VoC: B1 — 11. The Beast Trader
Added 2025-08-30 11:06:37 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Damon (Our New 24-Year-Old MC!)
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He felt the mental connection between them stretch and then snap as she moved beyond range.
The silence hit like a blade to the gut. One second, she was there—warm, alive, well, sort of, and bickering, like always—and the next, there was only emptiness.
His breath faltered. The crowd blurred at the edges of his vision as his chest tightened, each inhale shallow, useless.
Not again. Not her, too.
He staggered into the shadow of a pillar, clutching his ribs as if pressure alone could hold back the spiral.
[Strong Spirit] flared, a feeble dam against the tide. It steadied his shaking hands, but not the hollow terror flooding his mind. He bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood, forcing himself upright, forcing the world back into focus.
She’s not gone. Just out of range. Just…distance. She’ll be fine… Just like New York, only…fantasy New York. Laws will protect her… Yeah, they will. Unlike me…
He repeated the lie until he could breathe again.
Well, he thought, adjusting his hood, puffing out a stressed stream of air, and stepping back into the crowd, time to see what this city really has to offer.
The answer, apparently, was rejection and barely concealed hostility as he wandered between shops, hour after hour, in the colossal city.
The Adventurer’s Guild was his first introduction to what awaited him. Damon eventually wrung directions from a reluctant fruit seller who barely met his eyes and muttered the street name under his breath.
The man’s gaze kept flicking to the guards shadowing Damon—tail detail, no doubt—like he was afraid of being seen helping. Damon didn’t need Aria’s running commentary to know the reports would end up in some noble’s hands by nightfall.
When he reached the guild, he had to admit, it was impressive.
The building loomed over the plaza like a fortress masquerading as a palace, its white stone walls gleaming under banners stitched with golden emblems that caught the wind.
Inside, the open hall was a riot of sound and color. Four stories of balconies ringed the space, each level a hive of activity—shops, tavern hawkers waving menus like battle standards, armorers hammering plates into shape.
The smell of roasting meat tangled with the tang of oiled steel. Adventurers in mismatched gear laughed over mugs, recruiters barked offers for dungeon runs, and the clatter of boots and armor rang like distant war drums.
A few wore what he’d call coin-mail—Imperium iron linked into their armor, each piece glinting with enchantments that turned currency into protection.
As he stepped forward, the noise thinned by degrees. Laughter dulled upon seeing his heavily cloaked figure, eyes tracked him, and a murmur passed along the bar like a draft through a shuttered window.
As Damon crossed the polished floor toward the registration desk, the air shifted. Conversations faltered. A few stares were curious, most were wary, and some carried the cold weight of outright distrust or hostility toward someone hiding their identity.
He kept his hood low and stepped up to the counter, trying to keep his identity hidden as long as possible.
“Name?” the clerk asked without looking up, quill scratching over parchment.
He thought about giving a different name and using [System Trickery], but knew that wouldn’t work the moment they saw his face. In fact, it would open up a lot of questions that probably trip fraud laws.
Glancing down at the holy tattoos around his wrists, he sighed internally. He needed to improve his name, not try to abandon it.
“Damon.”
The man glanced at him—and the cordial mask slipped, just for a heartbeat. “Damon, right…and your purpose for applying?”
“I’m a Unity Tamer. Looking to register and pick up work. Eh, sign up to be an adventurer.”
A thin, hardly polite smile touched the clerk’s mouth but not his eyes. “Registration takes forty-eight hours to process the interview request, schedule a time, and conduct the initiation. Typical turnaround can be…a week.”
Damon tried not to wince; he had less than twenty-four hours to leave the city.
“Can the process work between guilds? Start here, finish somewhere else?”
“No,” the clerk replied curtly. “Registration is recognized in all guilds, but the process must be completed within the individual establishment where you apply. In addition, you must demonstrate competence with a tamed companion and complete three dungeon explorations as a shadow under a registered party. Can you accomplish all that, false prince?”
