Berserker: A LitRPG Urban Fantasy Adventure (Apocosmos Book 1) by Dimitrios Gkirgkiris (phonics readers .txt) 📕

“That’s none of yer concern, human,” he said, cutting my prepared argument in half. “Ye’ve got more than enough information to know the kind of work I do. If not knowing about me past is gonna be a problem, I’ll take me leave on the ready.”

“No, it won’t,” I said after a moment of intense staring and consideration. “However, I need to know you’ll deliver consistently and reliably.”

“It might not mean much to ye, or to anyone anymore for that matter, but the Battleforge name is one built on hard work and exquisite results. That, I can promise.”

“Before we talk money,” I said, trying to look as cool and professional as I could, considering I was talking to a fucking dwarf smith. “I need to know I can trust you to keep my name a secret. I’m going to be selling the items you craft for me and I’ll give you reviews for every batch, but I’ll do it anonymously. I don’t want anyone to know that you’re crafting for me.”

“Goes without saying,” he said and nodded. “Nobody will ever know I was here today, even if we don’t come into terms. Which brings me to what I want. Regardless of what ye want me to craft, I’m not interested in setting up shop at a place unless there’s regular income and ye can guarantee the jobs will keep coming.”

“To be honest with you,” I said, thinking that the best way to succeed was by coming clean, “it all depends on what you charge. I’ve found a way to dominate a consumables market—”

“Consumables?” the dwarf asked, suddenly interested.

“I have nailed down the sourcing of my materials,” I continued, disregarding his attempt to get more information on what I wanted him to craft for now, “and I’m considering my options on crafting. If I select the offer you present, we can start with a higher price per batch but a limited quota per month. Once I see that I can scale it, we will renegotiate the batch price and the minimum quota, hopefully reaching close to your capacity.”

“That sounds good and all,” he said, “but I don’t think you really have much space for negotiation, do ye?”

He raised his bushy right eyebrow and his lip crooked with a smile. He had me cornered and he knew it.

“Selecting me from all the available crafters,” he continued, “especially considering how much ye care about my average rating. There is no one else in the vicinity that can craft the recipe ye want, right? Ye said consumables market, which means high quantities and so ye’re looking for someone local. Something tells me ye ran into a wall while searching and were forced to pick me.”

I never was one to enjoy poker. It was a game of chance, spiced up with trash-talking and mind games. A game where the most intelligent rarely won against the most cunning, but I could see its appeal. This was the most crucial moment of our whole conversation. The single beat that would set the tone for all of our future business proceedings and I would have been so much better at it if I had troubled myself with playing poker more often. Thankfully, my lack of a poker-face was compensated for by my trustworthy, saving-the-day talking corgi.

“You’re one of the closest ones we found on our list, geographically speaking,” Louie said, a bluff worthy of him taking a seat on one of those painting of dogs playing poker. “But when we’re talking about quantities, finding someone in a different state, or even a different country, isn’t a problem. Large shipments minimize the costs per batch.”

I doubted Louie knew that for a fact since he hadn’t seen any of the figures I had researched, but his bluff was outstanding. It was a pretty common practice to group large shipments together, even in the Cosmos, in order to bring costs down. This is what had made sweatshops possible in the first place. That and the insatiable greed of humans. However, knowing the quantities I would like crafted according to my available cash, it couldn’t be further from the truth in this case. But Rory, as experienced a crafter as he was, didn’t know that.

“That may be so,” the large dwarf replied, his face indicating that he was about to call Louie’s bluff, “but I’ll take me chances. This is what I want.”

He leaned forward, the couch creaking under the stress of his large body.

“I will put in the work,” he continued, “and make sure the finished products are delivered to the DEM warehouse that will distribute them to clients, no matter how many or how heavy they are. But I want fifty percent of the net profit.”

“That’s crazy!” I erupted at his incredulous proposal. “I’ve done all the groundwork. I did the research. I’ll source the materials. I’ll pay you for your work. And you still want to split the profit?”

Despite the dwarf being barely my height even when he stood up and I was still sitting, the way he moved made me sit back in fear in my armchair.

“I’m going to forgive ye for insulting me, human,” he said and pointed his thick index finger at me. “Because ye’re my kin on your mother’s side, and because ye’ve obviously never dealt with a dwarf before.”

He took a deep breath and stroked his beard, the rings on each of his braids clinking against each other. I only noticed the vein popping on his forehead just before it receded as he sat back down on the couch.

“We dwarfs, especially Battleforges, do not haggle,” he said slowly. “Me first offer is me final offer. I’m not gonna try and get a better deal by using spineless merchant gimmicks.”

Despite the tingle of fear I felt, I didn’t like his demeanor at all.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Strutting into my apartment, flexing his scarred muscles, trying to teach me