Chapter 672.1: Gold, Gold Everywhere!
Across most regions of the Wasteland, the New Alliance’s reputation was excellent. Especially its army. They had strict discipline and were never known to plunder merchants or settlements.
That was why Mojave felt no fear. With only two mercenaries for protection, he boarded the inflatable boat and urged the helmsman to speed toward the beach.
After a few kilometers of travel, the boat reached shore.
“Beach the boat and keep it steady! Come find me once you’re done!” Mojave ordered.
The two mercenaries dragged the craft onto the sand, while he hurried toward the camp ahead.
Unlike the sea, the shore offered no protection, his boat’s hull was coated with pitch brewed from black ironwood whose rancid stench repelled aquatic mutants, but that wouldn’t help him on land.
As soon as his boots sank into the soft soil beyond the sand, he froze, eyes widening at the sight before him.
On a wooden platform, stacked like a house of cards, were piles of animal hides, various sizes and colors, bundled with hemp ropes into compact squares to save space. The only protection was a shabby thatched canopy. The hides were freshly stripped, still smeared with blood and fat, releasing a faint stench under the tropical sun.
“By the Spirit of the Desert...” Mojave’s jaw dropped so wide one could have fit an egg inside.
What shocked him wasn’t the brutality, it was the wastefulness.
He had seen his share of slaughter. No one in the Wasteland pitied mutants. But to treat treasures like this, with such barbaric carelessness, was a crime against fortune itself!
Are these fools not afraid of divine punishment?!
“Spirit of the Desert above, pure-blooded crimson sable pelts! Wait, mutant leopard hide?! Emerald python, mutant rhino, by the gods...”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“You’re letting all this rot in the sun?! I’ll take it all, just give it to me instead!”
His shouting quickly drew the attention of nearby players.
At the slaughtering post, several players put down their work and gathered curiously.
“Whoa, an NPC?”
“There’s a cargo ship offshore, he must’ve come from there.”
“What’s he yelling about?”
“Beats me, my translator’s still booting up.”
Wiping his boning knife on his leather apron, Old Wine Lamp squinted at the newcomer and asked in clumsy Federation speech, “Who are you?”
The man turned toward him, fumbling a damp business card from his shirt and handing it over with shining eyes.
“Mojave! Merchant of Silvermoon Bay! Are these hides yours?!”
Ignoring the question, Old Wine Lamp glanced at the soggy card, pocketed it casually, and looked the man up and down. “You know this stuff?”
“Of course!” Mojave nodded eagerly, barely containing his excitement. “Name your price, I’ll take the whole lot!”
Just the few crimson sable pelts he’d glimpsed could, if properly processed, buy him 100 slaves in the Poro Province, or 10,000 Dinars if resold near Triumphant City!
And those were just a fraction of what was piled here.
Mutant rhino, mutant leopard, perhaps common species, but high in demand. Any port would snatch them up.
Compared to this, the profit from his entire shipment of iron ore which was barely 1,000 dinars, was laughable.
Here, a single pelt could fetch that much!
The thought made his heart pound; his breath came fast.
This place is a gold mine.
Praise the gods!
Watching the merchant’s greedy fervor, Old Wine Lamp raised an eyebrow.
Is this guy new to trading? He might as well have “rip me off” tattooed on his forehead.
Old Wine Lamp smirked. “These hides aren’t processed yet. We’re planning to cure them first, then sell.”
Mojave clutched his head in anguish. “You don’t have time! Handle them like this, and even wood would rot! Don’t believe me? By tomorrow morning, half of these will be gone, mark my words!”
Old Wine Lamp frowned. “That fast? Impossible!”
He had skinned beasts in Dawn City, could leave hides for days before curing and still find buyers. One day and they would rot? Absurd.
Mojave groaned. “Are you serious? This is the tropics! You think things rot here like back home? I smelled the stench from the sea!”
Old Wine Lamp instinctively sniffed the air and smelled nothing. He had long grown used to the odor. But he got the message, and his expression grew uneasy. “Alright... name your price.”
Mojave beamed and held up five fingers. Pointing at a nearby stack, he said earnestly, “Five stacks, 50,000 dinars each! I’ll take them all.”
250,000 dinars, including the sables. In his mind, it was a fair offer.
But to his shock, Old Wine Lamp rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Get lost! You think I don’t know dinar rates? Each stack’s worth at least 200 hides, 50,000 Dinars per stack? What a joke!”
“Friend,” Mojave protested, “these are raw hides! 200 Dinars each is generous! You won’t find a buyer more generous than me!”
Old Wine Lamp shook his head vigorously. “Forget it. If you’re serious, 50,000 silver coins per stack.”
“50,000 silver coins?!” Mojave’s eyes bulged. “I can buy a truck with it!”
Old Wine Lamp revealed a cold grin. “Guess how many trucks I can buy once I bring these back to Dawn City?”
“You’ll never get them there!” Mojave protested. “They’ll rot before you’re halfway back!”
Old Wine Lamp shrugged. “It’s cooler up there, isn’t it? A thousand hides, all packed tight, by the time we’re home, that’s half a million silver coins at least. We even fly seafood back to sell, a few hides are nothing.”
He was bluffing, of course. Air transport wasn’t cheap, and the Bull and Horse squad’s airships weren’t equipped for refrigerated freight. Seafood shipments might survive for profit, but bulk hides were another matter entirely. They might not even make it back.
Still, 250 Dinars per pelt was robbery. He bought the dead creatures for more than that. If he sold at that rate, he would be the fool.
Mojave turned to leave, but seeing no one stopping him, he clenched his jaw and spun back.
“Fine! Out of gratitude for your New Alliance’s past aid, I’ll take the loss! I’ll pay you 130,000 silver coins in total!”
The silver coin to Dinar exchange rate wasn’t fixed. Depending on the region, it ranged from 1:3 to 1:10, influenced by proximity to Triumphant or Dawn City and by the local slave trade.
Though Dinars were metal currency, their value was effectively pegged not to gold but to slaves, and the labor they represented.
Still, east of the Great Desert, the silver coin held greater purchasing power.
Hearing the offer, Old Wine Lamp’s heart skipped a beat. That was about 130 silver coins per hide, a much better deal than 250 Dinars!
However, he was no fool. He forced himself to look hesitant. “That’s too low. I’ll need to discuss it with my partners.”
Mojave’s jaw dropped. So they’re not even his hides?!
Reading the merchant’s death glare, Old Wine Lamp laughed awkwardly. “They’re mostly mine! Mostly...”
Before Mojave could object, he ran to the slaughter post and gathered the other tradesmen, explaining everything.
An NPC buyer wanted the unprocessed hides and offered 130,000 silver coins with no transport requirement, no labor cost, and most important of all, no risk.