Damon scratched his neck, feeling the weight of stares settle on his tall, hooded frame. “Parts of it, sure… You wouldn’t happen to have a board for parties looking for an extra hand outside of dungeons? Maybe an escort to another city?”
Silence. The clerk’s eyes flicked past him, scanning the hall as if the answer might materialize on someone else’s face. “I cannot show such information to non-members… You may inquire personally, if you like. Though most groups prefer…established adventurers, you could say.”
“No, I understand completely,” Damon said, forcing a faint smile.
From the next desk over, a broad-shouldered man in chainmail snorted without looking up from his paperwork. “Fat chance. Good luck finding one here, Nightcrawler.’”
Damon ignored the jab. “Suppose I go to another city, get through the forty-eight-hour wait, have the interview, do all that. Then I’m registered everywhere?”
“…In theory, yes.” The clerk’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “In practice…perhaps a different city would be more accommodating. If you meet all requirements, we cannot bar you from taking requests.”
It wasn’t a closed door, but the hinges were rusted shut.
“Thank you for your time.”
Looks like we’re not getting that license here, Sis, he thought, turning away. At least…I’m not. Maybe we can try some sun elf luck later.
When Damon asked about Titania’s shrine, the answers were evasive—shrugs, vague hand waves, sudden errands elsewhere.
So he left, letting the crowd swallow him again.
If he needed a companion as a Tamer to be taken seriously, he might as well look while continuing the shrine search. But all that greeted him was disappointment.
The Guildsman’s Menagerie took one look at his face and claimed they were “closing for inventory.” Yeah, at nine in the morning? Sure.
The Beast & Burden had a guard escort him off the premises after the proprietor clutched his chest and swore dark elves were storming the city. Clearly, the man hadn’t read a newspaper in months—or he’d know the “dark elf prince” was walking free under official decree.
Morrison’s Exotic Imports wouldn’t even let him through the door.
By the fourth rejection, Damon was starting to grasp the full scope of the problem. This wasn’t about inflated prices anymore—some establishments simply wouldn’t serve him at all. That hadn’t been part of the plan.
Still, the pattern offered a lead. If the majority shut him out, the few who didn’t were unlikely to be high on the lawful-good spectrum. That meant risk…but also opportunity.
Even so, each rejection scraped at his composure.
He became more aware of the sun every time he stepped back onto the street after being chased out. Rubbing the cool metal of his bracelet, he felt exposed in every sense, and the rational part of his mind began to whisper that maybe this whole errand was just an elaborate way to get himself robbed. Or killed.
Maybe I’m in over my head, he thought, pausing to lean against a wall and catch his breath after jogging away from an angry mob that was thankfully stopped by the guards—that might have been an actual miracle, but he seemed to have legal rights in their minds, despite their scathing gazes at what they were ‘forced’ to do.
What if I’m entirely wrong about how any of this works? [Stealth] is a mental attack on anyone who views me, which means it can fail. It doesn’t help that it becomes less effective in sunlight and more open areas and costs mana, which I’m limited on. The moment the crowd thins, I just…pop up to some people, which has its own problems… I don’t think there is anything I can do about that.
He was considering his options when he spotted a building that looked different from the others. Where the previous establishments had been respectable businesses in commercial districts, this one sat in a wealthier neighborhood.
The sign read “Ashford’s Exclusive Acquisitions” in elegant script, and through the windows, he could see an interior that looked more like a luxury gallery than a typical animal market.
Either they’ll be so high-end they don’t care about prejudice, or they’ll throw me out faster than anyone else… No, the other problem would be that they’re so exotic and expensive I can’t afford a thing, but it isn’t like that’s my current goal.
Rebuilding his confidence, he tapped into E-tier [Indomitable Will] and walked through the door. The guards outside didn’t even look his way, which was even more creepy than the hate-filled glares he’d gotten from the wealthy individuals outside.
The interior was even more impressive than he’d expected. Polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and air that carried expensive incense rather than animal musk. The creatures on display—some of which were clearly humanoid—were housed in spacious enclosures that looked like comfortable apartments in the long, hall-like area.
