Throngs of Mardukryons crowded the streets around the auction house. I knew they weren’t here to bid for my Shard—yes, I was claiming it—but it made me antsy nonetheless.

I had ammo for a bidding war, but I wanted to cap my budget at eight million Artas, double my initial bid. Maybe ten, if pushing it? I grimaced, reluctant to pay for the premium of scarcity on top of an item’s intrinsic worth. That two million could be a few hundred [Morabodry] or [Frigid Yew Salve]. Just eight, then.

MCO’s auction system was simple enough. Players would put their items for sale at their chosen price. It’d be lumped with its kind in order of cheapest to most expensive quotes, like the stock market’s ‘ask’ column. If different players sold batches of [Swineling Fur] at different prices, buyers could immediately buy the cheapest one. But if the item were a unique listing, like if there were no other [Swineling Fur] for sale, or it was a piece of equipment with enchants, it’d go to bidding.

Unfortunately, only one [Health Conversion] Ocadule Link Shard was available yesterday. It didn’t seem in demand, with the starting price at two million Artas, reaching double when I placed my bid, with only four others interested in it. Could be that few players did the quest or farmed the boss dropping it, whatever its source was.

Before entering the auction house, I trotted to find Clement for some business matters. I still had time before the [Health Conversion] Shard listing expired and the live auction would start.

Clementropy28 was by his stall, chatting with Spokeless Roda, one of the new players I had helped. Spokeless evidently had made quick progress as a Mardukryon, now wearing a decent leather set, a peculiar bow made of monster bones strapped to his back, and a quiver of bolts laced with green miasma hanging by his flank. I suspected Spokeless had a helping hand from a certain snoopy and pushy, bare-chested someone.

“Hey, Mr. Poison!” Clement waved at me.

“First, I’m Mr. Blighted,” I said. “Now, I’m Mr. Poison?”

“That’s right, my good friend. You can also go with Mr. Indigestion. I don’t know what’s your deal, but one thing I know is never to eat anything you serve me.” -

We chuckled for a bit—preliminary social interactions. I turned to Spokeless, a beneficiary of my divine grace. “How’s it going?” I asked, nudging my head at his bow. “Looks like you’ve already chosen what to specialize in.”

“Yes, I picked the path of the Pathfinder.” Spokeless paused, scratching his horn. “Path of the… Path—Anyway, Spartan-D helped me get a Pathfinder Ocadule in return for becoming a Contractor.”

I was right, I mused with a mental smirk.

“I’m going with a bow build,” he continued. “A poison bow build, to be exact. Works really well for Pathfinder missions.”

Poison? Was he making good use of my gifts? I gave Spokeless and all the other new players I had helped a parting gift of [Morabodry] bottles—part as a façade of kindness, part a marketing strategy. My investment might be paying off.

“How so?” I asked.

“See, NPCs commission me to hunt rare monsters for specific loot—usual Pathfinder work. Since I’m new, most targets are, you know, out of my league. I can focus on leveling and return to those quests when I get stronger. That’s the right way. But the thing is, I’m streaming.”

“Streaming?” I gestured to the whole of him. “Sharing your journey as a Mardukryon?”

“Yeah! My post on Missive about my Mardukryon character got so many likes that I thought of streaming it. Already have a few hundred subscribers and steadily growing.”

“Sounds great!” I couldn’t resist giving him a double thumbs-up. Free advertising. Poison might not be meta, doubtful it’d ever be, but if people saw others using it, they’d try it just the same. Kind of like how there was a strange trend several years back of people under forty writing memoirs.

“Many are interested in Mardukryons,” Spokeless explained. “We’re an old race in MCO but are so forgotten that we might as well be a new one to most people. So, many MCO streamers are currently switching to Mardukryons to make content.”

“It’s like a gold rush,” I said.

“Then when something else becomes popular,” Clement remarked with a snort, “people will flock there and forget about Mardukryons.” He twirled a finger. “Cycle of life, right there.”

Spokeless resignedly shrugged. “What can you do? Streaming is incredibly competitive. To stand out, I’m doing this challenge of solo hunting hard-to-kill monsters. It started when I tried to kill Mirdabons in my stream, and it just clicked with some people.”

“Those furballs sure are entertaining,” I said. My cliffing adventures with Mirdabons would’ve been a hit if I were a streamer.

“Not to mention, everyone eats up the underdog narrative. With a bow build, I can kite and cheese strong monsters. Takes time and patience, and doesn’t work on all monsters, but it’s thrilling and glues viewers to my channel.”

“Then a Pathfinder Ocadule fits your chosen playstyle,” I said, talking out of my furry ass. It was a logical enough guess, I supposed.

“That’s why Spartan-D recommended it to me,” Spokeless replied. “The buffs when lacking a party and outnumbered by the enemy are great.”

“The Loner Ocadule,” Clement chimed in, laughing.

