OBS Chapter 26 Going to Buy Goods
Chapter 26 Going to Buy Goods
In the underground safe houses of Ruian Harbour, the acrid smell of mold and rotten wood lingers in the nostrils.
In the dim light of the oil lamp, a small pile of metal reflected an alluring luster.
While Avira was out shopping for daily necessities, Rhodes took stock of all his assets.
"8 gold hexagons, 4 silver coins, 14 copper coins... and this crystal card has a paltry 4 orim."
Rod flicked a gold coin with his thumb, listening to the crisp sound it made as it tumbled through the air, and then grabbed it.
"Is this what they call getting rich overnight? Chiba, that vampire, took 30%, and although Victor, that idiot, is dead, he still used up all the working capital I got from him to pay Ivy's ransom."
He tossed the gold coins back onto the table, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long sigh.
"After all that work, what's left is probably less than the cost of a single dinner for that dead rich kid."
Despite his complaints, Rod couldn't suppress the smile on his face.
Because, compared to a shrinking wallet, a qualitative change in physical strength and power is the capital to survive in this quagmire.
Rod stood up and walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
The bronze mirror's surface has oxidized and turned black, and the image it reflects is no longer that of a logistics soldier who only hunches his neck.
The hard leather trench coat, lined with chainmail, fits the body perfectly, providing basic defense without sacrificing flexibility. On the specially made linen combat suit worn close to the body, a faint blue glow can be seen emanating from the [Structural Reinforcement] tag.
The tactical trousers at the waist have multiple pockets, which can be neatly filled with various medicine bottles, as well as a boning knife that can be drawn at any time.
At his feet stood the finely crafted longsword that Torin had personally forged, and the small, round steel shield with its edges sharpened.
This outfit would be considered the standard equipment for a core member in any Iron-rank adventurer's party.
"Feeling pretty good. The sewer crocodile cleanup mission a few days ago proved that I'm capable of fighting now. Next, I can consider taking on some dungeon commissions outside of Rust Harbor."
Rhodes clenched his fist, feeling the muscle memory imprinted deep within his nerves by [Basic Sword Mastery], while [Swift Steps] filled his legs with a lightness that could explode at any moment.
If he wanted to, he could slit the throat of an ordinary, non-professional guard in three seconds and then use the terrain to shake off the entire patrol.
Extraordinary power is the foundation for survival in this cannibalistic world.
Immediately afterward, Rhodes' consciousness sank into the depths of his mind.
In that hazy space of consciousness, more than a dozen orbs of light floated silently.
[Neurotoxin sac], [Tough Spider Silk]... Rhodes's consciousness bypassed them and landed on the most dazzling orange orb of light, which exuded a chilling aura.
[The Fragmented Blood of the Red Dragon]
Rhodes' consciousness cautiously approached, and even with only non-physical contact, a sulfurous heat that seemed to ignite his soul instantly rebounded.
It was a pure and primal allure of power.
"Once I load it, my physique will instantly surpass the threshold of ordinary people, and I might even gain some of the biological characteristics of dragons?"
Rod couldn't help but mutter to himself, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
This kind of path to instant success is a fatal temptation for anyone who thirsts for power.
But Rhodes quickly remembered his entrenching tool—loaded with the purple rare attribute [Ember Dragon Breath], which, after only one burst, instantly turned into a pool of molten iron.
"Even iron can't withstand the residual heat of dragon's breath. If I were to directly load this thing onto my mortal body..." Rhodes shuddered, instantly picturing the horrific scene of ruptured blood vessels and internal organs carbonized by the high temperature. "No, the risk is too great. I can't be sure if loading such a high-level term will have a negative impact on me."
He decisively severed his connection with the orange orb of light.
"Just like you can't go all in on stocks, you can't gamble with your life on evolution. I need prerequisites... such as a stat that can greatly enhance physical attributes, or some kind of alchemical aid that can neutralize the effects of such a powerful drug."
Reason has regained the upper hand.
This drop of blood is a strategic reserve, a trump card for the future, not a death warrant for the present.
"The most urgent tasks right now are to raise money and restock."
In order to create that Crimson Star, he almost used up all the high-grade scrap materials he had stockpiled over the past few months.
Having tasted success, Tolin will definitely be urging for new materials.
Now that we have the capital, it's time to expand the business.
"Let's go, let's go get some stock."
Rod left a note for Ivy to go out, grabbed the coins on the table and stuffed them into his purse, put on his trench coat, grabbed his weapon, and pushed open the door to the cabin.
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South of the city, the old Hansen scrap yard.
The air here is more polluted than in other parts of Rust Harbour, filled with the smells of engine oil, rust, and an indescribable sour, rotten odor.
Mountains of scrap metal stood against the gloomy sky, resembling steel tombs, creating an exceptionally oppressive atmosphere.
Rod pushed a rented wheelbarrow, its rubber wheels grinding over the oil-soaked black soil. The axle was dry, and it creaked and groaned with each turn.
"This awful weather is practically made for rheumatism and arthritis."
Rod pulled his collar tighter and scanned his surroundings.
At this time of year, the scrap yard is usually very noisy.
The scavengers would gather here and argue endlessly, trying to get a lower price from old Hansen so they could pay less "tax" in copper coins.
But today, the place is eerily quiet.
The iron door of the always-open container shed was slightly ajar.
Rod stopped the cart and tentatively called out, "Old Hansen?"
The only response he received was the whistling of the wind passing through the gaps in the scrap metal pile.
"Are you sick? Or did you go out to buy supplies?"
Rod frowned.
Based on his understanding of the old man, as long as he had a breath left, old Hansen would never miss any business, especially a "big client" like Rod.
He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward.
We must get decent materials today, no matter what; we can't let the cart rental fee go to waste.
Rod walked to the door and just as he raised his hand to knock, a faint, sweet, fishy smell entered his nostrils.
is blood.
Rhodes's hand froze in mid-air, his eyes instantly sharpening.
The muscle memory brought about by [Basic Swordsmanship Mastery] made him subconsciously press his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"Something happened?"
Rod didn't push the door open immediately. Instead, he put his ear close to the cold crack in the door and held his breath.
A dead silence.
There was no sound of fighting inside the room, not even normal breathing could be heard.
Rhodes took a deep breath, pulled out the boning knife from his waist, which was more suitable for fighting in confined spaces, gripped it in his backhand, and gently pushed open the rusty iron door.
"Squeak—"
The sound of the door hinges rubbing together was particularly jarring in the deathly silence.
Dim light seeped into the room through the crack in the door.
The first thing that catches the eye is the mess of blueprints and scattered parts on the floor. The alchemy table, which Old Hansen usually polished to a shine, is now overturned.
And lying in that mess was a person—who else could it be but old Hansen?