ã€ŠUgly Merchant [Business - Kingdom building - Schemes]ã€‹


 Chapter 1 : Wealthy Yet Poor

    Being born into a rich family is a blessing envied by those who lack it; however, under the skin of this blessing a horde of nightmare is waiting for you to show weakness, to fall into despair for it to open its arms to welcome you into its abyssal home.

    Knock! Knock! Knock!

    Who?

    It¡¯s your mind, no¡­ It¡¯s what is barely alive from your mind, with your heart already on a hanging thread.

    Would open the door for us to stand all together or leave the rest of your life as a living corps.

    ¡­

    Jasper was a somewhat timid boy who lacked self-confidence. No! he wasn¡¯t, he was just trying to isolate himself. Why? Because he was ugly. Not just ugly, he was extremely ugly and scary. You could describe him as an unsightly thing, as his stepmother used to call him.

    ...

    Looking at him with disgust was a beautiful woman in her early thirties with a poisoned tongue. Her sole purpose was to drive the kid insane or out of the house. His presence was like a thorn in her throat, preventing her from inheriting the fortune of his father. From the perspective of a local, that''s what it seemed like, but There''s a lot more to it than meets the eye.

    One day, the kid was strolling in the hallway of the house when the stepmother approached him menacingly.

    "Good morning, mothe¡ª" Jasper said in a soft voice, smiling. He didn¡¯t know that his smile was the scariest thing to witness. A whipping palm interrupted the last letter from coming to exist.

    Slap!

    "What good morning? And what mother are you talking about, you unsightly thing, after ruining my dress?" she said, looking at him with murderous eyes and wiping her hand as if she had touched filth.

    "But mother, I never touched any of your dresses," Jasper confessed, tears falling. He was generally not the type to cry, but he had cried a lot since his childhood due to the mockery of his peers, who always bullied him for his ugliness and beat him until he grew numb to it.

    But a slap is way different from a punch or any other form of violence. One slap is enough to start a war¡ªit¡¯s a sign of humiliation that outweighs any other form of beating, especially when you can¡¯t retaliate or it came from someone who you loved so much.

    Tears, a mix of rage and sadness, streamed down the boy''s face, yet he remained silent. He understood his father''s deep affection for his stepmother and knew any resistance would be futile. This was the first time she''d struck him. What had transformed her so drastically in the past three years? It was a question that haunted Jasper, one he couldn''t answer. She had once been his loving mother, a source of comfort who shielded him from bullies. Now, she embodied the very image of the cruel stepmother.

    As the kid was lost in his own world of thoughts, trying to figure out how to avoid angering her even more, a raspy voice interrupted, bringing the action to a stop.

    "So, that¡¯s how it is, huh!" Kenan, Jasper¡¯s father, emerged from a room with an angry expression.

    Maida, who was looking at him with trembling limbs, said, "Honey, didn¡¯t you say you¡¯d leave for a deal with some nobles?"

    "Yeah, and that¡¯s the noble deal I did. I made you think I was out to check how you were treating my son in my absence. I noticed he was less active compared to the first time you came here. You know how much I loved you! You know how I treated you! I kept lying to myself that my Maida was a good woman who would treat my son as her own, yet my doubts were true. You repaid me by bullying my son, my only gift from my late wife. As for your freaking dress, it was stained by your snooty brat."

    "Snooty brat? He is our son, Kenan. How could you say that about our son?"

    "HE WAS NEVER MY SON! He is your son. I accepted him because I loved you, because I thought you would treat my son like yours if I did that. Yet, here you are, calling him an unsightly thing. Your son, that little fox who¡¯s trying to get rid of my son, will bring this family to doom if he stays here for even a second longer. From now on, he will never step into this house again."

    "NO! You can¡¯t do that. If you want to expel him, expel me with him," she said, trying to make him take back his words, knowing how much he loved her.

    "Very well. From today on, you and he are no longer related to this family. It saddens me that you¡¯ve turned out like this. You used to be so gentle when you were poor. Now, I don¡¯t know what happened to the Maida I once loved. You are no longer part of this family. I¡¯ll give you 10,000 gold¡ªit will be enough until your great-grandson dies of old age."

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    "Honey... You are joking, right? Please tell me that you are joking!"

    His answer was an angry yet sad expression.

    "No, Kenan. Please don¡¯t do this to me. I know it¡¯s all my fault. I¡¯ll turn over a new leaf; I¡¯ll never do such a thing again. Please don¡¯t abandon me."

