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nThe fact that the door opened at all prove that it was part of the warehouse. Krow toed the door open wider, cautious. It stuck a bit, but nothing compared to the irascibility of the front doors yesterday.

nThe lights flickered on as he entered. They were dimmer here. The space was as empty as the upper floors. A line of drying shelves stood against one wall.

nIt was just a basement. No hidden treasure, no lurking monsters, no secrets better left uncovered.

nHow refreshing.

nThe cleaning enchants had dealt with the pests and debris already.

nHe spied stairs in the corner.

nThere was nothing to see, so he skipped up them, turned a corner, and nearly bumped into a dead end.

nWhat.

nKrow touched the raw stone, which slid open with a hiss of air and a grinding sound.

nA small room lay before him.

nA preparation table dominated the space, similar to the one at Velinel's aunt and uncle's place in Gremut.

nThe stone door closed behind him. It didn't look like a door at all, more an inlaid tile mural depicting a night garden.

nHe touched the edge.

nThe door opened again, to his surprise. Just that easy apparently.

nHe stepped away and it closed.

nAside from the prep table and cabinets that lined the walls, there was nothing in the room. He walked to the other end, where a patch of wooden wall was carved, this time a garden in spring.

nThe door opened opposite the main doors of the warehouse's ground level. He walked out, greeted once more by cheery orange lamplight.

nThe lights in the small ingredient prep room turned off as he exited.

nThe door to the prep room was painted in forest scenes, matching the rest of the warehouse walls. If he didn't pass through it moments before, he wouldn't know it was there.

nAt least it couldn't be lost, being directly across the front doors as it was.

nKrow sat in the middle of the warehouse space, cross-legged, brought out his Tradebook.

nHe'd ordered about half the crates in Nyurajke put on auction to transfer them to his trade-vault, then to his Inventory. Those auctions were about to end.

nThe crates in the trade-vault needed to be transferred now.

nCrates appeared around him. Starfall items, monster materials, ethermica, potions.

nHe separated the venom sacs from the nighteye caterpillars. The venom needed to be extracted from the sacs soon, or they'd become unstable.

nThe potion crates, he sent up to the second floor.

nEh, he had twenty-five crates of General Antidote? Since when?

nOh, shkav, he bought those in Gremut. Then forgot them?! They'd have come in handy during his sojourn in the highland wilds, damnit.

nWas he always this forgetful?

nDefinitely not. His memory had always been good.

nAn uneasy thought filtered through his mind: did he really think he'd return from death unscathed?

nHe shook the thought away.

nSo he forgot a few things. No need to think so seriously about it.

nThe memory of killing bandits and feeling nothing surfaced from the depths of his mind.

nOh, now that comes up.

nKrow leaned against a crate, stared blankly at a wall.

nWhether instigated by deity or cosmic magic or random chance, he knew there would be a price exacted whether for the transmigration or the time-travel.

nThings like these, even if they were caused by random fluctuations in the fabric of the cosmos, weren't without effects good and bad.

nEven if the slogan TANSTAAFL didn't hang from a banner in the Hazelnutsward bistro, he'd never forget what it ultimately meant.

nAll gifts were given with strings attached.

nEven if it was random chance that he was back in time, there was still the question of how.

nSomething was happening, in the unfathomable depths of the universe.

nSomething that sparked certain things to happen.

nA planet's destruction.

nA game made real.

nOne hundred and fifteen million lives, changed forever.

nKrow always imagined the price would be too big for him to perceive. A cosmic price. He was only a single, simple soul. He didn't expect that part of the price would be so personal.

nHe shook his head, returned his attention to the Tradebook.

nThis was still speculation.

nThere was no reason to jump to conclusions.

nSo he was a little more forgetful than before. That was natural. He wasn't working in corporate anymore and he hadn't been a student for over a decade. The habit of memorizing had deteriorated.

nHe had a Scribe subclass, didn't he? He'd just take more notes.

nFor now, he'd keep going as planned.

nCrates from the auction started streaming into his trade-vault.

nHis fingers moved fast, slipping the crates and loose items into Inventory and from there to the storage spaces around him.

nHis buy-orders had run out of money already, closed.

nIn all, the Starfall weapons acquired through buy-order numbered one hundred and five crates, thirty-one crates containing tools of the main craft classes, and eight containing Starfall shirts and trousers.

nThat was more than he expected.

nOf the weapon crates, a full fifty were swords of all kinds. Longswords, curved swords, shortswords, greatswords – there were six of the fifteen battle classes able to wield a sword. Though berserkers could only wield swords made of stone.

nKrow ported sixty crates of weapons to Cerkanst, and a third of that number were full of swords. A fourth were poleweapons – glaives, spears, halberds, and the like. A fifth were bows. The rest were a collection of daggers, claws, staves, guns, axes, and hammers.

nTwenty crates of Starfall craft tools – mostly knives and mallets, and four crates of Starfall clothing.

nHe let his eyes roam over the crates, and could not stop a smile.

nAll of these, in the future, would bring him great profit.

nEvery single one, a diamond in the rough.

nThough, none of all these helped him with the current problem of gathering RP.

nHe glanced at his clock.

nIt was moonset already.

nWhat kind of shadow beasts laired so close to the Forest?

nIt wasn't yet time to find out.

nBut soon.

nHe took out his Travelkit, laid out the bedroll, and lay down.

nHe logged out of the game.

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