Two hundred and twenty-eight souls.
The number was impressive. Each and every soul represented an actual person, robbed of their life in this world and the next. A captured soul had no chance of eternal contentment. A collection of souls was a momentous thing, impossible to treat with callous disregard.
So a part of me was damn well pissed that I was using this collection of two hundred and twenty-eight souls to haggle over healing potions priced at twenty souls a pop.
Because, apparently, they’re a ’luxury’ item.
"If you don’t want my wares, then just die and lose your souls anyways!" the demon alchemist snapped, snarling at me after I tried for the fourth time to bargain him down. He was a hunched-over creature with puke green skin and the kind of face that just begs to be punched. "I don’t adjust the prices of my wares on the fly. The prices are marked right there!"
He pointed at the various label-bearing vials. Indeed, they were priced to exacting detail. Each and every vial had its own label and relevant cost, broken down by the ingredients, effects, and quality of each potion.
It also meant I could see clearly that the healing potion he was trying to sell me for twenty souls was made of materials that cost only two.
Sure, if the potion’s promised specs were true, it could pretty much drag me back from the brink of death, so long as I had all my parts. But still! He was definitely overcharging me in the name of skill, just because he was supposedly a ’master alchemist.’
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
I had asked every friendly-looking demon I could find about potion shops. Somehow, whether through lawful or less friendly means, this shop had managed to claim a complete monopoly on the market. If I really wanted potions, the vomit-colored sleazebag behind the counter was my only option.
I really, really wanted to punch him.
Even worse, I kept remembering what Bronwynn told me about demons feeding on mortal emotions. Judging by the smirk on the alchemist’s puke green face, he probably knew exactly what I was feeling, and was savoring every last exquisite drop of my helpless rage.
I had to find some way to learn more about demonic abilities. Especially their limitations.
But for now, it was time to move on.
"Fine," I growled. "Just... I’ll take one of them. Have the souls."
I threw the twenty souls on the shop’s counter, snatched up my potion, and stomped away. Twenty lives for one measly potion. Thanks to Mr. Vomit and his racket, I only left with a single vial. At least the vials were specially treated. According to the alchemist, they were nearly impossible to break. That was something.
Carefully stowing the precious thing in my pocket, I headed for the next stop on my shopping list: an armorer.
I found the sprawling shop with no trouble. Then I just stood there, awed by the gleaming array of armor carefully arranged in the windows, feeling my hopes drain away. I saw more than a few pieces I wanted for myself, but the glowing red lines, sigils, and runes that adorned every item on display suggested I’d never be able to afford it.
Things didn’t get better when I walked in and talked to the blacksmith herself.
I almost combusted right there out of sheer embarrassment. Mumbling an apology, I tried to beat a hasty retreat.
To my surprise, a heavy hand caught the back of my armor before I could flee the shop. A shadow loomed over me, so I leaned my head back. I flushed even harder as the back of my head met the demoness’s chest.
"Hold on a second," she laughed, her surprisingly warm breath washing over my skin. "I said I can’t sell you anything, not that I can’t help you. Also, you should stop acting so cute. At least for another couple years. If you were a little older, I’d have eaten you up!"
It didn’t matter that I was in my late twenties in my previous life. That particular lifetime of memories did not, in any way, equip me to deal with a giant flirting demoness. I was a stammering mess as she dragged me back to her counter and then past it, through a door in the rear wall and down a hallway.
Interestingly, the second we walked through the door, the sound of hammering picked up. One second there was nothing, and the next it rang in my ears like I was standing right next to the source of the cacophony.
The demoness raised her voice to be heard as she guided me down the hallway. "You see, I don’t have anything in my shop of sufficiently poor quality that I could justify selling for a low price. However, I do have a daughter! And before your mind goes off into the gutter, this is only relevant because she wants to be an armorer. She needs practice to achieve that, and her results are still nowhere good enough to be featured in the store. Might fit your needs, though."
That info was enough to pull me fully away from my embarrassment and let me pay attention to my surroundings.
The hallway was chock-full of shelves, floor to ceiling on either side. I couldn’t even see the walls. All the shelves were packed with more wooden boxes than they should have been able to support, each container overflowing with ore, tools, and even finished armor. The demoness charged ahead, unconcerned about the precariously sagging shelves. Our destination was at the far end of the hallway, where the flickering dance of light and shadow hinted at a massive fire.
Sure enough, when we emerged through another door into a massive workshop, I saw flames blazing away in an open-air pit that defied everything I knew about forging setups.
Next to the pit stood a young demoness. Though a bit smaller and a lot less muscular, she resembled the shop’s proprietor so closely that they could have been clones, rather than mother and daughter.
She looked up as we entered, taking in first me and then her mother with obvious confusion. "Mother? What’s going on? Do you have a custom order already?"
"I just wanted to do an introduction!" the demoness boomed with a smile as she pushed me forward. "This is... uh.... Who are you again?"
"Hayden. Hayden Hall," I managed, clearing my throat to avoid laughing. I even offered up a charming smile, or at least what hopefully passed for one.
I did get a tentative smile back, so I counted it as a win.
"Hayden! And this is my daughter, Yules, the aspiring armorer I told you about. You see, Yules, this fine young man here has a problem. He needs armor, and he doesn’t exactly have the funds to acquire it in my store. He’s here though, and I thought to myself that it would be a fine opportunity to find a home for some of your pieces!"
Yules didn’t seem upset by the suggestion. She did, however, flush and look around in a panic. "You want me to sell him my armor? But I’m not ready for that! Everything I’ve made so far has been, I mean... you know!"
The shop owner finally released me. Stepping forward, she hugged her daughter, then mussed up her hair for good measure. "Stop being so critical of your own work! Besides, if your armor was any better, he wouldn’t be able to afford it. I don’t mean that as an insult." She shot me a reassuring, if slightly guilty, look. "It’s just facts. So, how about you talk to the young man and see if you can work something out?"
Yules took a deep breath and then squared her shoulders in a way that made me smile. She really was a mini version of her mother.
"Okay. I can do this. Okay. Just a customer. My first customer." She faltered briefly, but then shot me a smile as dazzling as she could make it, even if it had a brittle edge. "Now, let’s get you some equipment, shall we?"
Really, I could do nothing but nod my head.