The meeting room was around twice as big as a middle-class living room. The gray couch with the coffee table was on one end, and a large meeting table was on the other. In the far corner was a window facing a tree that partly covered the neighboring plot of land, where a large, red mansion resided.
On the table, there were several cups of coffee. Some were empty, and others had long run cold. The doors opened, and the servant lady brought several fresh, steaming cups. Freddy nearly thanked the woman but restrained himself, deciding that doing so would be out of character. He lit another cigarette. This was almost the last one. He pressed it to his lips and pulled in hard, filling his lungs to the brim. Each time he felt the hot, burning sensation, he bought a moment where his nerves could calm ever so slightly, but as the nicotine started kicking in, his anxiety was multiplied.
The semi-bodyguards he had come here with were standing to the side, watching the table. The golden-haired Spike stood a bit further away with his back turned to everyone else.
And right in front of Freddy sat a man. He was pretty tall; his appearance was youthful, but he gave off an aged aura. His clothing and demeanor felt like they came from a different time. The man's cheeks were a bit sunken but not unhealthily; his skin was pale, but it was a natural hue; his forehead was wide, his chin pronounced, his black, short hair was parted down the middle, and his sharp green eyes seemed like they could pierce through any disguise in the world.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Slave," the man greeted Freddy. "My name is August. I will be appraising the goods you present for the arrangement between you and Mr. Spike." He spoke succinctly in a well-practiced, polite, and respectful tone.
The reason why Freddy wanted Spike to face the other direction was simple—he had no idea how well-versed the man was in matters of consumable items. While August seemed like a decent enough person, looks and demeanor could be deceiving.
If Spike saw the goods being presented and recognized them as valuable, August could downplay their function. To minimize the possibility of this happening, the negotiations would proceed as such:
First, he would bring the items out one at a time, after which they would be evaluated.
Then August would describe them. He wasn't allowed to name the items. He was only allowed to explain what they did and how many doses there were.
Finally, after the evaluation, he could offer the items to Spike or take them back.
He had added a rule, however—if he noticed that, at any point, August intentionally tried to mislead him on the item's value, he would immediately cut the deal and walk out.
While he could have requested that the man also state the monetary value of the items, there was no point in doing that. Because even if he did, how would he evaluate that price's legitimacy? The man could undershoot it as much as he wanted, but in the end, the two parties' knowledge of the value of such items was the only thing that mattered. A price could only serve to misguide—not inform him.
Luckily, from his extensive lessons in foraging, he was familiar with the prices different classes of items went for. He was far from an expert, but he wasn't oblivious, either.
Finally taking the last breath of smoke left in the cigarette, he extinguished the still-burning butt in the ashtray and made eye contact with August. Then he opened his eyes comically wide, stuck his tongue out, spread his nostrils with his fingers, and made other goofy faces and expressions.
August was bemused—but Spike made no sign that he noticed anything. Good. He probably didn't have a perception talent that allowed him to see behind his back or something of the sort.
With that out of the way, he sank his consciousness into the ring on his finger. While he had no idea which items were the most valuable, he still tried to pick the stuff his intuition told him was the least costly. There were nine items in total, and he made his first pick.
With a quiet pop, a plastic box filled with numerous round green pills appeared in his hand.
August politely received the box, extracted one of the pills, and then took a long, hard look at it. He pulled out a magnifying glass and ran it over it, then he smelled it, taking a deep breath. After he was done, he placed it in the box and handed the container back.
As soon as Freddy received the item, August started his description. "A potent medicine with a temporary perception-enhancing effect. Repeated usage can permanently increase sensory acuity, but there is a strong possibility of negative consequences to health, which get exponentially more likely with prolonged consumption. Most notably, they cause near-guaranteed impotence, increase the risk of heart failure, and can result in kidney problems. There are a total of 123 doses."
Freddy thought about it. This was pretty valuable. The side effects were drastic, and that definitely knocked their value down. Still, with so many pills, this surely added up to a lot of money.
"I'm not gonna offer this item," he said, putting it back into the storage ring. The reason why was simple—he wanted to use them himself. The side effects were no demerit to him due to his talent, and the effect was definitely worth it.
Then he pulled out the next item.
It was a small, white cloth bag with dirt-colored, powdery chunks of substance within. All of it put together could maybe fill an average-sized hand.
August raised an eyebrow when he saw what was inside the bag. He closed it right back up and handed it back, meaning he already knew what it was from a glance.
"The next item," he started, "is a blood elixir with the properties of a steroid. A single dose is enough to kill an adult mortal man, and it is guaranteed to destroy the homeostasis of one's body. Its primary use is for raising beasts. There are thirty doses in total."
