Chapter 142: Put Tank In A Mall
The moment the double glass doors swung open, a wave of cool air washed over the waiting customers. Many stopped short, blinking at the strange sensation of a sweet, floral fragrance mixing with the chilled wind. A kobold sniffed the air so hard his snout whistled.
"Smells like flowers and meat at the same time," he muttered, utterly confused.
"Better than horse dung in the summer," a lupen quipped, earning a low growl from the ramari farmer behind him.
The first floor was alive with light and color. At the far end, a small, elevated stage rose, and on it, a band of pale-skinned beings plucked strings and tapped drums. Their hair was glossy black, their bodies completely devoid of fur, and their eyes were an unsettling, milky white.
"What are they?" someone whispered, immediately dismissing the idea.
"They’re too pale. Too stiff."
"They got no fur," a frogkin croaked, wide-eyed in astonishment. "Not even whiskers! Spirits preserve me..."
The customers did not know the word Ghoul, a Tier III Corporeal Undead worker. To them, it was just another mystery Karl Leech had dragged out from his pocket of wonders. The band sang with voices amplified by glowing elemental stones wired into their instruments. The sound filled every corner of the floor, smooth, warm, and professional.
Hanging above it all were vibrant banners, painted with curling flowers and bold letters:
"Grand Reopening Sale! All Purchases 30% Off with 10 Silvers Minimum!"
The words alone sent murmurs through the crowd.
"Thirty percent?" a young foxkin whispered, counting the meager supply of copper and silver coins in his paw.
"What’s percent?" an ursarok rumbled beside him.
"Doesn’t matter," the foxkin said quickly, his tail twitching in excitement. "It means cheaper."
The ursarok blinked, then grinned wide. "Cheaper is good."
A ramari bleated, frustrated. "But ten silvers is too much coin for turnips alone!"
"Not if you buy with your kin," another countered, already organizing a small group of farmers. "Share the cost, share the discount!"
Chatter rose and fell like waves—some excited by the deal, some skeptical of the high minimum, but all of them loud.
The band’s rhythm picked up, and a kobold in a sharp black vest stepped onto the stage, holding a smooth wooden tube that amplified his voice through runes etched along its sides.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Behold the future of clothing! The grand unveiling of Necro Corp’s fashion lines begins now!"
The audience hushed, ears pricking, tails twitching. The kobold host grinned wide, tail wagging as he gestured to the platform.
"First! From the luxury house of Ebonhide Atelier—the brand that dares to say: Dress for power, walk with dominance! These are garments crafted not for work, not for chores, but for command. For those who must stand tall, speak loud, and be respected in every hall and council chamber!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the kobolds in floral-patterned gowns stepped forward. The host’s voice boomed with energy.
"Feast your eyes on elegance! Dresses that flow like water yet hold their form like steel! For banquets, festivals, or the highest noble gatherings—wear this, and you do not enter the room as a guest, you own it!"
"Own it?" a frogkin croaked, tilting his head.
"Means they’ll look at you like a chief," a lupen muttered, suddenly intrigued.
Then the foxkin males strutted out in their tailored black suits, collars pressed, every step measured. The emcee spread his arms.
"And here—true dominance! These suits are cut to sharpen the body, to make even the smallest frame stand taller, broader, stronger! For negotiations, for public speaking, for the day you demand the world take notice. You do not wear this to work the fields—you wear this when you are ready to lead them!"
"Spirits save us," an ursarok whispered, eyes wide. "I’d look like a war chief in that thing."
"That’s the point!" the kobold beside him hissed.
The music shifted, becoming brighter. Models emerged in bold colors, shirts patterned with flowers and wide collars flaring.
"And now—the Summer Line!" the emcee cried. "Light, cool, and easy! For the long days in the fields, for festivals under the sun, for dances when the air is hot. Practical for comfort, designed for style! No more sweating through rough hides when you can walk in color!"
Children squealed, pointing at the bright reds and yellows. A foxkin kit tugged at his mother’s sleeve. "Mama, I want the green one! Please!"
Her ears flicked, but she smiled despite herself. "We’ll see."
The emcee clapped twice, and the crowd leaned forward. His voice dropped into something almost reverent.
"And now... we unveil the hidden strength beneath it all. Underwear."
The word alone drew murmurs. Two models walked out, dressed in the simple cloth meant for hips alone. Then came two females, their chests and hips wrapped in the new fabric, heads high, walking with practiced confidence.
The host raised his paw, cutting through the noise.
"Not shameful. Not scandalous. This is protection! Cloth worn closest to the skin, to keep your garments clean, to keep your body fresh, to spare you from chafing or the bite of armor. No more rashes under chainmail! No more sweat soaking your tunics! Underwear is the first defense of comfort, the hidden ally of warriors and workers alike!"
The murmurs shifted from shock to awe. A lupen soldier whispered to his companion, "If that keeps armor from biting, I’ll take three."
"Buy me one too," the other said quickly.
But the emcee wasn’t finished. He lifted his voice again as another banner unfurled overhead.
