novelraw Chapter 27 : [God of Wealth, Goddess of Love, and the Super Little Sun]
Chapter 27 : [God of Wealth, Goddess of Love, and the Super Little Sun]
Chapter 27: [God of Wealth, Goddess of Love, and the Super Little Sun]
The ancient coin, forged from intertwined black and white metals, was tossed into the air.
Under the ceiling of the adventurers’ barracks room, it flipped once before landing back into the Nether-Copper gauntlet with a crisp ding.
“This is the ancient God-era coin?” Samael asked, holding a leather money pouch.
He pinched one of the coins and studied it carefully.
Two different metals—black and white—were intricately fused together through a complex forging technique, the silvery pattern inlaid upon the pitch-black base of the coin.
The front side bore a design of three small orbs forming an equilateral triangle, orbiting a larger sphere at the center.
The reverse was engraved with a crude figure resembling a bird spreading its wings.
To be honest, that so-called “bird with spread wings” looked suspiciously like a spaceship from a sci-fi story… Samael thought, slowly closing his metallic fingers around the coin.
“Anyway, the mission’s done. It feels more solid getting paid for once,” he said, examining the coin.
“At least Varak won’t crush us anymore…” Thaleia tossed her helmet aside, collapsing onto the bed with a long sigh.
“And he won’t leak our location either. Varak’s a proud sovereign. Given his personality, once he personally makes a promise, it’s basically impossible for him to go back on his word—thanks to your genius plan, of course. Though it turned out a little different from the original strategy, the end result was close enough. How did you even come up with that bottled magic idea? I almost forgot we had that stuff.”
“I’m a Dark Souls player,” Samael explained.
“That means, during the journey, I always have to think about what’s in my pocket that might be useful—and how to use every single tool efficiently. Bows, shields, weapons, gear, consumables… Every item has its purpose. You always need to know what’s in your inventory.”
“Still, I didn’t expect Norman Passat to notice the mold bags—their outer appearances were identical. The idea was that, when the moldy grain bags were thrown into the Londoran Dungeon’s frontline granary, the glass bottles inside would break under pressure, filling the entire warehouse with the Foulsoil Roarers’ toxic slime.” Samael shook his head.
“He was sharper than I thought.”
He tossed the coin back into the pouch with a metallic clink and stared blankly at the bulging bag full of coins.
“You mentioned before that the demons only use these God-era coins… Is that limited to within the dungeon? Or do the Demon Kings themselves also trade with them?” Samael asked.
“It’s the unified demon currency,” Thaleia explained.
“Because even Demon Kings need to trade. Different dungeons produce different goods. To get supplies from another dungeon, you have to use God-era coins.”
“These cross-regional trades are usually carried out through demon caravans. Some caravans are led by high-ranking subordinates appointed by dungeon sovereigns to escort precious resources. But most caravans are made up of exiles.”
“Exiles?” Samael tilted his head.
“The relatively weaker demons—those considered worthless by traditional demon society—are expelled from the dungeons to wander the desolate lands aboveground… like… my sister.” Thaleia sighed.
“Not all demons are powerful or terrifying. That’s just a stereotype. The weaker ones have already been cast out. The cruel dungeons only allow the strong and useful to survive.”
“The exiled demons band together for warmth, forming large convoys—like nomadic tribes or long-distance merchant caravans—traveling between dungeons to trade goods.”
“They often use brutal methods to remove their demonic traits—like horns or scales—to disguise themselves as humans and acquire supplies in human, elven, or dwarven territories…” Thaleia hesitated.
“Well, in a sense, we’re also exiles now—just… stronger ones.”
“Oh… By the way, I’ve never seen any horns or scales on you.” Samael raised both hands, gesturing the shape of devil horns beside his helmet.
“Not all demons have such traits—it’s random,” Thaleia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“And all these features can be altered through demonic spiritual energy. It’s similar to human demonic transformation. The difference is, exiles are too weak to perform such transformations, so they can only cut off their horns or tear away their scales.”
