All wealth is the product of labor.

Pre-Fall saying

Valetta’s gate and twin watchtowers finally rose in view after mid-day. The largest city within two hundred miles, and the one closest to the Ancient nameless ruins, at just under three days’ march. Valetta might not be home yet, but it was their destination, where the hard work paid out.

They reached the entrance soon after, entering through the main gate. There was no heightened guard, which meant nothing special happening, despite the rumors of bandits that they kept hearing.

Roving bands of raiders notwithstanding, the surrounding area was kept clear of predator packs. Johanna herself had considered that kind of job, bounty hunter, in her younger days, before she realized she might not be cut out for it. It was slightly glamorous, but ultimately – all things considered – far more dangerous than scavenging. Scavenger teams avoided beasts, they didn’t seek those out.

And besides, if you were very good at it, you were simply ending your income source as the beast threat vanished. Whereas Ancient cities were so vast, even more than a hundred years later there was still plenty to find there and sell. As long as you were willing to risk mana-rich areas, which were rumored to slow or even stop decay.

Well, and offer other, more exotic dangers, as they now knew.

Once inside, the four found themselves surrounded by familiar and reassuring sights and sounds, those of civilization. A few wooden buildings and houses, close to the palisade, lined the main street, then the commercial district started further in, almost all the small stores, food stalls, and businesses vying for attention from locals and any visitors alike.

“Busy,” Laura commented, taking in the sights.

Johanna merely shrugged. The city certainly looked a bit more crowded than any of their previous visits. It had always looked massive for the village-raised kids they had been, back when they’d seen it for the first time, but, today especially, there seemed to be a lot of people out and about.

At least, they no longer gawped at the sights like country bumpkins. Johanna remembered her first visit ever, back when she was around fourteen years old and she’s managed to finagle a trip as her father and brother were shipping some products to the local markets. At the time, she’d thought of Valetta as being like her home Anasta, just a bit larger, but she hadn’t even imagined the concept of a store back then.

“Grievar’s first?” Tom asked in confirmation.

“Yes. Let’s unload that loot first. Then… we head home to talk.”

“It’s late,” he replied.

“True. Okay, maybe we’ll grab some good food and hit the inn then. We’ll see.”

They shouldered their bags and pressed on. Norman Grievar’s Ancient Materials, their destination, was further in, past the center and the busiest part of the city.

Moore had no idea why he’d expected some kind of apocalyptic barrier to surround that small town. The image of a junkyard of cars and corrugated steel covers being welded and glued together was probably too vivid in his imagination.

But the town wasn’t a survivor’s camp. It was a settlement, built over decades. The very well-made wooden palisade and earth berms and ditches indicated a long, long occupancy. And threats. They had not made stone walls or anything, but the town looked safe and secure.

The other thing he’d expected was, of course, the guards with guns patrolling over the gates. Not one lazing around with a huge three-foot-wide crossbow next to wide-open gates. There was something odd there. It had looked like Earth, after an apocalypse, but now, it was looking like some kind of medieval fantasy throwback instead.

The fear was back in the immaterial recesses of his mind.

Where he buried it as deep as he could.

This town was still possibly his best shot at finding more about exactly what was going on, and he gave internal thanks to his four people for going there. The town might be small, but it was going to be full of all kinds of information.

Oh, and people. This was the first time he’d seen people, outside of his Four. His first sight of the post-apocalypse society.

At least they looked clean. Another narrative made false. There were no obvious stagnant gutters and open-air sewers like some Dark Ages medieval city, no grimy figures in shabby torn clothes huddling in tiny alleys. The town looked relatively clean. Dusty, lived-in, sure. But not filthy. This was a town that took care of its hygiene.

And everyone there was labeled as “level X human”. Nothing else. As they walked around, he’d even seen kids at level 0, young people with level 1 to 3, even one 4, and all kinds of levels among older adults. The highest was some old woman, with greying hair, that registered as a level 8. And that was it.

Which made the two different people he’d spotted even more striking in contrast.

There was a burly guy, with what looked like a no-nonsense demeanor, walking along with another similar guy, and seemingly escorting someone with what looked like a faded rock band tee-shirt that almost had him chuckle in silence. The burly man had been a “level 7 guardian”, with his colleague a “level 7 human” and their escort a mere “level 5 human”, even if he did look slightly older than the two obvious bodyguards.

