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Chapter 19 - Chapter 19 — Creating the Opening[+18]

The market had a rhythm now. By my third morning in the town, I could predict when the spice seller would get his first shipment, the crates rumbling in on a creaky cart just as the sun crested the rooftops, filling the air with exotic scents of cumin and saffron that cut through the morning fog. When the fruit merchant's stall would draw a line, locals queuing up for the ripest apples and pears, their chatter a low buzz like bees around a hive. And when the beggars made their quiet rounds before disappearing for the day, slipping through the shadows with practiced invisibility, palms outstretched but eyes downcast.

The merchant woman in the burgundy dress — still nameless to me — kept to her own rhythm, too. She arrived just after the morning rush, her steps measured and purposeful, weaving through the growing crowd without haste or hesitation. She never lingered at any stall longer than necessary, her inspections efficient, her negotiations sharp. And she never walked home with more than she could carry herself. No servants trailing behind her, no escort at her side. Confident, self-reliant, the kind of woman who built her world on her terms.

Perfect.

The system's quiet hum in the back of my mind sharpened as she stepped into view, her dress catching the light like polished garnet, the streak of silver in her hair a subtle crown.

[Target observed. Influence level: 12%. Recommended action: staged assistance or advantageous social contact.]

It had been hinting at that move since yesterday. The trick was doing it without looking like I'd planned it—making it feel organic, inevitable, like fate aligning in my favor rather than a calculated play.

I drifted along the main street until I spotted an opportunity. A traveling fabric seller — not one of the established locals, his stall a temporary setup with mismatched poles and a faded canopy — had set up near her usual path. His table was overloaded, bolts of cloth balanced precariously on a warped wooden surface that groaned under the weight, threatening collapse at any moment.

She was approaching, her basket swinging lightly at her side, her attention on a distant stall.

I moved, positioning myself just close enough to intervene without being obvious.

The merchant woman was just passing the stall when the inevitable happened — one of the heavier bolts tipped, sliding toward her shoulder with a whisper of fabric against wood.

I caught it before it hit, my enhanced reflexes making the motion fluid, effortless. I steadied the table with my other hand, the wood creaking under the pressure but holding.

"Careful," I said, setting the cloth back in place, my voice calm, as if this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Her gaze flicked to me first, surprise flashing briefly before settling into assessment, then to the bolt she'd narrowly avoided. "You have quick reflexes."

"Helps to pay attention," I said, meeting her eyes directly, letting a hint of a smile play at the corners of my mouth. Enhanced Body I made me feel the subtle shift in my posture—taller, more commanding without trying.

The fabric seller was already apologizing, tripping over himself with promises it wouldn't happen again, his face flushed with embarrassment as he readjusted his precarious display. She waved him off without much interest, a dismissive flick of her hand that spoke volumes about her tolerance for incompetence, her eyes still on me.

"You're in the market often," she said, her tone neutral but probing, like she was testing the waters.

"Trying to learn the town," I said easily, shrugging as if it were the most natural thing. "Better to know where everything is before I need it. Saves time in the long run."

"Practical," she said, and with that, she turned toward the spice stalls, her basket swaying again as she walked away. But there was a pause in her step, a fractional hesitation that told me I'd registered.

[Influence level with target: 22%.]

Not bad for a single move. But I wasn't done. The market's energy pulsed around us—the haggling voices rising and falling, the clatter of coins, the distant neigh of a horse from the stables at the edge of town. I could feel the system's approval, a subtle vibration in my thoughts, urging me forward.

I followed her pace without crowding, stopping at a neighboring stall when she began selecting spices, her fingers deftly lifting jars to inspect their contents under the sunlight.

"You avoided the sweet one this time," I said, nodding toward the jar she'd set aside.

A hint of a smile touched her lips, fleeting but genuine. "Your advice was sound."

"Good to know I can be useful," I said, letting Desire Tongue warm the words, infusing them with a subtle allure that made them linger, drawing her gaze back to mine for a beat longer.

She glanced at me then, properly — not a passing look, but one that measured, weighing my words, my stance, the quiet confidence Enhanced Body I lent to every movement. "What do you do?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity now.

"At the moment?" I shrugged, keeping it light. "A bit of everything. I travel, I trade when I can. I've worked kitchens, caravans, and a few things in between. Whatever keeps me moving."

"That's vague," she said, but there was no dismissal in it—more like an invitation to elaborate.

"Flexibility's valuable," I countered, meeting her eyes steadily. "In a town like this, things change fast. Better to adapt than get stuck."

[Influence level with target: 30%.]

Progress. She nodded once, as if conceding the point, then paid for her spices and left the market not long after. But not before I saw her eyes flick toward me again over her shoulder—a small thing, but enough to confirm the hook was set. The crowd parted around her as she went, respecting her space without her needing to demand it.

Back at The Copper Flagon, the serving girl was in the middle of the lunch rush, weaving between tables with that easy balance she had, her red hair catching the light from the windows, freckles dancing across her nose as she smiled at patrons. She didn't come over immediately — too busy, trays balanced precariously on her arms — but she gave me a quick smile as she passed, her eyes lingering with a heat that promised more.

The system chimed softly in my mind.

[Influence level with target: 78%. Projected bond completion possible within 1–2 encounters.]

