CHAPTER 41: CH-41- I DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY

The bustling city air felt different after the stifling tension of the Hunter’s Guild. To Cisco, it smelled like opportunity. He walked a half-step behind the enigmatic young man, his mind racing faster than his feet. The spectacle was over, the E-rank badge was, bafflingly secured, and now it was time to reap the rewards for a day of shepherding this walking catastrophe.

But how to bring it up? The "young lord" had a temper that made a dungeon wyrm look docile.

One wrong word about payment, and Cisco could end up like Sebastian’s hunters, a broken heap on the cobblestones. He needed a strategy, a way to make the extraction of funds seem like Baelgor’s own idea.

Then, it hit him. The perfect, beautiful, extortionate idea. A smirk, oily and self-satisfied, spread across his face. It was so potent that a mother pushing a stroller nearby hurried past, her baby beginning to wail at the mere sight of it.

"My lord," Cisco began, his voice dripping with false camaraderie.

"That badge is a key that opens many doors. But tell me, do you know what would make you complete in your noble search for a mate?"

Baelgor, who had been observing a street vendor selling roasted nuts with an alien curiosity, turned his head. The promise of progress on his primary objective always captured his attention.

"Tell me, human," he commanded, his tone flat yet expectant.

Cisco leaned in conspiratorially. "A job. And a house."

Baelgor’s brow furrowed, the closest he ever came to showing genuine confusion. "A... job?" The concept was absurd, beneath him. He was a primordial existence; he did not work for mortals.

"Ah, but you see, my lord," Cisco said, shaking his head with mock wisdom.

"This is a critical part of the mating ritual. No woman of quality desires a man who simply sits at home, no matter how... impressive his personal artifacts may be. They seek providers. Protectors. Men of status and purpose. A respectable job makes you attractive. It shows you are a pillar of the community, not a mere wanderer."

He watched Baelgor closely, praying the logic would land. It was a flimsy construct, but he was betting everything on Baelgor’s utter ignorance of human social customs.

Baelgor was silent for a long moment, processing. The notion of labor was repugnant. Yet, the human words aligned with the strange, intricate rules of this surface world. If this "job" was a necessary step in the courtship display, then so be it. He would add it to the list of tedious prerequisites.

"Where does one acquire this... ’job’?" Baelgor asked, the word foreign on his tongue.

Cisco’s heart soared. The hook was set. "That, my lord, is where my expertise becomes invaluable!" he exclaimed, spreading his hands. "Navigating the job market is a treacherous affair, filled with swindlers and lowball offers. It requires a guide. A... facilitator. One who knows the right people and can secure a position worthy of your stature. It is a complex service, but for you, I would make it my personal mission."

He let the implication hang in the air, heavy and unspoken: And such a service requires significant compensation.

"Lead on, facilitator," Baelgor said, already turning his attention back to the city, oblivious to the financial noose Cisco was so deftly tying around his neck.

Cisco rubbed his hands together, barely containing his glee. Phase one of the great extortion was a resounding success. Now, to find the most outrageously overpriced, utterly meaningless job he could possibly invent.

Cisco strolled alongside Baelgor, the gears in his head turning. The "job" idea had been a masterstroke, but now he needed to narrow it down. A vague request would only lead to a vague payout. He needed something specific to inflate the price.

"So, my lord," Cisco began, adopting the tone of a wise career counselor. "Before I can find you the perfect position, I must ask: do you have any particular skills? Anything you wish to do?"

Baelgor stopped walking. He turned his head, his expression one of utter seriousness, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

"To mate with a suitable female counterpart," he stated, his voice flat and confident.

Cisco stared. He blinked. For a full five seconds, he was certain he’d misheard. This man, he thought, his mental voice a mixture of awe and horror, is genuinely, spectacularly insane.

Why don’t you just add ’Professional Mating’ to your resume? It seems to be your only qualification.

He forced a laugh that sounded more like a choked cough. "A noble goal, my lord! Truly! But... for the job. I meant, what kind of work would you like to do? Apart from... that."

Baelgor fell silent, actually considering the question. His ancient mind, accustomed to contemplating cosmic power and eternal imprisonment, now sifted through his brief experience on the surface world. Most of it had been irritating. Except for one thing.

A vivid memory surfaced: the warm, savory bowl of tangled, worm-like sustenance the innkeeper had given him. The explosion of alien flavors, the satisfying texture. A sensation he had never known in the depths of his dungeon.

"I seem to enjoy that bowl of worms," Baelgor declared.

Cisco’s face went blank. "Worms? You... eat worms?"

"The long, soft ones. In the hot liquid," Baelgor elaborated, making a vague slurping motion.

Realization dawned on Cisco. "Noodles? You mean the noodles from the inn?"

Baelgor nodded. "Yes. I wish to eat a lot of that food."

