Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic-Chapter 633 - Mr. Copuss Big Business

Chapter 633: Chapter 633: Mr. Copus’s Big Business

Chapter 633: Chapter 633: Mr. Copus’s Big Business

“What is the method of containment? What happens if containment fails?”

“The containment method is to wrap it up when not in use and avoid aiming it at the outside world for long periods. Otherwise, it will spontaneously pull all nearby objects and even living people into the Mirror World, making it very difficult to find a way back to the normal world.”

“Old Man John, could you appraise this relic for me?”

Shard thought about it and inquired.

“Are you thinking of selling it?”

The old man glanced at Shard:

“Although it’s only Poet-Level, its containment method is simple and its effect is very practical. If you want to sell it to me, I’m willing to pay 1200 pounds.”

Since Old John started with 1200 pounds, the upper limit would likely be around 1400 pounds. From this, it seemed that this relic was indeed one of the more valuable ones Shard had come across.

“I don’t want to sell it for now.”

“It’s not much use for you to keep it; better to sell it to me and then use the money to buy a practical Arcane Technique.”

“Oh, Old Man John, I still have to think about it.”

Shard put the mirror away, and the old man shook his head in resignation:

“Since you’re not selling, I’ll have to charge you for the appraisal.”

“Of course, but before that, we can talk about the special blood.”

Counting the reward for the investigation mission that hadn’t been settled with Granny Cassandra yet, Shard had already obtained two types of blood. So, he was no longer desperately in need of other blood types, but he would consider buying if they were truly valuable and reasonably priced.

“This cheap deal, I bought it myself.”

Old John bent over and took out a cone-shaped glass bottle with a tin sealed top from under the counter, containing a dark red liquid. This liquid was not completely still, as tiny bubbles were forming inside.

“Old Dad, let’s talk price first, I won’t buy it if it’s over 1000 pounds.”

He only had the two thousand he’d earned from completing the Grey Hawk’s intelligence transmission task and couldn’t afford to spend more.

“Don’t worry, I’ve considered your financial ability, it’s very cheap, but first listen to whose blood this is.”

The old man reassured Shard:

“Born in the year 1384 of the Common Calendar of the Sixth Era was Bolbo Brando, who was struck by lightning 42 times in his life, roughly once a year, so that nearly all his relatives and friends died around him. Until the year he turned 43…”

“He finally died from a lightning strike?”

“No, he died after hitting his head due to excessive shock from a lightning strike, then from losing too much blood.”

Old Dad said, shaking the little bottle in his hand:

“After his death, he was buried in the location now in the southwest mountains of Carsonrick. On the day of his funeral, the graveyard was split open by lightning. Ever since, the coffin was struck by lightning every time it rained, with increasing frequency, until the area was perpetually enshrouded in thunderstorms, forcing the Church to seal off the region, which is now the well-known ‘Brando Lightning Strike Graveyard’ area.”

“Which of the gods did this gentleman from five hundred years ago offend?”

Shard cautiously pointed to the sky, and Old John shook his head just as cautiously:

“Only the gods know. But in my hand is his blood; because he was struck by lightning every year, he also attracted the interest of the Circle Sorcerers of that era, hence this blood. Unfortunately, studies on the blood have not revealed the reason for his being struck by lightning each year, and so this blood has been passed down. However, I must remind you, despite careful preservation, after more than 500 years, this blood is likely somewhat deteriorated.”

He held out the small bottle for Shard to examine:

“Although the blood is interesting, it actually isn’t of much use, hard to keep as a collectible, so it ended up being bought by me.”

“It’s like the rib of a chicken, tasteless even eaten, wasted if thrown away.”

“No, I never feel wasteful throwing away chicken ribs.”

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Old John said.

“Well then, your life does seem quite luxurious.”

“No need for sarcasm, I’m not wasting food, I often feed the discarded food to the stray animals in the alley… how did we get on this topic again? Let’s talk business, one fixed price, 50 pounds; remember, this is blood from five hundred years ago!”

He used a very exaggerated tone.

“It might as well be considered five-hundred-year-old trash.”

Shard examined the blood under the gaslight, curious about how the bubbles were forming inside:

“30 pounds.”

“You might as well be a robber, 45.”

Shard placed the bottle on the counter, resting his right arm on the countertop, leaning in towards Old John:

“If I were really robbing, I wouldn’t just take 20 pounds. 35.”

“42.”

“37.”

“40.”

“39.”

“39 pounds 10 shillings.”

“39 pounds 5 shillings.”

“39…”

Shard quickly gestured with his hands:

“Let’s not haggle over a few shillings, how about I give you 42 pounds total, including the appraisal from earlier?”

