Infinite Extraction System Can a Beast Reach Havenly Tier?

CHAPTER 8: GOLD AND SILENCE

The air on the surface of Aethelgard hit Lucian’s lungs like a cold, sharp shock.

Haaah...

He stood at the mouth of the lower gate, exhaling a long, ragged breath he felt like he’d been holding for days.

Down in the Catacombs, the atmosphere was a thick, suffocating slurry of rotting marrow, damp mold, and the metallic tang of dried monster blood. Up here in the Middle District, however, the breeze carried the crisp scents of sun-baked stone, roasted rye, and the distant, dry smoke of oak-burning hearths.

It was the smell of civilization. The smell of safety.

Lucian reached down, his fingers lightly brushing against the heavy leather pouch tied securely to his waist beneath his long coat.

Clink.

The deep, dull sound of heavy metal echoed through the leather.

Ninety-four gold crowns.

To an elite adventurer from an S-tier Guild or a pampered scion of a noble household, ninety-four gold crowns might have been pocket change—a single night’s bar tab or the cost of a mid-tier Mana Restorative.

To Lucian, it was a fortune that defied reality.

For two grueling years, he had lived at the absolute bottom of the food chain. He had been a bottom-feeder, an F-rank scavenger who lived hand-to-mouth, perpetually teetering on the edge of starvation. Every single copper penny he earned scraping slime off dungeon walls had been instantly consumed by bare necessities—stale, mold-spotted survival hardtack, shared bunk fees in vermin-infested slums, or cheap iron oil to keep his crude, hollow iron pipe from rusting through.

Now? He had ninety-four gold crowns.

‘A single gold crown is worth a hundred silver pennies. A single silver is worth a hundred copper...’

Lucian did the math instinctively in his head, a habit beaten into him by years of desperate poverty.

‘Nine thousand four hundred silver. Nine hundred and forty thousand copper. I could buy three tons of high-grade beef with this. I could buy a second-hand steel broadsword.’

He let out a short, quiet chuckle, his thumb rubbing the rough leather of the pouch.

Shift.

A subtle warmth pressed against the base of his neck, right beneath the stiff collar of his worn coat. A tiny, rhythmically breathing bundle of fur nestled there, hidden from the eyes of the bustling crowds around him.

Through the faint, spiritual thread connecting their minds, a wave of calm, rhythmic contentment washed over Lucian.

‘Good boy, Pip.’

To any passerby, the small, scruffy grey lump tucked against Lucian’s collar looked like nothing more than a common, disgusting sewer rat—the kind of pest scavengers occasionally cooked over open flames when rations ran out.

No one could possibly imagine that this tiny creature was actually a Class-D Chimera, an evolved disaster-type monster whose scythes could slice through heavy iron plating like warm butter.

‘Priority one: shelter.’

Lucian pulled his hood slightly lower and stepped smoothly into the tide of the Middle District’s crowded thoroughfares.

He deliberately bypassed the Western Plaza, where the grand, neon-lit taverns and communal inns of the Guild district were located. Those places were death traps for someone trying to keep a low profile. They were packed to the brim with loud, drunken scavengers, loose-lipped mercenaries, and sharp-eyed talent scouts looking for desperate recruits to use as dungeon meat-shields.

A kid wearing rags who suddenly dropped gold coins in the Guild District would have five different dark-alley muggers tracking his shadow before sunset.

Lucian turned off the main avenue, weaving through a network of narrow, winding cobblestone alleys on the eastern edge of the Middle District. Here, the noise of the main market faded into a muted hum. Old three-story townhouses built from heavy grey granite leaned toward one another, their slate roofs casting long, cool shadows over the street.

He stopped in front of a modest, unpretentious brick lodge. A faded wooden sign hung above the iron-studded door, swaying gently in the breeze:

[The Iron Kettle]

It wasn't flashy. It didn't cater to high-ranking Hunters or wealthy merchants. It was an old, quiet establishment used primarily by traveling scholars, retired guards, and wealthy craftsmen.

Perfect.

Clink.

Lucian pushed open the heavy oak door. A small brass bell chimed softly above him.

The interior smelled faintly of lavender wax and beeswax polish. Behind a polished oak desk near the entrance sat the landlady—a stout, silver-haired human woman in her late fifties, wearing a crisp white apron over a dark woolen dress.

