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Chapter 16: Giant, to the Land of Opportunity (3)
“Ah—sorry about that.”
How many times had he apologized already?
The crowd, something he was experiencing for the first time in his life, felt like an unavoidable wall to Rotem.
Of course, even within the movements of countless people, there was a kind of order and rhythm to it—but as Rotem walked forward, it felt as though he alone was moving against that flow, bumping into others and drawing irritated glances at every step.
He knew it wasn’t because of his large build as a Giant, unlike in Florin Village.
It had been the first time since his days at the orphanage in Drieghan that he had seen this many Giants in one place.
There was no discrimination here. Only contempt for a country bumpkin disrupting the flow of traffic.
“……”
Tall buildings lined both sides of the street.
The stairs and passageways connecting the upper and lower districts of the city were not harsh divisions but rather smooth, flowing curves that suggested harmony.
People dressed in extravagant embroidered silk and those in shabby work clothes moved freely among one another, mingling without hesitation.
For some reason, the sight filled Rotem with a strange sense of exhilaration.
“Hello.”
“Hm?”
After pushing through the crowd, Rotem arrived at a small shop tucked along Chapel Street.
He had entered with proper manners, but what greeted him was the bewildered gaze of an elderly dwarf who seemed to be the owner.
It was unclear whether the surprise was because a Giant had come in—or simply because the shop had received a customer at all.
“You’re Mr. Menkes, right?”
“…That’s me. Who are you?”
Hearing his own name come from a stranger, Menkes slowly rose from his half-reclined position in his armchair, his eyes filled with caution.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rotem from Florin Village. I was referred here by Captain Demian.”
“Demian?”
At the familiar name, Menkes’ rough beard twitched, and the tension in his expression faded.
“Haha, haven’t heard that name in a while. Is the lieutenant doing well?”
“He’s stationed at the northern troll defense base. He’s a captain now.”
“Heh, must be getting worked to the bone.”
They naturally shook hands, and from the rough firmness of Menkes’ palm, Rotem could tell he had once been a soldier.
“So, what brings you here?”
“Well, the captain told me you can procure just about anything.”
“That’s true. As long as it’s not illegal.”
The dwarf gave a sly wink as he said it.
Rotem understood the implication but chose to ignore it.
“It’s nothing like that. I’d like to buy some low-grade Black Crystals—ones without market value.”
“Black crystals?”
Menkes didn’t look suspicious or troubled—just genuinely surprised.
“Yes. Quality and usage don’t matter, as long as they’re Black Crystals. Would that be difficult?”
“No, no. Quite the opposite—it’s actually easy to get those.”
“Really? I heard Black Crystals are an important resource in Calpheon.”
“That’s only for high-quality, high-purity ones. The rest? They’re used to heat stew in kitchens.”
It matched what the Black Spirit had said. Even in Calpheon, low-grade Black Crystals were treated as worthless.
Rotem nodded, satisfied.
“But I couldn’t find any place that specifically sells those low-grade ones.”
“That’s just because of perception. The nation’s been aggressively collecting Black Crystals for the war.
People think privately owning them might bring trouble. Even large merchant guilds used to watch the Central Army carefully when dealing with them.”
“So they can be obtained—but people don’t really want to sell them.”
“Exactly. And it’s not profitable enough to be worth the hassle.”
Handing Rotem a mug of beer, the dwarf finally got to the point.
“So, how much do you need?”
“As much as possible. Enough to fill a trade wagon, at least.”
“Hm… Even low-grade ones would cost quite a bit in that quantity.”
Understanding the implication, Rotem pulled out a pouch of silver coins from his bag and placed it on the table.
“Don’t worry. I have the money.”
[You went through all that trouble for this, after all.]
Ignoring the Black Spirit’s snide remark, Rotem watched as Menkes peeked into the pouch.
“Hm… Not sure how you figured out the price, but this won’t be enough to fill a wagon—”
“That’s just the down payment. I’ll pay the rest once the purchase is complete.”
“Heh, you’re quite the big spender.”
Menkes pushed the pouch aside and reached into his coat.
“Need a contract?”
“I’d rather not leave a record. This isn’t exactly a formal purchase through a guild.”
At that, the dwarf smiled faintly beneath his thick beard.
“Heh. What if I stab you in the back?”
“You’re vouched for by a captain of the Calpheon Central Army. I trust that’s enough.”
Though Rotem had his reasons for trusting him, Menkes responded with sincere advice.
“It’s funny coming from me, but trusting people too easily in this city isn’t wise.
If you’re lucky, you’ll just lose your money. If not… it could get much worse.”
“Worse, huh…”
Rotem’s interest piqued.
“Like what?”
“For example, even if the Central Authority only strictly manages high-purity Black Crystals,
if word gets out that someone is secretly collecting low-grade ones for unknown reasons, the guards might find that suspicious.”
“That’s not a concern. That’s why I’m asking someone like you to handle it.”
Rotem finished his beer.
Menkes watched him for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Haha, fair enough. Alright—when do you need it by?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Where should I contact you?”
“Actually, could you recommend a good inn? Somewhere I can stay starting tonight.”
“That much I can do. Go to the market district—there’s a man named Fredeles Herba who runs a large inn and tavern.
Tell him my name, and he’ll give you a good room at a cheap price.”
“Thank you. Please contact me there.”
Rotem stood up, shook Menkes’ hand, and left the shop.
With the dwarf’s gruff farewell behind him, he stepped back onto Chapel Street and began descending toward the market, retracing his path.
[Hey, Rotem.]
“Yeah?”
The Black Spirit rarely spoke in crowded places like this, so Rotem responded carefully, keeping his expression neutral.
[I wasn’t sure before, but…]
“What?”
[Since you arrived here, someone’s been following you.]
“Who?”
[Up the stairs, by the railing. 11 o’clock. Human.]
“……”
[Don’t make it obvious. Just glance around naturally.]
Following the advice, Rotem stretched his shoulders as if loosening them and casually scanned his surroundings.
“…Don’t recognize him.”
[Doesn’t look trained or armed. What do you want to do?]
“Hmm…”
Normally, he would have ignored it or approached cautiously to investigate—but Menkes’ warning lingered in his mind.
…
The man was starting to run out of breath.
At first, following the Giant had been easy—but ever since they left Chapel Street, the Giant had picked up his pace.
Unable to act in such a crowded area, the man had no choice but to wait until the Giant was alone.
Finally, the Giant headed down toward the fishing area.
Sensing his chance, the man hurried down the stairs after him.
“What business do you have with me?”
As soon as he reached the bottom and turned, a massive shadow loomed over him.
Startled, the man stumbled back, nearly crashing into the Giant’s broad chest.
“I—I—”
“Who are you? Why are you following me?”
The voice was threatening—one that could provoke a fight even without weapons.
The man quickly glanced around.
Aside from a few fishermen and elderly men dozing by the water, no one else was nearby.
Reassured, he stepped closer.
“You’re the alchemist from Florin, right?”
“…Yes. And?”
“The one who made that recovery potion?”
“…Yes. Why?”
Before Rotem could fully process the question, the man suddenly grabbed his hand.
“Please, Alchemist…! I beg you—save my family! Make a cure for the plague!”
