Chapter 73: Sulfur: The Sweet Scent of Firearms
The three kobolds walked down the slope, making their way into the receiving area. It was busy, noisy, and smelled of dust, sweat, and faint decay. Beastkin lined up in rows, their wagons and carts stacked with different goods—fresh produce, raw ores dug from the earth, butchered animal carcasses, and mana stones harvested from beasts. The air was alive with chatter and the creak of wooden wheels.
At the center of it all stood the staff of the Recieving Area. Three skeletons in clean suits and ties, running the place with surprising order. Two sat behind a long table stacked with parchment records while one stood beside a large balancing scale. One skeleton wrote constantly, recording transactions in neat, bony script for the ledgers. The second inspected the goods, testing their quality and setting their prices with the precision of an accountant. He also handled the coins that clinked and piled into small chests behind him. The third skeleton stood near a massive balance scale, its iron arms tipping and settling as loads of ore and produce were weighed. Together, they managed the constant stream of trade like veteran merchants.
Many beastkin still came here to sell their goods in bulk, despite the distance from their village and the long and uphill trek towards the Necro Market. The reason was simple: selling in Stonehorn Crossing was a gamble. A villager renting a stall there paid a silver coin every day, whether they sold anything or not. The competition was fierce, the prices low, and for perishable goods like fruits and vegetables, the risk was a loss before noon.
Worse still, they had to labor just to break even. In contrast, the Necro Market’s receiving area offered fair prices with no extra fees. Payment was instant. Even better, the sellers could rest inside, eat a warm burger meal set for forty bronze, and recover from the long road. Some joked that the burgers alone were reason enough to make the trip. There were even cheap bedspaces to rent for a night. It wasn’t just trade—it was convenience, comfort, and certainty.
Orkell, Yrix, and Verris waited at the back of the line, clutching their baskets, the sharp reek of sulfur trailing from them. The smell was enough to make beastkin in line give up their spots, waving the kobolds ahead with wrinkled noses. Orkell muttered his thanks, sheepishly bowing as he and Yrix hurried forward. They reached the table and presented their three baskets of yellow sulfur.
The staff had been warned earlier of their Lord Karl’s new directive: sulfur was to be bought at fifteen bronze coins per kilo. The price was high enough for their efforts and suffering from the toxic gases, they must’ve inhaled, but low enough to keep the other beastkin’s interest on sulfur and take it all for himself. To most beastkin, sulfur was a nuisance with no value, but Karl knew its worth. The kobolds, unaware, blinked as the skeleton merchant set the baskets on the scale.
"Quality is low, but serviceable," the skeleton said, poking the sulfur lumps. "Hot spring origin?"
Orkell blinked in surprise. "Yeah... how did you know?"
The skeleton did not answer, instead asking, "Where exactly did you collect this?"
"In the Dark Forest," Orkell said cautiously. "It reeks of this stuff everywhere. People thought it was spirits cursing the woods. It makes your eyes red when you stay long enough and makes you cough."
From the back, a beastkin added, " The whole forest is cursed and coated in that smelly yellow dirt. They say it’s demon droppings. A foul spirit lives there."
The skeletons exchanged glances. If they’d had eyes, they would’ve widened. An entire forest rich with sulfur meant more than ore. It meant a potential sulfuric acid lake. And sulfuric acid wasn’t just fertilizer. It was the backbone of chemistry itself—used in refining, smelting, making batteries, cleaning agents, and more. It was, in truth, a goldmine.
The skeleton clerk coughed, steadied himself, and said simply, "We will purchase your load at fifteen bronze coins per kilo."
The kobolds’ eyes nearly burst from their sockets. "Fifteen?!" Orkell croaked. It was the same rate as iron ore, higher than copper. They couldn’t believe it. The sulfur they once avoided like waste was suddenly treasure.
One beastkin nearby blurted, "Why? Why buy this filth for more than copper? It smells bad and has no use!"
The skeleton merchant gave a dry, polite reply. "We are still... investigating potential uses." A lie, but one delivered without hesitation. Karl’s plans required mountains of sulfur, and the clerks would not reveal why.
The scale clinked and settled at 128 kilograms. The abacus clicked as the numbers rolled. "Total: nineteen silvers, twenty bronze," the skeleton declared. The kobolds grinned so wide their fangs showed, clutching the heavy bag of coins like it was a miracle. This haul alone could feed their village for a week.
"Do you have grains for sale?" Orkell asked, his voice careful now, like he feared breaking the spell.
