Antoine sat on an old wooden stool in front of a tiny lectern in his cave hideout, his hunched silhouette sinister and skewed under the light of the single candle illuminating the room. His arms twitched and trembled erratically as he scribbled away on a piece of parchment, writing and drawing his twisted designs on the many ways he would bring ruin to the merchant crab he despised so much.

“Soon, soon…” the deranged scribe muttered between random cackles, lost as he was in his own mind.

So absorbed in his inner plotting was he, that the disgraced guildmaster did not even notice a large, muscular man entering his chamber.

“Hey, Anto—I mean, Duke,” Bruce said with a note of disdain on the last word as he moved the curtain by the entrance out of his way and walked into the room. “I’m back from my supply run.”

“Ah, sure, sure. You can leave the sack on the table as usual,” Antoine responded without so much as glancing back and instead continuing to scratch ink into the paper with his quill.

The merchant had little time for trivial things like supplies, or mundane concepts like food anymore. Those were inconsequential to him, no real concerns. What mattered was the system, to gain access to it, to take it from the eight-legged usurper. Then all would be well. All would make sense. Antoine would finally have everything that was rightfully his. What he deserved. Not the crab. Him.

“I, uhm… I also got some updates on that Semla dungeon while I was at the tavern,” the broad-shouldered man behind him said as he placed a burlap sack on a nearby table.

The former nobleman turned around on his stool in a flash, his wide eyes focused on the mercenary with deranged focus. “What news do you bring?!”

Bruce stared down at the smaller man with an expression of thinly-veiled discomfort upon seeing his expression and his unkempt, frayed mustache. But Antoine cared little for what the hired muscle thought, only that he did what he was told.

“So, it looks like one of your dimwit clients made it to the first floor of that place with one of your items,” the bald man explained. “When the crab and his pals went in there themselves, they encountered some weird abomination powered by the sword you sold to the kid.”

“Good, excellent!” the deranged merchant said with unrestrained glee. “Did this creature slay the crab and all of his disgusting companions?!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Uhh… No. They slew it instead.”

“What?!” Antoine blurted out, his glee suddenly replaced with spitting outrage. “Where did you hear this story?”

“Directly from the horse’s mouth,” the bodyguard replied. “Some weirdo in a metal helmet and a loincloth who was in there with the crab when it happened. The kid wouldn’t stop telling the tale to anyone who would hear it at the tavern.”

“Curse that damnable crustacean and his uncanny luck!” the irate little man spat behind gritted teeth.

Antoine turned back to his papers, gazing emptily at them with the look of someone searching the recesses of his mind for an epiphany.

“No, no, no, I should have known,” he muttered. “Brute force wouldn’t do. I must use my superior intellect to rid myself of this menace. I cannot rely on some creature to do the job. I must be discreet. Stealthy. I must lay my snare carefully and without being noticed. And once the time is finally right…” He smacked a closed fist against his palm. “I’ll spring my trap around this crab, and the jaws of justice will snap shut around him, delivering my sweet vengeance upon the bane of my existence!”

Antoine cackled while Bruce continued standing by the entrance, looking at him with a weirded out expression.

“What?!” the mustached man suddenly barked. “Ah, the dog must want his pay.”

Opening a nearby safebox, the former guildmaster retrieved a small coin pouch and tossed it at the mercenary, who caught it with one hand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Antoine said with bitter venom in his words upon noticing Bruce’s gaze lingering on the many coin bags inside the safe box. “You’re thinking you could just take it all for yourself. Get a big payout all at once. But you won’t. Even a meathead like you can understand that without me the source of these riches would end, and that so long as you keep working for me, the money will keep coming endlessly.”

The bodyguard let out a poorly disguised snarl as his upper lip curled, his eyes shooting daggers at the smirking madman.

“There’s another fool outside to see you,” Bruce grumbled while moving the curtain aside to leave.

“Perfect,” said Antoine, flashing a malevolent grin as he grabbed a silver medallion with a green gem from his inventory chest. “Send my client in. The Duke has a special task for this adventurer.”

***

“And you will sell it to me for just five crowns?” Balthazar asked with one eyestalk cocked.

“Uhm… Yes,” the adventurer standing in front of him replied.

“This medallion right here?” the merchant said, tapping the tip of his pincer on the wooden surface of his counter beside a silver necklace with a green gem medallion.

“Y-yes,” the young man said with nervous hesitation.

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Balthazar rolled his eyes from the human to the piece of jewelry. He knew adventurers were generally not the smartest, and he also loved a good bargain, but the crab knew this was simply too good to be true.

At first, the crustacean considered if the kid was trying to offload stolen goods, but that theory didn’t last long once he put on his Monocle of Exposition.

[Silver Medallion]

[Equipment - Necklace]

[Description not found. Corrupted data. Please contact your nearest manager.]

I won’t be contacting any stinking birds, but thanks for the tip, system.

As the merchant gazed up, he noticed the adventurer’s helmet, which he had placed on the edge of the counter while they talked.

[Undefined Helmet of Undefined]

[Equipment - Gloves]

[+5 knee protection.]

Balthazar squinted at the leather helmet sitting in front of him.

Yep. Totally normal helmet right there.

The crab turned to his nervous client and let out a tired sigh.

“Boy, do you think I’m stupid?”

The young adventurer jolted with a start.

