Chương 4: Chapter 3

Corin left the Guild hall with his coin pouch in hand, savoring the weight of it. It was more than he'd ever imagined having a few days ago. He felt like he could buy anything - a foolish thought, as eight silver was still comical poverty, but he still felt a shudder of glee. Maybe he could return home with this. No. No, it's still not enough. I'll send more than usual, but it was still not nearly enough. He'd gotten used to the hay bed regardless; his little hamster hole.

Maybe he'd get a little meat gristle in his stale bread stew, at the least. Arriving at the tavern, he did just that. The chewy, salty meat proved to be a valuable addition, along with a full serving of mudgrog (at 5 copper a piece). Stumbling onto his quasi-bed, he felt like royalty incarnate. Corin lay awake, unable to sleep - not from discomfort this time, but excitement. Every few minutes he reached into his coin purse, half to check it was still there, half to check the coins were even real.

Moving them around in his hands was strangely comforting, as if it were a clear record of his Foresight finally having any Fore or Sight. Then, he started wondering how he could improve it. Most Innate skills could be improved in some way, and generally that was through use.

Bran had only been able to use Strongarm for a couple of seconds at first, becoming marginally stronger and certainly helping him win the arm wrestling matches they'd had in the tavern - back when everyone still thought Corin was destined for greatness. Now, Bran had fought the hounds for several minutes before it had run out. The more he used it, especially in dire circumstances, the stronger it became. So, what if the more he used his Foresight, the stronger it became?

And if so: what exactly does using his Foresight even mean? Was it predicting what the text meant? Using that information? Exploiting it? Corin wondered if there was any way he could summon it, rather than just sleeping and hoping it would come to him. It was a frustrating endeavor, like trying to see through your elbow. He had absolutely no idea how to do it, or if it was even possible. Regardless, he sat there and willed the information to him, beckoned it again and again, hopefully not entirely fruitlessly.

The only thing that came was a growing pain in his red eye. He tried throughout the night, then, suddenly: [Bag ▒old~ exp~ fix~: st~ live creat~ no▒ ~le] [H▒] There the words were, luminescent in his vision, but this time they were completely incomprehensible. Bag... old experience fixed? Street live create? No... le? He carefully wrote the message down, having procured the cheapest quill and parchment he could find on his way to the tavern, then stared at it for a few moments.

Finally, he came to a single, unified thought: What in the ever-loving fuck. Corin thought back to his raving-mad uncle, shouting nonsensical nonsense at no one who'd listen.

'Bag old experience fixed: Street live create no... le?' certainly sounded like nonsense his uncle would have been proud of. But whatever it was, it had to actually be something. His prior message had shown that. So then... what the hell did it mean? Perhaps that was tomorrow's problem. His brain already felt like mush now, first from trying to see a new message, then trying to comprehend the damn thing. A good rest, or some semblance of it, would certainly do him good.

The sleep came suddenly, the message glowing in his mind all the while. Waking brought a new, somewhat dreary day. Clouds gathered overhead, and rain seemed imminent. Corin did not look forward to it - his sleeping quarters weren't exactly waterproof, and the only thing worse than sleeping on hay was sleeping on wet hay. Regardless, he had more pressing matters to attend to: deciphering his mystical, maddening vision. He stared at the page, trying to will comprehension, and failing comprehensively.

Eventually he decided on a new way of trying to understand it: breaking it into parts, and seeing if anything else fit: [Bag ▒old~ exp~ fix~: st~ live creat~ no▒ ~le] [H▒] Bag was bag, no funky text around it. Old seemed cut off in some way, so it could be anything - 'cold', 'folding', 'hold', whatever. There was something missing between, so there could be a lot of text, or something like 'of' or 'on' separating the two words.

'Bag on Cold', 'Bag of Fold', whatever. Put that aside for now.

'exp~ fix~' - experience fixed? Those two words made sense, but it didn't make sense next to the words that came before it.

'st' could of course still be street - but once again, next to the previous potential words, then 'street' wouldn't make sense. No idea what it could be though. Defer. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

'live creat~', still incomprehensible.

'Live create' made no sense, but exp had to be experience, right? And no-missing ~le, with a cut off H at the end... I have no idea. This isn't working at all. Let's go back to the start: Bag. Bag. What bags were there - there were so many fucking bags. Low-level adventurers needed all kinds of bags for adventuring, ideally with a large storage that didn't impede combat.

Higher level adventurers, the ones with actual money, they didn't have to worry about that of course; they could just use magical bags to store their equipment, like that new 'Bag of Holding' relea- Corin stopped mid-thought, mid- word. He stared at the text on the paper: Bag of Hold. Bag. Of. Holding.

