CHAPTER 12: PROFIT MARGINS

"Take your shirt off," Ingrid repeated, as if she had already decided she wouldn’t leave until he obeyed.

Wade narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. "Why?" he asked, blinking at her in confusion and hesitation.

Ingrid reached into her Inventory. When her hand emerged, she was holding a small clay jar, its lid sealed tight with wax.

She held it out for him to see. "Salve. It’ll help heal your back."

Understanding hit him, and his eyes widened. "Oh," he said, feeling almost stupid for not guessing sooner.

Her gaze didn’t waver. She waited.

Wade nodded slowly, then tugged the hem of his tunic upwards.

The fabric stuck where the acid had burned into it, making him wince.

He eased it off carefully, letting the shirt fall into his hands before setting it aside. His bare back stung in the cool air, every movement reminding him of the acid’s bite.

Ingrid stepped behind him. The jar popped open, releasing a faint herbal scent of mint and something that tickled his nose, almost like pine.

Her fingers scooped the thick salve, and then the cool paste spread across his burned skin.

Wade hissed, jaw clenching at the sudden sting that quickly softened into relief.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, growing awkward, broken only by the faint sound of horses shifting in the nearby stalls and their breathing.

Her hands moved with the ease of someone that had done this many times, but the closeness felt strange to Wade.

This was Ingrid, the woman who had barely shown emotion until now, who had snorted at his inexperience with horses but kept her face blank at everything else.

And here she was, tending his wounds.

When she finished, she stepped back without a word, wiping her fingers clean on a cloth she also pulled from her Inventory.

Wade quickly tugged his tunic back over his head, sighing softly at how much better his back felt already.

She held the jar out to him. "Your arm."

He accepted it carefully. The clay jar felt cool in his palm. He scooped some of the paste with two fingers, spreading it along the angry red burns that streaked his arm.

The sting eased almost immediately, replaced by a gentle numbness that let him finally breathe without hissing through his teeth.

When he was done, he sealed the jar and handed it back. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Ingrid gave a single nod, tucking the salve back into her Inventory.

Her face was still blank, though her eyes flicked to him once, before she looked away.

A greeting broke the silence.

"Still alive, I see."

Both Wade and Ingrid looked up. Sebastian and Rowan were walking out of the swamp, water dripping from their armor and clothes.

Sebastian’s axe was slung across his back, its blade chipped in places, while Rowan leaned heavily on his staff, his usually calm face filled with exhaustion.

They looked worse for wear, their steps slower, but both were upright and grinning.

"How was the Dreadmire?" Ingrid asked, her voice neutral.

Rowan’s grin widened, tired but still bright. "We drove it off. It’ll crawl back to its hole. Nothing more than a good workout."

Sebastian snorted, shaking swamp water from his beard. "A good workout, he says. My arms are still ringing."

The two men headed straight to the stalls, presenting their badges to the stable attendant.

A short while later, they returned, looking cleaner, though their gear still bore the marks of battle.

Sebastian clapped Wade on the shoulder as he passed. "Didn’t die, eh? That’s good."

Wade managed a crooked smile. "Barely."

"Barely is still alive," Sebastian said with a grin.

It was time to return. The party mounted their horses, the stable master opening the gate for them.

They rode at an easy pace, the swamp shrinking behind them as the fields opened up once more.

The rhythm of the horses’ hooves was steady, almost soothing, but Wade’s mind was far from calm.

He finally spoke, turning to Rowan. "What was that thing? The Dreadmire?"

Rowan glanced at him, the orb of his staff catching the sunlight as it bounced on his back. He seemed to not want to return it to his inventory.

"The Dreadmire is what’s called a Tyrant. They’re monsters that dominate entire territories. Every creature in that swamp bends to it. The Mirewood is its home."

"It is also the reason why the retrieval quest you just completed pays two hundred coins. You weren’t just fighting in swamp water, you were trespassing in a Tyrant’s territory."

Wade’s eyes widened.

"It should’ve been deeper in the swamp, but it showing up? That was bad luck," Rowan said simply. "Tyrants rarely leave the deepest parts of their territory. But when they do... things get ugly fast."

Wade thought about the screech, the terror that had locked his body in place. His hands tightened on the reins. "Why hasn’t anyone killed it? If it’s that dangerous, why let it live?"

Rowan sighed, his calm expression turning bitter. "Because the guilds won’t allow it. Killing a Tyrant would reduce quest prices in that region. Less danger means less profit."

"If someone were to slay the Dreadmire, every contract tied to Mirewood would lose its inflated value. The guilds rely on that cost to keep coins flowing."

"That means anybody who killed the Dreadmire would be hunted down, stripped of their loot, and forced to pay reparations until they were ruined."

Silence followed his words. Even Sebastian said nothing, his gray eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Wade swallowed hard, his mind racing. Everytime, he was learning something new about the questionable business practices of the guilds.

They didn’t just exploit adventurers with their contracts, but they also manipulated the dangers of the world itself to keep their grip on profit.

The thought sickened him, though he kept it locked inside.

The silence stretched until Sebastian finally broke it. "So, Barrett. First combat experience. What did you learn?"

Wade blinked, caught off guard. He thought back to the Bog Slimes.

"I learned a lot," he said honestly. "To keep my eyes open. To swing without hesitation. To listen when someone tells me how to kill a monster. And more importantly, I need armor. At least a breastplate."

Sebastian chuckled. "Good. You’ll do fine then."