The other was resting in front of a large building, puffing on a large conic-shaped smoke. He had no idea whatsoever what was in it, despite the suggestive shape, but what interested him was that the man himself was registering as a “level 6 maker”.

The two mentions had sent Moore looking into the depths of the interface for the names. He’d immediately found out that they were indeed specializations, like the ones he’d picked for “his” four, and until he’d spotted them, he hadn’t been able to find them listed. Guardian required 16 Strength and 16 Perception, with no levels whatsoever, a fact which filled him with confusion. Maybe little kids could become one? Before leveling? It had a few interesting multipliers for physical skills, and he spent quite some time – maybe a tenth of a second while the so-called guardian took an ultra-slow-motion step – comparing it to the Battler specialization he’d assigned to Welter. He concluded that it was good, but not too offensive. More of a… well, tankier specialization rather than the melee one he’d picked. From the skills, it was about avoiding damage, or battlefield awareness.

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The two big surprises were that Guardian offered a 1 multiplier for both Burning Body and Mana Sight. For some reason, it seemed to overlap with some things he had been pretty sure were part of a mage skillset.

It also offered a 2 multiplier for the equivalent to Mana Sight for Stamina, which none of the other specializations had had multipliers for, melee or otherwise.

Gauge Endurance

Requires: Stamina 30/Level 2

Effective: N × Perception + Level (adds stamina)

Passive: Detect levels up to (Eff/3)

Triggered: Detect any stamina-based skill of (Eff) skill or below.

Guardian

STR 16/PER 16

N=2

Although… if they do not see a user interface, which I’m pretty sure they don’t, how would “detect levels” translate for them?

In any case, Tom Welter couldn’t use that specialization, at least not unless Moore allocated some XP to his Perception for an additional point, then spent an additional thousand XP to swap out the Battler specialization.

Maker was a different one and slightly higher in its requirements. 16 Strength, 16 Dexterity, and level 4. Now that he’d spotted it, he could check more information in the interface. Maker was aptly named. Stat multipliers in a range of skills based on repairing, shaping, or making stuff. Interesting things, but… well, it wasn’t certainly going to help his team. Not directly. But at least it explained what he’d already mentally labeled “orphan skills”, skills that no specialization seemed to have multipliers for. There ought to be other specializations, including non-combat ones.

Then he finally recognized what was at the town center, and rolled his non-existent eyes at the sight of the old, painted water tower and its still-recognizable surroundings.

At least this is Earth. Can’t be anything else.

Or whoever had designed this had a sense of humor. He dismissed - again - the thought.

The city center was the part around which everything revolved. Johanna still marveled at the immense Ancient water tank that dominated the city and fed it water for most of its center. Half a dozen Ancient buildings also stood out – the city hall, the great houses of the biggest notables of the city, the ancient families that traced back their presence to the founding of Valetta. There might be repairs and reinforcements by modern craftsmen, but showing off the Ancient nature of your property was part of the prestige game. She snorted internally at the ostentatiousness.

The marketplace was a bit less busy than she’d expected, given the numbers of people around. She merely shrugged and pursued on. Her current target was not much farther.

Grievars’s Ancient Materials, the sign proudly proclaimed above the low building. You could usually sell some of the stuff salvaged from Ancient ruins anywhere, but most of the materials interested only specific people or merchants. Hence people like Norman Grievar, who pursued the same business as his father before, and his grandfather, and so on. And his son Anthony, who was probably half the man his father was.

“Hey, Milton. Back so soon?”

She debated internally how much to tell Anthony – not much, of course. And certainly nothing about what they’d encountered.

“Had a big scuffle in the ruins. Canids. Mean ones. And heard other packs. Better not to stay too long and have them catch our scent,” she finally said, curtly.

“Bleh. Canids are the bane of everywhere,” Anthony said.

“Hear, hear. We’ll head back later, but meanwhile, is Norman around? We do have stuff to sell.”

“Dunno. I can have a look anyway,” Anthony replied, affecting a bored look.