A young woman with auburn hair was examining what appeared to be a family of cat-folk, speaking with a well-dressed elderly man. The cat-folk wore silk clothing and decorative jewelry, looking healthy and well-cared for.
Legal slavery in a lawful good kingdom, Damon acknowledged, evaluating what he knew from his upbringing, which included a lot of random law facts. The morals really are more complex than the simple categories they were in on Earth… Everyone here willingly is a slave or is paying off debts, yet they are still granted extensive legal rights that they can bring to slave courts.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” came a musical voice beside him.
[System Trickery Failed]
The System message that popped up privately shocked him as much as the voice.
Damon turned to see a woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, whom he hadn’t seen approach. Her elegant clothing and an indefinable accent instantly gripped his gut with ‘trouble’ signals. She had the kind of understated beauty that spoke of good breeding and careful cultivation—not flashy, but undeniably refined.
She glanced down at him with the appraising eye of a woman who picked apart living creatures for a living and estimated their value.
“The convicted former prince… I estimated you’d eventually grace my establishment at some point from the rumors spreading through the market.”
The woman’s gaze swept over him, fixating on every detail. “You are quite the handsome man, by my estimation of dark elf culture. Hazel eyes are unique for the species, likely due to your reincarnate status. You are…a spectacular specimen, Damon.”
Damon carefully took a step back, noticing quite a few eyes occasionally drifting their way. “I don’t know how to respond to that, Ms…Ashford, I assume?”
The woman’s vision narrowed, like a predator ready to bite.
“Observant, intelligent, and refined… A ten-year-old body, transformed into your mental evaluation. I’d place your real age in your late twenties, maybe early thirties, but no need to get into the uncomfortable specifics I know your reincarnate kind are squeamish about.”
She redirected their focus to the cat-folk that Aria would be gushing over. “Tell me, what do you think about the indentured service system here in Tenebrin?”
Damon felt the saliva in his mouth dry as he recalibrated his senses and mind, preparing himself for what he knew would be an intellectual sparring match. She wasn’t being subtle about it; she was challenging him.
Finding his wrist behind his back, he stood straighter and swept the environment. “That question is perhaps even more probing than the last, Ms. Ashford. You must be acquainted with reincarnate history, and knowing where my ethics land and what I think about various topics will help you pin down more about me and where I come from.”
“How delightfully perceptive.” Her smile sharpened, becoming more genuine than the polite mask she’d been wearing. “Most people would have stumbled through some awkward moral justification by now, or worse, tried to impress me with their righteousness. But you…”
She studied him with renewed interest. “You recognize this chess match for what it is. I am an admirer of clever men.”
She paused, seeming to weigh her options, then gestured gracefully toward the cat-folk family. “Very well. Since you’re so astute about my methods, let me be more…direct in my educational approach.
“The indentured service system,” she continued, shifting to a tone more instructional than predatory, “is quite different from what most reincarnates, regardless of the typical world they come from, think it is. The looks on their faces when they hear ‘slavery’ can be most amusing. For instance…
“Those three volunteered for a ten-year contract to escape poverty. In exchange, they receive housing, healthcare, education for their children, and a substantial payment upon completion of the service. The legal protections are…extensive. But, naturally, there are loopholes for those who know how to utilize such legal systems,” she purred, eyes gleaming.
“I see,” Damon nodded, immediately recognizing that this woman had an agenda. Where others shunned and hated him, she acted like a true saleswoman—it was all layered manipulation. “I admit, I am rather surprised about the extent and image of slavery in a lawful-good kingdom.”
The question was whether she hated him under that mask, merely saw him as an easy mark for steel pieces, or if she was motivated by something more.
“I’m sure you are, but we can cut past the veil. You’re looking for something different than these intelligent creatures, each with their own motives,” she observed, studying him with sharp, green eyes that seemed to catalog every micro-expression.
“…Animals, not people… Ah, there it is,” she murmured, her green eyes catching the light like a blade’s edge. “Something with combat potential, perhaps?”
