A dark elf with bronze skin, dressed in a maid’s uniform—this was Pal. She was my personal maid, notorious for her playful harassment. If she chose the right time and place, I wouldn’t mind it so much. Actually, to be honest, I don’t mind at all.

Together with Pal, I visited the Manisears Mansion. The property owner, Sandor, was a merchant just shy of forty.

“I’m the eighth-generation owner, but my father retired last year, so I’m running the shop now.”

It was a fairly old, established real estate business.

“I never thought I’d see someone still interested in the Manisears Mansion.”

Sandor laughed brightly. Maybe he thought I was just looking out of curiosity, though since Johnson introduced us, he was treating me with respect.

“This is the Manisears Mansion.”

The massive building stood on the boundary between the common and poor districts. It was even larger than some noble estates, with no other houses around—just a vast, empty plot of land.

“This mansion, for only five small silver coins a month?”

For reference, an average store worker in the royal capital earns around two small gold coins a month. Five small silver coins for such a large estate was a ridiculously low price, even if it was in a poor location.

“If it were in a better location, this mansion would go for at least three large gold coins monthly. But, as you’ve heard, it’s priced at five small silver coins due to… certain reasons.”

“The exterior looks brand new, but what about the inside?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

As a merchant, that answer seemed lacking, but considering the mansion’s reputation, I understood. The mansion’s appearance may have been pristine, but the ominous atmosphere it radiated was something else entirely. This aura had driven away any potential neighbors, turning the surrounding land into a barren wasteland.

“I haven’t come close to this mansion in five years, let alone set foot inside. I’m sure you understand why.”

“I get it. Mind if I take a look inside?”

“We will not be held responsible for anything that may occur. But yes, you may enter.”

“That’s fine by me.”

I opened the metal gate, stepping onto the grounds, and instantly felt a pressure several times stronger than outside.

“This pressure… There’s a formidable spirit here,” Pal said, narrowing her eyes.

Pal was among the finest warriors in the country—no, the world. For her to acknowledge this spirit's strength was thrilling.

—Enemy Search.

A map appeared in my vision, showing two blue circles representing Pal and me, a white one for Sandor, and a cluster of yellow ones—people observing us from afar.

As I turned toward the building's shadow, these figures, sensing my gaze, quickly vanished.

“Something wrong?” Pal asked.

“Some people are watching us. They probably won’t act, but stay alert.”

“Uh… may I come with you?” Sandor asked nervously.

“Suit yourself, but don’t expect protection.”

I had no obligation to protect Sandor, nor did he have one to protect me.

“Y-Yes, understood.”

Between the spirit and the onlookers, Sandor was more afraid of the people from the poor district. Though, honestly, I was more afraid of the spirit myself.

“Let’s go, Pal.”

“Yes, young master.”

“W-Wait for me!”

The grounds were expansive, with a guardhouse by the gate and a fountain that still flowed, despite being unused for twenty years.

“Young master, this water has rotted.”

Water flowing while rotting—it felt almost symbolic of the mansion’s corrupted state.

“So, Sandor,” I asked, “how much does this place cost in upkeep?”

“An annual tax of one small gold coin. But if its value increases, it could go up to several large gold coins.”

That’s honest, I thought.

“Seems like keeping the land value low is preferable?”

“Indeed. But if the spirit is dealt with, the property’s value will rise—its prime location could be ideal for redevelopment.”

“But you mean if I take care of the spirit, right?”

“Exactly. If the mansion sells, we stand to make a significant profit.”

Sandor’s eyes sparkled with hope, as any merchant’s would at the prospect of profit.

“You won’t increase the rent if I handle the spirit, will you?”

“In that case, I’ll introduce you to another prime mansion at a bargain price.”

“…Pal, let’s go.”

“Yes.”

“W-Wait!”

Sandor clung to my arm.

“Let go, please.”

“Please, you have to rid us of the spirit!”

Finally, he showed his true feelings. Sitting idle while paying taxes on a huge, empty estate—it was no wonder he was eager for a solution.

“I’ll rent this place for five small silver coins a month—indefinitely.”

“Deal!”

“If I succeed in handling the spirit, I want five large gold coins as a reward.”

Dealing with a merchant, negotiation was only natural.