Chương 102: Selling Loot in the Player Marketplace

The glowing display flickered a bit, rolling out the next part of the tutorial text to detail the alternate route for maximizing my digital bank account. [The second option grants access to the consignment board. Any item you wish to sell may be listed through the marketplace. Based on real-time market demand, the system will recommend an estimated selling price. You may return at any time to collect profits after your listed products have been purchased. Please note that all successful transactions are subject to a 10% service fee.] Now this? Oh, this one was actually speaking my language. Not literally, because if the system suddenly started talking like an overexcited street vendor, I would probably start worrying about hidden subscriptions. But conceptually? Yeah, this was nice. No standing around screaming prices like some desperate merchant trying to sell mystery meat skewers in a sketchy alley. No awkward haggling.

No customers staring at you like they were personally offended by basic economics. Just toss your stuff onto a magical board, disappear into the background, and return later like some lazy businessman who somehow still made money. Beautiful. Honestly, this setup felt like the universe finally acknowledged that I possessed the social battery of a dying phone. The mention of an automatic price recommendation made things even better.

That meant I did not have to sit there wondering whether my item was worth a king's ransom or approximately three stale crackers and a handshake. And the tax? Ten percent. Honestly, I had expected worse. Fantasy worlds loved taxes almost as much as governments loved inventing reasons for taxes. Ten percent was survivable. Barely offensive. Like getting lightly slapped by capitalism instead of punched in the throat. A grin spread across my face.

"This setup's way better," I admitted, nodding to myself like a man who had just discovered the joy of online shopping without shipping fees. [Creating a protected connection between your inventory storage and the commercial exchange.] The system moved quickly, its mechanical voice sounding as emotionally invested as a brick. [The marketplace will now evaluate premium active purchase requests currently registered throughout the network. A recommended listing value for your merchandise will be generated automatically.] So basically, the system was snooping around the economy like an obsessive little goblin accountant, peeking at who wanted what and how badly they were willing to pay for it. Efficient. A little creepy. But efficient. In my head, I imagined invisible streams of glowing information stretching everywhere like a giant spiderweb made of greed and poor financial decisions. Buyers hunting for loot. Sellers trying to scam people.

Some poor guy probably paying triple price because he desperately needed one oddly specific mushroom or whatever weird economy this place ran on. Honestly, markets were just organized chaos wearing fancy clothes. [Please remain still while the calibration process is underway.] The blue panel flickered right in front of me, glowing like an overeager employee who had way too much enthusiasm for paperwork.

A fresh line of text slid neatly into place inches from my face, cold and professional in that very robotic way systems loved. ••••• 1: Tier 1 (Common): Pulsing Ichor-Bloom x12 • Selling Price: 6 gold coins each. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. • Sold: 0 2: Tier 1 (Common): Fungal Carapace Fragment x12 • Selling Price: 4 gold coins each. • Sold: 0 3: Tier 1 (Elite): Corrupted Heart Stone Fragment x1 • Starting Price: 437 gold coins each.

• Sold: 0 ••••• [Estimated values have been finalized. Would you like to proceed with publicly listing your selected inventory based on these recommended market figures?] I blinked. Then blinked again. Well. Would you look at that. The numbers floating on the screen were surprisingly chunky. Not life-changing-rich chunky. More like "wow, I can finally stop surviving on financial sadness" chunky.

I let out a low whistle, staring at the listed values like they had personally apologized for every scammy merchant experience I had suffered so far. Because compared to what the Merchant Guild default pricing? Absolute daylight robbery. Those people would probably look at a treasure chest full of gold, squint really hard, then go, "Best I can do is enough money for half a sandwich." Honestly, their standard buyout prices had all the generosity of a dragon guarding taxes. Meanwhile, this? This was beautiful.

This was the kind of price difference that made you suddenly understand why rich people always smiled in financial dramas. You know the look. That smug little expression people get after discovering they accidentally saved illegal amount gold coins by clicking the right button. I gave an approving nod.

"Yeah, these prices are way less insulting," I said, sounding genuinely impressed.

"Compared to what the Merchant Guild would've thrown at me, this feels like someone finally stopped trying to rob me with extra steps. Go ahead and lock it in." The board answered instantly. Ping. Bright. Crisp. Way too cheerful. Like it had been waiting all day for someone to press the "make money" button. The moment the sound rang out, the listed materials vanished straight from my inventory. One second sitting comfortably inside my digital storage. The next? Evicted.