Damon opened his mouth to answer but he didn’t get the chance.
A shadow crossed the far doorway. A man emerged from the back, his stride measured and confident. The fine cut of his jacket and the silver chain at his collar marked him as the proprietor, but the shift in the room told Damon everything before the man even spoke: an assistant’s hands froze over a ledger, a cage door clicked shut more carefully than necessary, and the cat-folk mother pulled her kits a little closer.
The proprietor’s gaze landed on Damon. His lips tightened, as if tasting something sour.
“My apologies, Lady Ashcroft,” he said with cool precision. “I will remove this—”
“Marcus!” the woman interrupted smoothly, moving to stand beside Damon with casual familiarity. “How wonderful to see you. I was just telling my young friend about our latest acquisitions.”
Smooth…
The proprietor’s demeanor transformed instantly. Where moments before he’d been preparing to eject Damon by the neck, now he was practically glowing with commercial enthusiasm.
“Of course, Lady Ashcroft! Please, forgive me—I didn’t realize this young man was with you.”
Lady Ashcroft, Damon noted, filing the name away while trying to figure out her angle. Someone with evident influence helping a random dark elf stranger? No, not random, a reincarnate. It’s fair to say she was the one to penetrate my [System Trickery], which means she has at least C-tier [Appraisal]. At least, I think that’s how it works.
Yeah, there had to be a catch, but right now he was too grateful for the assistance to question it properly. Maybe that was a mistake, but he was running out of options, and, to be frank, this was precisely what he was looking for—someone who was shady.
“Not to worry, Marcus,” she said with a dismissive wave. “My friend here is interested in your more…exotic selections. The ones that haven’t been processed for public viewing yet?”
Marcus’ eyes lit up. “Ah, yes! This morning, we received a new shipment of merchandise from the north, near the war effort. Quite unusual specimens, some, possibly from Dungeon Breaks in the wilderness areas. Would you care to see them? We could view them privately, away from other customers.”
He glanced meaningfully at several patrons, all shooting disapproving looks in Damon’s direction. Yet, when Ashcroft got involved, they swiftly changed their expressions to more neutral, if barely masked anger—she carried weight.
“That would be perfect,” Lady Ashcroft agreed.
As they moved toward the back, Damon found himself wondering what this was going to cost him. In his experience, help from strangers always came with a price—what form of payment was the question. Then again…maybe there was some obscure law that allowed the forced slavery of dark elves. Yeah, that would be bad.
Privately opening his status window and filing through it, he realized he was already outgunned. She’d broken through his protection Titania herself had given him, one that was only grantable to reincarnates or gifted to others through reincarnate Scribes, a job Sages could get, which he was—a Sage with the subclass of Unity Tamer. That had to be rare in itself, right?
The back area revealed the true scope of the operation—multiple levels, specialized facilities, and what was clearly a significant commercial enterprise. Marcus led them to a private viewing room where several cages held creatures that hadn’t yet been prepared for public display.
“Now then,” Marcus said, rubbing his hands together, “what exactly are you looking for? Combat capability? Utility… Companionship? I’m not one to judge. I know The Spider’s followers have many unique…appetites.”
Damon breathed a heavy sigh, bracing for the heat to hit…but it didn’t.
He doesn’t fear The Spider?
Damon’s frown deepened, but Ashcroft’s sharp slap and pointed words cut his thought short.
“He is a follower of Titania, Marcus. Be respectful. You wouldn’t want High Cleric Sorrel Nightbloom to suddenly appear in your dreams and carry you into the feywilds. You know how fae can be. The rumors regarding Lord Dravan and her potential involvement with his…condition, spark quite the tale.”
The man’s face paled. “My apologies, Mr. Damon.”
Mr. Damon, he repeated with an internal laugh. This woman is a devil in a woman’s body. He fears Ashcroft but not The Spider. Huh. That wasn’t a warning about Titania, but to be cautious about upsetting her agenda. Titania, help me.