    "I said, get out of my face!"

    Maida started crying loudly and then fell down. Kenan, who was close, tried to check on her in the heat of the moment but held himself back, calling for the servants and maids to take care of her.

    Jasper, who was shocked by the scene he had just witnessed, didn¡¯t know what to do or how to feel. The father he thought had abandoned him turned out to be the opposite¡ªhis father had always been on his side. He had simply trusted Maida to take care of him.

    Initially, Maida had been kind and gentle, treating Jasper as her own son out of genuine care, not mere pretense. However, as time passed and she attended tea parties and social gatherings, the conversations often revolved around how handsome and successful their children were, while mocking those who were unattractive or troublesome. Jasper became a frequent target of ridicule among the women, who insulted him as a way to pass the time.

    For years, Maida tried to defend him, but she finally found herself isolated and abandoned by influential figures for standing up for the boy. Fearing the loss of her social standing and a return to a life of hardship, she began to join in their cruelty. It was at this point that Jasper¡¯s life descended into a living nightmare.

    In front of the mansion¡¯s gate, Maida and her son, who were crying and yelling over the loss caused by their own actions, entered the carriage that was taking them to their homeland. Staring at the carriage, which little by little shrank into the horizon, Kenan¡¯s face looked empty as if the life had drained out of it¡ªonly his wet eyes were a sign of life.

    A few seconds later, he fell down unconscious. His love for Maida was so great, but he couldn¡¯t turn a blind eye to what had happened to his son. Jasper, who was beside him, didn¡¯t know what to do. He started shouting, "HELP!!!" causing all the maids and butlers to come running. They put their master on his bed and called the doctor.

    After a full check-up, the doctor tilted his head right and left, saying, "It¡¯s unavoidable."

    "What do you mean, unavoidable? Is my father going to die?"

    Albert¡ªthe doctor¡ªavoided looking Jasper in the face out of fear and said, "Your father was in a miserable state the moment your mother died, but he got healthier when he married your stepmother. I don¡¯t know what happened to him that made him like this. Did something happen that gave him a shock or anything like that?"

    "They... They just divorced today."

    "Sigh... I won¡¯t pry more into other people¡¯s private lives, but I think your father¡¯s unstable condition is due to shock and sadness. His heart won¡¯t resist much longer. I¡¯ll prescribe some medicine that might help him a bit, but I¡¯m not sure when his heart will stop if he continues to grieve."

    Jasper felt as if he had been struck by lightning, not knowing what to say or do. All he could do was cry beside his unconscious father.

    A few hours later, Kenan woke up, feeling as if mountains were pressing down on him and oceans of sadness were overwhelming him. Looking at his son, who was sitting next to him, he extended his hand with difficulty.

    "I¡¯m sorry, son. I didn¡¯t know how hard life was for you. I¡¯m sorry for not noticing from the beginning. She wasn¡¯t like that before; she was really a warm and gentle woman," Kenan said with a sad expression.

    "Yes, I know she genuinely loved me. I was shocked when she changed one day."

    Suddenly, his expression and voice turned to anger. "It¡¯s all because of those cruel noblewomen! No! It''s probably their husbands commanding them to manipulate Maida. I¡¯ll never forgive them¡ªNEVER! They mocked you, her, and our entire family. They brainwashed her to ruin our family!"

    "Father, please calm down. You won¡¯t hold on if you keep getting agitated. If you want, you can bring Maida back. Your health is more important to me."

    "I¡¯m sorry, son. They poisoned you when you were only two years old, ruining your face. They¡¯ve always targeted me through my loved ones. Those nobles and cunning merchants are the devil himself. Even though Maida was just a victim of their schemes, I can¡¯t tolerate her for making you suffer all this time. She needs to be punished."

    "But father, you¡¯re punishing yourself as well by sending her away."

    "It¡¯s for the best¡ªfor me and for her. She would end up dead if she stayed here. How I wish I could send you away too, but they would find you and threaten me."

    Jasper was shocked by all the information his father was revealing for the first time.

    "Son, it¡¯s bound to happen that you¡¯ll make enemies when you succeed as a merchant. My fault was being naive as a schemer and good as a merchant. Ironically as a merchant, you have to be a good schemer. I wasn¡¯t that kind of person. I gained my clients by being honest and sincere, and even if I went back in time, I¡¯d do the same. But you, my son, you have to be vigilant so you don¡¯t fall like your father did. You will find yourself in a miserable situation after my death, but you must stand on your own feet. Keep learning from every mistake, it''s all part of the experience that will build a stronger and more mature you."

