The misadventures of the necromancer

While in Eamon's shop, he returns to his usual life. In a nearby alley, another situation unfolds.

"Darn it, I can't believe this. How did this crap go so wrong?" grumbles Eamon's young customer as he kicks the alley wall, followed by a yelp of pain from him.

"Now my darn foot hurts," he whines, bending down to start massaging his now sore foot. Sitting down on the floor to better massage his foot, he takes the opportunity lean against the wall that had been his target of his frustrations before speaking again.

"Four coins, can't believe I went through all that trouble to earn only four coins. Working on the farm, I could make that in two or three days," he says to the air, even though he knows that on the farm where he was, he didn't get paid in money but in food and lodging. But considering the value of food and rent, he doesn't think he's too far off.

"If I count the gathering all the ingredients, the time and effort to process them, I must have spent more than a week," he says, bringing his hands to his head in frustration.

"I'm not even counting the vials," vials that the farm owner's wife had found lost in the storage and had given him.

"And I could use the basic equipment they have on the farm. If I had to buy or rent equipment, I would have lost money," he says before recuperating the energy to continue.

"It was such a beautiful plan," and from his point of view, it really seemed like a good idea. When he had found a large quantity of Angel's Tears, an valuable herb that should be really hard to find, his first idea had been to sell it for good money. Only when he talked to Veron, the farmer owner of the farm, did he find out that they were considered weeds with no value.

That had shocked him, but made some sense, after all, by that time, more than once, his knowledge had not proved to be exactly accurate.

All good until he remembered why Angel's Tears were so valuable. After all, things aren't expensive because they're rare, the value is determined by something being rare in relation to its demand. And this herb was sought after as the main ingredient in one of the basic health-restoring potions. One of the simplest and commonly known potions.

And apparently, no one remembered that. This had to be a fantastic business opportunity. And so, with a little effort and some trial and error, he had proven his memories correct, the recipe worked. Now all he had to do was capitalize on it.

"Now it was just selling the potion, grabbing the profit. And buying ingredients for next to nothing, making more potions and repeating. Brilliant."

And with that, he lets out a big sigh, relieving some of his frustration.

"Damn market laws. How could I guess that the demand is so weak?" a phrase that leads him to think about the last months of life on the farm.

Although the farm wasn't very rich, he felt he couldn't say it was poor either. They must have had some potions for emergencies. And he doesn't remember seeing any potions being used. And once Neron, Veron's eldest son, got a big cut on his arm, and the wound took a long time to heal.

So, potions weren't something used without reason. Which is understandable, at six silvers per potion. Which would represent practically a week's salary. Who would spend so much without a good reason?

In the end, this simply confirms what the apothecary told him about demand.

"It was the adventurers who screwed me. They should be the big customers," and with that, his big mistake became evident; he assumed that adventurers would be like those he knew.

Which thinking about it was completely ridiculous. After all, acting like he and his friends had acted would be simply suicidal. The level of risks they took was totally insane. The only reason they took such risks was that they were functionally immortal.

How many times had he died in the game? and the worst that happened was losing some levels and some equipment. Just come back to life, train a bit, get new equipment, and face the point where he died. A strategy that meant it didn't even matter how many times you tried.

Something none of them would ever try to do in real life.

"Bad luck for me that now, this seems to be my new real life!" he whispers to the air as he begins to bang his head on the wall he's leaning against.

"It just means I have to wake up from this nightmare," he says hitting his head harder. Until the increased pain reminds him that this is not the first time, he's in this disposition, and the conclusion he reached the other times still stands.

If this is a nightmare, it's the most real one he's ever had. And until proven otherwise, it's better to assume that as ridiculous as it seems, it is. Because any mistake means death, and if this is real, when he dies, he stays dead. And for now, the alternative is better.

"I have to cheer up, getting depressed won't help. And things could be worse, after all, I have my health and I'm free," he says to himself, accompanied by a nod of affirmation.

"Okay, let's be optimistic. I just need to find a way to survive. Preferably something that doesn't involve a city boy becoming a farm worker," he tries to cheer himself up. And so, with a serious expression returning to his face and his gaze becoming firmer.

"Right, how can I salvage this?" the most important thing now, is to answer this question.

"I can't sell the potions here because the market is too small," and with that small sentence, the answer appears to him.

"Here! But this is just a small region with few inhabitants. Another place with a larger population, the demand for health-restoring potions must be higher," the solution that comes to him, making him get up.

"That or stay here, working on the farm. And honestly, they've let me stay there more out of pity than because I'm useful. Despite being as strong as anyone there, when it comes to knowledge about cultivation, I'm a mess. My god, even the kids are more productive than me," as he speaks aloud, remembering last week when he spent over an hour chasing a little pig, only for the animal to be caught by an eleven-year-old girl, leaving him with a deep feeling of humility toward his ineptitude.

"Fortunately, I've already told them I don't plan on going back there," he concludes starting to leave the alley.

And so, his decision is made. But where to go, and how to get there, that is the question.

Fortunately, when he entered the village, he had noticed the usual information board. Another point that strangely confirms his knowledge of this world.

Returning to the village entrance, his hopes are fortunately validated with a note on the board, asking for people to help packing a caravan departing the next day.