A brilliant, devious light ignited in Cisco’s eyes. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. "Oooh!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "I understand completely! You have a passion for cuisine! You want to work in a restaurant! To learn the sacred art of cooking!"

Baelgor considered this. Securing a direct and plentiful supply of the "worms" did align with his goals. He gave a single, slow nod of affirmation. "This is acceptable."

"Wonderful!" Cisco chirped, already calculating the imaginary fees he could invent. "It just so happens I have an exclusive connection to the finest culinary establishment in the city. The head chef owes me a great favor. Getting you an apprenticeship there won’t be a problem at all." He paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice. "However, securing such a coveted position... that is going to cost a fee."

Baelgor looked at him, his head tilted in genuine confusion. "A fee?"

The question was so innocent, so utterly baffled, that Cisco almost felt bad. Almost.

Oh, you sweet, summer child, hethought, a shark-like smile stretching across his face.

You really are from another world, aren’t you? Used to having everything handed to you.

"Yes, a fee," Cisco said patiently, as if explaining to a very small, very powerful child. "Money. You need to pay money to purchase the work."

Baelgor’s confusion only deepened. He stared at Cisco, his ancient, powerful gaze now filled with the pure, unadulterated puzzlement of someone encountering a fundamentally illogical concept for the very first time.

He asked the question that would have made any street urchin laugh, but which, from him, carried the weight of complete sincerity.

"What," Baelgor asked, "is a money?"

Cisco’s triumphant smirk froze on his face. It didn’t just fade; it shattered, like glass hitting stone.

What.

The word echoed in the hollowed-out cavern of his mind.

This guy doesn’t know what money is??

It was an impossibility. A fundamental law of reality, as certain as gravity, had just been broken. Every human, from the lowliest beggar to the highest guild master, understood money. It was the blood that pumped through the heart of society.

Does that mean he doesn’t have any money??

A cold dread, colder than any dungeon’s chill, began to seep into Cisco’s bones. The elaborate palace of wealth he had been constructing in his imagination, funded by this young lord’s seemingly bottomless coffers, trembled and began to collapse into dust.

Does that mean that all my work was for nothing??

He saw it all flash before his eyes: the terrifying encounter with Sebastian’s thugs, the heart-stopping spectacle in the testing hall, the sheer mental exhaustion of guiding this unpredictable force of nature. All of it. For free. A soundless scream built in his throat.

For a moment, Cisco teetered on the edge of utter despair. Then, his survival instincts, sharper than any hunter’s blade, kicked in.

No. No, no, no. Be optimistic. Maybe... maybe he’s just so ridiculously wealthy that he’s never handled it himself. Maybe his family calls it something else. ’Gold-scrip.’ ’Solaris.’ ’Cred-sticks.’ He clung to the delusion like a drowning man to splintered wood.

He forced his voice into a tone of patient explanation, the kind one uses with a very small, very sheltered child.

"Money,"

Cisco began, his smile strained,

"is what you use to get what you want. It is the key to every door. There is nothing in this world that money cannot get you." He leaned in, making eye contact to emphasize the crucial points. "If you want food, you need money. A house? Money. A... a job?" He let the word hang in the air. "That requires money too. It is the means of all transaction."

He saw no spark of recognition in Baelgor’s eyes. Desperation clawed at him. He played his final, ultimate card.

"You can even use it," Cisco said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "to acquire the most suitable mate. The finest matchmakers, the most exclusive social gatherings... all require significant... fees."

At the mention of his primary objective, a flicker of understanding finally illuminated Baelgor’s features. "Ah," he said, the sound dripping with dawning comprehension and immense disdain. "So that is what the food-provider was demanding. These humans build their entire existence upon points and pieces of paper."

He shook his head, a look of profound pity on his face. "I guess they are not as intelligent as I had presumed."

Cisco’s heart leaped. Yes! There it is! I knew it! He’s just an eccentric rich kid who’s never had to worry about it! He’s just realizing what I mean! The magnificent palace of wealth began reconstructing itself in his mind, even grander than before. He could already feel the weight of the coin purse.

He looked at Baelgor expectantly, practically holding his hand out. "So, my lord? How would you like to proceed? A small advance on the funds will get the process started immediately."

Baelgor looked at Cisco’s empty palm, then back to his face. He stated the simple, devastating truth with the flat finality of a falling guillotine.

"But I do not have any."

Thud.

The sound wasn’t real, but Cisco heard it anyway. It was the sound of his dreams, his schemes, and all his future profits hitting the cobblestone street and shattering into a million worthless pieces.

All the color drained from Cisco’s face. The hopeful glint in his eyes died, replaced by the hollow stare of a man who had just received a death sentence for all his ambitions. He had endured public humiliation, faced down A-rank hunters, and risked his life countless times in the last hour.

And it was all for absolutely nothing.