The merchant's words were a double-edged sword. A greeting and a threat.
The title, "Soul Devourer," a curse in the outside world, was different here. A label of power. A reputation that preceded him. But one that painted a massive target on his back.
"Information is not free, merchant," Edward replied. His voice was low and steady. He fell into the cautious, transactional language of this new environment. He placed a small, gnarled monster core on the stall's counter. "What do you know?"
The merchant's three-fingered hand shot out. It snatched the core. Its glowing yellow eyes gleamed with avarice. It bit down on the core with a sickening crunch. Swallowed.
"Mmm, a fine vintage," it rasped. "Very well. A morsel of knowledge for a morsel of power. A fair trade." It leaned forward. Its voice dropped to a conspiratorial hiss.