    Kenan said those words and fell silent, uttering nothing more. The days and nights passing with only his tears and apologies to his late wife, Jasper, and his divorced wife escaped in his sleep.

    Three months later, Kenan wasted away, his body reduced to little more than skin and bone, a frail ghost of the man he once was. Each breath was a battle, each movement a torment, and Jasper could only watch in helpless agony as the father who had once stood strong now crumbled before him. He sat by his bedside, gripping the cold, bony hand that once protected him, whispering words of comfort that felt hollow in the face of death. And then, one night, with a final, shuddering sigh, Kenan¡¯s suffering ceased, leaving behind only a husk and a silence so deep it threatened to consume Jasper whole.

    A day passed, and the fragments of his shattered heart still lay scattered, unhealed from his father''s death, when ominous footsteps, bearing yet another burden, drew near and knocked on his door.

 Chapter 2 : Trust

    A single day had passed since Jasper''s father, Kenan, had been laid to rest. The mansion, once bustling with life, now felt hollow, its halls echoing with the weight of loss. Jasper, barely able to drag himself out of bed, moved like a shadow through the house. His legs trembled with every step, as though the grief had physically chained him.

    Then, a knock at the door.

    Two visitors arrived, demanding to speak with the mansion''s owner. The head butler, Cuthbert, ushered them into the guest room without hesitation. Why? Because one of them was Ferdinand, Kenan''s longtime friend and business ally. Ferdinand had always been there for Kenan, offering help in both business and personal matters.

    Cuthbert hurried to inform Jasper of the visitors, then busied himself preparing tea.

    Jasper descended the stairs slowly, leaning heavily on the handrail. His eyes were swollen from crying, and his legs shook beneath him. He tried to compose himself before entering the room, but his appearance was unsettling¡ªpitiful yet terrifying. The guests couldn''t help but shiver as he walked in.

    "Hello, Uncle Ferdinand," Jasper said, his voice soft but steady.

    "Ah, yes, hello, Jasper," Ferdinand replied, his tone tinged with regret. "I''m sorry I couldn''t be here before Kenan passed. My condolences."

    "Thank you," Jasper said, forcing a polite smile. "I appreciate your presence, especially since you''re such a busy man."

    "It''s my duty to be here," Ferdinand said, his expression growing serious. "Listen, Jasper, I know you''re grieving, but you need to be strong. While you''re in this state, merchants and nobles are already plotting to take over your father''s business. They''ll come here tomorrow with fake contracts, demanding you sign them or give up everything. Either way, they plan to leave you with nothing but the clothes on your back."

    Jasper fell silent, his mind racing. Something about Ferdinand''s words felt off. After a moment, he spoke.

    "Uncle, it''s not easy to fake a contract. I may be young, but I''ve read enough to know how these things work. And I''m the son of a great merchant. I''m not entirely clueless."

    Ferdinand smirked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. He gestured to the man behind him, who moved to guard the door.

    "I admire your intelligence, Jasper. You''re shrewd for a 14-year-old. But you''re underestimating the situation. You''re up against high-ranking nobles and a traitor within your own home¡ªsomeone who could steal your father''s seal and use it against you. That aside, your father¡¯s business Is the kingdom¡¯s business. If they find that you can¡¯t manage it, they will forcefully take it. Well, they will not bother themselves to find out they will take it anyway."

    Jasper stared at Ferdinand, his gaze piercing. The longer he looked, the more uncomfortable Ferdinand seemed. Jasper wondered: Is he guilty, or is it just my appearance that unnerves him? Should I trust him?

    Finally, Jasper sighed. "So, what''s your plan, Uncle?"

    "My plan is simple: trust. Give me control of your father''s business for the next four or five years. Once you''re older and capable, I''ll hand it back to you."

    Jasper''s eyes narrowed as he studied Ferdinand. The man''s sharp features, curled mustache, and pointed beard gave him the look of a cunning merchant¡ªor a scheming noble. Jasper closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

    "Uncle, do you know what I''m thinking right now?"

    "What?"

    "That this is like a grown man trying to steal candy from a child. The scale is just unimaginably different. Only a fool would take your words at face value."