She would have laughed if that had not been an indirect insult to the man who might give them money one day. The son was certainly far from the best. Thing is, Grievar had only two kids, and his business would one day be Anthony’s. Or his currently twelve-year-old daughter’s if the son ran into trouble, or ran away after someone.

If I’m still salvaging in fifteen years, I might have to deal with him. At least he’s stopped hitting on me this year.

“Well, well. Salvage inbound!” the voice came from the rear door of the office.

“Indeed,” Johanna laughed lightly.

The burly figure that came out could have been more at ease in some smithy or tannery shop, rather than a salvage business. But she knew the gruff demeanor hid a good business sense. Only as fair as he could make it, but everyone in the city of Valetta wanted to squeeze the most out of the “visitors” like the four.

Of course, one day, they wouldn’t be visitors anymore, but that wasn’t for this year, according to her accounting.

She pulled up her bag and dropped it next to the counter. The three other salvagers did the same. Size, weight, fill, all that made the first impression.

The actual inventory and negotiation would start in earnest a bit later.

As was his custom, Norman invited the team to his office for tea. Johanna enjoyed that ritual. She’d had been able to try coffee once, but the price of beans traded across an entire continent made it impossible to acquire the taste for the horribly bitter drink. Tea, on the other hand, grew everywhere. Or at least, it was called tea around here.

She reflexively blew on her cup, before tasting. Good stuff, light on honey, heavy on taste. That brought a smile to her face. Which was the point, after all – relax her before negotiation.

Tom nearly spit his own, before blowing on it heavily. She looked at him, and at Norman before realizing something.

The tea steamed but didn’t burn her tongue or throat. Just like when she put her hand in the fire. The changes wrought into her being by the Ancient skeleton extended up there. So, she dutifully blew on her cup again, waiting, and hoping Norman had not noticed the fact that too-hot tea no longer bothered her in any form.

Finally, they started the important part. Pulling out the stuff, and seeing what they’d get for it. All the pieces of Alium all went directly onto the scales, to be purchased by weight. Grievar had a simple price per pound for the recyclable miracle metal, no matter what shape it had. No negotiations.

“Looks like classic Chloric Acid,” he said looking at the bottle while taking notes.

The thing was probably purer than the modern products, which added to the value. She had no real idea what it was valuable for today or back then, but valuable it was, and that’s what counted in the realm of salvage.

Johanna hesitated briefly when she pulled the glasses she’d picked from the Room, where the skeleton had been. But there was nothing visible to anyone betraying the mana saturation that had been there, and Norman checked them thoroughly for any visible mundane damage before adding his own estimate to his list.

Finally, they reached the end and started haggling a bit on the total, before Grievar dropped a bomb on them.

“Okay, for 1150 dollars, I can give you half now, the rest tomorrow afternoon.”

Johanna was taken aback. She definitively hadn’t expected that.

“Why?”

“Southern Caravan in town. Piturca’s coming around twice a year, and he arrived yesterday. He knows I deal with Alium a lot since we have Ardenworks’ smithy here, and that’s the best working outfit for the stuff in the whole marches, maybe the entire West. So, he sold me a bunch from southern salvagers.”

Seeing as Johanna’s frown was deepening, Norman elaborated.

“That’s his modus. He spends the first day only selling, and then, based on how much he got, he looks at what he can get that is interesting and valuable. He’s been spending the day at the market, and he’s going to pick some of my stock tomorrow, so I’m getting cash back then. Why, I might even get him interested in those glasses of yours. But until tomorrow, I don’t have the liquidity…”

“Drat.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll have the money. Guaranteed. But, well, if you want a bit more… I can trade in kind. Let’s say, I’ll pay for your stay, at half the price you’d have to spend. At the best inn of the city.”

He pulled out a paper and wrote furiously on it before handing it to Johanna.

She contemplated the scrip, then looked quickly at her three friends, but none of them commented.

“Can’t do much more now,” Norman said. “Come tomorrow, yes, I can do more.”

“Okay. We’ll take it,” she decided abruptly. “See you tomorrow. With real money.”

“Will do,” he said, rising from his seat and handing his hand.

She shook it, and they all filed out after saying goodbye to the reseller.