I took my meal upstairs, the better to think without distraction. The room was simple—bed, table, a small window overlooking the street—but it gave me space to plan. The serving girl was nearly ready to close, but rushing it would cheapen the payoff, dilute the points. The merchant woman, though — she would require more than charm. She was used to deals, exchanges, value. I'd need to give her something she considered worth her time, something that positioned me as an ally rather than a suitor.

[Suggestion: targeted assistance in a non-romantic context to reinforce perceived reliability.]

Which meant… another "chance" meeting. But this time, one that touched her business, tapped into her world of trade and negotiation.

That opportunity came faster than expected. Late afternoon, I was back in the market when I spotted her outside a guild hall, the stone building looming at the edge of the square with its carved emblem of crossed hammers and scales. She was speaking with a man who clearly wasn't pleased—his face red, gestures sharp, voice low but carrying an edge of frustration. She stood with her arms crossed, chin slightly raised, unyielding.

When he left — muttering under his breath, storming off into the crowd — she glanced around as if shaking off the interaction, her composure cracking just enough to show the strain.

I stepped forward, timing it to seem natural.

"Trouble?" I asked, keeping my voice even, concerned but not prying.

"Only the usual," she said, exhaling slowly. "Guild bureaucracy. They think they can squeeze every last copper from independents like me."

"I've seen that before," I said, nodding toward the hall. "Sometimes it helps to have a second pair of ears when they start circling. Fresh perspective can turn the tide."

She gave me a look that said she was weighing the offer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed—trust, motive, usefulness. "And why would you help? What's in it for you?"

"Because if I were in your position, I'd want someone to stand next to me who wasn't trying to take anything," I replied, letting sincerity bleed through, backed by Desire Tongue's subtle nudge to make it resonate.

That got a pause, her arms uncrossing as she considered. The market noise faded around us for a moment—the distant calls of vendors, the rumble of a passing cart—leaving just the two of us in that bubble of decision.

"Meet me here tomorrow," she said finally, her voice decisive. "If you're serious."

"I will," I said, holding her gaze.

[Influence level with target: 40%.]

That night at the inn, the serving girl finally slid into the chair across from me as the room emptied, the last patrons stumbling out into the cooling evening air. The fireplace had died to embers, casting a reddish glow over the worn tables, and the air still held the faint scent of stew and ale. She looked tired but eager, her red hair loose now, falling in waves over her shoulders, her freckles standing out against the flush on her cheeks.

"You planning on being here tomorrow?" she asked, her voice a low murmur, eyes locking on mine with an intensity that spoke of the buildup from our previous encounters.

"Yes," I said, leaning forward, my hand reaching across to brush hers.

"Good," she said, leaning just far enough forward for her meaning to register, her breath quickening as our fingers intertwined.

We didn't waste time on more words. She led me through the side door again, the hall dimly lit, the lantern's flame flickering like a heartbeat. The door clicked shut, and she turned to me, her body pressing against mine with a urgency that had been simmering all day. "I've waited too long," she whispered, her lips crashing into mine—hungry, demanding, her tongue exploring with a fervor that matched the heat building between us. Desire Touch flared at the contact, sending waves of amplified sensation through us both, making her moan into my mouth, her hands clutching at my shirt as if to tear it away.

I backed her against the wall, my hands roaming—sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her blouse, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked hard beneath my touch. She gasped, arching into me, her leg hooking around my waist to pull me closer, grinding against the growing hardness in my trousers. "Touch me," she begged, her voice breaking, and I obliged—my hand slipping under her skirt, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her thigh before finding her core, already slick with arousal. Desire Touch made every stroke electric; I circled her clit slowly, then slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit that sensitive spot, pumping in rhythm with her hips' desperate bucks.

Her moans grew louder, echoing softly in the narrow space, her walls clenching around me as I brought her to the edge. "More... please," she panted, her hands fumbling with my belt, freeing me and stroking with a firm grip that had me groaning against her neck. We shifted then—she dropping to her knees briefly, her mouth enveloping me in wet heat, tongue swirling as she took me deep, eyes looking up with a mix of submission and fire. Desire Touch amplified the pleasure, making it almost overwhelming, but I pulled her up before finishing, spinning her to face the wall.

Lifting her skirt, I entered her from behind—slow at first, savoring the tight warmth, then thrusting deeper, harder, the slap of skin filling the hall. She pushed back eagerly, one hand braced against the wood, the other reaching back to grip my hip. "Yes... like that," she cried, her body trembling as another climax built, Desire Touch pushing her over with a shuddering release that milked me, pulling my own orgasm forth in hot waves.

We collapsed against each other, breaths ragged, her turning to kiss me softly in the afterglow. "You're addictive," she murmured, her loyalty edging closer to unbreakable.

When she left, the system was quick to confirm.

[Influence level with target: 90%. Bond completion likely at next encounter.]

Two threads, both tightening. Tomorrow, one of them would get the pull. The merchant woman's meeting loomed, a chance to solidify her interest, while the serving girl's bond hovered on the brink. The town was yielding its secrets, but I could feel the pull of larger horizons—cities where the stakes were higher, the targets more powerful. For now, though, I savored the momentum, the web expanding with each calculated step.

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