Her brows furrowed lightly as she studied the pile in front of her.
Her curiosity grew as she reached forward to organize the materials neatly.
She began counting through the fangs first, carefully arranging them into pairs as she went along.
Each one was clean and intact, the tips sharp, without any sign of damage or dullness.
When she was done, she glanced over the furs next.
Her hands brushed gently over their surface, testing the texture and quality.
Her eyes flickered with mild surprise again—the fur was in excellent condition, almost pristine, the kind of quality one would expect only from someone who had skinned them carefully and efficiently.
The cuts were clean, the edges smooth, and not a single patch looked torn or mishandled.
"These look like they were skinned recently... by a seasoned expert," she thought, impressed. There’s no way a beginner could manage this level of precision.
She wanted to ask him about when he’d hunted the rabbits—and more importantly, how.
His calm demeanor and refined skill with spatial magic already hinted that he wasn’t a normal rookie.
But she caught herself before the words could slip out. Her lips pressed together lightly, and she inhaled a quiet breath, forcing the question down.
She didn’t want to offend him again, not after the cold edge in his tone earlier. It was clear enough that he wasn’t the kind of person who liked being asked too many questions. So instead, she kept her professional smile and continued her task.
When she was done counting and checking, she looked back up at him with a warm smile, her tone gentle and respectful.
"There are eight pairs of fangs," she said pleasantly, "and the furs are all in great condition."
Damien merely nodded at her words, his face remaining composed, as calm as ever.
"How much will I get for these?" he asked simply, his voice even and direct.
Susan thought for a moment, doing a quick mental calculation before replying.
"The fangs usually sell for seven copper per pair," she explained in her usual soft tone. "And since the fur’s in excellent condition, each piece will go for forty coppers."
Damien nodded again, his expression unchanging as he began to calculate the amount in his head.
That meant fifty-six coppers for the fangs alone—eight pairs multiplied by seven each. Adding the forty from the fur brought the total up to ninety-six coppers overall.
Nearly a silver coin’
With that amount alone, Damien would practically become wealthy in the village.
In a small place like this, that much money could last someone months, maybe even longer if spent carefully.
For most villagers, it was more than what they could make in a year. The thought alone made the faintest flicker of satisfaction stir within him, though it didn’t last long.
"Now," Susan’s soft voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present, "when we deduct the taxes..."
Damien’s brow furrowed slightly as his gaze lifted to her.
She gave a polite, professional smile, her tone smooth as she explained, "The royal tax is fifteen percent, and when we include the guild’s own five percent charge, that adds up to a total tax of twenty percent. So your total tax comes to nineteen coppers, sir."
She smiled sweetly, as if expecting him to nod in understanding. Then, in that same warm tone, she added, "Now, when we deduct that, you’re left with only seventy-seven coppers, sir."
Damien’s jaw tensed. His teeth gritted almost imperceptibly, but the slight movement didn’t escape her eyes.
The moment she said it, the soft, cheerful smile on her face suddenly seemed rather annoying to him—too casual, too comfortable, as if the deduction wasn’t robbing him blind.
Her words felt like cold water poured over his earlier excitement, dousing the faint spark of pride he’d felt just a moment ago.
’I forgot... they actually pay taxes in this world also!’ he thought bitterly, exhaling slowly as he tried to maintain his composure.
’The royal family...’ he mumbled inwardly.
They were as greedy as always, demanding their share of every single transaction in the kingdom, even from the smallest trades made by villagers and low-ranking adventurers. Fifteen percent, just because they could.
From the living condition in the village, one could tell the taxes paid by the villagers wasn’t spent on them.
Instead, it would be used to fatten the pockets of the nobles.
’In the game, this was barely even mentioned,’ he thought. ’It was just a passing line in the guild menu about taxes being automatically deducted. I didn’t think much of it back then...’
Susan, noticing the shift in his expression, tilted her head slightly, her smile softening into something a little more cautious.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she spoke gently, "The guild tax can be removed if you joined the adventurer’s guild, sir."
Her tone was careful, slightly hesitant. "If you become a registered member, you’ll only need to pay the royal tax—fifteen percent instead of twenty. It’s one of the benefits for official adventurers."
Damien’s eyes flicked up to meet hers again. For a few seconds, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, he forced a small smile onto his face—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"It’s fine," he said quietly. "Just bring me the money."
Susan’s breath hitched faintly at his tone. There was nothing overtly threatening in his words, but the calmness of his voice, made a slight chill run down her spine.
"R-right," she murmured quickly, lowering her gaze slightly as she nodded. "Please wait a moment, sir."
She turned her attention back to the table, trying to push aside the unease that had briefly crept into her chest.
After a few more minutes, she was done. She reached into the cabinet behind her and pulled out a small leather pouch, its surface clean.
Opening it, she counted out the coins carefully—the soft clink of copper filling the quiet room. Once she was sure the total was correct, she closed the pouch and turned back to him.
"Here you go, sir," she said softly, offering the pouch across the table with both hands. "Seventy-seven coppers in total, after tax deductions."