“Humans think all demons have strange growths because, in demon culture, horns, scales, feathers, and claws symbolize strength and beauty. So many powerful demons—even sovereigns—deliberately enhance their bodies through spiritual energy, thinking it makes them more handsome or elegant.”
“Since humans can only see the powerful ones in the dungeons, they assume all demons look that way. Ironically, that misconception makes it easier for exiles to blend in.”
She brushed her steel-gray hair, rolled over, and rested her head on the pillow, her gray eyes quietly gazing at Samael’s armored back.
“What is it?” Samael turned, tossing the money pouch onto the iron chest beside the bed, looking back at her.
“Um… about my appearance…” Thaleia averted her gaze.
“I’m mixed-blood, so I look more human… Were you human when you were alive, or… I mean, what’s your sense of aesthetics? Do you think horns or claws look… better?”
“Ah?” Samael froze.
“Horns would make sleeping really inconvenient,” he said seriously after thinking for a while.
“Then… what kind of look do you like?” Thaleia hesitated.
“What do you find… attractive?”
“I like Havel’s Armor and the Black Knight Halberd,” Samael blurted out instinctively.
“…What’s that?”
“They’re super-strong gear from Dark Souls 1.”
Silence.
The two stared at each other.
Thaleia propped herself halfway up with one elbow, her other hand curled as if she were about to grab her hammer-spear—but hesitated.
Her mouth hung slightly open, her gray eyes dull and shadowed, caught between wanting to speak and refusing to.
“Got it,” she said coldly all of a sudden, turning her back to him.
Did I say something wrong again? Samael wondered.
The last time Thaleia was this upset was when he accidentally used the scanner on her—he’d learned since that using identification magic on living beings made them feel violated, as though being spied upon.
Tap, tap.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, followed by a knock on the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Brother Samo, Brother Talan, I’ve brought the mission reward,” Randall’s voice came from outside.
Thaleia sat up at once, grabbed her helmet, and put it back on.
They exchanged a glance.
Samael nodded and quickly opened the door.
Randall stood there, holding two large pouches.
A sword-shaped object wrapped in rags hung at his waist.
For some reason, he looked tired—and a little downcast.
“I just finished handling the sale of spoils and the Guild’s reward payout. These are your shares,” Randall said politely, handing them over with effort.
Samael took one and paused—it was heavy, clearly a large sum.
“This mission’s success is thanks to you two. Our team returned safely because of you,” Randall explained, seeming to guess Samael’s thoughts.
“Each of you, Brothers Samo and Talan, gets 2,500 Edric gold coins.”
“That’s too much! Wasn’t the total mission reward just over 5,000?” Samael said, instinctively wanting to open his pouch to give some back.
“No, no, you deserve this—perhaps even more, though the payout was capped this time,” Randall insisted.
“Brother Samo is too kind, but don’t worry about us. This job was special—the spoils were enormous, especially the grain. We sold it for 3,300. The bandits’ gear fetched another thousand, and the Bandit Chief Swordsman had a bounty of 1,000 gold, which also counted toward the mission. Altogether, over 10,000. We still have plenty to divide—far more than any mid-tier surface job. Please, take it.”
“Oh, I see.” Samael nodded.
The grain had been sold at double price to Norman Passat, so 3,000 made sense—a lucky bonus.
It did sound like everyone profited.
“There are still some other matters in the team, so I’ll… take my leave.” Randall bowed slightly, turned, and walked quickly away, his steps heavy with thought.
Samael watched him disappear down the stairwell, then turned back, closing the door.
“He’s gone?” Thaleia asked.
Samael nodded.
Thaleia tossed her helmet aside again, huffed, and lay back down, turning her back to him.
What’s she upset about now? Shouldn’t getting paid make her happy? Samael couldn’t understand.
He considered clearing his throat to get her attention—then remembered he didn’t have one.
