{Chapter: 133: A Devil's Courtesy II}
Strictly speaking, the shopkeeper had always considered himself a capable individual. He wasn't the strongest demon in the city by any means, but in his own tier—among the creatures who dwelled in the margins of this layer of the Bottomless Abyss—he believed he could hold his own. He had survived countless petty squabbles, power struggles, and surprise ambushes over the years. There was confidence in his stride, pride in his cunning, and just enough cowardice to keep him alive.
Yet the moment Dex stepped through the threshold of his shop, that confidence evaporated like boiling ichor on a forge plate.
The aura that Dex exuded wasn't merely strong—it was oppressive. Heavy. It pressed down on the senses like the weight of an ocean, calm and unrelenting. It was the kind of presence that didn't just announce power, but rather made everything else seem irrelevant by comparison. The kind of pressure that instinctively triggered an ancient fear in weaker creatures—the realization that they were prey, and the hunter had arrived.
In that moment, the shopkeeper's thoughts turned grim.
If this turns violent… two strikes. No, just one. One move and all three of my heads will be smashed into paste. Probably at the same time.
His three separate brains—each nestled within a different lump of his vaguely congealed form—simultaneously arrived at the same conclusion: do not, under any circumstance, provoke this customer. Even blinking too slowly might be misinterpreted as a sign of disrespect.
Of course, that didn't mean he was helpless.
Like any good abyssal merchant who'd managed to survive this long, he had contingencies. Hidden under the desk was a small red glyph that pulsed faintly with bound alarm magic. If Dex made any sudden moves or began to display aggression, he would slam his appendage down on the glyph and alert the city's guards.
Granted, that wasn't a guarantee of salvation. The city guards in this layer of the Abyss were notoriously apathetic unless their interests were directly threatened. But he had paid his monthly protection fee. That ought to count for something, right?
Maybe they'll save me... or at least collect my corpse.
With that comforting thought lingering like a moldy perfume, the shopkeeper finally found the nerve to speak. He laced every word with sugar, oiling his voice with the most gentle and friendly tone he could manage.
"Welcome, traveler! What sort of intelligence are you looking to purchase today?"
He practically oozed politeness, hoping to appease this smiling predator who was, for some reason, still pretending to be civilized.
To his surprise, Dex actually smiled—not a sinister smirk, not the grin of a carnivore—but a nod of acknowledgment, as if he genuinely appreciated the courtesy. He even gave a casual thumbs up, which seemed so absurd in context that the shopkeeper's brains momentarily stalled in disbelief.
Then Dex spoke. "I'm looking for information about the Mi Ling World."
The shopkeeper blinked. That's it? Just a world dossier? That's practically routine.
"Certainly. That'll be 300 black silver coins."
The number wasn't low, but it wasn't extortion either. It was the standard rate for detailed information packets involving cbn
dimensional worlds.
In the currency system of the Abyss, the commonly accepted tri-metal system was:
Red Copper: The lowest denomination, used mostly by beggars, goblins, and cursed spirits.
Black Silver: The standard currency for mid-tier demons, merchants, and mercenaries. Often used in large quantities for contracts and information.
Blood Gold: Rare and valuable, used for purchasing high-level magical items, bribing Archdemons, or making down payments for resurrection services.
These coins had no central minting authority. In fact, the Abyss had long since abandoned any attempt at official currency regulation—any such regulator would have been torn apart by competing warlords centuries ago. Instead, coinage was judged by purity, weight, and symbolic authority. If you had the means to forge coins and the strength to defend your brand, you could mint whatever you pleased.
Many self-styled Abyssal Lords and Warlocks took to stamping their coins with their own sigils, emblems, or even grinning portraits to assert dominance. It served both as propaganda and a death wish—those who couldn't defend their minted currency rarely lived long.
Dex didn't bat an eye. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a clinking pouch, then calmly counted out exactly 300 black silver coins onto the counter.
The coins gleamed faintly in the sickly yellow light, their edges stamped with a snarling horned face that the shopkeeper didn't recognize. Probably another small-time tyrant Dex had "liberated" funds from.
To Dex, this payment was negligible. If converted into Abyssal soul currency, it wouldn't even be worth the spirit of a crippled lesser imp. He had plenty more in reserve too—thanks to the 'generous donations' he had acquired during his earlier travels. Greg, in particular, had been surprisingly generous. A full two-thirds of Dex's financial foundation had come from that eccentric demon, who had insisted it was an "investment in friendship."
Dex hadn't had the heart to disagree. Besides, being flush with wealth allowed him to pursue life at a relaxed pace. He didn't need to rob or kill unless he wanted to. These days, eating grilled lizard on a stick and chatting with strangers had become one of his new hobbies. It was, after all, important to enjoy the little things.
He was still technically a young demon, barely a century old. That made him practically an infant barely left the womb of the great mother by Abyssal standards. Childhood joy was important for proper development.
The shopkeeper accepted the payment with a smooth, practiced motion, then reached beneath the counter and retrieved a small sphere of condensed light.
"This is an information globe," he explained softly. "A magical repository used to store intelligence. Simply lower your mental barriers and allow it to sync with your consciousness. The knowledge within pertains specifically to the Mi Ling World—its geography, cultures, dominant power systems, and key figures."
Dex took the glowing orb without hesitation and gave a slight nod. "Much appreciated."
Then, without further comment, he turned and exited the shop.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the defensive spells built into the walls powered down. The tension in the room—nearly suffocating just moments ago—dissipated like steam from a hot kettle.
The shopkeeper slumped slightly in relief, letting out a long, gooey sigh.
I'm alive. By the infinite teeth of Gorgash the Maw—I'm actually alive!
It wasn't often that you faced down a monster cloaked in flesh and walked away unscathed. He deserved a reward. Maybe he'd close early today. Take a mud bath. Drink some fermented slime. Anything to celebrate surviving an encounter with what was clearly a freak among freaks.
He'd dealt with violent demons. He'd dealt with paranoid warlocks. But polite ones?
Those were the worst of all.
*****
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