    Ferdinand winced. "That hurts, Jasper. I know my proposal sounds suspicious, but that''s why I said it''s about trust."

    "Trust takes time to build," Jasper countered. "And even then, I''d need some guarantee that you won''t betray me."

    "Your father would have trusted me without hesitation."

    "No," Jasper said firmly. "My father trusted no one but himself to manage his business. I''m not my father, but I know my life is at risk. He warned me about that."

    Jasper leaned forward and started tapping his finger rapidly on the table. ¡°Let me ask you another question uncle, Do you believe that I can survive taking it back four years later?¡±

    ¡°To answer you with complete honesty, I don¡¯t think that will be possible.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I believe so too. If you were to answer differently I wouldn¡¯t bother completing this conversation.¡±

    Ferdinand leaned forward, his expression earnest. "So, are you agreeing?"

    "Yes."

    "Without a guarantee?"

    "Yes."

    "Are you sure?"

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    "Yes. But if you betray me, I''ll make sure you regret it."

    "Don''t worry," Ferdinand said, smiling. "I know my limits. Now, sign here, and trust me."

    As Jasper signed the contract, he glanced up at Ferdinand, his expression unreadable.

    "Just so you know, I''m capable of managing my father''s business on my own. I don''t need help. But I don''t know how dangerous it is to go up against nobles and other merchants yet. I''m afraid they''ll assassinate me in my sleep. I just hope you''re as trustworthy as you claim. Either way, I''ll stand on my own feet, even if you betray me."

    The moment the ink dried, Ferdinand''s eyes turned to the door, his voice raised, and his tone turned mocking.

    "Thanks for your trust, little Jasper. Just make sure your legs aren''t shaking when you try to stand on your own."

    Jasper smirked as he looked in the same direction. "Thanks for the advice. And thanks for distracting me from my father''s death."

    "My pleasure," Ferdinand said, his voice loud and triumphant. "Just be sure to leave my house in two weeks. I''ll be staying here after dealing with some matters."

    "No worries, just be sure to take the deed before leaving. You seem to forget about it out of excitement."

    "How thoughtful of you, little jasper."

    The contract transferred all of Kenan''s property to Ferdinand. Jasper left the room, his smile sending a chill down Ferdinand''s spine. Outside, he found Cuthbert arguing with the man who had guarded the door.

    "Young master, are you okay? This man wouldn''t let me in. He threatened me with his sword!"

    Jasper''s eyes filled with tears. "I''m not your young master anymore, Cuthbert. Please take care of the mansion and the servants. My stupidity cost me everything my father built. I''ll be leaving in one or two weeks."

    "What do you mean, young master?"

    Jasper didn''t answer. He simply walked upstairs to his chamber, leaving Cuthbert bewildered.

    The next day, a group of merchants arrived, waving contracts that claimed they were obligated to take over Kenan''s business since his son was too young to manage it. They demanded Jasper''s signature.

    Jasper glared at them. "You''re all the same¡ªvultures feeding on others'' suffering. I have nothing left to give you. If you want anything, go talk to Ferdinand. He took everything from me."

    The merchants'' eyes widened in shock. "What?! That snake Ferdinand tricked us! He delayed us by a day so he could trade the business to Grand Duke Roland for a noble title and his daughter''s hand! Let''s go after him!"

    As the merchants stormed out, Jasper sat alone, piecing together the truth.

    ''So that''s why Ferdinand gave me two days. He wanted me to stay here while he made his move. ''Trust,'' huh? Either way, I couldn''t have held onto my father''s wealth. It was too much for me to handle, and the nobles would have killed me for it. By giving it up, I saved my life, even if it makes me look awfully foolish, I don''t care. I look awful anyway; being stupid won''t change that. It''s time to stop hiding and face life head-on. I''ll hide my face, start my journey, and show them all how an ugly merchant fights back. It''ll take time, but I''ll make sure they regret crossing me. Just to be clear, I am still trusting Ferdinand, even though he appears to be a trickster.''

    A few hours later, the quiet of the mansion was shattered by the arrival of unwelcome visitors. They stood at the gates, demanding to see Jasper. Now stripped of his title as the mansion¡¯s owner, Jasper couldn¡¯t command the servants to usher them inside. Reluctantly, he stepped out to face them.

    The men were armed, their swords glinting in the sunlight, and their postures radiated arrogance. Jasper studied them carefully, noting their hostile tone and the way they carried themselves¡ªlike predators circling their prey.

    "Take off your hood!" one of them barked, dispensing with any semblance of courtesy.

    Jasper hesitated. "I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll appreciate what you see if I do."

    "Shut up and comply," the man snapped, his voice sharp and impatient.

    Confused by their hostility, Jasper reluctantly removed his hood. The reaction was immediate. One of the knights¡¯ horses reared up, neighing wildly, while the men themselves struggled to hide their fear. Their trembling hands betrayed them, though they tried to maintain their composure.

    "Yeah, he¡¯s the one," one of the knights said, his voice tinged with disgust. "Come with us, you monster."

    "Where to?" Jasper asked, his voice steady despite the tension.

    "That¡¯s none of your business. Get on the horse, or we¡¯ll drag you like a slave."

    Realizing arguing was pointless, Jasper complied. They led him to a nearby city, where they were met by a man of obvious high status¡ªBaron Buck.

    "Baron Buck," one of the knights announced, "this is the son of Kenan. He claims Ferdinand tricked him into giving up all his property."

    The Baron eyed Jasper with a cold, calculating gaze. After a moment, he turned away and issued a chilling order.

    "Beat him until he confesses what really happened."

    Jasper spoke up quickly. "There¡¯s no need for that. I already told your knights the truth¡ªFerdinand tricked me into giving up my inheritance because my life was at risk."

    The Baron raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mockery. "Oh ho? And how, exactly, is your life in danger? Enlighten me."

    Jasper took a deep breath. "Ferdinand said my father¡¯s business was targeted by powerful figures. If I didn¡¯t give up my inheritance, I¡¯d be killed."

    The Baron chuckled darkly. "Hmm, that¡¯s a convenient excuse. Knights! Beat him! Let¡¯s see how many punches it takes for him to change his story. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s working with Ferdinand."

    Fear gripped Jasper, but his expression remained stoic. He knew no amount of reasoning would sway these men. The knights descended on him, their fists relentless. Each blow left him more battered than the last, but Jasper refused to change his story. He repeated the same words until the pain overwhelmed him, and he fell unconscious.

    When the knights finally stopped, the Baron was furious but powerless. He had watched Jasper plead for mercy without confessing to anything.

    "That cunning Ferdinand," the Baron muttered, his voice seething with anger. "We¡¯ve been played right into his hands."

    "Master, what should we do with the boy?" one of the knights asked.

    "Throw that monster outside," the Baron said dismissively. "He¡¯s useless now. Giving up all that wealth for free¡ªhow stupid can he be?"

    Hours later, Jasper awoke in front of the Baron¡¯s mansion, his body aching from head to toe. A guard stood over him, his voice harsh.

    "You, cursed thing! If you¡¯re alive, get out of here. If the Baron sees you again, you¡¯re dead."

    Groaning, Jasper pushed himself to his feet. His body felt heavier than ever, but he forced himself to move. He stumbled toward his secret hideout, his mind replaying the events of the day.

    Instead of crying, Jasper laughed¡ªa bitter, hollow sound. Tears streamed down his face as he muttered to himself, "Yeah, I¡¯m alive. What a miserable life to live. But I¡¯ll survive. I¡¯ll make it back. And I¡¯ll show you all how Jasper, the son of Kenan, deals with you all."

 Chapter 3: Good Catch

    Whoosh-shush! Tick-tick! Whoosh-shush!

    Jasper pushed through the branches and leaves guarding his secret refuge. Deep in the forest near his former mansion lay this hidden sanctuary, concealed by dense foliage and towering trees¡ªa place of solace whenever despair found him. At its heart stood an ancient tree, its massive roots seeming almost in motion, as if the tree itself was slowly walking across the forest floor. Beneath one particularly twisted root, he had hidden his treasure: a money bag prepared for the day his father might cast him out. Though his planning had seemed excessive then, he couldn''t blame himself. After all, only God knows what tomorrow brings.

    For years, he had squirreled away whatever coins he could conceal in his clothing, building his emergency fund coin by coin. Now, counting his wealth¡ª936 gold and 50 silver coins¡ªJasper felt both pride and uncertainty. For most fourteen-year-olds, this would be unimaginable wealth, but for the son of Zoliland''s greatest merchant, it was merely a trifling sum.