His hand started to shake as he wrote the text down: [Bag of Holding exp~ fix~: st~ live creat~ no▒ ~le] Putting the 'exp~ fix~ aside - Bag of Holding: 'st' must be 'store', 'storage', 'storing' - something like that.

'live creat~ no▒ ~le' - live create still didn't make sense. What did make sense, however, was live creatures. Bag of Holding experience fixed: storing live creatures... no able? Not possible? No longer possible? Bag of Holding experience fixed: storing live creatures no longer able/possible? The only thing that still didn't make sense was the 'experience' and 'H' part, but not everything had to make sense. If he was reading this right...

then it was currently possible to put live creatures directly into a Bag of Holding. A completely weightless bag with a ludicrous amount of storage - and an even more ludicrous price tag. If he was right, then he'd be able to exploit it before it was fix- wait wait wait. Bag of Holding exploit fixed. Why did a vision of the Turn have a word like that in it? Regardless, if it was currently possible to store live creatures in a Bag of Holding. How long would that be possible?

It would have to be the next Turn at the end of the week, right? And it was only Tuesday. So, how much would I be able to exploit it before it was fixed? Corin thought for a moment, running through the numbers in his mind with a speed that surprised even him, before landing on an answer: With any luck, enough to pay off the fucking bag. Corin headed toward Gildmere, the decidedly more opulent part of the city, the gold-capped temple spire visible over the rooftops ahead serving as his guide toward the area.

It gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. Even the gods, he figured, did better on this side of town. He'd avoided Gildmere for his entire life, as it never paid to get a taste of what you were missing. That notion proved true fast, as his brief foray into wealth had revealed a world he was both completely ignorant of, and entirely excluded from. He certainly didn't belong in the marble-paved streets, where nobles clad in purple dined on food absolutely alien to him.

They all looked so effortlessly happy and charming - their charm declining somewhat when they invariably made eye contact with him, as they seemed to instinctively retract from him. Glancing all around, he finally found his quarry: THE GILDED SATCHEL The door opened smoothly, as if it had been oiled just that morning - it likely had. The place smelled of rich leather, mahogany, and inequity.

The store owner looked up to meet his gaze, stifled a look of abject dismay, and replaced it with a bright, if not insincere, smile.

"Welcome, welcome," the merchant said, looking him up and down briefly.

"Just so you know, we are not currently accepting new hires. Or solicitors," he quickly added.

"Oh, no, I'm a customer - a potential customer," Corin added, as he still had no idea how he'd get the money.

"I'm looking for a Bag of Holding." A brief raise of the merchant's eyebrows made Corin feel even more out of place, but the man relented all the same.

"Bag of Holding? That's new, definitely a pristine product - but I do apologize, I feel that you might not quite be our kind of clientele," the merchant said, eyeing Corin's copper F-rank badge.

"Have you not looked through the lower-area stalls? I've heard their adventurer bags are... sufficient."

"Sorry, no, I'm specifically looking for a Bag of Holding," Corin added awkwardly.

"How much would that set me back?" The merchant thought for a moment, and then shrugged. He lifted the hinged section of the counter, stepping out from behind the till toward a glass display case. He opened it gently, revealing a small, somewhat unremarkable bag. Corin stared at it intently.

"Is that really it?"

"Indeed," the merchant said, lifting the bag up and letting it float in midair.

"It'll set you back ten gold. You'll need to hurry though, they're selling fast." Corin was about to introduce his jaw to the floor, then caught himself and straightened up.

"Ten gold, you say? Is there any wiggle-room on that price?"

"I am not much of a wiggler, I think you'll find," the merchant said, a brief flicker of displeasure flashing across his face.

"Of course, of course," Corin replied, running the numbers in his head. Ten gold. 200 gutter hounds. Absolutely impossible.

"Can you reserve this one for me, just for today?" Corin asked.

"Nope," the merchant replied sharply.

"But I'll reserve my judgement, at least."

"Very kind," Corin said, not quite sincerely.

"I'll see you soon." Corin left before the man could reply, not knowing if he even cared to. Ten. Gold. Coins. 100, 000 copper coins. He looked left and right, as if searching for a source of sudden riches. His efforts proved fruitless. Something at the back of his mind had been eating him away, ever since he realized the cryptic message was about a Bag of Holding. Ever since he realized he'd need money - a lot of money - and as quickly as possible.

It was the option he never took in his two years of adventuring, and told himself he never would. But now, it was likely his only choice. Lionel the fucking Loanshark.