“You really know how to bargain.”

The old man murmured, but that meant he agreed.

Still, Shard didn’t hurry to pay; he had another matter:

“Old Man John, I have something to ask you.”

“Asking me? That won’t be cheap. You know, the Guiding Light Hermit Society doesn’t bargain.”

This was the first time he had mentioned the “Guiding Light Hermit Society” explicitly in front of Shard.

Shard nodded:

“It’s about the worship of the Twin Gods. I’ve come across what might be a ritual in the form of a folk song or poem, and I’d like your help interpreting it.”

He repeated the strange folk song he had just heard from Professor Manning, and Old Dad thought for a moment:

“It doesn’t sound like a ritual; rather, it seems like a method for creating alchemical items.”

“How can you tell?”

“When it comes to knowledge hidden in folk songs or legends, different people have different interpretations—this is just my interpretation.”

Although Shard still believed it was a ritual, Old John’s idea was also worth trying:

“If I commissioned you to help make this alchemical item, how long would it take, and what would the cost be?”

“You’ve provided too little information; I can only use the materials at hand to attempt making a prototype. I’ll charge you 1 pound for labor, just some scraps, so no charge for materials. But I can’t guarantee it will definitely be useful, especially since all you have is this folk song.”

It was these three transactions tonight that had cost Shard a total of 43 Gold Pounds:

“Alright, when can I come to collect it?”

“Two hours from now. I can close shop after I finish with your transaction today.”

Shard calculated the time:

“That works, I’ll come to collect it at 10:30 tonight. Just perfect, I need to go outside the city to buy some undead-type materials.”

“From Mr. Copus?”

Old John asked with drooping eyelids.

“You know him as well?”

“Had a few dealings, I don’t like to speak ill of people behind their backs, but that man, he really is like a true corpse.”

Mr. Copus’s material shop was located in an unnamed small village graveyard on the northern suburbs of Tobesk, where Dorothy had once brought Shard. This gentleman had a strange temper; his store was only open at night, and whether it was a new customer or a regular, one would definitely face his “attacks” upon entering the graveyard.

Taking a carriage from Old John’s pawnshop and getting off at the outskirts of the city before walking out. By the time he reached the graveyard in the suburbs, enveloped in the murky night, it was already past nine. The suburban autumn nights seemed colder than in the city. Wearing a mask and stepping on the dry twigs on the ground, he entered the graveyard shrouded in the night fog and was immediately confronted with a transparent figure floating in the air amidst the fog rolled by the night wind, drifting over with a painful wail.

“An Evil Spirit?”

Shard casually put on the “Mind Crystal Ring” and waited until that hideous soul approached him and reached out both hands towards his neck, then suddenly lunged forward with a right punch:

“Psychic Shockwave!”

The night fog swirled in front of his fist, and a soft boom seemed to echo through the air. The evil spirit recoiled into thin air, fading away with increasingly weak wails, leaving behind sounds that lingered on, unwilling to depart.

Shard touched his fist and continued walking down the small path of the graveyard, arriving in front of the Tomb Guardian’s cabin. Mr. Copus was already waiting there, the back half of his cabin showing the light of a kerosene lamp.

This gaunt middle-aged man, looking like he had indulged excessively, glanced at Shard with a pale face but didn’t ask who he was:

“What do you need?”

Shard handed him the Arcane Technique “Guide to Death” material list, and Mr. Copus bent his head to check each one:

“I’m out of brown spiritual dust, can I replace it with black?”

“That’s fine, but increase the quantity by one-third.”

Shard nodded, and the priest noted the replacement materials on the list.

“115 pounds and 5 shillings. The 5 shillings change is the extra handling fee I’m charging for processing the rotten Ghoul’s intestines, that stuff is just too disgusting.”

While Shard was taking out money from his pocket, Mr. Copus turned around and went back into his cabin to prepare the materials for Shard. Each type of material wasn’t needed in large quantities, but precisely measuring them on a scale took time. Thus, it took a full twenty minutes for Mr. Copus to pack those bottles, jars, and paper-wrapped items in a paper bag and hand it to Shard.

The paper bag looked just like those used in city bakeries no matter how one looked at it.

Handing over the money while receiving the goods, Shard did not wish to chat more with this somewhat eerie Circle Sorcerer. Thus, after receiving what he wanted, he was about to turn around and leave, but was still called back by the other party:

“Sorry, please wait a moment.”

Mr. Copus twitched his nose:

“Have you recently been to the Interstice of Life and Death?”

Only the sufficiently large Interstice beneath Midshire Fort could be called “Interstice of Life and Death”; similar areas were known by different names, but Mr. Copus was definitely referring to that kind of place.