He studied the available animals—most looked like standard, weak fantasy creatures, like a rabbit with a horn and a deer with spikes along its spine. They were nothing awe-inspiring to his instincts, for all the hype. But in the corner, almost hidden behind a stack of supply crates, was a small cage containing what looked like an ordinary bear cub.
Something about it instinctively drew his attention. Maybe it was the way it sat perfectly still, watching him with intelligence that seemed far too advanced for a normal animal, but not quite human. Or maybe it was some instinct from his [Unity Tamer] abilities.
“That one,” he said, pointing to the cub.
Marcus followed his gaze and frowned as if truly bewildered, glancing at Ashcroft, whose smile only grew.
“That? It’s just a razor bear that was found near the Hellgate warfront. Nothing that special about it. A typical corrupted bear from a dungeon. Yes, considered strong within it, but rarely above Level 20 at their peak. Its mother was found mauled not far off, likely by one of the denizens of Hell that managed to make it out of the city walls. I was going to sell it to the fighting pits, honestly.”
“Fighting pits?” Damon asked, his interest sharpening. “I was under the assumption there were strict laws about coliseum-style operations.”
“Oh, there absolutely is. Yet, this underground betting operation is…let’s say different,” Lady Ashcroft explained with a knowing smile. “Clearly not something you’re against, as a follower of Titania. Great personal and broad good can come from sports. It is quite popular among certain circles. Though I imagine someone with your…particular circumstances might find such venues more welcoming than legitimate establishments.”
His guard flew up at that last bit. “So, not a ‘legitimate’ sporting arena, hmm?”
She definitely knew more about his situation than she was letting on. Although, it didn’t take a magic scientist to know that he’d have a challenging time finding any way to make money.
The issue was, other than street-level cage fights he’d been in when he was fifteen and sixteen—before having to take on the responsibilities of a parent for his little sister—he had no real combat experience.
“Interesting. Anyway, the bear,” Damon said firmly. “How much?”
Marcus shrugged. “Five steel—”
“Free, on condition,” the serpent of a woman interrupted, making the man bite his tongue.
Damon’s lips curved upward as he shifted to face her. “You’ve had your eye on me for longer than today, I’d say, Lady Ashcroft. My guess is that you’ve followed my trial and the news about my mother closely… I wouldn’t doubt you have eyes in the Adventurer’s Guild, as well. What do you really want?”
“Why, profits, of course. I’m a business woman,” she chortled, her eyes green with greed. “Reincarnates are…quite rare. Despite what you lot typically believe.”
“Oh? And what do you think I believe.”
“Very sharp. I like that. From what I understand, you lot think seventeen a Greater God is quite the number, but that is only a hundred and fifty-three total in, not only our world, but the whole network of this system—the Hells, Heavens, obscure realms…outer space. You are unique—system shakers, you could say…
“In essence,” she breathed, “you’re the kind to bet on…because the Greater Deities bet on you. We’ll make a contract. You take part in the arena… It will be perfectly legal for you.”
“Uh-huh.” Damon worked around his jaw as the woman stared up at him with expectations. “I’m going to want more than that. And what contract exactly?”
“A divine one, of course. You need to have faith it will be executed, after all. I am the one coming to you in this shady proposition. The proposal? I give you what no one else will. In return, you give me merely…half. Is that not a steal?
“I think that is worth my information and sponsorship, no?” she finished, gaze practically spiralling with hypnotic intensity. “You need a fortune. I can guide you to it…legally.”
The rational part of his mind was screaming that this was a terrible decision. He was about to get in bed with someone far outside of his current depths, and bet it all on his instincts that this cub was more than just some low-tier, corrupted monster bear cub.
But every other option had fallen through, and Lady Ashcroft was, without a doubt, a kingpin in this city’s underworld. She knew the laws. She knew people. She knew more about him than he knew about her. She likely had already closed every other door, leaving only hers.
Yet, she needed something. And needed it urgently.
Three words in her proposal primarily stuck out to him.
“First…what do you mean by, ‘legal for me.’ You have an angle. I’m not going to agree unless I know the details.”
