"Why would using magic to fish be a mistake?" Ken was genuinely flabbergasted this time.
"Because..." The fisherman looked around their vicinity cautiously, and took his volume a notch lower. "Every mage who has ever fished here has disappeared. No traces, no signs that they were about to leave the city, just whoosh, one morning their house is empty, their family doesn't know where they are, says they went out to fish and never made it back home. It's the same pattern in every case, and nobody has been able to figure out what happened to them. Rumors say that there's a curse here, a curse on all mages who use spells on this river."
"Curses like that aren't uncommon. But if there was one, I think the city authorities would solve the issue," Ken said, frowning. Something about the whole incident seemed fishy.
"They tried, of course. Pretty much every fisherman on this river has been interrogated multiple times. Nothing came out of the investigation."
Ken sighed and nodded gratefully at the two beastmen. "Thank you for warning me. Good people like you are rare, no matter the era."
The two beastmen didn't notice his strange phrasing. They merely smiled in return, saying, "We only wanted to befriend you because you're a mage. Shamrock City has many mages, but we don't have any connection to them because of our fishing jobs. Those who come out here disappear, like many of our old friends have. It would weigh on our conscience if we didn't warn you. And..."
The scout-type fisher's odd, hesitant expression made Ken curious. "And?"
"We can sense a friendly aura on your body, well, I can, because of my talents. Are you perhaps related to the beastmen race in any way?"
Ken laughed proudly when he heard the question.
"Related? I fathered four whelps just a few days ago! Perhaps you smelled their scent on me!"
Both fishermen's eyes lit up. Beastmen were the most diverse race among the major races. Their population was large, but so was the stigma of being a crossbreed. They didn't even have their own dynasty, unlike the rest. Discrimination was an inextricable part of their lives. Ken had seen this reaction many times in the past when beastmen met interracial families.
"Oh, ho, ho! Congratulations! That's amazing! Four at once?! Which race does the wife belong to? Shapeshifter? Necros?" The scout brought out a rather large fish from their bucket and threw it over to Ken.
"Take this as a gift! This is our tradition, you must not refuse!"
Ken winked at them meaningfully while grabbing the gift. "The matter of her race is a bit sensitive. This is not the time and place to discuss that stuff."
Both beastmen understood the way of the world. Not all members of their race were well-received outside their community. A sensitive identity meant a sensitive background and rare racial problems. They would respect that boundary.
Ken left the river that evening with only two-thirds of his actual haul. The blatant extortion was treated like a normal routine by everyone in and near the outpost. They even offered to buy the rest of his haul, quoting a price lower than the market value. Ken refused, and came to learn the hard way that he would be barred from selling his haul within one-third portion of the city. Whoever it was that owned the renting business had pretty much clutched half the market in his hand. You could accept his rules, or be treated like an enemy as long as you stayed within their territory.
Ken was glad that he had provided a bunch of false information when he filed an application for his fishing permit. His tracks could not be traced easily. And he could choose other rivers as his fishing spots.
Reality, however, was a cruel master. When Ken was selling his haul in a distant corner of the city, he managed to gather some disheartening information. The business model was almost the same in the other big rivers. Either you slaved for the bigwigs running everything there, or you wouldn't last a week in the business.
"Whatever, this mystery of mages disappearing into thin air sounds a little intriguing. I would've looked into it anyway. It's better not to switch rivers and invite attention right now."
On his way back home, Ken bought a better fishing rod and high-quality baits, which were basically some heavily drugged earthworms that released attractive hormones under water. For the upcoming days, he would pretend to be an Ordinary human, fishing through ordinary methods.
When he reached the forest where their hideout was, the guard totems he had left nearby came running, sensing his presence. A two-foot-long ordinary centipede, a stoneback monkey, a young wildcat, and a group of highly venomous hornets; all of them had been arranged in such a way that anyone snooping around would be led by the nose to run circles around the hideout without discovering its traces. If all else failed, the totems would launch suicide attacks, exploding loudly enough to inform Simm of a powerful invasion attempt.
Making these totems had taken up a major share of his last few practice sessions, pushing his patience and perseverance to the limit.
Making them return to their sentry positions, Ken entered the tunnel and smelled a delicious scent of dinner. Babbles of babies were mixed with the sound of cackling fire, and a woman's gentle voice communicating with the babies added to the charm. Ken walked in with a wide grin and scooped up two of the children while giving his wife a smothering hug and a long kiss.
Life was good.