She was meticulously jotting entries into a thick leather ledger with a goose-quill pen.

Hearing the bell, she raised her head. Her sharp grey eyes took in Lucian’s appearance in a fraction of a second. She didn't flinch, but her gaze was flat, cold, and thoroughly practiced.

She saw the blood-stained hem of his jacket, the scuffed leather of his boots, and the pale, hollow look around his eyes that marked everyone who spent too much time crawling through dark holes in the earth.

"Four copper pennies a night for a cot in the shared third-floor loft," she said briskly, her voice dry and tone devoid of warmth. "Half a gold crown per night for a private room in the back wing. Upfront. No credit, no IOUs, and no blood on the bedsheets. If you vomit or bleed on the mattress, you pay for the linen."

Lucian didn't say a word.

He simply reached into his coat, his fingers dipping into his coin pouch. He drew out a single coin and placed it down on the dark, polished surface of the desk.

CLINK.

The heavy, brilliant yellow coin spun once, catching the soft ambient light of the magic-crystal lamp hanging overhead, before coming to a rest right beside her ledger.

A minted Aethelgard Gold Crown.

Pure, unclipped, and glowing with the rich luster of high-purity metal.

Mrs. Vane’s quill pen froze mid-stroke.

Her eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly vanished into her silver bangs. Her eyes darted from the glittering gold coin up to Lucian’s calm, emotionless face, and then down to his hands—checking for signet rings or noble house crests.

The flat indifference on her face shattered instantly. It was replaced by an extremely efficient, practiced, and radiant professional smile.

"My goodness," she said, her voice dropping an octave into a smooth, soothing melody as she swept the gold crown off the desk with practiced speed and slipped it into her deep apron pocket. "Forgive me, young master. I didn't recognize a gentleman of culture."

"Three nights," Lucian said plainly, keeping his voice low and steady. "A private room in the back wing. Quiet. A hot copper tub brought up immediately, clean linen, and a hot meal sent up afterward. Keep the change as a tip for the staff, provided I am not disturbed."

A whole gold crown for three nights was nearly three times the standard rate. The remaining silver value was more than enough to buy five luxurious meals and pay off the servants for a week.

Mrs. Vane reached behind her and unhooked a heavy iron key attached to a polished brass tag engraved with the number 3B.

"Room 3B. Top floor, dead end at the back of the east corridor," she said eagerly, handing the key over with both hands. "It is our quietest suite, sir. Complete privacy. No thin walls. I will personally supervise the hot water carriage. It will be up in five minutes!"

"Thank you."

Lucian took the key, turned, and headed up the carpeted staircase.

Click. Lock.

Lucian turned the heavy iron key in the lock, pulled the bolt closed, and dropped the heavy wooden security bar into its iron brackets across the door frame.

He let out a long breath.

The room was small, but pristine. A narrow bed with thick, clean feather pillows sat against the wall. A sturdy oak desk, a washbasin with a glass mirror, and a single tall window overlooking the jagged slate rooftops of the Middle District completed the furnishings.

More importantly, the air was dry, warm, and smelled faintly of pine needles.

Knock, knock.

"Hot water, sir!" a muted voice called from outside.

Lucian waited as two young hotel porters hauled a heavy, steaming copper bath tub into the room, followed by four large buckets of boiling water. Once they dumped the water and bowed their way out, Lucian locked the door once more.

‘Now.’

Lucian raised his left hand. On his middle finger rested a dull, matte-black band—the [Dimensional Veil Ring].

He lightly tapped the cold surface of the ring with his thumb.

WIRRRRR—!

A wave of pitch-black, shadow-like mist erupted from the ring, spilling outward and swirling violently across the floorboards. The temperature in the room plummeted by several degrees as spatial mana distorted the air.

THUD.

The black shroud bloomed, expanded, and then abruptly dispersed.

Out materialized Pip in his true, unsuppressed form.

His massive, nine-foot-long frame instantly filled the center of the small room. Thick, slate-black armored plates overlapped tightly along his spine, glinting with an oily obsidian sheen. His terrifying, translucent scythe-claws swung inward naturally, brushing carefully—almost delicate—against the low wooden ceiling beams of the room.

Grrrr-rumble...

The monster let out a low, bass-heavy vibration from deep within his chest—a sound that vibrated straight through the floorboards. Pip lowered his massive, terrifying snout, pressing the icy cold plate over his forehead gently into Lucian’s open palm.