Sent off into the giant marketplace network like kids leaving home with absolutely no survival instincts. Good luck out there, little loot goblins. Try not to get flipped for profit by some terrifying merchant mastermind. [Your listings have been successfully uploaded to the public exchange network.] More text appeared smoothly across the glowing panel. [You may revisit the marketplace at any time to review sales activity or collect accumulated revenue.] Ah. Passive income.

The magical dream of people who preferred earning money while doing absolutely nothing. Dangerously appealing. [Thank you for utilizing the Player Marketplace terminal.] Even the farewell sounded weirdly polite. Like a cashier who secretly knew I would absolutely be back. And honestly? Yeah. Probably. I pivoted away from the wooden bulletin board, stepping out of the immediate terminal zone into the open corridor while executing a quick digital diagnostic on my storage slots.

It was a beautiful sight, the deep pockets that had been crammed full of monster body parts and heavy gear were now completely stripped down to zero. I cracked my knuckles, a big smile plastered across my face as I watched the busy crowd hustle past.

"Perfect, the bait has been thrown into the water, and now we just play the slow patience game until the sweet revenue starts rolling into the bank." I cast my gaze over toward the rest of our specialized crew, who were still entirely caught up in their own personal adventures inside the trading terminal network.

The team was operating at two completely opposite speeds, with a few of them frantically tapping away to list their own monster remnants on the public auction block, while the others were thoroughly lost in a trance of digital window shopping, treating the glowing monitors like high-end boutique storefronts despite having zero immediate intention of parting with their hard-earned coins.

Realizing that my solo business transaction was officially concluded, I navigated my way over to a cluster of nearby seats anchoring the perimeter of the giant auditorium. I slumped down into one of the open chairs, letting out a soft sigh as I melted into the furniture and took a moment to observe the massive hive of activity unfolding across the central lounge of the Player Center.

The entire atrium felt like a bustling train station during rush hour, minus the actual trains and plus a whole lot of unnecessary armor plating. Every single player in the vicinity was locked deep within their own self-absorbed agenda, creating a chaotic symphony of murmuring voices, clinking metal, and intense screen-staring.

Some folks were aggressively debating quest logistics, others were obsessively polishing their oversized blades as if a stray speck of dust might ruin their damage output, and a few lonely souls just wandered around looking completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the morning rush. With absolutely nothing else on my immediate schedule and a solid block of waiting time ahead of me, I flicked my wrist to initiate a little personal digital maintenance.

I summoned my translucent blue status board right into the air in front of my face, ready to dive deep into my own statistical blueprint and see exactly how my numbers were holding up. ••••• NAME: Arthur Gray LEVEL: 3 MAIN CLASS: Gunner SUBCLASS: None.

HP: 20 MP: 50 Gold: 22 •••••• [STATS] VITALITY: 2 INTELLIGENCE: 5 STRENGTH: 2 DEXTERITY: 3 AGILITY: 3 AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 5 ••••• A glowing numeric indicator caught my eye immediately, letting me know that I had a grand total of five unassigned attribute tokens sitting around in the bank, just begging to be injected straight into my biological mainframe.

I gave the breakdown a quick look-over and confirmed that my primary brainpower index, also known as the intelligence department, was currently dominating the leaderboard as my absolute highest parameter. That lopsided arrangement was actually working wonders for my current survival strategy, mostly because channeling my inner smarty-pants served as the absolute main generator for my offensive output whenever I needed to vaporize a threat.

The major fly in the ointment, however, was becoming impossible to ignore, because my basic physical muscle-mass index was sitting in such a pathetic, low-tier bracket that I kept finding myself completely winded after a basic sprint. My internal fuel tank was basically the size of a thimble, which is an absolute nightmare scenario for a guy who prefers to treat every battle arena like a high-speed playground.

If I wanted to stop panting like a dehydrated pug after every single skirmish, the smart play right now was to execute a serious rebalancing initiative to make sure every single one of my underlying combat mechanics could run at absolute peak performance.

Besides, my combat blueprint relies heavily on a weird hybrid gimmick where my standard trigger pulls simultaneously unleash a two-for-one combo of mystical energy and raw physical impact with every single shot, meaning that keeping my mental power and physical brawn at a perfectly matched 50/50 ratio would create a beautiful synergy for my daily offensive output.

On top of all that, pouring a few points into the meathead department felt like a phenomenal long-term investment for the future, especially for that glorious, inevitable day when the universe finally drops a high-tier combat Skill into my lap that scales directly off raw physical power.