Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

the next day.

Peter Geshkovich was not a local; he came from the distant Rus Empire and came to Logris to learn advanced technology.

He speaks with almost no accent, only occasionally uttering a few syllables with a trilled "r". For example, when he's nervous, angry, or like now, when he's being blocked downstairs early in the morning.

"Good morning, senior!" Gordon greeted.

"What?" Peter tugged at his red and green scarf, his eyes wide like a bear that had spotted a poorly made trap. "You want me to treat you to breakfast? Forget it."

"No, it has nothing to do with breakfast."

“That’s terrible.” Peter turned around. “At least I know the price of breakfast.”

Gordon followed closely behind Peter.

"I want to sell Deepclaw Demons. I know you're familiar with the Old Fish Market."

Peter was taken aback. He turned to look at Gordon, his gaze moving from his face to his hands, then to his back, to make sure there wasn't a Deepclaw demon being dragged along, dripping wet.

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"You found some dead Otherworldly beings? How many?"

"They were alive, so many that when they invaded our school, each student had to fight four on average."

Peter was filled with awe.

"You started a war between the Deepclaw Empire and this country?" he asked.

"I'll tell you if you buy me breakfast."

Peter fell silent.

Then, he uttered a harsh word in Ross. Gordon couldn't understand it. But judging from the friendly, trilled "r" sound, it probably wasn't a wish for him to live a long life.

……

Ten minutes later, Gordon successfully won a very lavish breakfast.

A soft-boiled egg. It reminds you of your money—it existed, but it's gone.

Fried beans. No dreams, just calories.

[Black pudding. As the name suggests... it's actually made with pig's blood and oatmeal.]

Delicious coffee. You'll regret not drinking it.

He ate with great relish.

Peter looked outside. The weather in Lundnim was always foggy and the grass was soaked. He couldn't stand this kind of weather and would rather it snowed heavily for a while.

"Alright, if you try to fool me with one or two Deepclaws, I'll kick your ass hard with my boots and complain to Professor Winslow about you," Peter threatened.

"I just want to know, what's the price of a Deepclaw Demon?"

Peter didn't answer immediately; instead, he took out a small booklet and quickly flipped through a few pages.

Gordon believed that Peter's pamphlet contained secrets about the logistics system, including the price of mortuaries, professors' tempers, and students' unpaid fees. He thought that careful deduction might even reveal why the school, despite collecting so much money annually, still wouldn't provide decent dormitories for everyone.

"It depends on how fresh it is. 50, 100, the price varies a lot." Peter turned to a page.

"Bronze points?" Gordon was somewhat disappointed.

"Silver pounds".

Gordon was startled.

"Wow, that's valuable?!" he said.

Now, when he thinks of the Deepclaw demons swimming in the Blackwater River, he feels they are like schools of large, swimming silver fish.

"Of course, their cartilage can be used to make a simple underwater breathing solution, although drinking it will make you feel like you're being choked while swimming. Their eyeballs are also useful; they can be used to make a night vision solution," Peter said.

Night vision?

"Sell it to idiots," Peter said slowly. "The idiots then sell it to even bigger idiots. Water Monkey Potion has a long history and a long monetization chain. If you ask me, it's one of the most stable businesses in the old fish market."

Gordon listened intently. He liked stability. Especially stable money.

"What if I could reliably obtain a large number of Deepclaw Demons?"

“Nonsense,” Peter said. “Deepclaws are all single, just like you and me.”

"Really," Gordon said. "I can get a dozen, maybe even dozens, depending on the situation."

Peter capped his pen and finally got serious.

"Say it again?"

“What I mean is,” Gordon said seriously, “I really do have a way to reliably attract Deepclaws.”

"impossible."

"If you're willing to come, you'll see... the impossible become possible."

Peter suddenly realized that Gordon hadn't lied.

"...Fine, I'll take your word for it. But why me?"

"You have to help me contact the Old Fish Market. I need a professional team with their own boat that can travel back and forth on the Blackwater River and deal with the demons completely."

“The people at the old fish market are very shrewd,” Peter said. “If they find out you’re cheating them, they’ll chop you up too and weigh you out.”

"That's why I need you to make the contact," Gordon said. "They wouldn't even see someone like me on my first visit."

"Thank you," Peter said, leaning back and letting out a heavy sigh.

Gordon made the right choice in seeking him out, which made Peter less than happy. Being needed often means having to do work.

"There will always be a few people willing to take risks in the old fish market," Gordon said.

"Just like our biomedical department, there's always going to be a Gordon Vick," Peter said.

"Let's be frank, who do you know?"

“There are a few,” Peter said, “but it’s not certain if they’d be willing to come. For example, the Blackgill Gang, which is a bit like a criminal organization that buys aquatic demons from the old fish market year-round. Their leader is called Old Buzz. The Deepclaw thing is all about stability; ten here occasionally is just bad luck, but ten here every time is business, and only business can entice someone like Old Buzz.”

That's exactly what Gordon was waiting for.

“Okay, I’ll sell them this business,” Gordon said. “As long as you handle the negotiations, Deepclaw will become our revenue.”

Our income. Those words are powerful. They're far more effective than any kind of friendship. It's very appealing that Gordon considers everyone's share.

Peter quickly traced a few lines on the table, calculating the costs and benefits.

He wasn't actually hoping to get rich overnight, but he felt this business was worth doing.

Unlike Gordon, who always had ideas in his head, Peter didn't. However, Peter had one strength: if someone clearly explained their idea, he could implement it with 120% efficiency. This was why Winslow put him in charge of logistics.

"Okay, I'll go. I want a share," Peter made up his mind.

"Can."

"Give me the referral fee first. I need to bribe those fat guys at the market entrance; five silver pounds first."

"You'll have to pay for it yourself. If you don't trust this business, keep those five silver pounds in your pocket, keep them warm, and never take them out again in your life!"

"You're such a poor wretch."

"Thank you for your kind words. It's a pleasure working with you."

……

Later that day, at the old fish market.

Old Baz simply chuckled after hearing the news.

He had an old scar on his face, running from the corner of his left eye to his chin. Someone had tried to drown old Baz, but they weren't strong enough. So there was one more corpse in the Blackwater River, while old Baz lived to this day.

"There's a college student who says he can attract a bunch of water monkeys?" He sat on an overturned fish tank, and a few people around him laughed.

"It was Peter who said it," a fat man added.

"Peter? That tall, thin guy with white skin and a lisp?" Old Baz stroked his chin.

That's interesting. Old Baz remembered Peter wasn't the type to spread crazy rumors. That deadpan face only had Ross's characteristic rigidity and honesty.

On his first visit to the Old Fish Market, Peter argued with someone for five hours over a two-cent price difference, eventually winning but not buying anything.

Even if what comes out of such a person isn't entirely true, it's generally not entirely false.

"How many of us are going?" someone asked.

"No need for more," old Baz ordered. "Four men, with harpoons and cages."

"What if it's fake?" someone asked.

"What do you think I bring a cage for?" Old Baz stood up.