It was a display of absolute, unquestioning submission. To anyone else, this creature was an apex predator capable of tearing a squad of fully armored knights into ribbons. To Lucian, it was his most loyal partner.

"Easy, buddy," Lucian whispered softly, running his hand over the slick, razor-sharp edge of Pip’s head carapace. "You did great down there. But we’re in the middle of the city now. We have to keep you small for a while longer."

Pip let out a soft huff of warm, vaporous air through his breathing vents, nodding his massive head.

Lucian channeled a thread of his own mana into the ring once more.

Flash.

The black shroud enveloped Pip once again, compressing his massive frame instantly down into a tiny, scruffy, eight-inch grey rat form. The moment the transformation completed, Pip scrambled up the leg of the wooden bed, leaped onto the soft feather pillow, and curled into a tight ball, letting out a satisfied squeak as he sunk into the luxury of a real bed.

Lucian smiled faintly.

He stripped off his blood-soaked, grime-encrusted rags, tossing the ruined clothes into a corner, and stepped into the steaming copper tub.

Sssss...

The scalding water hit his skin, sending a intense wave of pleasure through his aching muscles.

For twenty minutes, Lucian simply sat motionless, letting the hot water soak away the dried monster blood, the sticky subterranean grime, and the bone-deep fatigue that had accumulated over forty-eight hours of non-stop life-and-death combat in the Catacombs.

He picked up a stiff horsehair brush and a block of scented lye soap, scrubbing his skin until it turned raw and red, washing away every last physical trace of the abyss.

As he leaned his head back against the rim of the copper tub, watching the steam rise toward the ceiling, he concentrated his thoughts.

‘Status Window.’

BZZZT.

A translucent, blue holographic light materialized in his field of vision, hovering silently in the air above the water.

[HOST STATUS]

 * Name: Lucian

 * Class: Unregistered Tamer

 * Level: 12

 * HP: 240 / 240 | MP: 220 / 220

 * Strength: 18

 * Agility: 19

 * Endurance: 16

 * Mana: 22

[ACTIVE COMPANION (1/1)]

 * Name: Pip

 * Species: Mire-Carapace Phantom-Beast

 * Rank: Class-D Chimera (Evolved)

 * Evolution Path: Shadow-Scythe Stalker (Available at Lv. 20)

 * Traits: [Obsidian Armor (Lv.2)], [Acidic Blood (Lv.1)], [Phantom Step (Lv.2)], [Mantis-Scythe Strike (Lv.3)]

Lucian stared at the stats hovering in the air.

‘Strength 18. Agility 19.’

An average, adult human laborer had a baseline stat value of around 5 or 6 in all physical categories. A trained F-rank Guild combatant usually hovered around 8 to 10.

At Level 12, Lucian’s raw physical capabilities were already approaching the lower limit of a C-Rank Hunter. Even without Pip’s assistance, his sheer reaction speed, muscle density, and mana capacity meant he could easily overpower three ordinary men with his bare hands.

His physical foundation was built. The desperate, pathetic days where a single stray goblin could end his life were officially over.

However...

‘My public profile is still garbage.’

Lucian closed his eyes, analyzing his current situation with ruthless, calculating precision.

In the eyes of Aethelgard’s society, he was still nothing.

He had no official Tamer License recognized by the Central Hunter Association. He had no noble house backing him, no wealthy sponsors, and no registered combat beast. On paper, he was still just "Lucian the F-rank Scavenger"—a pathetic trash-tier deadbeat who crawled through sewer pipes with a useless rat companion.

If he tried to sell high-tier monster drops or buy advanced Tamer skill scrolls right now, the major merchant guilds wouldn't treat him as a customer. They would suspect he stole the items, or worse, try to scam him out of his loot.

‘To move up, I need authority. And to get authority, I need a clean slate.’

Lucian reached out of the bath, his wet hand picking up the key to his room off the side table.

"Tomorrow," Lucian murmured, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering blue light of the System window. "Tomorrow morning, I go to the Iron-Clad Guildhall."

He was going to clear his back dues. He was going to collect his official expedition pay slips.

And then, he was going to sever every single tether connecting him to the bottom tier.

"Sleep well, Pip," Lucian muttered, closing the System interface as the blue light faded into darkness. "Tomorrow, our real climb begins."