“A hard negotiator, hmm?”
Ashcroft took a step back, hand shifting to grasp her elbow behind her back. She studied Marcus with a small, searching frown, making the man fidget and sweat.
“Very well. To put it bluntly—and I mean no disrespect,” she offered sweetly, shooting a sharp smile his way, “the laws about your ‘humanity’ are in a legally gray area. Unlike most citizens, you are capable of execution via law, albeit a very old law.
“Therefore, you are not covered under the protections of the arena that bars anyone who isn't a monster from being in it.” Her smile sharpened. “You are considered a monster. It is a monster fight pit. You see the connection?”
And there it is, Damon realized, the pieces clicking into place. There are laws against human blood sports, but not monster blood sport. They bet on dungeon monsters captured and brought here to fight to the death. I can enter that stage.
His focus drifted to the cub again. Titania had sent him down here with the start she would have taken, which meant in this chaotic blip in a lawful kingdom, he was meant to walk this path.
The issue is, I can’t decide this on my own. Aria would be totally on-board, but I can't risk getting her involved. Maybe I'm being too protective as an older brother. Just...not yet.
In truth, they were both taking a calculated risk, and Titania had orchestrated the situation this way intentionally.
The question was, did he have enough faith in a high goddess’ preferred opening act to guide him through the hurdles?
He had to believe that his bracelet’s malfunction during the Veil of Chaos wasn’t a glitch. Too many pieces had aligned:
His eldest aunt holding him when she had a direct communication line back to his grandfather and the nobility. Her personal Paladin order present, cutting off communications and imprisoning his mother. Stephen’s network stretched thin due to the Veil of Chaos, handling logistics and supporting his people, oblivious to the failure.
The manipulation felt precise—like threading a needle in the dark and somehow finding the eye on the first try.
Ashcroft introducing the fight pit now, of all times.
Everything had gone too wrong not to be planned.
Titania saw the whole board—their interests, their investments. Eventually, those divine plans would collide with other powers at play, and errors could occur. But this had to be her design to set the stage for the start of his journey here.
And not just to be closer to Sophia’s spawn area.
Titania didn’t work in simple schemes.
“I’m warming up to the idea.”
“Excellent!” she clapped. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there. Name it!”
Damon smiled at the bear cub. “I can only accept it if the creature I’m bonded to accepts it too. This isn’t a decision I can make without him.”
Ashcroft’s expression became thoughtful.
“Fascinating proposal. I do believe he will accept, so I will concede that the contract must be fulfilled with his paw print added to it. If he does not accept, then…he isn’t the right fit for you after all, but I promise, regardless of choice, I shall provide another bonding opportunity with everything you need to find Titania’s shrine! That is how confident I am that you need this.”
He didn’t like the part about the cub not being the right fit, but he didn’t really have a choice. As much as he now felt connected to the cub, he needed a partner, not a dependent.
Aria already demanded most of his time in that department.
“Deal.”
Marcus’ smile grew as he bowed to the establishment’s owner and went to prepare the paperwork. “Then, it’s a deal.”
And as he left, Lady Ashcroft leaned closer, whispering, “I love watching reincarnates operate. Interesting choice. Most people would have gone for something more obviously powerful… How did you know about his Lineage? Instinct?”
Lineage, huh? Yeah, I have no clue, he internally laughed. That’s a question I’ll have to ask Aria. I’m a dhampir Lineage, but all that tells me is that this bear has some genetic secret.
“Sometimes,” he replied, glancing over at the brown-furred cub, “the best potential isn’t obvious at first glance. Take you, for example… Pretty wrappings can hide dangerous presents.”
Her smile widened, and something flickered in her expression for just a moment—amusement mixed with what looked like genuine approval.
“And you have the tongue of a poet…”
“Credit to my girlfriend,” Damon returned with an innocent smile.
“Credit noted. Pretty wrappings can hide dangerous presents,” she murmured, eying him up and down with the smallest of smiles. “Indeed. Indeed, they can.”
She hovered nearby, watching with expectant hunger.
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