After a pause, he carefully circled the bed, placed the heavy pouch of coins in front of her.
Thaleia huffed again, rolled over, and turned her back once more.
The sound she made wasn’t her usual cold, disdainful snort when crushing enemies—it was softer, almost shy, like the chirp of a fledgling bird.
Samael had never heard that tone before.
It was… oddly refreshing.
“Uh… so, the mission reward—2,500 Edric gold coins each, 5,000 total.” Samael circled around again.
“If we want to cross the Empire and enter the Ancient Battlefield of the Undead Plains, how much would that cost?”
“About three to four hundred,” Thaleia said, avoiding his gaze.
“You can hire long-distance carriages in the Edric Empire. Even the shady ones shouldn’t charge more than eight hundred.”
“What do we do with the rest, then?” Samael lifted the heavy pouch.
“I don’t know. Human money doesn’t mean much to us. Do whatever you want.” Thaleia muttered, turning her back again, giving another soft huff—like a small bird’s chirp.
Samael thought for a moment.
“I’ll… go buy something. Want to come? Dinner?” He took two-thirds of the coins, tied the pouch at his waist.
“That tavern from last time?”
“Not hungry. Go ahead.” Thaleia’s voice came from her back, sounding like she was sulking.
Samael pulled on his worn cloak and stepped out, closing the door behind him.
They already had enough for travel expenses.
If nothing went wrong, they’d soon be leaving Thornfall Outpost for the Edric Empire’s border.
Crossing the checkpoint would be a challenge—but for now…
He went downstairs, greeting the Tavern Mistress at the counter along the way.
The harpoon-bearing uncle sat in the hall drinking tea, a large roll of snakeskin beside him.
When he saw Samael, they exchanged nods in mutual recognition.
The sun had just vanished beyond the horizon, and the Twin Moons hung high in the sky.
Even so, the streets remained crowded with merchants and adventurers passing by.
Behind windowpanes under the night, faint lights flickered from within homes, and the lanterns and candles along the roadside glimmered like scattered stars.
The night market was still open.
Samael walked down the street through the stalls, looking around curiously.
As adventurers passed, the stall owners shouted over one another in a lively chorus.
“Second-hand weapons! Buying and selling all kinds of used weapons! Don’t know what to do with your old gear? Come to Old Reggie!”
“Meat pies! Hot, delicious ham and salted meat pies! Even beasts drool for these!”
“Good-luck charms! Lucky charms! Made with high-grade monster feathers! May Lady Luck bless your next dungeon run—dig up a Demon King’s treasury with one shovel!” the vendor cried out.
Samael tilted his helmet slightly, giving a sideways glance.
Dyed feathers of Riftclaw Birds… He turned his gaze away.
Didn’t this market have any sweets? Based on his experience coaxing children, the easiest way to cheer someone up was always—something sweet.
Never failed.
“Look, that’s him… that tall knight in copper armor…” came a whisper behind him.
“He’s so tall… his shoulders are so broad…”
“Isn’t that the one you like?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down!”
Samael turned.
It was the two young mage girls he had seen earlier in the Barracks Hall No.3.
Before them was a small stall with several large barrels.
He approached out of curiosity and peeked inside—the barrels contained semi-transparent ice blocks exuding faint wisps of cold mist.
The short-haired girl wearing rune-inscribed gloves grinned mischievously and nudged the long-haired girl beside her.
“Do… do you need something?” the long-haired girl stammered, blushing as she gripped her rune staff.
“We… we have pure ice blocks, conjured with spell catalysts, for… for preservation purposes…”
“Oh. Ice blocks.” Samael pondered.
“Are you two adventurers?”
“Strictly speaking, not really. We registered as adventurers just to stay in the barracks more easily,” the short-haired girl explained.
“We’re actually students. Our mentor has been working for the Guild these past few years, helping maintain the Beast-Repelling Spell Array around Thornfall Outpost. She brought us here to assist and learn, and also to purchase rare catalysts. Materials from the Habitable Zone are resold many times over—terribly expensive.”