“Wha-what? No, why would I—”

“I’ve been a merchant for a very long time. Over six months, actually. You thought you could just sell me a corrupted item and I wouldn’t notice?”

The fighter started turning red as beads of sweat ran down his forehead.

“N-no, I wouldn’t… I mean, I couldn’t… I-I—”

Balthazar crossed his arms from behind the counter.

“Did you get these items from some weirdo who calls himself the baron, or whatever?”

“It’s actually the du—”

“I’ve seen corrupted items like these before,” the merchant continued, raising his voice. “You know how dangerous these things can be? For yourself and for everyone else around you? Your feet could vanish! Or in your case, maybe your head disappears! Not that you’d miss it much, would you? Did you not think it was suspicious when someone sold you premium wares at a huge discount?”

“I-I…” the adventurer stuttered. “He just said all I had to do was take the medallion and make sure you boug—”

“This is what happens when inexperienced adventurers like you go and buy from some random nobody on the side of the road!” Balthazar rambled on, ignoring the young man’s meek attempts at explaining himself. “You should only buy from trustworthy merchants—like me!”

The crab leaned over the counter, looking for his goblin assistant, but did not spot him anywhere. Remembering Druma was most likely hiding in his little corner practicing reading—he was nearly at three letters learned by now—Balthazar hopped off his stool and walked to the back exit.

“You, come with me,” he told the adventurer. “And bring that medallion and the helmet.”

The confused fighter snatched the necklace from the counter and grabbed the helmet under his arm before jogging behind the crab.

As they got outside, Balthazar turned to the young man and frowned.

“I would stop touching that corrupted crap so much if I were you.”

The adventurer looked down at the items he was holding, recoiled, and tossed them both on the floor before starting to frantically wipe his hands on his sleeves.

The crab placed both pincers on the sides of his mouth and yelled up to the wind.

“Bluuuueee!”

After a few seconds of awkward standing around, the adventurer spoke up timidly.

“Am I supposed to shout ‘red’ now or—”

An azure streak descended from the sky in a blur, causing the young man to stumble and fall back on the floor with a yelp. The drake stared at him and then at the crab, her intense gaze as if expecting a fight.

“Ah, there you are,” Balthazar said to her. “See that helmet and medallion on the floor over there? They—”

The winged creature approached to sniff the corrupted equipment but immediately pulled her head back with a snarl of angry disgust, and without a moment of hesitation, she opened her maw and unleashed blue fire upon the helmet and medallion.

“Yeah, alright,” the merchant said casually as an intense blue light danced on his nonchalant expression. “We can just skip to that part, sure.”

Blue’s screech ceased along with her flames, leaving nothing but a pile of smoldering charcoal on the dirt where the items were a moment before.

“Thanks for the assistance, Blue. You can—”

With a powerful flap of her wings, the drake unceremoniously took off and flew over the pond, back to her pillow.

“Aaaand she’s gone already,” Balthazar muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Wha-what… just happened?” the bewildered adventurer said, his backside still firmly planted on the floor, from which he hadn’t yet gotten up.

“I cleaned up that garbage for you, that’s what,” the crustacean told him. “You’re welcome. Now you hopefully learned your lesson about buying from reputable merchants only. Speaking of which, let’s go back inside and get you a new—and proper—helmet now?”

As the adventurer slowly got himself back onto his feet, Balthazar gestured with his pincers for the boy to accompany him back into the bazaar.

“I might even give you a discount for choosing the right trader this time.”

“Really?” the surprised adventurer said.

After a couple of seconds of silence, the crab responded dryly. “No.”

A few minutes later, Balthazar watched from outside the front entrance of his trading post as the young man walked back up to town with his arms full of junk in addition to his brand new padded helmet. After trying to pawn off a corrupted item on him that he had to dispose of for everyone’s safety, the merchant figured it was only right that the adventurer spent some coin buying some extra goodies from his supply.

The kid would surely find a use for all those flameproof candles at some point.

With the orange light of the setting sun fading fast over the road, the crab placed the backs of his pincers against the sides of his carapace and exhaled sharply.

“These numpties,” he said while turning around to go back down the path to his bazaar as day rapidly turned to night. “Do they think I’m just going to accept an obviously corrupted item? Me, a prodigal merchant and experienced appraiser of quality junk? As if something like that would ever fly with me.”

Shaking his shell in disapproval—along with the fluffy ball at the top of his winter hat—Balthazar leisurely made his way down the dirt path, passing by the same familiar shrub of always, now covered in white snow. By the old cracked boulder, still rooted in the same spot as ever. And by the giant wall of red scales, slowly moving up and down, breathing.

“Maybe with other merchants, but not with me. Nothing goes unnoticed by my keen senses. Good luck pulling any sneaky shenanigans near me. My perception is—”

The crab froze mid-step, his eyes widening with a sudden, terrified realization.

His eyestalks turned, slowly, to look up at the crimson mountain resting next to him on the side of the road, radiating an enormous amount of heat that he hadn’t noticed until that very second.

Finally, his gaze reached a copper eye, its slit-shaped pupil narrowing on him.

The immense red dragon brought its head down to the crab’s level as the perplexed merchant looked up with his mouth half open. As it came closer, Balthazar noticed a long, fresh scar etched on the side of its neck.

“Balthazar,” Beatrix said in a low, grave voice. “I require your… aid.”