Chapter 47: Business Proposition

Chapter 47: Business Proposition Griz continued, his voice now filled with a newfound excitement. "Anyway, I also found out that those empty sections in the market are available for rent, should our company ever decide to set up shop here." He gestured vaguely towards the pristine, unused stalls they had passed earlier. Borin frowned, ever cautious about finances. "What about the rent? What if we earn less this month, or have a bad season? That’s a huge risk." Brum nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem, especially if our products are overshadowed by their own high-quality goods or those of other, more established traders." Griz smiled, a confident, almost triumphant grin. "Usually, in Stonehorn Crossing, the town mayor establishes a fixed rent on every stall in the market, regardless of whether they earn more or less throughout the entire month. That’s a huge gamble for smaller merchants. But here, that’s not a problem. They actually do a scaled justice on tenants. For those selling less for an entire month, they introduce a percentage rent system where they take off only 10% of our monthly income as rent. So, if we earn less, we pay less. It’s fair." He paused, letting that sink in. "Also, they will do occasional marketing events with discounted products, themed with specific events. It’s a way to boost overall sales for everyone in the market, bringing in more customers. And get this: the staff we assign to our stores, our own employees, get a 50% discount on meals at the canteen." Borin’s eyes widened. "What about stocks? Do the tenants still need to secure and manage the stocks inside the rented space? That’s a huge logistical headache, especially for large inventories." Griz leaned back, completely relaxed now, a picture of contentment. "That’s part of the services tenants will benefit from. The establishment organizes all the stocks and stores them in a secure space. All we need to do is write a form whenever we want to withdraw or deposit stocks from our inventory, and the staff will handle the logistics and organization problem. Though we still need to do our own inventory, of course, so it matches with theirs. It’s already a hassle enough to organize our stocks back home; this takes a huge burden off our backs, allowing us to focus entirely on marketing and selling our products." The Goatfolk nodded, their faces alight with understanding. "That’s actually amazing," one of them said. "All we need to do is just sell! No more worrying about storage, spoilage, or theft." Brum asked, a new concern surfacing, "What if we don’t have enough employees to staff the rented spaces? We’re already stretched thin as it is." Griz answered, "The establishment also offers that optional benefit for an increased 5% percentage of rent. The same employees that entertained us, these professional skeleton staff, can staff the tenants’ products. Though it’s a semi-passive way of earning on our end, they actually recommend we do it ourselves, as we know our product better and can sell it with more passion." Darek, who had been listening intently, his analytical mind processing every detail, asked, "What if the tenants have less income throughout consecutive months? What happens to them then? Is there a penalty?" Griz sighed, his face becoming serious again. "That’s the bad part, the only real downside. If a certain merchant wants to rent a space, the establishment will evict a tenant that didn’t reach a certain sales threshold for six consecutive months and use the space for others to try their opportunity. It’s a ’use it or lose it’ policy, designed to keep the market vibrant and profitable." He paused. "However, if there are no other merchants lined up for a vacant space, the establishment helps that struggling tenant earn more in the next month, through targeted marketing strategies and advice. They don’t want anyone to fail if they can help it." The Goatfolk thought about this, a collective hum of contemplation. "Hmmm... it prevents others from monopolizing the space," Borin said, understanding the logic. "That’s smart. It keeps everyone on their toes and ensures the market stays active." "So, what’s your move today, Griz?" Borin asked, his voice filled with anticipation. The Goatfolk were expecting Griz to secure some kind of grand deal right then and there. Griz sighed, a mix of relief and slight frustration. "To be honest, this is above my pay grade. This whole operation, especially the franchise model and the market rental system, is too big for me to finalize on my own. It’s better if I relay all of this to Master Bjorn about the franchise thing, and the market opportunities. But I actually reserved a spot for our company. We have one month to set up our spot, or our reserved space will be available for others again." The Goatfolk agreed, their faces beaming. They were happy that their company managed to secure a spot. Out of all the major trading companies, they were the ones who managed to secure a spot first. "First bird always gets the worm," Skall said, a wide grin on his face. Griz continued, a triumphant glint in his eye. "We actually gained more by coming here than we expected. Much more. Now, let’s buy some rations for our journey back, and enough of those burgers for Master Bjorn to taste the food and see its potential profits for himself. I believe if we’re not promoted by coming here, our pay will at least be raised significantly." The Goatfolk were now enthusiastic, not just about the potential pay raise, but about the burgers again. The thought of Master Bjorn’s reaction to the food, and the undeniable profit it represented, filled them with a renewed sense of purpose. They were ready to face the long journey home, with incredible news and a belly full of the best food they had ever tasted. Later, Griz worked out a small, but surprisingly profitable, deal with the Necro Market. After a quick meeting with the Dungeon Manager in a quiet side room, Griz managed to secure a supply deal for wools. "Manager," Griz began, trying to sound as professional as possible, "my people, the Ramaris, have an abundance