CHAPTER 33: The devil's bargain
The trader's shop was filled with the warm, familiar smell of dust, metal, and aged wood. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with curiosities gathered from years of buying low and selling high—monster cores, cracked crystals, worn weapons, talismans whose origins he barely remembered. He hummed to himself as he worked, carefully rearranging a tray of coins, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Business had been slow lately, but today had still been decent enough. Enough to close early.
As he turned his back to the counter to lock a small chest, a strange chill crept up his spine.
The shop lamps flickered.
A shadow stretched unnaturally long across the floor, swallowing the light at his feet.
The trader froze.
Someone was standing behind him.
Assuming it was just another late customer, he forced a smile and straightened his posture. Without turning, he spoke in his usual friendly tone.
"Good evening, my good sir. How can I hel—"
He turned.
The words died in his throat.
His eyes widened so far they looked ready to burst from their sockets.
Standing there, half-supported by a sword like a walking cane, armor torn and stained dark with dried blood, was the last person he ever wanted to see again.
Zodac.
The trader's lips trembled. His knees nearly buckled.
"It's… it's you," he whispered, fear stripping his voice of all strength.
Zodac's expression didn't change. His face was pale, sharp, emotionless—like a blade that had already decided its target.
"I see," Zodac said calmly, his voice flat and cold. "You didn't expect to see me again."
The trader swallowed hard. His thoughts raced wildly.
*He should be dead. The cave was sealed. The monsters—none of that was survivable.*
His mouth opened and closed uselessly before he forced out a shaky laugh.
"W-Why would I not expect you?" he said quickly. "I was praying for your safe return the entire time!"
The lie was clumsy. Desperate.
Zodac didn't respond. He didn't need to. His eyes alone made it clear he saw straight through the trader's words.
Slowly, deliberately, Zodac reached into his cross bag and placed a large Illeaum crystal onto the counter.
The crystal glowed faintly, its surface etched with natural veins of light—pure, untouched, and unmistakably rare.
The trader's fear was momentarily replaced by greed.
He leaned forward, inspecting it closely. His hands twitched.
"Well now," he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. "That's quite a specimen. I'd say… one hundred silvers."
The shop went silent.
Zodac moved.
In a single motion, he grabbed the trader by the head and slammed his face into the wooden counter.
*BANG.*
The sound echoed through the shop.
"Aaaagh!" the trader screamed as pain exploded across his face.
Outside, a few passersby slowed, peering through the open door. Whispers began to stir.
Zodac leaned in closer, pressing the man's head harder against the counter. His voice remained disturbingly calm.
"The scarcity of Illeaum crystals for years would have driven the price far higher than that," he said quietly. "Wouldn't it?"
The trader shook violently, his hands clawing at the counter.
"I—I—"
"Do you take me for a fool?" Zodac interrupted.
Silence.
Zodac released him just enough for the man to gasp for air. Then, slowly, he drew RAYGUST from its sheath.
The metallic whisper of the blade leaving its housing sent a wave of terror through the trader's body.
"You know," Zodac continued, his tone unchanged, "I could skip the trade altogether. Take your life. Take the money from your corpse. After all, I nearly died for this crystal."
He paused, letting the blade's edge rest in the trader's view.
"Now decide. The money… or your life."
The trader broke.
"Three—three hundred silvers!" he stammered.
"Three fifty," Zodac corrected instantly.
"What?!" the trader gasped.
Zodac tilted his head slightly.
"Is that a problem?"
The man shook his head furiously. "N-No! Not at all, sir!"
Before the trader could move, Zodac added, "And you're still holding my pouch."
The trader froze.
A flicker of anger crossed his face before fear crushed it down again. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and produced Zodac's brown pouch. Then he rushed to a small chest, opened it, and began scooping coins into the pouch with trembling hands.
When he was done, he placed it on the counter.
Zodac scanned it.
"Hm," Zodac said. "It's not complete."
"It is!" the trader insisted, panic creeping back into his voice.
"The rabbit fur," Zodac replied simply.
The trader's jaw tightened. Reluctantly, he added five more silvers.
Zodac smiled.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't kind.
It was the smile of something that had survived hell and no longer cared about mercy.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
He took the pouch, turned, and slowly walked out of the shop, leaning heavily on Kogestu.
Behind him, the trader stood shaking, fury and humiliation burning in his eyes.
---
Outside the shop, word spread quickly.
People stared.
Some whispered prayers. Others stepped aside in fear as Zodac passed, blood trailing faintly behind him.
Far down the street, a young man ran through the crowd, pushing past startled townsfolk.
"Wait!" he shouted.
Zodac stopped near the town's exit but did not turn.
The young man panted heavily before finally bowing deeply.
"Thank you… thank you for saving our town."
Zodac remained silent.
The man swallowed. "I am the acting head of this town. My father passed a year ago. On behalf of everyone here… thank you, Wood Elemental Hero."
Zodac laughed softly.
"Hero?"
The word sounded foreign on his tongue.
"I never called myself that."
He began walking again.
"I am the Elemental Devil."
The man lifted his head—and noticed the blood pooling at Zodac's feet.
"You're bleeding," he said in alarm. "You're badly hurt!"
Zodac said nothing.
"Please," the man insisted, stepping closer. "Let us help—"
"No," Zodac snapped weakly.
"I said stay back!"
But his body betrayed him.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed to his knees, the world dimming around him.
"Pure… Mana… drain…"
The system panel flickered before his fading vision.
Darkness claimed him as the crowd erupted into panicked whispers—fear, awe, and dread as Zodac laid motionless on the ground in his own pool of blood.