Morning arrived in the dungeon. The low, steady hum of Karl's growing industry filled the air. The rhythmic clang of hammers from the Metallurgy Center, the soft rasp of saws from the Lumber Yard, and the distant thump-thump of miners below formed a constant, reassuring backdrop.
In the Distribution Center, a single, gleaming set of full iron armor stood on a rack, beside three newly forged iron swords. The blacksmiths had, indeed, successfully refined experimental steel ingots, a small pile of them glinting dully.
The Tannery and Workshop hummed with activity, though the processing of leather was a slow, patient task, estimated to take at least another thirty days for the first batch. The artisan minion, meanwhile, was diligently carving wooden utensils, plates, and furniture, its bony fingers surprisingly nimble. Builders clattered in the left section of the first floor, the faint outlines of new trade stalls taking shape.
Good, Karl thought, a dry, internal hum of satisfaction. Production is flowing. Steel is a breakthrough. The artisan is already generating inventory. My Necro Corp is taking shape, piece by piece.
In the Canteen, a small kobold child, no older than five, with large, wary eyes and fur the color of damp earth, leaned tentatively at the counter. Her name was Kiki. Her small nose twitched, drawn by the savory aroma. The Chef, a Level 10 skeleton, its skull tilted, saw her. Its bony hand, surprisingly gentle, gestured for her to come closer. Kiki hesitated, her small, furred ears twitching, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hunger. But curiosity, and the irresistible smell, won.
She approached, her steps tiny and cautious. The Chef held out a wooden plate with a generous piece of roasted rabbit meat. Kiki's small fingers trembled slightly as she took it, her gaze fixed on the food. She carried it to a nearby table, her eyes still on the Chef, and took a cautious bite.
A faint gasp of pure delight escaped her, a sound like a tiny, surprised squeak. Her eyes widened, and a wide, genuine smile stretched across her small, furry face, revealing tiny, pointed teeth. She took another, more confident bite.
The Chef then professionally nodded to the other refugees, who watched from a distance, their faces a mixture of apprehension and longing, and began placing more plates on the counter. Orkesh, seeing the child's uninhibited joy, felt a wave of relief. He led the others forward, his voice a low, reassuring murmur. "It's alright. See? It is good." Slowly, cautiously, the kobold refugees began to approach the counter, their hunger finally overcoming their fear, and started to eat their breakfast.
Karl watched them from the canteen doorway, a silent observer. In the future, I have to expand the menu. The taste of modern cuisine, bread, eggs, mayonnaise, coffee… that would truly draw them in. A diverse menu for a diverse clientele.
Orkesh, seeing Karl watching, approached him, a respectful bow of his head. "Mr. Karl, thank you for the breakfast."
Karl chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "You should thank the Chef instead. But go on, finish your breakfast first. I'll be here." He offered a faint, unsettling smile.
Orkesh nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes, and returned to his table.
Later, after the last of the breakfast plates had been cleared, Orkesh and Karl stood speaking quietly in a corner of the canteen.
"Mr. Karl, about last night…" Orkesh began, his voice earnest. "We accept your offer. We are grateful for the shelter and food you gave us, and… I think it is time for us to give back. My people just felt uneasy about always receiving something."
Karl's skeletal face maintained its calm, almost pleased, expression. "That's fine, Mr. Orkesh. As long as your people have eased themselves in, I won't force you to work."
Orkesh's ears flattened slightly. "But about the job, I'm quite afraid we're not skilled enough for the job. My people have been specialized in hunting and trapping animals, as well as scouting for information. We're not quite good at trading, as you offered, just so you're aware."
This is actually good, Karl thought, a dry, internal hum of satisfaction. Scouting information is all I need anyway. Their existing skills align perfectly with my immediate needs for intelligence.
"That's fine, Mr. Orkesh. We can adjust the job role," Karl replied, his voice even.
Orkesh's face brightened, a visible lightening of his small frame. "Thank you, Mr. Karl."
Orkesh reached into his hip pouch and took out a rolled parchment, carefully unfurling it on a nearby table. It was the same map from last night, but in the brighter light of the canteen, its details were clearer.
"About the information, you asked last night, Mr. Karl, I can help with it." He pointed to the mountain on the map. "Mr. Karl, we're here. This is the Spinebride Mountains. Below it is where the Hillwilds are located. Many different beastkins live here – villages, clans, settlements. Towns are rare; there are only three mixed-race towns where every race coexists."
Hillwilds. Mixed beastkins. This is the immediate territory. Understanding the local economy and power dynamics is paramount, Karl processed, his mind already building a mental database.
