Despite most of the peoples of Pangera using their own form of currency - even the bruan’chii used something they called a ‘soul chip’ to trade amongst themselves - there was one universal unit of wealth that was good for business everywhere in the Dungeon.

Cores.

Which was why Smithant and Cobalt had brought a healthy supply from the Colony’s stores with them on this trip, though they had begun to suspect that they may have brought too many. Their brathian guide couldn’t resist sending covetous glances towards their carry bags, strapped to their carapace, though she tried to hide it.

“Everything is so spread apart,” Smithant huffed. “It’s inefficient.”

“It is,” Cobalt agreed, “but it does allow room for specialities to bloom. If everyone were forced to compete in proximity to each other, every stall would be the same.”

It was taking a long time to get from market to market; each district of Freehill was a sprawling mass of houses, shops, schools, fighting arenas, seemingly without much planning having gone into the layout. It was apparent that much of the growth was organic, new things being constructed when it was found to be necessary, and placed wherever the people at the time thought it would make sense. It deeply offended the ants.

Yet, it wasn’t their place to criticise others’ way of living, they were out looking for trade, and were having greatly mixed levels of success.

[What is this store?] Cobalt asked their guide.

Irisod read the sign and sighed.

[It is ‘Big Hogs Swarthy Swords’.]

[You don’t seem to approve.]

[I find the name of the store to be… poor marketing.]

The ants didn’t care one whit for marketing, only for quality goods, so they decided to head inside, squeezing through the entrance with surprisingly little difficulty.

The reason for the oversized door quickly became apparent inside, as they were confronted with the clientele. Large, pinkish-skinned and snout-nosed Folk turned to stare at the two monsters, wondering what the heck was going on.

“They are here to trade, with permission of the Council,” Irisod assured everyone, holding up the official documents in case anyone wanted to inspect them.

Nobody did.

From behind the counter, a particularly huge, flap-eared man emerged, looking down at the two ants. He spoke to Irisod in short, clipped tones, and the two ants waited for the translation.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

[He wants to know what you want to buy. Having monsters in his shop is making people nervous, so he says.]

[His best weapons,] Smithant said without hesitation, her antennae twitching as she took in the many blades on display.

The giant Folk, Hog, presumably, raised one brow before he stomped out the back and then returned bearing a huge, two-handed blade. He thunked it down on the counter and invited the ants to inspect it.

Smithant leaped forward, running her antennae over the metal, as well as her eye. It was an exceptional piece of work. If there was one thing that impressed her about the Folk, it was the amount of craftsmanship they put into their swords. Not only was the metal refined to the highest purity, not only were the weapons perfectly shaped and balanced, not only was the enchanting smooth and faultless, it was the extra details, the flourishes, the colours, the inscriptions. Everything was done to invoke the spirit of the sword as the maker saw it, and she loved it.

“I have to have it,” she declared, smitten. “Look at the layering of the steel. What sort of temperature did they fire this, to get that effect? Or was it the quenching? And this metal! Is it an alloy? Of what and what?”

“Why don’t we find out how much it costs?” Cobalt said, injecting some logic. “We can’t even use swords, so I don’t think it’s necessary for us to spend all that much on them, regardless of how well-made they are.”

“We make swords for the humans,” Smithant pointed out, “and techniques for making good blades can also be applied to metal mandible enhancers.”

A new line she was working on. It was tricky, since each set needed to be adjusted and fitted to the ant who used them, but a sharpened and enchanted set of barbs that fit over an ant’s mandibles had proven to make their bites significantly more devastating.

[Can you enquire as to how much this costs?] Cobalt asked Irisod, firmly.

After some back and forth, the mage supplied the answer.

[He’s asking fifteen-fifty. In my opinion, this is overpriced by as much as twenty percent.]

“Always with the overcharging,” Smithant grumbled, still prodding the sword with her antennae.

[Can you ask why the item is overpriced by twenty percent?] Cobalt asked, a little fed up herself.

Again, there was some back and forth before they were supplied an answer.

[He says he would rather his finest sword be in the hands of a skilled swordsman, rather than sold to monsters who won’t use it, so he is overcharging.]

The two ants considered this.

“That makes sense,” Smithant conceded. “Making excellent things and then giving them to people who won’t use them is disappointing, as a crafter.”

“I agree. Twenty percent seems fair compensation.”

[Tell him we agree to this trade. It is our intention to study the sword in the hopes we can one day replicate its incredibly high standard of craftsmanship. Please pass on our assurances that it will be treated with respect.]

The ants happily paid the required price and Hog looked somewhat sheepish as he handed over the sword to his latest customers. Smithant held the blade gently in her mandibles, extremely pleased with the purchase.

[Why can’t your people be more like that?] Cobalt complained to Irisod. [If you were simply up front with us about your prices, we can engage in a reasonable discussion. All these half-truths and obfuscations simply take us further from reaching an agreement, not closer.]

Irisod rolled her eyes. They didn’t get it now, and they likely never would in the future.