She pointed to the barrels in front of them.
“We made these ice blocks with spellcraft for the potion storage and enchanted material vault in Thornfall Outpost to keep them preserved under low temperatures. But today, we accidentally made six extra barrels. It’d be a waste to throw them away, so we brought them here to sell—maybe an alchemist might need them. Some unstable potions have to be stored in the cold.”
“I see.” Samael thought for a moment.
“Have you ever tried crushing the ice, adding some… jam or fruit syrup, and making it into a dessert?”
“Jam? Dessert?” The two mage girls looked at each other blankly.
…
In a corner of the market, Alchemist Ruby sat on a stone step, sobbing.
Mage Selina and Ranger Randall stood nearby, trying to comfort her.
“I… I’ve taken the exam five years in a row…” Ruby choked between tears.
“It’s useless! It’s impossible! The Potionology Association only takes the top-ranked applicants each year—one small mistake and you’re disqualified. I’ll never make it!”
“Hey now, don’t be so pessimistic. Maybe this year will be your year? I heard there’ll be fewer candidates,” Selina said softly, hugging Ruby despite the tears and snot, pressing her head gently against her robe.
“My family borrowed money everywhere just to let me study at Mashus Academy. My father’s half-crippled now from working to save money for me, and he’s counting on me to get certified as an official alchemist—but I’ve failed for five straight years…” Ruby clung tightly to Selina’s robe, crying harder.
“I’ve been an adventurer for more than a year now, and I don’t even have the face to go home…”
“If I didn’t come to the Wasteland myself to gather materials, I couldn’t even afford basic ingredients in the Habitable Zone… Most new alchemists are unemployed right after graduation. Those without family money can’t afford rare reagents—they come here instead, breaking apart monster droppings every day, searching for usable residue…”
“There, there. This time will work out. Just half a month left, right? You’ll make it,” Selina whispered reassuringly, then glanced at Randall, who stood frozen beside them, urging him with her eyes to say something.
Me? What do you expect me to say—take the exam for her?
Randall mouthed helplessly.
Selina raised her fist and smacked him on the shin.
Randall grimaced, clutching his leg, and stepped back.
“Selina’s right. You’ll definitely make it this time,” he said dryly.
But Ruby kept crying, her tears flowing uncontrollably like a broken dam.
I need to distract her somehow, Randall thought, rubbing his leg.
He suddenly noticed a commotion at a nearby market stall—a noisy crowd gathered around, waving coins, lining up excitedly.
“Five silver coins per serving! Don’t rush—queue up!” cried the vendors—two flustered mage girls, and a familiar tall, copper-armored figure in a cloak.
“Please line up.” Brother Samo’s calm yet firm voice rang from the stall.
His cold, armored arm gently but firmly guided the crowd into two neat lines.
“Everyone, stay in line! Don’t disrupt the market!” The two on-duty Guild Guards ran over to help, shouting while craning their necks curiously to see what kind of stall could draw such a frenzy.
Brother Samo… Randall hesitated to approach the mysterious knight.
But Ruby was still sobbing uncontrollably beside him—she clearly needed a distraction.
He gently patted her shoulder and pointed toward the market.
“Look. Over there,” he whispered.
Ruby lifted her tear-streaked face, gazing through the blur of her vision at that familiar copper-armored figure, who was walking toward her carrying a tray of something that clinked softly.
“Feeling down?” Samael bent down and offered her the tray—filled with a mix of crushed ice, fruit jam, and berries—along with a small spoon.
“Back in my homeland, people eat this when they’re sad.”
Ruby looked up through her watery eyes at the dark space beneath his hood and helmet, where faint light glinted off cold metal.
“Go on. Try it.”
A pair of cold, firm hands gently patted her shoulder and placed the tray and spoon into her trembling hands.
She sniffled, took a bite, and felt the cool sweetness melt across her tongue.
