Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Thankfully it doesn't take long to find the exact shop we were looking for. Unlike Garen's, this one is much more established, evidenced by our welcoming. As soon as we step through the door, several helpers rush to our side, asking if they can be of assistance.

After eyeing them for a few moments to make sure they actually worked here, I nod and we pass the bags over. "We're here to sell these, so while you're at it please count our haul- while keeping the bags where I can see them- to give us an offer. Just so you know, I counted them down to the last item before coming here.

Don't attempt anything funny." I lied through my teeth, as I didn't bother to go through the lower floors' loot one by one, and I received a positive reply.

While they went about their business we checked their offerings out. It seems they specialize in using monster materials to craft gear, trophies and other furnishings. I see a lot of weapons made of bones, husks, claws, etc. All the armors on display were made from monster hide and other body parts, at least partly.

I'm not gonna lie and say it's not intriguing- in fact, seeing their offerings is a truly shocking experience- but I'm not specifically interested.

I've got my trusty blade, and I've watched enough anime to know that a sealed saber with unlock requirements literally telling me to kill a dragon will be OP as hell, so I'm not going to swap it. As for armor, I'm happy with what I got.

"Sir and madam, we've finished counting." An employee approached us with palms stuck together with a bit of nervousness evident in his features. He was bowing multiple times as well while speaking.

What's with his reaction? Our haul is certainly impressive, but it shouldn't surprise such a well-established firm.

"Could you please follow me to our VIP consultation room? The owners would like to directly deal with you."

Hmm? "Sure, I suppose." It's a bit strange to bring the owners out for us. With our levels and personal might, I'm sure we could've at least gone to floor 10. So, they must have others who can replicate our haul if not outshine it severely, then why are they treating us with so much flair?

We follow the older man who displays signs of a hunched back that will get much worse as he ages and is soon led through. As we do, we are led through a series of narrow hallways, and many monster trophies adorn the walls instead of the typical paintings and such. It seems they've settled into this identity completely.

Eventually, we arrive at a set of double doors made of polished wood. Each panel is inlaid with intricate gold patterns that shine in the light of the sun that cascades through the windows.

The old man opens the doors with a slight bow, ushering us inside. The 'consultation room' is nothing short of lavish. The floor is covered in soft, red carpeting that absorbs the sound of our footsteps, and the walls are lined with mahogany shelves that are- big surprise- holding various trinkets and monster trophies.

The scent of expensive tobacco fills the air which gives the room a smoky, earthy atmosphere. Dominating the center of the room are two large pairs of plush sofas, made of deep crimson fabric.

Seated on the sofa are two figures. A man and a woman, both in their late forties. Their postures are relaxed but their gazes are sharp, exuding an air of confidence and experience. They each hold a smoking pipe between their fingers. As we enter, they rise to greet us.

The man is taller than average and he has a broad frame that speaks of a life once spent in combat, though age has definitely begun to soften him. His black hair is streaked with a few strands of silver, and is cropped short. What stands out about him the most is the patch over his left eye.

His remaining eye locks onto me with an intensity that makes it clear he hasn't lost his edge in its entirety, despite the severe injuries he bears. The sleeve of his shirt is rolled up, revealing a hand that's missing two fingers- likely another reminder of his own past battles. I can't help but wonder why he didn't heal himself with the services of the church.

Maybe he thinks of his injuries as personal trophies.

Beside him, the woman stands with a more refined elegance, though there's no mistaking the danger that lurks behind her eyes. Her black hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing her high cheekbones and strict features. Her eyes- the same ice-blue as the man's- scan Ayame and me with cold precision, sizing us up as if calculating our worth.

She wears a dark, tailored outfit that accentuates her lithe form.

I don't need more clues to tell that both were definitely combatants who decided to retire as age started getting to them, after which they decided to begin dealing with monster materials. At least that's my headcanon as to why they are running this shop. Also, if they are both ex-combatants, that means that with their appearance, they could be several centuries old, depending on their level.

"Greetings. I hope that your day went well thus far." The man spoke first with a curt, soldierly tone, then the two began approaching us.

"Same to you two." I respond with a similarly measured attitude. They definitely want something from us.

"My name is Jack, and this is my wife, Sylvie."

"Quinlan, and this lovely woman is my lover, Hana."