"Yeah, I'm gonna take that back," he said. Whether it was worth using, he had no idea, but he knew that it wasn't particularly valuable.
The next item was up.
It was a flaky, purple substance stored in a brown silken bag. August grabbed a tiny bit, sniffed it, observed it, then put it back and lightly licked the tip of his finger. "Poison," he said. "Extremely potent poison." His words slurred, and he had to pull a potion out of his personal storage ring and drink a sip. "There are probably two hundred or more doses of it here."
Spike chuckled a bit. Indeed. Even Freddy was wondering what the fuck kind of crazy bastard Janhalar was to be carrying stuff like this around.
"I'll offer this item," Freddy said, pushing the bag forward.
Spike pondered it for a while. "I'll take that, but that isn't enough."
"You sure about that?" Freddy called the bluff. "This might be the last item I have."
"Be reasonable, Slave," Spike said. "You're not leaving this place alive if you burn that."
At that, he chuckled. Then he started cackling like a lunatic. There was no fakeness or acting to his laughter. After all, he truly found it funny. How many times would he find himself in a scenario like this? Giving the bag up was out of the question. It wasn't a matter of getting away—his pride wouldn't let him give it up.
Between getting bullied out of something rightfully his and just outright dying, he'd choose the latter. No more of that shit.
So, he suddenly placed the bag back into the ring and replaced it with another one. Instantly, the bodyguards stepped back, and August paled as he ran to the other corner.
It didn't take long for Spike to catch on. "Oh, dear..." he whispered.
"Yup," he said, holding the bag with nearly two hundred doses of extremely potent poison powder. "I might not be able to escape with my life, but I can ensure you motherfuckers go down with me."
Spike, however, merely chuckled at that. "I have the air affinity. Not a single speck of that will make it to me even if you scatter it through the room."
"Oh, I don't think so," he said with a dangerous glint in his eye. "I have a way to keep you right where you fucking are—and I know for a fact you can't avoid it."
That made the blond man frown. There was no way to verify what exactly he was talking about. If he had a talent that allowed him to restrain Spike or, even more likely, an item he stole from his "previous boss," he could very well deliver on his promise of mutual destruction.
Clicking his tongue and scratching the back of his head, Spike groaned. "Fine," he surrendered. "Sorry for doing that."
"Even if you licked my crack clean, I wouldn't forgive you," Freddy said. "Now, please, get the fuck out of my way so I can—"
"Wait, slow down," Spike urged. "Don't be so hasty."
"Let me guess," he said with a sardonic grin. "You want to buy the ascension elixir off me?"
"Slave, my guy," Spike said as he picked up the documents off the table. "If you leave without these papers, you're a dead man walking."
He couldn't refute that. From their perspective, given that he had the elixir, it probably looked like he'd robbed someone extremely rich and powerful. Which, to be fair, was true. If he left without those papers and his story wasn't total bullshit, he would indeed be well and truly fucked.
But luckily, that scenario was wholly made up. "I'll take my chances," he said.
"August," Spike called. "How many doses were there?"
"A-around fifteen, I believe," the man replied.
"What!?" the man spat. "God fucking damn, Slave. Who the hell did you rob!?"
"That's none of your business."
"It's entirely my business," Spike said as a vile grin spread on his face. "If I spread the rumor... well... it won't take long for the owner to come after you. In that case, I might even get a cut as a reward."
"Try it," he said. True, even though his story was made up, if Spike spread the rumor, he'd be in hot water either way. But he was ready to go quite the distance to ensure his safety. Even if he had to live in the woods for years or mutilate himself again, he'd do it until he made it far enough to get out of danger.
Given the frown on his face, Spike could clearly sense the determination in those words. He clicked his tongue. "You're a crazy bastard, you know that?" he said, sighing. "Okay, I get it. I'll give you an offer."
"Didn't you hear me?" Freddy said. "You think money can—"
"I didn't say anything about money, doofus," the man said as he pulled a small object out of his storage ring. It was a palm-sized platinum card.
Freddy thought that he recognized the object from somewhere.
"This is a platinum membership card for the Tower of York," the golden-haired man explained.
Freddy's eyes instantly widened.
"That's right," Spike said. "I understand that the elixir in your possession isn't something money can buy. But you have a lot. Even if you use all of them on yourself, you're not gonna need fifteen doses."
"And you want to trade for it?"
Spike licked his lips. "I can settle for half."
"And why do you think I want that card?"
"Because this, too," Spike said, waving the small card, "is also something that money can't buy."