"Yes," the skeleton said. "Rice, oats, and flour."
"Do you mill raw grain?" another beastkin interrupted.
"We do. For two bronze per kilo."
The merchant returned his attention to Orkell. "A sack of oats weighs twenty-five kilos. The price is ten bronze per kilo. The sack in total costs two silvers and fifty bronze. Discount applied—two silvers even."
"I’ll take three sacks," Orkell said immediately, passing over six silvers. A door opened in the back, and a skeleton hauler in a jumpsuit pushed out a wooden cart stacked with the sacks. He unloaded them and rolled away with efficient silence.
Yrix nudged Verris, whispering, "How much is that cart, you think?"
"They’re not for sale, idiot," Verris grumbled, swatting the back of his head.
The clerk overheard, his jaw clicking in amusement. "If you’re interested in them, we sold them for ten silvers."
Yrix smirked smugly. "See?!" he said, only for Verris to smack him again.
While the two kobolds squabbled, Orkell counted their remaining coins, eyeing the cart from earlier longingly. Hauling grain by hand was work, and he liked the look of that push cart. He was still thinking it over when another figure appeared at the door.
A kobold in a proper suit. It was Mina.
"Orkell," Mina said softly, handing him a pouch that clinked with weight. He opened it with careful claws, eyes widening at the gleam of silver inside.
"What’s this?" Orkell asked, voice uncertain.
"Our salary. It’s the only thing we can do to help our people." Mina replied with a small but proud smile. "Half‑month’s pay. With us, fifty silvers each."
Yrix nearly fell backward. "F‑fifty?! For two weeks?! That’s more than I’ve earn in half a year’s salary as captain."
Mina chuckled, folding her arms. "Yes. And we’ve been saving. We were meant to find all of you, when our money was enough for the journey, but... you found us first. There’s five hundred and fifty silvers in there. For the village, for everyone."
The pouch suddenly felt heavy in Orkell’s hands. His throat tightened. "This is... too much. But It’s enough to buy clothes for everyone in the clan. But what about you? the others? How will you eat? How will you live?"
"Food is free here," Mina answered gently, her voice steady, though her eyes glistened with memories. "So are the rooms. We’re comfortable enough. It’s only fair for us to give back to others"
The three kobolds gaped at her. Yrix, stunned beyond words, burst out, "C‑can I work here too? Please? I’ll scrub the floor, the latrine anything!" His eyes shone with ridiculous hope.
Verris promptly slapped him on the neck. "Idiot! They don’t hire bums like you."
Mina laughed, the sound light but kind. "I can ask our supervisor."
"Yes!" Yrix pumped his fist in victory. "See, Verris? I’ll be a salary kobold!"
Verris groaned and rubbed his forehead. "May the 3 Gods help us all."
The laughter faded as Orkell lowered his voice, the weight of another memory pressing on him. "Mina... I’m sorry about Fenri."
Her smile faltered. The name was a blade in her chest. She could still see her husband’s back as he shielded her and Kiki, the arc of the orc’s axe, the blood, the silence that followed. She drew a breath, steadying herself. "And I’m sorry for Linia," she whispered back, eyes glistening. The air grew heavy, grief settling around them like smoke. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Yrix, ever blunt, broke the silence with his stomach. "Let’s go! I’m starving to death!"
The heaviness cracked. Mina blinked, then laughed softly, brushing away the tears threatening her eyes. "Of course. Follow me."
She guided them through a wide tunnel door. As it opened, a gust of cool air swept over the kobolds, carrying with it scents so rich their noses twitched—roasted meat, sizzling fat, the yeasty warmth of fresh bread. Their jaws dropped as the sight unfolded.
Inside, the Necro Market gleamed with lanternlight, every corner bustling with beastkin, merchants, and tireless undead workers. Stalls lined the cavern, their counters crowded with skewers, steaming pots, and trays of baked goods. Lanterns reflected off polished stone walls, painting the whole cavern in warm gold. The smells of food clung thickly to the air, savory and irresistible.
The three kobolds’ stomachs growled in unison, loud enough to draw a few chuckles from passing beastkin. Mina covered her mouth, laughing. "Welcome to the Necro Market," she said, her voice warm yet professional again. "This is where I work, where trade never sleeps. If you have questions, ask me. I’ll answer whatever I can."
But the kobolds were too awestruck to speak. Their eyes were wide, drinking in the impossible brightness of this hidden world beneath the earth, where the dead and living moved together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.