You have them in this country, too?”
“Yes, we have dwarf-crafted models, most recently used to great effect not long ago in the war against the elves.” I grimaced at the word war. Please don’t let any more of those break out while I’m here.
“If you don’t mind, could you show me one of the models used in these parts?” I asked.
“Of course, gladly,” he responded, then shouted “Hey!” to call someone in the back and order him to bring over a gun.
It was a long-barreled musket, as large as a spear, decked out along the sides with a golden carving of a human holding a lance who was stabbing an elf to death. It had a loose trigger, something I assumed was a flashpan made out of a gemstone-like material, and still smelled strongly of smoke, probably black powder. Technologically speaking, it seemed to be on par with sixteenth-century flintlock muskets.
“What would you say to twenty gold pieces? This one has a long and storied past. I imagine it will only continue to increase in value. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“No, I’m good.”
“A pity. Well.” Out of things to do, the shop owner smiled. I interpreted that as, I showed you mine. Now it’s your turn, right? Making sure no one saw, I removed the AK-47’s magazine, slipped the strap off my shoulder, and handed him the rifle. The shopkeeper used a cloth to receive the gun (out of what I guessed were merchant’s manners) and took a careful look at every nook and cranny.
“A rather rustic specimen, isn’t it?” he remarked. “Not a hint of embellishment anywhere. The wood is nothing remarkable, though the metal weighs very little for steel. It seems to have quite a number of parts.”
“Are those local guns widely used among adventurers?”
“Two years ago, an adventurer shot his gun while in the dungeon, and the blast of gunpowder drew every single monster on that floor to him. My word, did the Guild have their work cut out for them. A whole team had to come together to clean up that mess.”
I need to check if I have a silencer once I get back to camp. All the strategies the Firm laid out for me will be useless if I can’t rely on my guns in the dungeon.
“Hmm, let’s see. I can offer you eighty—no, one hundred gold pieces for this. Would you consider letting me take it off your hands?” he offered.
“Sorry. This one’s not for sale.” I took back the AK-47 from the shop owner, who eyed it greedily. The money was tempting, but the Firm’s president had strongly impressed one thing upon me above all others: