The second day of the trip passed quietly. No bandits, no monsters, no surprises, just the rhythmic creak of wheels and the endless stretch of dirt road ahead of us. By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, the city of Merlyt came into view.
To call it a city almost felt like an understatement. The sheer scale of it left me momentarily speechless. Towering stone walls, at least fifteen meters high, encircled the entire settlement. They ran for what must have been several kilometers, an impenetrable line of gray that glinted faintly under the evening light.
Even from this distance, I could tell this was no frontier town. These were fortifications meant to withstand sieges, not skirmishes. A hundred thousand goblins could have thrown themselves at those walls, and I doubted they'd make so much as a scratch.
The carriage slowed as we joined the queue at the main gate, a single colossal entryway wide enough for three wagons to pass through side by side. The air smelled faintly of dust, horse sweat, and cooked grain from the nearby food stalls serving the waiting travelers.
After nearly an hour of inching forward, we finally reached the front. A dozen armored guards, each carrying halberds and wearing polished steel chestplates engraved with the crest of the Falorin Domain, inspected every traveler who entered. Their expressions were serious, their discipline absolute. When one of them glanced at me, I felt like she could see straight through my clothes and into my inventory.
Eventually, we were waved through. The moment the wheels rolled over the cobbled streets, I was hit by a rush of sound and color. The city was alive.
Merchants shouted their prices in a dozen accents. Children darted through the crowd clutching skewers of roasted meat. The aroma of spices, smoke, and freshly baked bread filled the air.
After a short ride, the carriage stopped near a bustling plaza. This was my stop. I thanked the driver, and stepped down. The noise of the city wrapped around me instantly, a chaotic symphony of clattering hooves, shouting vendors, and distant hammering from blacksmiths.
The first building that caught my eye was an inn barely twenty meters away. The sign hanging above the door read "The Wayfarer's Rest." Seemed fitting enough.
Inside, the smell of old wood, ale, and faint lavender greeted me. Behind the counter stood an elderly woman with silver hair tied into a bun and sharp, assessing eyes.
"A room for one night?" I asked, dropping a small pouch of coins onto the counter.
She smiled faintly. "One night's three silver."
I paid without haggling. The room she gave me was simple, bare floorboards, a single bed, a wash basin, and a small window overlooking the street. Not nearly as warm as Belle's tavern, but serviceable.
After unpacking, I placed a few crafting stations from my inventory, and set them to work through the night.
The next morning, I left the inn just after sunrise. No breakfast was included, so I grabbed a quick bite from a street vendor, a savory pie filled with spiced meat and vegetables, and followed the directions the innkeeper had given me toward the Merchant's Association.
As I walked, I realized how different this place was from the village. For one, there were far more men. The village had barely three, including myself, but here I spotted dozens in the crowd: merchants, guards, even scholars carrying stacks of parchment. The atmosphere was energetic, almost competitive.
What stood out even more was the diversity. Not just humans. Catkin with twitching tails, foxfolk with golden eyes, tall dragonkin with scales glimmering under the sunlight. Some looked almost human save for their ears or eyes; others were clearly beast-like in form but wore fine clothes and spoke with cultured voices.
It took about half an hour of walking to reach my destination. The Merchant's Association was impossible to miss, a grand three-story building made of white stone and carved timber, with an arched entrance wide enough for a wagon. The emblem of a coin wreathed in laurel leaves was emblazoned above the doorway.
Inside, the air was cool and filled with the quiet hum of commerce. Multiple counters lined the far wall, each attended by young women dressed in crisp uniforms. They greeted every customer with practiced smiles.
I joined the shortest line. When it was finally my turn, a young receptionist with bright blonde hair and long, rabbit-like ears greeted me.
"Good morning, sir! How can I assist you today?"
"I'm interested in opening a stall near the labyrinth," I said. "I was told I'd need to register with the association first."
For a moment, she blinked at me like I'd said something unusual. Then her ears twitched, and she gave a polite nod. "Of course, sir. You'll need to register as a recognized merchant and then rent a stall space. Registration is a one-time fee of eight silver, and the space costs five silver a day, payable weekly in advance."
I suspected her surprise came from the fact that I was male. Judging by the demographics, male merchants were probably a rarity here.
"That's fine," I said, counting out forty-three silver for both registration and one week of stall fees.
She handed me a small metal plate, no larger than a dog tag, engraved with the emblem of the Association. "Please place a drop of blood here for identity verification."
I pricked my thumb and let a drop fall. The plate glowed briefly before dimming.
"Registration complete," she said with a smile. "You are now an H-rank merchant. Congratulations!"
Apparently, merchant ranks worked differently than adventurer ones. Instead of quests or achievements, rank was determined by wealth. Money made, not monsters slain. That actually made a lot of sense.
As an H-rank, I was little more than a street vendor, but with enough profits, and a few gold coins to upgrade my status, I could eventually access wholesale contracts, credit lines, and even national trade permits.
I left the building feeling both humbled and energized.
The labyrinth district was on the western edge of the city, and as I drew closer, the atmosphere shifted. The streets grew wider but rougher, lined with blacksmiths, armorers, and alchemists. The smell of hot metal and potion fumes filled the air.
And the people changed, too. The ratio of women to men spiked sharply. Almost every face I passed was that of an adventurer, muscular warriors, robed mages, agile rogues. The clang of weapons and the chatter of parties discussing strategy created an electric tension in the air.
By the time I reached the assigned area for vendor stalls, the men had all but vanished. I was surrounded by women, armed, dangerous, and very focused on their pre-dungeon preparations.
I found my allotted spot easily and summoned the stall I'd crafted the previous night. A simple but elegant wooden market stand unfolded before me, complete with open crates, a shaded awning, and a counter reinforced with steel brackets.
It looked exactly like a fruit stall from Earth, if fruit stalls sold weapons, armor, and alchemical potions.
I laid out my wares carefully.
Weapons: Steel swords, spears, hammers, daggers, and a few crossbows.
Armor: Light steel chestplates and leather sets displayed neatly on wooden mannequins.
Supplies: Ration bars, preserved food, sealed flasks of clean water, and camping tools.
Potions: Stamina, healing, antidote, and magic recovery potions, alongside finely crafted leather pouches for easy carry.
When everything was in place, I stepped back to admire my work. The stand looked professional, inviting, and unlike anything else on the street.
Within minutes, adventurers began to gather, and my journey as a merchant began.