Scene change: Eldravia — Albham, Inn.
....
Michael was lost in thought.
"Hey, where did you get lost again?"
The elf woman leaned slightly forward, tilting her head so her silver hair slipped over one shoulder. For a second, her violet eyes softened, like she actually found his flustered reaction… endearing.
"Ah, thanks for snapping me out of it," he replied, calming himself. Honestly, when a gorgeous 10/10 girl calls you cute—who could stay composed? And this one was an elf.
Michael straightened up, trying to keep his cool. "But I'm not afraid of that. Anyone scared of making enemies doesn't belong in business. My products are revolutionary—so it's only natural that a lot of the local merchants in this city won't like me. But I know how to handle them."
"Oh?" She raised an elegant brow, her arms crossing beneath her chest. The teasing glint in her eyes dimmed, replaced by quiet intrigue. "Seems like you've got more confidence than your age. Still, remember—they have far more influence in this city than you do. You've only been here for two days. I'm afraid they might secretly plot against you… or even try to harm you."
[Host, it seems she's interested in you. She could be a potential employee.]
So… I can hire her?
[Yes, Host. But I recommend you focus on strengthening your business foundation in this city first. Besides, I'm not entirely sure she's trustworthy yet. Complete the next mission quickly and acquire the Essence Sight skill.]
"We call it the Market Ring. It's not official, but most long-standing merchants are part of it. They set prices, block outsiders, and even pressure the guild to favor them."
Her fingers traced an idle pattern on the countertop as she spoke. "If they've noticed your success already, you'll feel their presence soon enough. They don't like anyone disrupting their balance. They think this city belongs to them." Her voice was calm—but a faint bitterness slipped through, as if she'd had her own run-in with them before.
Still, Michael didn't take it too seriously. He had Sista to handle these kinds of problems. If he were just another medieval merchant in this world, maybe he'd be scared by now—but he wasn't. He was a Dimensional Trader. In the future, once he unlocked more worlds, he'd be facing far bigger challenges than this. Compared to that, this city's troubles were nothing. In his mind, he'd have the entire market under his control within a week.
"So, a cartel."
"A what?"
"It's a term from my country. Basically, it means a group of sellers who work together to control the market. It's illegal where I come from."
"Uuh, but here, it's tradition. If you want to avoid that kind of trouble, I'd suggest joining a guild."
Michael wasn't really interested in joining any guild, but he decided to learn more—he might find some useful information.
"There are many types of merchant guilds in this city," she explained. "All of them offer protection, trade licenses, access to private storage, networks, and service discounts. But I'd recommend the Raven Merchant Guild. It's the largest one here, and they have branches in other major cities too. If you join them, you can do business safely anywhere." Her smile stayed courteous. As she said Raven Merchant Guild, her thumb traced a shallow notch in the counter—once, twice—like a habit she forgot to hide, while her eyes measured his reaction.
"Hmm, and what do they want in return?"
"Twenty-five percent of all your earnings. Plus, exclusive rights to any product you register with them."
"Twenty-five?" he repeated. "That's daylight robbery."
"Well," she said with a faint smile, "what they offer in return isn't small either. And I forgot to mention—the tax is included. So if you join them, you won't have to pay extra taxes to the town hall."
"So let me get this straight," he said. "I give them a quarter of everything I earn, and in exchange, they maybe protect me from the same people they're probably in league with?"
He couldn't help but smirk. It was like a fantasy version of a corporation—licensing, overhead, distribution, and protection in exchange for a chunk of your soul. Except here, the HR department carries knives instead of memos. It was capitalism with a sword at your neck.
Michael let out a long sigh. "Hummm. So tell me—are you by any chance an agent of the Raven Merchant Guild? I mean, that's what I understood so far…"
The elf's smile didn't falter.
"An agent? No." She brushed a stray strand behind her ear. "I just know some people there. I just want to help you."
[Streetwise Instinct: Minor deception detected. She's leaving something out.]
Ugh, I knew it. The moment she called me cute, I got suspicious. Women like her don't even see guys like me—unless they're after something.
"Okay, thank you very much for your advice. I'm very tired now, so I'm going to my room. Also, there's no need to serve dinner. I've already eaten outside."
Michael didn't wait for her reply.
He took the stairs two at a time, the old boards groaning beneath his boots, and soon reached his room on the second floor.
Albham — A Simple Household Scene
A woman had just returned home after buying some goods from the market. She sat down on the chair in their dining room and examined something closely, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Her husband walked in and, noticing her fascination, asked curiously,
"What's that you've got there?"
She looked up and replied,
"I picked this up from the market. There was a man selling these, claiming they can make fire instantly and easily. So many people were buying them that I got curious too. Honestly, I'm tired of rubbing those stones together every time I need to light a fire."
Her husband's expression changed to one of shock.
"Wait—'instantly'? Don't tell me you spent all our savings on this thing!"
The woman shot him a look.
"Oh, stop overreacting. I only paid two coppers for it."
"Two coppers? That's it?"
"Yes," she said proudly. "And he even gave me a discount, so I bought five boxes!"
She opened one of the matchboxes and pulled out a stick, trying to recall how the seller—Michael—had demonstrated it.
"Hmm… I think he did it like this," she murmured, striking the match against the side of the box.
Her husband chuckled mockingly.
"Kukuku, honey, you've been duped for sure. Quick fire for two coppers? Impossible. Damn con artists—"
But before he could finish, his face froze in disbelief. His eyes widened.
"It's… it's working!"
The woman held up the burning matchstick, its small flame dancing before her delighted smile.
"I should show this to the others," she said with a gleam in her eyes—
the kind of proud, mischievous smile women wear when they show off new jewelry or something expensive just to make their neighbors envious.
Her husband, however, stood there completely confused, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.