"And for those who wish not for power, but for practicality—welcome to Threadbare Charm! Stylish, durable, and affordable. Clothing for every back, every family, every age. These are garments made for the people. Strong enough for labor, fine enough for feasts, cheap enough for every purse!"
Models from every beastkin race walked proudly in simple but handsome shirts, trousers, skirts, and cloaks, each dyed in warm colors and stitched with subtle patterns. The crowd’s reaction was immediate.
"That’s my size!"
"I can afford that!"
"Look, look—it even has pockets!"
One ramari laughed aloud, clapping his hooves. "Finally! Clothing that won’t drain my purse dry!"
The emcee bowed deeply, his tail curling behind him as the music swelled.
"Luxury or labor, dominance or daily life—the choice is yours, ladies and gentlemen! At Necro-Mall, every back can be clothed, every purse has a place, and every spirit can shine!"
The applause that followed shook the first floor, paws and claws and hooves thumping the polished stone.
Gary clapped his hands, the sharp, unnatural sound drawing them back to order. His tail flicked stiffly, his bow still awkward but practiced. "Ladies and gentlemen, this way please. The tour continues."
He led them past the fashion stage to a row of polished doors. Inside, he explained, were private rooms.
"For families," he said, opening one to reveal a comfortable seating area, "up to six people. Five silvers a day."
Gasps of amazement filled the hallway.
"Five silvers? For all of us?"
"That’s cheaper than renting a barn in Stonehorn for half a day!"
Another door opened to reveal a room with two neat beds draped in pristine white linen. "For couples," Gary said. "Three silvers a day."
A lupen female nudged her mate, smirking. "Maybe we try this one." He barked out a nervous laugh, his tail wagging under the gaze of strangers.
Gary continued, showing them the shared bedspace—a wide, clean room with bunkbeds stacked neatly. Each bed was draped with fresh linens. "Communal rooms," he said. "Half a silver per day."
That sent another wave of stunned chatter rippling through the crowd.
"Half a silver? That’s less than a bowl of soup and bread in Stonehorn!"
"Still looks fancier than my house..." a frogkin muttered, completely stunned.
The crowd moved with him, but many drifted toward the railings at the center of the floor. Wide glass panels stretched along the edge, metal frames holding them in place. Beastkin peered down through the vast, open space, their jaws dropping.
Below them, the second floor sprawled wide, packed with hundreds of stalls and glowing, artificial lights. And beyond that, even deeper, the third floor glimmered with signs and polished shopfronts.
"It goes down?" a kobold whispered, trembling slightly.
"Two more floors," a lupen murmured in awe.
"It’s like looking into a city built inside the earth."
Gary smiled stiffly, his pale eyes unreadable, masking the strategic victory of this spectacle. "And this is only the beginning."
The moment they stepped onto the second floor, the noise doubled. Voices mingled with the clattering of trays, and the intoxicating smell of grilled meat and fried dough was thick in the air. Rows of long tables stretched across the sprawling canteen, nearly every one of them occupied by satisfied customers. Bearfolk hunched over dripping burgers, kobolds licked sweet frost off cones, and foxkin pups darted between chairs, their mouths sticky with sugar and their laughter echoing off the tiled walls.
"Spirits above," a lupen muttered, his ears pinning back against the sheer volume. "It’s fuller than the market square on festival day, yet no one is waiting on the cooks!"
"Look at the line, though!" a ramari groaned, his hooves clacking impatiently as he eyed the long snake of customers stretching across the tiled floor toward the counter. "The Stonehorn taverns would make us stand there for half the day before we ever saw a spoon."
Gary, the ghoul staff member, raised a paw and offered a small, composed smile. "Not anymore, dear customer. Our canteen has adopted a superior strategy. We call it fast food packaging. Meals are prepared, wrapped, and ready to eat wherever you find a seat, thereby removing the need to wait for cook times or table turnover."
He gestured to a family of frogkin sitting contentedly on a bench near the railing, happily unwrapping strange, crinkling parcels. A child tugged at the wrapper with both hands before sinking his teeth into a burger, sauce dripping down his chin. The discarded paper boxes and cups littering the nearby refuse bin gave the crowd pause.
"What in the spirits’ name is that wrapping material?" asked a foxkin woman, pointing. "It bends like parchment, holds the grease, yet you just throw it away?"
Gary nodded, his pale eyes gleaming. "A new material, dear customer. Paper. It is derived from wood pulp, making it significantly more affordable than prepared animal hides or bark vellum. It is easy to shape for packaging, and—" his smile widened as he held up a folded leaflet made of the thin, smooth material—"perfect not only for meals, but also for writing, documentation, and mass advertisement. We sell it here by the bundle, available on the third floor."
A goatfolk merchant stroked his chin, his eyes wide with calculation, recognizing the existential threat. "If that’s cheaper than parchment, the scribes in Stonehorn will be ruined. We could copy contracts for every small farm without needing a full hide! This changes everything for legal tender!"