Spokeless nodded. “Spartan-D told me the same thing. Being a Pathfinder has its downsides—some buffs get turned off when with other players—but I decided to go all in on this solo hunter image. Building a recognizable brand helps market my stream. The other part of my image is being a poison archer. Adds more distinctiveness, and having poison-coated arrows is a real game-changer to my challenges.”

“Speeds up killing while kiting,” I said. “The faster you kill, the fewer chances you get killed.”

“Not only that,” Spokeless said. “I also don’t need to hit my prey as often. I just need to make sure the poison DoT is ticking, and I can focus on survival until it expires and I have to inflict it again. The Morabodry you gave me is helpful as hell, man. I was thinking of asking to buy more when I learned from Clement that you were selling some through him.”

“He was buying food buffs from me,” Clement said. “I’m trying to market it to everyone passing by my store.”

“I was right to partner with you then,” I said, winking with both right eyes.

“You can always count on me, my good friend.”

Most craftable consumables, like poisons and potions, couldn’t be sold at auction. Standing by a busy street corner and shouting your wares was an option, but those seriously intent on running a business would get a Merchant Ocadule, pay for a stall, and rent a space from the village. Merchant Ocadules could multiply profits, reduce trade costs, increase loot, and more. They also had combat-related skills, such as increasing damage according to how much Artas one had. In my research, some whale DPS builds included high-end Merchant Ocadules.

While it had a few tanking passives, a Merchant Ocadule wasn’t for me. Plus, I didn’t want to invest in setting up a store for a niche market. The next best thing was partnering with someone who had a store. Clement always called me a ‘good friend.’ What about testing how much of that was true?

I used a chunky chunk of my bank—and would use more—upgrading my character. Got to work to refill my coffers.

Initially, Clement was reluctant to carry my products. How dare he? It was made with divine love.

But I managed to convince him that if there ever was a time to sell poisons, this was it.

The were tons of new players on the mountain. Predictably, they’d want to do world quest missions even if it’d be difficult for them. Efficiency was out the window for a limited event. And what was the easy way for weak players to defeat difficult monsters? Poison cheesy goodness. Assuming, of course, the monster didn’t have high ailment resistance like a world boss.

Another point—the Great Hunt was up next. Before Bawu’s biohazard bonanza, it was mostly veteran players doing the Great Hunt, competing with each other to kill the prized event monsters. But now, the bulk of participants would be new players, and they’d go after the relatively weaker mobs, which were still freaking strong and could wipe them.

But what if they had poison?

Poison cheese. The best kind of cheese.

Clement agreed. He bought [Morabodry] from me for three thousand Artas per bottle. For me, that was around six hundred Artas profit each at the current prices of its materials. I wasn’t sure how much Clement would make on his end.

“I know it’s been only a day,” I said. “Barely one, actually. But how are the sales?” I supplied him with two hundred bottles last night and got six million Artas to add to my bidding war chest.

“Going well,” he said. “Many people whom you have given samples are coming to buy more. Word of how good they are for the Blighted bosses goes around.”

“I’m helping spread it,” Spokeless added. “My thanks for your kindness.”

Clement said, “I’ll message you later if it sells out. Then I’ll buy more.”

Okay, maybe I can push my budget to ten million, I resolved, galloping to the auction house.

I entered the building and chose a counter. After talking to the NPC, all the other players in the building disappeared, and the auction system interface appeared. I was alone, with my goal in front of me.

Lvl. 1 Health Conversion (Link): Replaces the cost of linked Active Skills with Health, with a multiplier of (220%)

For items that’d go to bidding, players could choose the duration from one to three days. It'd go into a live auction for the last five minutes of the period. This prevented sniping—placing a bid a few Artas higher at the last second, with no time for other people to top it. It was only fair for all the bidders and ensured the seller got the highest price.

If there were no more bids, then that was it. But if people continued to bid every ten seconds, it’d continue. Theoretically, the bidding could go on forever if bidders had infinite pockets.

“Six million, two hundred thousand…” I read the latest bid. Two more people had joined in, for a total of seven interested buyers, including me.

What was the tactic here? Going small steps would mean I’d save as much as possible if I were to win. But going in big could scare off competitors early. This was my first time participating in an actual auction in MCO, and I wasn’t sure of the players’ habits.

Someone raised the price by a hundred thousand. The next by fifty. Another responded with fifty.

I put in a hundred fifty thousand to check their resolve and break up the flow.

A pause of several seconds. “Come on… expire, dammit. Four, three, two—blasted potatoes!”

A bidder piled on another hundred thousand. It continued in increments of fifty until it reached seven million. I still had ways to go before hitting my budget cap, so I placed two hundred seventy thousand, hoping the large amount and the odd seven would psychologically jog my competitors. It worked because four bidders dropped off.

The other two continued the game of raising by fifty. I didn’t join in. One of them placed a bid of forty thousand. Running out of funds? It was answered by raising the price by the same amount—this person was my only competitor.

I inputted four hundred thousand Artas and pressed submit, raising the price to eight million Artas.