📖 Journal of DeLuna — Entry 99: Operational Expenses

It is not like Ryn to spend money unnecessarily.

This is one of the few truths I feel completely confident writing.

Which is why the current situation concerns me.

For the third time since arriving in this region, Ryn has chosen accommodations that could reasonably be described as luxurious.

Not palace-level luxurious.

But comfortable.

Suspiciously comfortable.

The establishment is called Golden Citrus Inn.

The rooms are spacious.

The beds are soft.

The chairs do not threaten structural collapse.

The towels are folded into decorative shapes.

I am still uncertain why.

Most alarming of all—

Ryn paid for everything.

When I questioned this decision, she calmly informed me it qualified as an operational expense.

Then immediately returned to work.

No explanation.

No elaboration.

Nothing.

I am beginning to suspect merchants use the phrase "operational expense" the same way scholars use "further research is required."

It technically explains something.

Without actually explaining anything.

The inn itself is fascinating.

Many of the guests appear extraordinarily wealthy.

Not merely successful merchants.

Important merchants.

The kind whose clothing costs more than wagons.

Several guests looked so elegant I initially assumed they were nobles.

Others appeared to be nobles pretending not to be nobles.

Still others looked like nobles who had forgotten they were pretending.

At one point I saw a woman wearing enough jewelry to purchase a small fishing village.

Nobody seemed surprised.

I briefly wondered whether I had accidentally entered the wrong building.

Perhaps there was another inn nearby intended for normal people.

Unfortunately, nobody asked us to leave.

Which means we apparently belong here.

A deeply questionable conclusion.

This morning, while Ryn was supposedly working, the common room became increasingly animated.

The Dunskar auction remains the primary topic everywhere.

And somehow the rumors continue growing.

Several noble families from the Capital are now expected to attend.

Representatives from smaller kingdoms.

Trade associations.

Private investors.

Guild leaders.

Merchant consortiums.

Apparently some smaller trade guilds have begun pooling their funds together.

Not to purchase artifacts.

To compete against whoever purchases the artifacts.

This distinction feels important.

Though I am not entirely certain why.

The atmosphere resembles preparation for war.

A very polite war.

One conducted through paperwork.

And increasingly expensive mistakes.

Then Ryn casually added another piece of information.

"The Resistance chairman will probably attend."

I immediately looked toward Spathian.

Instinctively.

There are some patterns one eventually learns.

Spathian was eating salmon.

Entirely focused on the spoon in his hand.

Not the food.

The spoon.

He appeared to be inspecting it.

I do not know why.

I no longer ask.

The conversation moved on before I could obtain answers.

Which, admittedly, is how most conversations involving Spathian function.

Meanwhile, my efforts to organize Old Shard's stories have become increasingly complicated.

At one point I attempted to show him my notes.

This seemed reasonable.

He disagreed.

Immediately.

"I trust you."

That was his answer.

Then he refused to look.

I informed him this was irresponsible.

He remained unconcerned.

So I issued a formal warning.

If the final version differs from reality, responsibility belongs entirely to him.

I feel this is fair.

Today's story concerned Master Roderick.

Ryn's father.

According to Old Shard, he originally joined their journey because he needed to conduct business near the southern reaches of the Eastern Continent.

The arrangement sounded simple.

Master Roderick offered the Caravan Master eighty percent of the profits.

Provided the journey succeeded.

The Caravan Master accepted.

With one condition.

The destination would become the final stop.

Not the first.

Not the second.

The last.

According to Old Shard, the resulting route lasted nearly three years.

At first, Old Shard assumed Master Roderick was a deadly fighter.

This assumption seemed reasonable.

The man carried knives constantly.

Dozens of them.

Every shape.

Every region.

Every style.

Whenever he discovered a unique dagger in a market, he purchased it.

Without hesitation.

Naturally, this created expectations.

Eventually those expectations collided violently with reality.

The incident occurred inside an unnamed Treasure Vault.

At the time, it had not yet been explored properly.

According to Old Shard, the situation became extremely dangerous.

People were injured.

Supplies were running low.

And monsters were approaching.

For the first time, he believed Master Roderick would finally reveal his true abilities.

A lifetime of knife expertise.

Secret combat mastery.

Some hidden profession.

Anything.

Instead—

Master Roderick panicked.

Ran away.

Then confessed he had absolutely no idea how to use a dagger.

At all.

Old Shard paused after reaching this part.

Then stared into the distance.

As though reliving the disappointment.

Apparently that moment changed him permanently.

I should note that I had heard parts of this story before.

Today was simply the first time I learned the full version.

What followed proved even stranger.

Because despite possessing no combat talent whatsoever, Master Roderick excelled at something else.

People.

According to Old Shard, every village became a friendship.

Every inn became a contact.

Every city became a network.

Important people simply appeared around him.

Again and again.

Old Shard openly admitted he never understood how.

Neither do I.

Then came my favorite part.

At least according to Old Shard.

Apparently the Caravan Master and Master Roderick once worked together to destroy an entire trading guild.

This sounded dramatic.

Naturally I asked why.

Old Shard answered immediately.

"They said his face looked like a turtle."

I waited.

Certain additional explanation would follow.

None arrived.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Apparently the individual responsible eventually apologized.

This changed nothing.

According to Old Shard, events continued progressing until the guild collapsed.

I do not know whether this story is inspiring or horrifying.

Possibly both.

Before moving to another topic, Old Shard pointed directly at me.

"Don't censor that."

A direct order.

Apparently historical accuracy has become important only when the stories are embarrassing.

I wrote it down anyway.

Now evening approaches.

The common room remains crowded.

The auction continues growing larger every day.

More nobles.

More merchants.

More rumors.

More money than I can meaningfully comprehend.

Somewhere ahead, Dunskar waits.

And somehow every road appears to be leading toward it. 

I still do not understand what everyone is fighting over.

Or why the entire continent seems increasingly interested.

But judging from the excitement around me—

I suspect I will find out soon enough.

For now, I should go downstairs.

I promised Ryn I would act as her shield again.

I still do not know what that means.

At this point, however—

I am slightly afraid to ask.