Chapter 9: Microtransactions

  The glowing blue hexagonal grid pulsed softly around Agent Locke’s unconscious body. He looked like a man sleeping inside a holographic coffin.

  Elara Moonwhisper wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, the ambient [MEND] aura around her shoulders dimming slightly. She turned her piercing gaze back to Alexander.

  "I will not ask which dark god or forgotten Archmage taught you to manipulate the Weave like that," Elara said, her voice a mix of awe and stern warning. "But your companion is stable. The isolation ward will hold for exactly three days before the spell's matrix collapses."

  "Thank you," Alex breathed out, the adrenaline finally leaving his system. His legs felt like jelly. "Seriously, thank you. We'll be out of your hair as soon as he wakes up."

  "He will wake up when his body adapts to the ward," Elara replied, smoothing her pristine silver robes. She walked over to an ornate wooden desk, picked up a piece of heavy parchment, and quickly scribbled something down with a glowing quill. She turned back and handed it to Alex. "In the meantime, there is the matter of my tithe."

  Alex took the parchment. It was covered in elegant, flowing Aurelian script. But as he blinked, his Architect vision translated it instantly.

  Hovering over the ink was a glowing green text box:

  [INVOICE_GENERATED: SERVER_MAINTENANCE & QUARANTINE_PROTOCOL]

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  [AMOUNT DUE: 500 SILVER MARKS]

  Alex's stomach dropped. He reached into his damp jeans pocket and pulled out his leather wallet. He had his London Grid ID, a dead debit card, and a crumpled twenty-pound note.

  "Uh... do you take British pounds?" Alex asked, holding up the soggy paper money.

  Elara stared at the Queen's face on the twenty-pound note with utter flatline incomprehension. "I do not accept enchanted paper, traveler. The Spire requires Silver Marks. Healing requires rare reagents, and maintaining an isolation ward of this magnitude drains my personal reserves."

  "Right. Of course," Alex muttered, shoving the useless money back into his pocket. He turned to Thorne, who was awkwardly shuffling his boots against the marble floor. "Thorne. Buddy. You guys are Adventurers, right? You wouldn't happen to have five hundred Silver Marks?"

  Thorne’s face flushed bright red. He pulled out a small leather pouch and shook it. It made a pathetic, singular clink sound.

  "I have... three copper bits," Thorne admitted, looking down in shame. "We were supposed to get paid for clearing the Rot-Hound, but since you fell on it, we didn't get to harvest its mana-core for the bounty."

  "So we're broke," Alex sighed, rubbing his temples.

  Elara crossed her arms. "If the tithe is not paid by sunset tomorrow, the ward drops. The Spire is not a charity for foreign anomalies."

  "We'll get the money," Alex promised, his voice hardening. He wasn't about to let Locke die of an incompatible file format just because they couldn't afford a microtransaction. He looked at Thorne. "Where do we go to get paid fast? How do we make Silver Marks in this city?"

  Thorne straightened up, his eyes shining with a sudden, desperate hope. "The Adventurer's Guild! It’s right in the center of the Merchant District. Since you saved our lives, my party can sponsor you. If you register, you can take a Copper-Tag bounty right now!"

  Alex looked back at Locke, sleeping peacefully in his localized dead-zone. He had gone from a high-level grid engineer in London to a Level 1 RPG protagonist in the span of three hours.

  "Alright," Alex said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's go to the Guild. Time to grind some local currency."