    Lost in contemplation, his body suddenly reminded him of its injuries. The fresh bruises throbbed painfully, driving him toward a nearby pond. As he gazed at his reflection, he confronted the reality of his appearance. His face was ghostly white, drained of all vitality. Thick, twisted veins in shades of crimson, emerald, and sapphire spread across his skin like the roots of a dying tree, pulsing faintly as if carrying some unnatural poison. His brow was bare¡ªno eyebrows, no lashes¡ªgiving his face an unsettling, unfinished quality. His eyes told their own horror story: whites webbed with angry red veins, pupils unnaturally dilated into pools of darkness. His lips, cracked and colorless, occasionally twitched as if attempting speech that wouldn''t come. Without hair, his features appeared even more alien, his skull-like visage enhanced by the sickly glow of his veined, translucent skin. Every part of his face seemed to writhe with quiet malevolence, as if poison within him was alive, transforming his humanity into something otherworldly and terrifying. Though his hands had protected his face from the beating, no new bruises could worsen what was already there.

    "Famous for my ugliness," he murmured to himself, "I still can''t appear in public like this. I need to hide my face and find someone to help with my business. I think I need to buy some slaves." He stripped off his clothes, hoping the cold water might ease his aching body.

    Feeling refreshed, Jasper reclined on a rock, submerging his body with only his head above water. He closed his eyes, contemplating a future where he could rely on no one but himself. After a few minutes, he sank completely beneath the surface, allowing the cool water to caress his face before emerging. Fortunately, the afternoon sun still hung high, perfect for drying quickly. Soon dressed, he hefted the heavy money bag¡ªabout five kilograms of coin¡ªand headed directly back to the city he''d just fled.

    "This bag grows heavier with every step," he sighed. "If I weren''t leaving for good, I wouldn''t have taken everything."

    At the city entrance, a rookie guard spotted someone with a hooded face carrying a large bag and attempting to skip the line. He blocked Jasper''s path with his spear.

    "Where do you think you''re going? Remove your hood, identify yourself, and pay the entrance fee," the guard demanded proudly.

    "Huh?" Jasper responded.

    A veteran guard noticed the confrontation, recognized Jasper''s distinctive silhouette, and hurried over. His eyes widened in recognition before he smacked the rookie on the head.

    "What are you doing, you fool?" he hissed, then turned to the hooded figure. "You may enter, sir."

    As Jasper passed through, the rookie complained, "Ouch! Why did you hit me, Captain?"

    "Because you deserved it. Do you have any idea who you just stopped?"

    "Who was it?"

    "That was Jasper."

    "Jasper?" The rookie repeated, confused until sudden recognition dawned. "D-d-don''t tell me... Jasper the... the Plague?"

    "Yes, that''s him, you idiot."

    "But Captain, I heard someone say he was beaten and thrown out of Baron Buck''s mansion, and nothing happened," the guard stammered, trembling.

    "Keep listening with those same ears to learn what happens to anyone who mistreats him. I don''t need to remind you how many people who touched or beat him met terrible ends. He may be weak, but he''s cursed."

    "Captain," the rookie sniffled, "I''ve only been working here long enough to sew commoners'' sleeves. I don''t want to die!"

    "Don''t exaggerate. You didn''t touch him¡ªyou only blocked him with your spear. Just be more careful next time."

    A slight smirk crossed Jasper''s lips as he walked away. Though he''d never actively harmed anyone who bullied him, somehow they always ended up in miserable circumstances¡ªdead, paralyzed, or deathly ill. While he didn''t appreciate being called "cursed" or "plague," these labels coupled with the mishaps gave him a satisfying taste of revenge.

    Crossing the city toward the slave market, the heavy bag exhausted him, but Jasper pressed on until he reached his destination. Before him stretched iron cages filled with people, while others stood chained together by their necks. Men, women, and children of all ages¡ªa painful sight, yet so common that people had grown numb to it, even considering these captives lesser beings. Jasper saw parallels to his own situation: he was free but weak and hideous; they were enslaved but beautiful and strong. Yet one thing united them all¡ªmisery.

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    As he surveyed the market, something unexpected caught his eye.

    ''A barbarian? As a slave? How is that possible? Barbarians would rather die than be enslaved. The last person who tried to capture one was skinned alive.''

    Jasper approached the merchant quietly and asked, "Excuse me, how can a barbarian be a slave?"