“Yes, I’ve just come back from out of town. While traveling, there was some trouble on the third floor of the small motel where I stayed.”

Shard said, half true and half false.

Mr. Copus didn’t ask Shard where he had stayed:

“Interested in making some money? I’m buying large quantities of Corpse Grass, Underduran, and Black Flower of Resentment from the borderlands. The price is negotiable, 3 gold pounds and 7 shillings per pound of Corpse Grass, 13 gold pounds, 15 shillings, and 5 pence per pound of Underduran, and I can offer you 20 gold pounds for one Flower of Resentment. But they must be carefully preserved and kept fresh during transport.”

Corpse Grass is a plant ubiquitous in the Interstice of Life and Death and a common undead material in the material world; Underduran is commonly used in potent hallucinogens, only growing in cemeteries or ancient battlegrounds, and Shard remembered seeing a large patch nearby when he defeated an Undead Knight in the Interstice; as for the Flower of Resentment, Shard had never seen it in his sophomore textbooks, and only read about it in Miss Feliana’s notebook, knowing that it was a plant related to decaying spirits.

Mr. Copus’s initial offer was about fifty percent higher than that of plants normally found in the material world, but Shard did not accept:

“Mr. Copus, you know how dangerous that borderland is. I’m tempted by the offer, but I don’t want to go back there again.”

“No problem, just remember the offer, and if you ever have the chance, you can collect some materials to sell to me. I’ll temporarily buy up to 200 pounds (about 90.72 kg) of Corpse Grass and 130 pounds (about 58.97 kg) of Underduran, and there is no limit for the Black Flower of Resentment.”

Although Shard was curious about what he needed all these materials for, he did not inquire further:

“Alright, if I get the chance, I wouldn’t mind making that money.”

After leaving the cemetery, Shard used pebbles to draw a Ritual Circle on the ground in a nearby graveyard, leveraging the cemetery’s proximity to learn the Arcane Technique “Guide to Death” with the materials he had purchased.

When he returned to Old John’s Pawnshop, it was already eleven at night, but Old Man John was still waiting for him. However, as soon as Shard walked into the shop, the old man covered his nose and complained:

“Detective, what is that smell on you? If you stepped in animal excrement outside the city, please don’t come any further.”

“I just had my hands soaked in Corpse Water and a soaking solution from the roots of a Three-eyed Witch Tree. But I washed my hands by the river outside the city before I came in.”

“Three-eyed Witch Tree is notoriously stinky, that smell will never wash off. I have a bottle of deodorizer here, pour it into a basin of warm water and give it a good scrub. Two shillings and it’s yours.”

“You really know how to make money,” Shard said but paid him anyway.

Old John had already finished making the alchemical items that likely were of little use, based on the folk song Shard provided. They were two red butterfly pendants, each with half a wing, roughly a quarter of Shard’s palm size, made of what seemed like red copper material but displayed a bright red color after special treatment.

The wings were double-sided, while the bodies of both butterfly pendants were single-sided. The other side of the butterfly bodies was flat, inscribed with runes about the “Twin Gods” in red paint. Due to magnets placed inside, the flat bodies of the two pendants could stick together, forming one complete butterfly with full wings.

“If it’s useless, let me know, and I can improve it; I’ll give you a discount on the next production cost. If it works, also let me know, and I can continue to improve, making the final product even better.”

“No problem. Oh, the commission to purchase special blood has ended; you can cancel that request,” Shard said as he was about to leave but then turned back at the door to ask:

“Old Man John, do you know about the Spiritual Practice Order?”

“Of course, those blind nuns are pretty famous,” the old man nodded, tossing Shard’s change into a biscuit tin:

“What’s this question about?”

“Do you know the origin of the Order? Is it related to the Ancient God?”

Old John raised an eyebrow:

“Asking such a question so late? For all the business you did with me today, I won’t charge you for this information—there’s a more than sixty percent chance it’s related, but I don’t know which one.”

“Thank you, then I won’t be shy,” Shard smiled and thanked:

“Next time, I can bring a very good bottle of wine to thank you.”

“You, you stingy fellow, what good wine could you possibly have?” the old man muttered, urging Shard to hurry up and leave, as he needed to close the shop for some rest.

When he got back home, it was almost midnight. Just as he opened the door, Mia Cat darted down the stairs and nearly knocked him over. However, Luviya had already left; she had been incredibly busy, so after finishing her stargazing work, she went home to rest around ten.

However, she had boiled a kettle of hot water for Shard, allowing him to make tea once he was home and left him a letter informing him of her recent plans with Iluna in Tobesk. As for Shard’s request that she investigate the Spiritual Practice Order through the Prophet’s Society, there was no progress yet.