A ripple of excited chatter broke out—the customers weren’t just thinking of food now, they were imagining a future of cheap written knowledge.
Gary continued the tour, leading them past the roar of the canteen into a brightly lit hall. Here, cubs and kits scrambled over polished wooden swings, sturdy climbing frames, and brightly painted rocking horses. Their unbridled laughter filled the air.
"The children’s entertainment corner," Gary explained. "Safe, sturdy toys crafted in-house by our Department of Design and Innovation. All available for purchase on the third floor."
Further down, the atmosphere shifted. Older beastkin hunched over wooden boards where checkers and chess pieces clacked softly. A group of excited kobolds shouted over a pile of wooden blocks that tumbled in a noisy crash. Nearby, a cluster of foxkin and lupens leaned over a large, flat table scattered with miniature armored figurines, painted in gleaming colors. Dice rolled, voices barked tactics, and one shouted in frustration, "No! You can’t move the lancer there! You haven’t captured the fortress hex yet—that breaks formation! It’s in the rulebook, you menace!"
A ramari passerby frowned, completely baffled. "What is this elaborate game supposed to be? It requires no physical labor."
One of the players, a cheerful lupen, grinned, barely looking up from the table. "It’s called War on a Table, sir! It’s a simulation. You command an entire army, not with swords and blood, but with rules and strategy. Every piece has a rank and a role. It teaches you to think three moves ahead. And you can buy your own set of figurines and rulebooks upstairs!"
"A recreational strategy," the ramari mumbled, intrigued. "War that ends with a handshake and not a sword through the gut." He lingered, captivated by the intellectual engagement.
And then came the gambling quarter. The light dimmed, the music slowed to a smooth, low rhythm, and the tables gleamed under crystal lamps. Dice rattled, cards shuffled, and coins clinked with an addictive cadence. Lupens leaned over blackjack tables, their tails twitching with every turn of the dealer’s paw. Ursaroks laughed, their voices booming as they slapped bets down on the dice game. A kobold dealer’s voice cut over the noise: "Place your bets, place your bets! Try your luck—double silver if you draw the perfect hand!"
One foxkin whispered nervously to his brother, "It looks professional, but they’ll bleed us dry. It’s too polished."
His brother smirked, pulling out a small pouch of silver. "Or they’ll make us rich, brother. Didn’t you hear Gary? It’s licensed and secured. That means no cheating, no back-alley disputes, and no thugs waiting outside to take your winnings."
Gary’s smile remained steady as he guided them toward the next stairwell. "Gambling here is licensed, secured, and fair. But of course, we encourage everyone to gamble responsibly."
The third floor was quieter, almost reverent in comparison. Here, the stalls were fewer, the space wider, focusing on quality retail and technical goods. Shelves lined with fine, preserved grains, specialized herbs, and neatly wrapped cuts of premium meats drew housewives and specialized merchants alike. Leather goods hung beside racks of dependable, new tools, while a corner display shone with gleaming armor and polished blades.
A black-furred lupen ran his claws along a breastplate, muttering, "The smithwork’s as fine as anything from the Stonehorn guilds, even the runic etching is clean... and the tag says it’s half the price the Ramari merchants charge."
Near another wall, mannequins displayed the sharp suits under the banner of Ebonhide Atelier, while further down, racks of simple yet handsome clothing bore the mark of Threadbare Charm. Families gathered there, running paws over the sturdy stitching.
"Two silver for a full set of underclothes and a sturdy tunic?" a frogkin croaked in disbelief to his wife. "That’s cheaper than just the raw cloth at the free market!"
"And look how well it’s made," his wife added, carefully tugging at a seam. "No loose threads, no rough edges. We won’t have to mend this after the first wash."
But the greatest crowd gathered at a section marked Appliances. A white-furred kobold demonstrated a fan that spun with a steady, cooling breeze, powered by a small glowing crystal. He set it on a table, and cool air wafted over the cluster of curious, leaning faces.
"Powered by elemental stone," he explained clearly, holding up a small, smooth, glowing cube. "Affordable, efficient, no smoke, no fuel, no noise. Just cool air on a hot day. And the mana batteries are reusable—only ten bronze apiece for a week’s charge."
The crowd erupted into stunned, disbelieving chatter.
"Ten bronze? That’s less than I spend on a single day’s supply of lamp oil!" shouted a frogkin.
A ramari stammered, shaking his head. "You mean... I can cook a roast inside my home without constantly fanning the flames or choking on smoke? I don’t need to cut and haul firewood anymore?"
A goatfolk merchant looked pale, finally grasping the true magnitude of the change. "Spirits, this mall sells wind and fire itself, and runs it on the cheapest coin! The guilds of Stonehorn are finished."
Gary clasped his paws, bowing slightly as the customers collectively processed this profound shift in their daily lives. "This is the future, ladies and gentlemen. A life of efficiency and comfort. And it is yours for the taking."
For many, it was no longer just a market. It was a new world they had stepped into, one where convenience and technology served the common beastkin, not just the wealthy nobles and inefficient guilds of Stonehorn.