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

Soon, the last Deepclaw Demon was caught. The sailors finally put down their harpoons and breathed a sigh of relief.

"One head, two heads..." Peter squatted on the shore, writing and drawing in his notebook with a pen.

The more he wrote down the numbers, the happier he became. In the end, Peter only regretted that old Buzz hadn't brought a few more cages.

"Incredible," he exclaimed. A single adult Deepclaw Demon is worth 100 silver pounds; ten would make a decent living. Yet, a normal hunter might not even kill ten in a year. These creatures should be dying alone in the mud, so why are they dying in droves before humans today?

"How much?" Gordon asked.

"Wait, I can't make a mistake!" Peter became happier and happier as he calculated, enjoying the process of figuring out that big number.

Gordon waited for that number; he guessed at least 30 gold pounds, which would be very good.

"...I announce," Peter coughed, "that tonight, in cooperation with the Blackgill Gang, we captured 6 adults, 11 sub-adults and juveniles, as well as 23 other aquatic demons and fish. Based on my understanding of the Lundenim market, the total is 50 gold pounds."

50 gold pounds! That's equivalent to 1000 silver pounds or 10 copper coins...

Everyone was very satisfied when this number came out!

The sailors straightened their backs, and old Buzz agreed to the offer.

"Bravo Blackwater River!" Gordon looked at the river and found it pleasing to the eye now.

Next came the division of the spoils.

No one in the world would carry 50 gold pounds around, so old Baz immediately sent two trusted sailors to fetch the money, instructing them to supervise each other. Old Baz was more anxious than anyone else; fresh demons would spoil if left out too long, and then they wouldn't be worth the price.

Looking at Gordon, a hint of hidden greed flashed in old Baz's eyes.

At this point, his first thought was naturally to renege on the debt and keep these things for himself, figuring that the two students wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Vera was there too.

The Source Hunter stood beside the demon's corpse, looking stern and terrifying, like a large black dog that would tear anyone who dared to approach to pieces.

No one dares to provoke the Source Hunter.

Honestly, these people dare to refine the source essence into their bodies and use their mortal bodies to bear that terrifying supernatural thing... what is there that they can't do?

By the time Old Baz's men returned with the money, Gordon and his team had already calculated their share.

Gordon, as the technology provider and the organizer, takes the lion's share with 35 gold pounds.

  

Peter, as the middleman, could earn 10 gold pounds.

Vera also received 5 pounds; she dominated the game and made an unseen but important contribution that Gordon will not forget.

Old Bartz counted the money, pulled out 35 one-pound notes with the portrait of Emperor Albert, and handed them to Gordon.

Gordon accepted it and held it up in his hand.

[The gold pound, the most common language in Lundnim.]

[Golden Pound: The Correct Answers Schools Don't Tell You.]

Gold pounds may not make you taller, but they can help you look down on everyone else.

Gold Pounds!

This is a huge sum of money, enough to hold in your hand, enough to slam on a table, enough to make many people immediately change the tone of their voice when they speak to you.

He carefully put the money away.

Since his transmigration, he had seen too many strange things: steam industry, black goat-like alien demons, bizarre and powerful source matter... but these 35 gold pounds seemed to be more meaningful than many extraordinary phenomena.

Vera took the thin five gold pounds. She carefully planned a pocket inside her trench coat, stuffed the banknotes in, then took them out again, looking at them once more, as if to confirm their authenticity. She even held them under her nose, carefully inhaling the unique scent of ink.

After a long while, a subtle expression appeared on Vera's face, like the look of someone who had just finished eating.

"That's what making money is all about," she sighed.

Peter's hands trembled as he held the ten one-pound notes.

He gritted his teeth, trying to hide his inner elation with the stoic expression typical of Rus' people, because he was most afraid that these locals would think that Rus' country bumpkins had never seen money before.

But he failed, without even realizing it himself. In fact, his unprecedentedly arrogant smile had lasted for more than ten minutes.

No wonder some people give up on themselves. If he could get 10 gold pounds for doing something, Peter just wanted to know how.

Old Baz looked at the three men with their various expressions.

Gordon controlled himself quickly, Vera looked bewildered, and Peter couldn't control his expression at all. The differences in their personalities were evident.

"Speaking of which... Mr. Gordon," Old Baz's attitude towards Gordon had completely changed, "I'd like to know, is there any of this 'bait' left? Will you still sell it to me? Just name your price."

"We'll talk about it next time," Gordon said calmly.

"Why not now?" Old Baz let out that chuckle that humans make when they're trying to get close to someone.

"Because what you're seeing now is just a sample," Gordon said seriously. "Once I strengthen the formula, who knows what it might attract?"

Upon hearing this, Old Baz's heart gradually warmed.

So this was just a sample...?

Old Baz also had the concept of that powerful incense that could attract demons, but he never expected to see it today, especially since it attracted the Deepclaw demons, which have a very special ecology. He was truly amazed.

"Let's go." Old Baz, certain there was nothing else to do, waved his hand and led his men and goods away across the river. The Deepclaw demon, still alive in its cage, pressed its face against the iron bars, its greyish-white fingers digging into the lock. No one paid it any attention.

The secret to fishing lies in preservation.

Peter left too, walking in a strange way, clutching the money as if wealth had become a branding iron that sucked away at reason.

"If anyone asks, just say we're doing an experiment." He returned to the East District, completely clueless about what to do with the money.

The noise subsided, and the riverbank became empty.

Gordon sighed, his tense body finally relaxing, and his mental stress gradually dissipating.

Everything happened so fast: ordering goods, loading goods, processing goods, settling accounts, dividing money...

The shore was covered in water and blood, a scene of utter devastation.

Gordon gazed silently at the river, which seemed to have regained its usual annoying and mysterious appearance.

Vera didn't leave. She stood on the riverbank, using the tip of her sword to rummage through a piece of wreckage that hadn't been taken away, like looking for a piece of unwanted meat in a cafeteria.

"Are you going to eat it?" Gordon asked. "That's the look you give me when you look at bread."

"I see you looking at me the same way." Vera looked down at him, and Gordon could only see two magnificent hemispheres.

"That's different. My flesh is sour."

Charlotte had been watching them for a long time from a short distance away.

At first, she was quite critical of the bloody hunt, but when she discovered that the filthy stuff was worth 50 gold pounds, she found it unbelievable.

Yesterday, Gordon announced, "We're going to make a fortune." She thought Gordon had gone mad, exaggerating the facts, disregarding the risks, and rushing in for a little profit, just like the speculators her father despised.

The investments she was familiar with were much more organized, such as stocks, trade, and shipping... They were all very formal, with gentlemen in suits, meticulously worded contracts, and endless meetings.

This thing before us didn't need any tea or pleasantries; it only required some cunning and a few willing hands. But this was actually more natural, more real. The wealth of the Logris Empire was built on barbaric plunder. As long as you can make money, who cares if you follow the rules?

She recalled her father's earlier assessment: "It's good for you to deal with him." Now she felt that her father's words were too lenient.

Charlotte suddenly felt a strong urge to talk to Gordon.