Orkesh pointed to a spot on the map, his clawed finger tracing a faint path. "Near the dungeon is Stonehorn Crossing – known for being a trading stop. Traveling merchants come through, foxkin, frogkin, even the Lupen. It is mostly managed by the Woven Path, a Ramari race, the Goatfolk. They're famous for setting up major trade routes, and for trading goods, you can rely on them for woolwork products. It has about three thousand people, with daily merchant traffic of around eighty to one hundred twenty individuals."
Stonehorn Crossing. A primary market hub, managed by the Ramari. Three thousand people, and up to a hundred and twenty merchants passing through daily. That's a significant volume. This is where we start our external trade, no question. The Ramari are already established in wool products, which means direct competition for my future textiles from the Tannery and Workshop.
But it also means a pre-existing market, a distribution point I can tap into. I'll need to analyze their pricing, their quality, and find my niche. Perhaps specialized undead-crafted textiles, something unique. Or just undercut them. Either way, this is a vital node for the Necro Corp's expansion. Karl's internal ledger updated, already calculating profit margins and market penetration strategies.
Orkesh moved his finger across the parchment. "To the east is Hearthglen, also a mixed town, managed by Ursarok, the Bearkin. But instead of a commerce town, it's a complex town, where the major hub of peacekeeping and maintaining order throughout the region is located. It's also where village leaders, clan leaders, other faction leaders gather to discuss politics."
"So it's more like an administrative type of town?" Karl asked, his voice a dry, probing whisper.
"Yes, Mr. Karl," Orkesh confirmed.
Hearthglen. Political hub. Ursarok. Influence, not just trade. This is more than just a market; it's a nexus of power. A place to gather intelligence on regional power plays, to understand the alliances and rivalries that truly shape this world. Knowing who holds sway, who is at odds, who can be influenced – that's invaluable. It's where I can begin to subtly weave my Necro Corp into the fabric of this society, not just as a merchant, but as a silent, strategic force. Very important for long-term strategy, for building a network of influence, not just a network of trade routes. Karl concluded.
Orkesh continued, his finger moving south. "To the south, near the orc fortress, is the Tallowshade town, bordering Spinebride Forest and Lowen Plains. Another mixed town, another commerce town, but more like a stronghold for the Hillkin Alliance, because of the constant orc raids and skirmishes. It is also a vital town to connect with the Lowen Plains. Its population is around three thousand, but it sees a lot of militia and mercenary traffic."
Tallowshade. Border town, under threat. Commerce, but also a military outpost. A potential market for my weapons and armor and a gateway to the Lowen Plains. Karl's mind whirred, connecting the dots.
Karl absorbed the information, his empty eye sockets fixed on the map. "What's in the Lowen Plains?"
"It is a fertile plains where many beastkin civilizations were originally formed. A much larger region," Orkesh explained, his voice gaining a touch of awe.
A much larger region. More resources, more markets, more… competitors. This world has depth. This is a continental-scale operation waiting to happen. Karl's thoughts raced, his corporate ambition stirring. There's a much more complex geopolitics at play here. But a much less technologically inferior one. If I were to compare, this world is in the late Middle Ages. If I play this perfectly, I could revolutionize the industry.
"What about the Spinebride Forest?" Karl asked, his gaze shifting to the misty, dark green area on the map.
Orkesh hesitated, his furred ears flattening slightly. "W-well, it's a misty forest. Everyone who ventured deep didn't return. It's a mysterious and scary one. Legends say the Redpalm Witches' spirit has made it that way."
So it's a sacred spirit forest kind of thing then. Or a cursed one, Karl mused.
"Much like a cursed one, instead," Orkesh confirmed, a shiver running through him.
"So why were you chased by the orcs all the way here if the orcs are all the way to the south?" Karl probed, his voice even, revealing nothing.
Orkesh's brow furrowed. "A good question, Mr. Karl. Orcs aren't quite united as you think. There are orc settlements inside the Hillwild region, the civilized ones anyway. But sometimes there are also desperate ones, who just learned to survive by pillaging others, raiding other villages' food stocks. But we don't know the reason why they killed most of us and chased us all the way here which eventually, they lost us."
Scattered orc groups. Not just a unified front. That complicates things, but also offers opportunities for… selective engagement. And the 'why' they were chased is still a mystery. Something to investigate. Karl's mind filed away the new data, already considering its implications.
Thank you for the information, Mr. Orkesh. This will be quite helpful, Karl said, a dry, nod of appreciation.
"As for your job," Karl said aloud, his voice calm, "your people will be assigned as hunters and scouts. But you don't have to force yourselves; it is an offer."
Orkesh's face brightened with relief and gratitude. A wide smile spread across his furry features. "Thank you, Mr. Karl. My people will be glad to serve."
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Karl, I will inform my people," Orkesh said, bowing slightly.
Karl nodded. Orkesh hurried away, his steps light, disappearing.