Jasper stepped into the room with a quiet grace, his hood pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that concealed any hint of his expression. The dim light from the flickering candles danced across the fabric of his cloak, giving him an air of mystery. He grabbed a chair from the corner, its legs scraping softly against the wooden floor, and positioned it near the bed where Mina lay. Sitting upright, he crossed his right leg slowly, his hands resting on his knee in a deliberate, almost regal manner. His movements were measured, as if every gesture carried weight.
Mina watched him from the bed, her body stiff and aching, her breaths shallow. The faint scent of herbs and ointments lingered in the air, a reminder of Lysandra's healing touch. Mina's green eyes followed Jasper's every move, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a strange mix of emotions, her fingers nervously clutching the edge of the thin blanket draped over her. Jasper's hooded face tilted slightly toward her, but he remained silent, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second.
Jasper knew his first impression was crucial. He could see the bruises on Mina's face, the faint traces of dried blood on her lip, and the way she winced when she shifted even slightly. Her former master's son had left her broken, both in body and spirit. Jasper's fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, a soft tap-tap-tap that filled the silence. He was stalling, carefully choosing his words, aware that one wrong move could shatter the fragile trust he was trying to build.
"How do you feel right now?" Jasper finally asked, his voice low and raspy, it carried a roughness that hinted the suffering life was living. He leaned forward slightly, his hood shifting but still hiding his face. "Is your body still aching?"
Mina's voice was barely above a whisper, her words trembling as they left her lips. "I'm feeling better, thank you for taking care of me."
Jasper nodded, the motion barely perceptible under the shadow of his hood. "That's good to hear. Lysandra is a skilled healer." His hand moved to the back of his other hand, tapping his fingers in a rhythmic pattern—pinky to index—as if he were counting seconds. The sound was soft but deliberate, a subtle distraction from the weight of the conversation. "Did Lysandra tell you what happened and why I brought you here?"
Mina's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "Yes, master, she did."
Jasper exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint crackle of the candles and the distant hum of the wind outside. Then he spoke again, his tone measured and calm. "So, for you to accept your situation clearly, I'm not going to wed you at the moment. First, take your time observing Ivar. I can assure you, he's a good man." Jasper's hood turned slightly toward the corner of the room where Ivar stood, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention.
Ivar, a tall and broad chested figure with wavy voluminous hair, looked as though he wanted to disappear into the wall. His face flushed a deep red, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. Jasper's voice broke the silence again, sharper this time. "Do you have anything to say, Ivar?"
Ivar stammered, his words tumbling out in a flustered rush. "Who? Me? No. Yes. I mean—" He cut himself off, his ears turning crimson as Lysandra and Mina exchanged glances. Lysandra, standing near the door with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smile. Mina, despite her pain, let out a soft giggle, her hand covering her mouth.
Jasper slapped his forehead, the sound sharp and sudden. "Get a grip, you old kid! You're embarrassing us here."
Ivar closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more sincere. "I'll be in your care. I hope our lives turn for the best together."
Mina's cheeks flushed a light pink, and she nodded, her voice barely audible. "Likewise."
Jasper cleared his throat, the sound breaking the momentary awkwardness. "Ahem. So, Mina, let me ask you—what are you good at?"
Mina hesitated, her fingers tightening around the blanket. "I'm a good cook," she said quietly, her voice gaining a little strength. "And I do all the house chores. That's what I've been doing since I was a kid."
Jasper tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hood shifting. "Hmm, a good cook, huh?" His tone was thoughtful, almost playful. "Are you good with knives? I mean, do you cut swiftly and cleanly?"
Mina's brow furrowed, and she glanced at her hands, still marked with faint scars. "I think so?" she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Good. I need you to heal up quickly. We are having work in a few days, so be prepared."
"I'll do my best, master."
A few days later, Jasper arrived at the guild to check on his request, only to find the mercenaries who had taken the job already waiting for him, the quest completed. Though they had succeeded in their task, they hadn't managed to deliver the skins on time. Jasper handed over the remaining half of the payment (-5g) to the guild, watched as the goods were loaded onto his wagon, and then set off without delay. His next stop was to rent a workshop and hire a team of workers—this was the beginning of their first business venture.
As they unloaded the wooden crates of skins from the wagon, Ivar, ever the curious one, furrowed his brow and broke the silence. "Master, why are all the skins soaked in water like this? Won't they spoil if they're left wet for too long?"
Jasper glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Two days in water won't ruin them. It's part of the process," he explained, his tone calm and measured. "I instructed the mercenaries to treat the skins with salt and alum for half a day before soaking them in water for the remainder of the time until they reached us. I even offered them a bonus if they could deliver the skins faster. And I made sure they checked for any remaining flesh on the hides—nothing can be left behind. I knew they wouldn't make it on time, but the incentive pushed them to work harder. It saved us a day or two and shifted some of the workload onto them."
Ivar's eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. "That's a cunning way of thinking, Master."
Jasper raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. "Do you hate it?"
"No," Ivar replied with a chuckle. "I like it. Hehe."
Once the wagon was emptied, Jasper directed the workers to carefully inspect each skin before placing them into large vats filled with a lime solution. The soaking process was meticulous and time-consuming, spanning ten days in total. The skins underwent multiple stages of lime treatment, each followed by thorough rinses in fresh water to remove the caustic residue. After the hair follicles had sufficiently loosened, the workers moved on to dehairing the hides. Some set aside the fur for further processing, while others stretched the skins onto wooden frames, meticulously scraping and thinning them to achieve the desired thickness. Finally, the treated hides were left to dry, smoothed out, and prepared for sale—a product of patience, precision, and Jasper's shrewd planning.
