Apocalypse Beast Supplier: Only I Sell God-Tier Beasts

The following day, Terrence decided not to waste a single second of his time.

Leaving his private room, he was immediately greeted by the rich morning aroma of freshly brewed coffee as he stepped down onto the busy tavern floor of the inn.

A few patrons stared directly at him as he made his way toward the exit—for some unknown reason he didn’t care to investigate.

’Hmm... Let’s see... I have brand-new items to test out today—the Beast Net and the Beast Core Generator. If I’m going to get serious about starting this business, the first thing I need to do is buy a temporary merchant permit.’

The Merchant Guild was the official organization that strictly controlled all commercial permits around the Hanging City. Because of their tight grasp, the Hanging City was widely notorious for its ridiculously complex permit procedures. Terrence couldn’t help but wonder why people couldn’t just get their business paperwork handled directly at the mayor’s office instead.

On his way to the Merchant Guild building, following a crude map posted on a nearby bulletin board, Terrence finally located a semi-old structure with its outer stone walls directly attached to the massive cliffside.

He tilted his head back, looking up as the building stretched at least three stories high into the air. Taking a quiet breath, he entered through the front doors.

”How do you do, sir? Welcome,” an attentive front desk attendant asked as Terrence approached.

”Hm... I am here to apply for a temporary merchant permit.”

The attendant nodded politely as the noisy background chatter of the crowded lobby echoed throughout the entrance hall. Terrence paid the noise no mind; such chaotic bustle was completely normal for an establishment like this.

However, he could still clearly feel several sharp gazes lingering on him from across the room. Whether those eyes were welcoming or hostile, he didn’t want to completely ignore the subtle tension this time.

Still, with his current goal in mind, he decided not to pry into the room’s lingering eyes at the moment.

”May I please get your name, sir?” The attendant pulled out a sleek digital tablet and opened a specific registration interface, ready to type in Terrence’s information.

”Terrence.”

The attendant’s welcoming, average face suddenly looked up, his expression instantly morphing into a mix of utter confusion and intense intrigue upon hearing the familiar name. If his memory served him right, that was the exact name their guild president had just personally broadcasted across their entire establishment’s community chat.

”Are you... perhaps from Suran City?” the attendant asked, his voice trembling slightly with anticipating hesitation.

Terrence’s indifferent face didn’t break expression in the slightest. He gave a single, firm nod.

The attendant’s eyes widened in sheer surprise. He immediately shoved his tablet back inside his black tuxedo pocket and cleared his throat loudly to regain his composure.

He genuinely couldn’t believe it—the famous Terrence had just arrived in person at the Merchant Guild of the Hanging City!

”Sir, please follow me immediately!”

Just by observing the clerk’s dramatic shift in body language, Terrence already felt that something strange was going on behind the scenes. It was likely connected to the unsettling feeling he had been harboring all morning.

’What’s with that extreme reaction?’ Terrence asked himself silently, though he chose not to overthink it for now.

He followed the attendant past a few sharp turns through the grand connecting corridors until they arrived right in front of a presentable, heavy wooden office door. The exquisite mahogany details carved by a master artisan mirrored the intricate woodwork found back at the Lin Estate—depicting a mysterious mythical beast with a long, stretching snake-like body and heavily armored dragon scales.

”Please step inside. The president is already waiting for you.”

Terrence was about to take a step forward, but he abruptly stopped midway, turning his head to gaze at the attendant with a thoroughly confused look.

”Why on earth do I need to meet the guild president?” Terrence asked in a serious tone, sounding noticeably displeased by this sudden, unannounced turn of events.

The attendant gulped nervously before lowering his head into a deep, formal bow.

”Mister Terrence! You don’t have to worry about the temporary permit at all—I can personally prepare and finalize it for you right now! But the president explicitly insisted on guiding you straight to his office for a private talk the moment you arrived.”

Terrence nodded slowly. He didn’t ask any further questions, but he knew well enough that big rumors were actively circulating around the recent events back in Suran City.

He took a slow, deep breath before pushing the heavy door open, stepping inside to be immediately washed over by the cool chill of an air conditioner and the bright glow of a well-lit executive office.

At the far end of the spacious room sat an expansive executive desk. Behind it was an old man with a long, snow-white beard stretching all the way down to his chest. Yet, despite his aged appearance, the man still radiated an undeniable aura of natural charisma, and his posture proved he was still remarkably fit.

Terrence strode across the polished floor toward the executive desk, extending his hand in standard formality as he approached.

”Pleased to meet you, sir,” Terrence said, casting his eyes down at the gold nameplate resting on the desk before looking up. ”It’s my pleasure meeting you, Sir Ronald.”

The old man stood up with a warm, welcoming smile, his eyes practically hiding behind his socket folds as the ambient ceiling lights reflected off his balding forehead.

Adorned in a well-tailored, sharp black tuxedo, he reached out across the desk, grasping Terrence’s hand in a firm handshake.

”The pleasure is entirely mine. Thank you for granting me this audience with you, Mister Terrence.”

”May I compliment your outfit? The suit looks remarkably well on you, sir,” Terrence said in a light, polite tone.

The president, Ronald, looked down at his own reflection in a small standing mirror resting beside his desk documents.

”You really think so? My wife certainly doesn’t think the same way you do. She always tells me that I look ridiculous and should cut my beard.”

Terrence barely managed to stop a chuckle, letting out no physical sign that he was actively restraining a brief laugh.

’I definitely didn’t compliment his beard. It looks completely odd on him,’ Terrence thought to himself dryly.

”Your wife clearly has good eyes, sir. She surely is lucky to have a distinguished man like you.”

”Hm... You think so?” Ronald smiled warmly, his eyes softening. ”Though my wife is actually already dead. I don’t think she is still very lucky.”

Terrence’s face went completely blank at the sudden, awkward turn of their conversation.

’Why the hell did you have to bring that up out of nowhere, old man?’