MD— CHAPTER 3

Title: Bait?

There were many conditions to be fulfilled before Sparow decided to settle down. Though not extremely far from Quin City, he had decided against contacting Behemoth in any form and planned Brisk City for settlement indefinitely, quite possibly, even after he had succeeded in his ceremony. Walking down the local fisherman's lane, a street housing one of the more dangerous professionals that excelled in sea monsters, lake, in the case of Brisk City, Sparow found the only establishment fulfilling most of his needs.

Relatively low-security deposit that it doesn't affect his other purchases. A signal outpost with higher connectivity, ensuring that Sparow could redownload and stock his destroyed collection from the start again, and finally, the owner of the establishment is a relatively decent fellow. At least, the local directory didn't show any criminal records— a rarity in the cities like Brisk City which were close to various monster spawn locations.

Looking at the three-floored apartment-like settlement, Sparow rung the lowest bell with the tag— Quater Master.

A few moments of patience allowed Sparow to hear a gruff greeting from the other side of the speaker, "Yeah? What is it?"

"I am here for the rent advertisement. You are looking for a qualified assistant in fishing, right?" Sparow replied as a buzzer answered his inquiry with the gates of the building unlocking.

"Come in. Let me have a good look at ya!" The red dot beside the security camera dimmed as Sparow committed to the instructions and entered the building. The doors to the Quater Master's stay right in front of him, as deduced by the door with a large tag marking the title, creaking open revealed a tough-looking man. A broad, scarred nose covered a generous portion of his face while the rest was covered by rich, carefully groomed facial hair.

"Ain't ya a scrawny one," the man crossed his thick arms with his overalls not covering his glaring, hairy chest. A small heart-shaped tattoo with a few blurred writing greeted fresh sights right on the man's neck.

"Come in. I'm Benjamin and close friends call me Benji, good thing they all kicked the bucket," he turned and beckoned Sparow.

'I have a perfectly well-balanced body,' Sparow retorted internally. There was no point in getting into a verbal argument but he wasn't pleased with his years of physical exercise and training resulting to be brushed off while being called a 'scrawny' kid. For a 21-year-old, he was a hunk.

"Ya ain't a chatty one, good quality in our line of business. It's the chatty ones that get swallowed down whole!" Benjamin chuckled as he sat down on a chair. For someone as impressive looking as the short-haired man in front of Sparow, his apartment lacked the luxury that followed a dangerous occupation.

Taking a chair for himself, Sparow waited for further instructions. After all, the man in front of him didn't enjoy the 'chatty' ones.

"Yer young, not a mark on face. Let me take a shot. Age of coming ceremony and ya wanta to save a few of 'em points. Well, what makes a thin'n like y'self think you're up for da job?" Benjamin crossed his arms as his leaned back posture emphasized his paunchy belly. Still, the fact that Benjamin is alive this long showed that he, at least, had a single familiar to his chakras and that's what he needed to earn Sparow's respect.

"That fish," Sparow looked at the large skeletal decoration behind Benjamin. 2 meters in length and a meter wide with gruesome injuries that cracked a few structures. "It's a variant of blister dolphin. From the looks of the tailbone, this one had a sting coming out of its fin."

"Aye, my finest catch. Had three of its chakras active and almost lost my little pup to this cunt. That mark near its face, that's where she bit it." Taking a moment for thought, Benjamin looked at Sparow, "It ain't easy for a kid to know about variants."

"I've trained to be a breeder," Sparow replied, "Society of Familiars."

"You a royalty, cunt? Cause ya ain't getting any respect from me!" Benjamin scoffed as Sparow pursed his lips. The man in front of him was hiring an assistant for a 1000 credits per month plus food, free stay, and other occupational benefits that only fishers of the continent receive. So getting called a 'cunt' at the end of every possible sentence was not a problem for Sparow.

"I'm not royalty but I did excel my course in breeding. I know a lot about Fishing. I know my lakes and seas. I also know that a good appraiser in every Captain's ship has saved the lives of the crewmates many times."

"Hmph, a know-it-all, are ya?"

"The job you are offering requires that credential," Sparow offered.

"Aight. I don't care if yer from that posh society. Answer me this. If I ask ya of being the bait for an extremely lively hen serpent. Let's say, in its mating season. Would ya do it?"

Furrowing his brows, Sparow shook his head.

"Then I ain't hiring ya. My word is to be followed!"

"Then I want to rent a room," Sparow nodded.

"500 per month and a 1000 credits security. The images of the apartment were posted in that ad of mine."

"Fine," Sparow sighed.

---

While his first interview went down the hill, something Sparow had considered already, the apartment hadn't disappointed him. With his funds a thousand credits less, Sparow found himself in a plain-looking, apartment with a working bathroom, sparsely equipped kitchen, and a similarly treated bedroom. There were no damp walls or other structural malfunctions and the bed, although not cozy as the one waiting back in his room, managed to provide a certain level of satisfaction to Sparow.

Unpacking his backpack without any extra pairs of clothing, Sparow sat on the edge of his bed and continued to scroll through the local information of the city. The communicator ejected a holographic interactive screen that finally allowed Sparow to get the various events in the city correct.

The first and foremost action was to return to the city square and try to find the most suitable Ordeal Group. As the name represented, an Ordeal Group comprised only of 21-year-old unawakened men and women that catered to assisting everyone in overcoming the ceremony.

However, unlike the golden age of Ordeal Groups, now, most of the groups tended to be scamming endeavors that would eventually propel a few key individuals to success and leave the remaining to be hunted by the Familiar Disciplinary Hounds.

After going through multiple forums that discussed most of the famous Ordeal Groups, pointing out to there pack of restriction in hiding information as compared to remaining Ordeal Groups that smelled shady, Sparow spent his remaining time washing up and then laying on the bed while engaging in entertainment channels of the communicators, most of them being independent creators below the age of twenty.