Once everything was loaded onto the wagon, Ivar wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tired sigh. "Whew, finally! We're done," he muttered, his voice tinged with relief. He carefully secured the goods and set off to meet Robben, making sure not to forget Jasper's strict instructions.
"Remember," Ivar said, his tone firm, "the parchment is of the highest quality, so no less than 16 silver per piece is acceptable. As for the fur, the standard price is 12 silver. No exceptions, understood? Also blablabla..."
Robben nodded eagerly, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of selling such valuable goods. Without wasting a moment, he took charge of the wagon and began his selling journey, the wheels creaking as they rolled over the uneven path.
Meanwhile, Jasper returned to the mercenary guild, his cloak billowing slightly as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The familiar scent of polished wood and ale greeted him, mingling with the low hum of chatter and clinking mugs. He strode confidently to the reception desk, his boots echoing on the stone floor. This time, he placed a request for a thousand Horned Rabbit skins, his voice calm but firm as he dictated the details to the wide-eyed receptionist.
The receptionist, a young man with a mop of unruly hair, blinked in disbelief as he scribbled down the request. A thousand skins? It was an enormous order, but these days, hunting Horned Rabbits was considered an easy quest thanks to the strategies mercenaries had developed or that's the public official version. The reward Jasper offered was staggering—2000 silver coins—enough to make even the most seasoned adventurers take notice. The receptionist's hands trembled slightly as he finalized the request, his excitement barely contained. After all, he was the one who would get credit for processing such a lucrative order.
As soon as the quest was posted on the guild's board, the room erupted into chaos. Mercenaries crowded around the board, their voices rising in a cacophony of shouts and arguments.
"2000 silver? That's a fortune!" one burly man exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.
"I'm taking this one—no arguments!" another shouted, already reaching for the quest parchment.
"Like hell you are! I've got a team ready to go!" a third retorted, shoving his way forward.
Fists flew, and the guild hall descended into a brief but intense scuffle as mercenaries fought over who would claim the quest first. The receptionist ducked behind the counter, clutching the quest ledger to his chest, while Jasper stood calmly to the side, observing the chaos with an air of detached amusement.
Beneath his hood, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though his expression remained hidden. He crossed his arms, leaning casually against a wooden pillar as he watched the scene unfold. The mercenaries' eagerness only confirmed what he already knew: his plan was working.
"Excuse me, Mister Receptionist. I'd like to place another request," Jasper said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the receptionist pause mid-smile.
The receptionist had been beaming with joy just moments ago, thrilled to process Jasper's lucrative order for Horned Rabbit skins. But now, his expression shifted, his cheerful demeanor faltering as he leaned forward, curiosity and caution mingling in his eyes. "What is it, dear sir?" he asked, his tone still polite but noticeably more guarded.
Jasper's hood tilted slightly, shadows obscuring his face as he spoke. "It's nothing too complicated. I need ..."
The receptionist's face transformed, his earlier joy melting into something darker, more calculating. His lips curled into a faint, almost malicious smile as he nodded slowly. "Anything for you, dear sir," he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'll ensure the right person is chosen for the job."
***
Robben made his way to the agents of the nobles, the intermediaries responsible for procuring supplies for their wealthy masters. He carried with him a sample of the parchment, its smooth texture and impeccable quality evident even at a glance. His first stop was the agent of the most attention-seeking noble of them all—Marquis Steven. It was common knowledge among merchants that if you could impress Marquis Steven, your product would sell itself. Despite his disdain for merchants, the Marquis had a peculiar habit: if he liked something, he would boast about its quality to everyone in his circle. His endorsement was like a wildfire, spreading quickly among the nobility and ensuring that others would follow suit.
However, dealing with Marquis Steven was not without its risks. He was far from foolish; in fact, he had a sharp eye for quality. Anyone attempting to deceive him or pass off subpar goods would find their business reputation ruined overnight. Unless you were absolutely certain of your product's excellence, it was best to steer clear of him altogether. But Jasper had no such doubts. He was confident in the quality of the Horned Rabbit parchment and fur, and he knew this was his chance to make as much money as he could.
Before anyone else could catch on to the potential of Horned Rabbit materials, Jasper took the initiative. He placed large orders for skins, ensuring he had a substantial stockpile to meet the growing demand. His foresight paid off. Within three months, he had sold over 5,000 parchments and furs. His reputation—or rather, Robben's reputation as his intermediary—soared as nobles and merchants alike clamored for the high-quality goods.
The merchants who dealt in parchment grew increasingly frustrated as their profits plummeted astronomically. They gathered together, their voices rising in anger as they complained about Robben ruining their business. It was unacceptable, especially since Robben was a newcomer to the trade. How could someone so new outshine them so completely?
"We need to either ruin his business or find out what kind of skin he's using to create his parchment," one merchant declared, slamming his fist on the table. "Calfskin is the best quality known, yet he's managed to get his hands on something even better. We have to uncover his secret, or we'll lose everything."
"I agree," another merchant chimed in, his tone dark and bitter. "We can't let some upstart destroy us, or we'll become laughingstocks. I'd rather kill him and be done with it."
A third merchant, older and more cautious, raised a hand to calm the group. "We can't jump to killing him as our first move. We need to find out his sources. Marquis Steven is already fond of this new parchment—if we can get our hands on it, we'll strike it big. But if we can't uncover his secret, then we eliminate him and free ourselves from this headache."
The room fell silent as the merchants exchanged grim looks, the weight of their desperation hanging heavy in the air. Each of them knew that their livelihoods were at stake, and they were willing to do whatever it took to protect them.