of high-quality wool. We can supply you with 200 kilograms every week. We’re looking for a fair price, perhaps 1 silver per kilo?" The Manager’s masked face remained still. "Valued customer," his synthesized voice replied, "your offer is noted. However, our analysis of regional wool prices and our current production needs suggests a more appropriate figure of 50 bronze per kilogram. This allows for a mutually beneficial arrangement, considering the volume and the fact that your people have more excess wool than you can use." Griz’s ears twitched. Fifty bronze? That cut his immediate profit in half. He wanted to argue, but the Manager’s tone left no room for debate. He knew when he was outmaneuvered. "Understood," Griz conceded, a slight grimace on his face. "Fifty bronze it is. We will ensure weekly deliveries." Griz wasn’t truly at a disadvantage, though. He knew this. The Ramaris, his own people, had been looking for a way to dispose of the endless supply of wool from their settlements and villages. There was simply more wool produced every day than they could weave into fabric and sell. The Goatfolk themselves, being traders, would rather employ other beastkins to do the labor-intensive work of weaving and processing. They liked to avoid physical labor as much as possible. So, Griz was rather happy that someone would buy their excess wool, even at a lower price. Karl, through his Manager, was more than happy enough to take it off their hands, seeing it as a raw material for his own expanding industries. Since the Ramaris themselves trimmed their own wools every day, they technically produced an infinite amount of wool, which they then wove into profitable fabric and sold to other beastkins. This deal was a win-win, even if the Manager had out-negotiated him on the first pass. The Goatfolk, now full and buzzing with plans, exited the canteen. Their backpacks were stuffed with carefully wrapped burgers, their waterskins heavy with the sweet, refreshing juice. Though the Necro Market had no fancy take-home packaging – just simple, clean cloth wraps – the Goatfolk were more than happy enough to take their food home, hoping there would be some left for Master Bjorn to taste. They stepped out of the dungeon’s grand entrance. The cool, controlled air of the market was instantly replaced by the natural, humid forest air. Brum sighed, a deep, mournful sound. "Ahhh... I’m going to miss the cool air," he mumbled, already feeling the warmth press in. "And the clean smell. Back to dust and sweat, I guess." Skall nodded, wiping his brow. "Tell me about it. I already feel sticky." Borin looked back at the glowing entrance. "It’s like leaving a dream, isn’t it? Who would’ve thought a dungeon could be like that?" Just as they stood at the entrance, about to begin their journey home, a rumble reached their ears. The ground vibrated faintly. A convoy of beastkins appeared from the winding forest path, kicking up dust. Lupens, Ursaroks, more Goatfolk, and even a few sly Foxkins were among them. They were led by the Knight Captain Luma, a Lupen, riding a powerful, grey horse at the head of the column. Flin’s eyes immediately turned into hearts. He let out a soft, almost inaudible gasp as he saw Luma, her white fur gleaming, her posture regal on horseback. He swayed slightly, completely captivated. "It’s her!" he whispered, a dreamy look on his face. "Captain Luma!" Griz and the others watched as the approaching beastkins had the same stunned reaction they themselves had experienced. Their eyes widened as they saw the exterior of the dungeon: the vibrant flowers in the garden, the ornately designed iron fences, the comfortable stone benches, and the shimmering fountain at the center. The two undead guards at the gate moved with silent precision, opening the massive iron gates. Luma halted her horse just outside the gate, her gaze sweeping over the transformed dungeon entrance. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, met Griz and his group, who were walking past them. She saw their wide eyes, their slack jaws, and the look of utter surprise on their faces. Her own eyes widened when she saw the exterior of the Necro Market, a flicker of surprise in their depths. "By the Ancestors," she muttered under her breath, her hand instinctively going to her sword hilt. "What in the blazes is this place?" She was still skeptical. Coming here, especially when the entire establishment was run by an undead, felt dangerous. Leading a convoy of merchant traders somewhere in the mountain she wasn’t familiar with was a suicide mission in her mind. But after Commander Urma’s insistent persuasion, she had agreed to escort the merchant traders. "This new market is a goldmine, Luma," Urma had insisted, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic excitement. "You have to see it to believe it. And they have these wooden figurines..." Luma knew it wasn’t just about the traders, though. She knew Urma had commissioned a few bearfolk to buy more of those wooden figurines he was obsessed with. After the Commander’s wife saw what he bought, she loved them, even despite the fact that the Commander spent all of his savings. But Luma also had other plans of her own. "I’ll go," she had told Urma, "but I’m going to find out what these undead are truly up to. This isn’t natural." Half of her mind screamed danger, but the other half whispered about the possibility of finding a good sword to replace her old, chipped one. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the three figures standing at the gate: two of them were kobolds, small and unassuming, but at the center was a masked figure. She knew it was an undead from its faint, earthy smell alone, a scent that no living being could truly mask. As the Dungeon Manager greeted them politely, his synthesized voice carrying clearly, "Welcome to Necro Market, esteemed guests," Luma dismounted her horse, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her sword. The air crackled with unspoken tension. She looked at the Manager, her eyes challenging. "You run this place?" she asked, her voice firm, cutting straight to the point.