Marcus led the group through the worn-out streets of the slums, his steps confident and his expression set with the kind of self-assurance that only he could pull off. He had declared himself their best negotiator, and while no one had exactly voted on it, neither Liam nor the others had the energy to argue. If Marcus wanted to play businessman, then fine—let him. They would just stand back and watch how it played out.
The streets were lined with ragged buildings, some barely standing, their walls cracked and covered in dirt. A few people loitered around, some sitting against the walls, others carrying sacks filled with who-knew-what. The air smelled of damp wood, sweat, and the faintest trace of something rotten. It was the kind of place where people minded their own business, and if someone got stabbed in an alley, no one would even blink.
Marcus walked with purpose, scanning every building like a hunter searching for prey. Then, as if the gods had placed it there just for him, his eyes landed on a small, two-story house nestled in a quieter part of the slums. It wasn't anything grand, but compared to the surrounding wreckage, it looked decent—sturdy walls, a roof that wasn't caving in, and most importantly, a sign nailed to the front door with the word SELL written in large, bold letters.
Marcus smirked. "Bingo."
He turned back to the others, motioning toward the house with a casual wave of his hand. "Alright, that's the one. Let's go."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "You decided that fast?"
Marcus shrugged. "It's got a door, a roof, and it's not currently on fire. What more do you want?"
With no better options, the group followed him toward the house. When they reached the front, there was no one standing by to greet them, no seller waiting eagerly to make a deal. Just silence. For a moment, they thought maybe the house had been abandoned, the sign left there to rot.
But then, from the side of the building, a man stepped forward, wiping his hands on a filthy rag. His clothes were tattered, and his face bore the hardened look of someone who had lived in this part of the city for too long. He gave them a once-over before asking, "You looking to buy?"
Marcus nodded, flashing his most businesslike expression. "Yeah. You the one selling?"
The man grunted. "That's right. Question is, how much are you willing to pay?"
At that, Marcus's entire demeanor changed. His back straightened, his hands folded behind him, and with a slow, deliberate pace, he began to walk around the house, inspecting it with the exaggerated thoroughness of a seasoned property evaluator. Every so often, he would hum thoughtfully, running his fingers along the walls, tapping the wood, and even knocking on the doorframe like he was testing for weaknesses.
Liam and the others stood in silence, watching the bizarre display unfold.
Sophia leaned toward Eleanor and whispered, "What the hell is he doing?"
Eleanor, arms crossed, smirked slightly. "Being Marcus."
Marcus let out a long sigh as he gestured toward the roof. "Ah, see that? There's a slight tilt in the roof structure. Could collapse in a few years."
The seller frowned. "It's not collapsing."
Marcus ignored him and moved to the walls. "Hmm. There are cracks here. Pretty deep ones too. Means moisture's getting in. That's not good. Termites love places like this."
The seller scowled. "There are no termites."
Marcus clicked his tongue. "That's what you think. But you can't see 'em. They're inside, eating away at your precious walls as we speak."
By now, Liam, Jason, Sophia, and Eleanor were all staring in stunned silence.
Marcus kept going. "And this door? It's a little uneven on the hinges. Poor craftsmanship. Could snap off in a storm."
The seller's face was twitching with irritation. "The door is fine."
Marcus folded his arms and shook his head dramatically. "Look, I don't mean to be harsh, but let's be real. This house is barely standing. It's practically a miracle it hasn't fallen apart already."
The seller clenched his fists, his patience running thin. "Just state a damn price, you motherf—"
Marcus cut him off with a casual wave of his hand. "Relax, relax. No need to get violent. You NPCs really need to learn patience." He then flashed a grin and said, "I'll take it for five bronze coins."
A tense silence followed.
Then, the seller exploded. "FIVE BRONZE COINS?! ARE YOU LOOKING TO BUY A FUCKING COFFIN?! THIS IS A DAMN HOUSE!"
Marcus didn't even flinch. He simply sighed and shook his head as if the man was the unreasonable one. "That's my starting offer. You should feel honored. I could've said two."
The seller's face turned red, veins popping along his forehead. "The lowest-priced house in this city goes for FIFTY BRONZE! This one is worth EIGHTY!"
Marcus made a show of looking around, then scoffed. "Eighty? No wonder half the people here are homeless. Who the hell has eighty bronze to waste in this dump?"
The seller's eye twitched. "You don't look homeless to me. If you're not serious about buying, then get the fuck out."
Marcus smirked. "Chill, bitch. We'll take it for fifty-five."
The seller's head almost exploded on the spot.
He let out a deep, frustrated breath, his nostrils flaring as he shot Marcus a glare that could melt stone. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to strangle Marcus right then and there, but instead, he clenched his jaw and turned away.
"Wait here," he muttered through gritted teeth before marching off without another word.
As soon as the man was out of sight, Marcus turned back to the group with the kind of smugness that only he could pull off. He spread his arms wide, as if expecting applause, his face beaming with self-satisfaction.
"See? I told you all—I am the best negotiator there ever is," he declared, puffing out his chest. "Fifty-five bronze for a house? I might as well have stolen it."
He paused, waiting, expecting cheers or at least some nods of approval. But instead of praise, he was met with wide-eyed, frozen expressions. Liam, Sophia, Jason, and Eleanor were all staring at something behind him, their faces a mix of shock and panic.
Marcus frowned. "What? No claps? You ungrateful bastards should be—"
Then he heard it.
The distinct sound of metal clicking, the weighty creak of an old trigger being pulled back.
Marcus's entire body tensed. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he slowly—very slowly—turned his head.
His stomach dropped.
The seller had returned. But he wasn't empty-handed anymore. Now, clutched tightly in his rough hands, was a large, rusted, old-fashioned local gun—an absolute relic of a weapon, but still very much capable of blowing a hole straight through Marcus's skull. And at this very moment, that gun was aimed directly at his head.
Marcus blinked.
"Oh, you son of a—"
Before he could finish, the reality of the situation fully set in, and with an almost animalistic instinct, he let out a strangled curse and bolted.
"YOU BITCH, YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME OVER A DAMN HOUSE? FUCK YOUR MOTHER!"
His feet moved before he could think, his survival instincts kicking in as he spun and dove straight behind Liam, using his friend as a human shield.
"Oh, hell no—no way, no way!" Marcus practically screeched as he ducked behind Liam's back, his head peeking out just enough to keep an eye on the gun. His hands gripped Liam's shoulders as he used him like a walking cover. "Nobody told me they had fucking guns in this game!"
The seller stood firm, his face a storm of fury, finger hovering dangerously over the trigger. His voice came out low and sharp.
"Fifty-five bronze, huh?" he growled. "How about I give you a free funeral instead?"