…
Ruby’s mood had calmed.
Selina walked beside her through the market, arm around her shoulder.
Randall and Samael sat together atop a nearby rooftop, watching the two women stroll in the distance.
Not far from them, the new dessert—“Fruit Jam Ice Shards”—was selling wildly.
Under the Guild Guards’ supervision, customers lined up in two long rows, waving their coins.
“You really are full of mysteries, Brother Samo,” Randall murmured.
“Am I?” Samael replied casually.
“The kind of mystery that feels like sunlight—bright, gentle, warm, and strong,” Randall said dreamily.
“Even though your body is cold and hollow.”
He knows?! Samael jolted, his armor clanking faintly.
“I saw it when the Bandit Chief Swordsman stabbed his Bloodsteel Greatsword straight through you—you weren’t hurt at all,” Randall said softly.
“Don’t worry. Elliot was still unconscious, so he didn’t see. And I swear, I’ll never tell anyone. A person like you, Brother Samo—it doesn’t matter who or what you are. Your very existence is like sunlight—strong and brilliant. I’m honored to have met someone like you.”
Samael fell silent for a while.
“…Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Brother Samo, earlier you mentioned planning to enter the Edric Empire,” Randall said.
“Our alchemist Ruby will soon return there for her sixth Potionology Association qualification exam. Our team plans to escort her home. If you two need to cross the border, you’re welcome to travel with us.”
“Thank you,” Samael said.
“That sword I gave you—did it cause trouble?”
Randall sighed, pulling out the long wrapped bundle at his waist.
He revealed the entirely blood-red blade beneath.
“It’s one of the Empire’s military secrets—Blood Weapons. If a soldier sees it, we’d be in serious trouble.”
“Perhaps this sword could help our team grow stronger. Maybe one day we won’t have to scrape for a few hundred coins… But if we keep it like this, it’ll only bring danger.”
“Though I treasure the bond between us, Brother Samo… this gift is…”
Samael took back the Bloodsteel Greatsword, placing his armored palm on the blade.
In an instant, the crimson steel was covered in a thin, half-molten layer of Nether-Copper.
Within seconds, the terrifying blood-red weapon had transformed into a dull, rusty copper sword.
“Take it. Now it won’t be recognized. Sorry for the trouble—it won’t affect its function; the forging principles are similar.” He placed the sword beside Randall.
“Consider it a symbol of friendship, Brother Randall.”
Clang!
Samael stood, leapt from the rooftop, adjusted his cloak’s hood with one hand, and left.
Randall watched his departing back, then looked down at the sword—now a rust-colored blade.
He gripped the hilt.
Warmth spread through his fingers.
The balance and feel were perfect—like holding a gift from the sun itself.
…
Knock, knock, knock.
Samael stood at the barracks door, holding a box of Fruit Jam Ice Shards, knocking eagerly.
He had told the two mage girls to set one aside for him—at the rate they were selling, even the ice scraps at the bottom of the barrel would be gone soon.
In fact, the box hadn’t cost him anything; the two girls insisted on giving it for free—and even tried to share their profits with him, which he politely declined.
Maybe he had been too showy tonight, not exactly fitting for an exile trying to stay low-profile, Samael reflected.
The door opened, and Thaleia hurriedly pulled him inside.
“My gods, where were you? I’ve been waiting forever—if you hadn’t come back, I was about to go look for you!” she said breathlessly, tossing her hammer-spear and helmet aside.
“Ta-da!”
Samael set the large box on the table and dramatically spread his arms.
“A dish from my homeland—called ice cream! Try it!”
Thaleia opened her mouth, then froze.
She looked at the “ice cream,” then at him—and suddenly burst into laughter, coughing as she covered her mouth.
“What’s so funny?” Samael asked.
“If you don’t eat soon, it’ll melt!”
“Nothing…” Thaleia wiped her eyes, still laughing.
“Nothing at all, little sun.”