    "Hmm? Oh, you mean this big bear," the merchant replied, turning to face Jasper after noticing his quiet voice. He smacked the barbarian''s back confidently. "Don''t worry, he won''t bite. As you can see, he''s calm and follows orders. It took quite a while to tame him."

    Though the barbarian appeared furious, he concealed it well.

    "So, how much for him?" Jasper inquired.

    The merchant assessed Jasper from head to toe. His clothing suggested middle class¡ªperhaps a merchant''s son or a knight''s offspring.

    "May I first ask why you''re hiding your face, dear customer?"

    "Don''t concern yourself with that. My face is burned, so I keep it covered."

    The merchant shrugged. "Well then, he''s 150 gold coins."

    "What?! The highest price ever paid for a male slave was 80 gold. How can you ask so much?"

    "Oh ho, quite knowledgeable, aren''t you? But there''s never been a barbarian slave before. This one will never betray or harm you. Look¡ª" He struck the barbarian repeatedly. "See? He''s stronger and more capable than any ordinary male slave."

    The merchant smirked, thinking he had Jasper trapped. But Jasper quickly countered, "Impressive! I almost fell for that. You''re working with this barbarian, aren''t you? He''ll either kill me and run, or take my money and give it back to you. No, wait. That doesn''t make sense. Barbarians are honorable. Tsk, I can''t figure out what you did to make him a slave. Something''s definitely off, but I can''t put my finger on it."

    As he spoke, he turned to the barbarian, who instantly avoided eye contact.

    "What?! What is that all about?" The merchant looked bewildered.

    "What if I announced that you''re trying to sell a bloodthirsty barbarian? A wolf in sheep''s clothing. Would anyone believe he''s as tame as you claim? Buying a barbarian is life-threatening¡ªthere''s never been a case of a barbarian slave before. You trampled on his honor. I''m afraid he will kill me along with you. Do you take people here for fools?!" Jasper raised his voice with the last statement, making the merchant nervous as onlookers turned to stare.

    Being new to this market, the merchant didn''t know how to respond with so many eyes upon him. He rubbed his hands anxiously and lowered his voice. "Now, now, dear customer, no need to shout. I''m running an honest business. You don''t know how much effort it took to tame this barbarian and bring him here. As a sign of goodwill, I''ll reduce the price to 140 gold."

    "Reducing by mere 10 gold coins shows no goodwill. Look, I''m taking an enormous risk. At any moment, he could kill me if he regained his senses. One hundred gold is my offer."

    "You jest! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" he exclaimed, putting his hand to his chest. "And yet, I assure you, he won''t dare disobey, even if you spit on him. Therefore, one hundred thirty is my final price."

    "I don''t buy empty promises. One hundred gold, or no deal. I guarantee no one will buy any barbarian¡ªeven for 50 gold. The risk is too high."

    The merchant''s expression darkened, but he couldn''t argue further. He knew selling a barbarian wouldn''t be easy. After all his effort to tame the warrior, his dreams of massive profit were crumbling into a mere 15-gold gain.

    "Fine. It''s a deal."

    As Jasper opened his bag to count out the coins, he glimpsed someone in a cage behind the barbarian. The massive warrior had blocked his view before, but as Jasper crouched to reach into his bag, he caught sight of a radiant face. He quickly closed the bag and hurried toward the cage.

    "How much for this woman?" he asked the slave trader.

    "Let me see... which one do you mean?"

    "That one, with blue eyes and black hair."

    "Oh, I''m afraid she''s not for sale here. I''m saving her for next week''s auction."

    "Then why keep her here?"

    "I have nowhere else to put her."

    "I offer 210 gold coins, which is the highest market-recorded price for a female slave."

    The merchant began sweating nervously, his hands trembling. "Well, at auction, her price could be much higher..."

    Without hesitation, Jasper increased his offer: "Three hundred sixty gold¡ªequal to the highest auction price."

    "If I were to sell her at auction, I could earn even more," the merchant said, no longer able to control his expression.

    Jasper fell silent momentarily, then replied, "Your greed will be your undoing one day."

    "She''s virgin, you know. Someone so beautiful and untouched is rare."

    Jasper closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Let me ask you¡ªwhen did you acquire her?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "I''m not a fool. She hasn''t been a slave for even a month¡ªnot even ten days."

    "Sharp eye! To be honest, I got her just a week ago. She was fleeing bandits, and I bought her from them for a considerable sum. They couldn''t touch me when they saw my barbarian, which made negotiations quite smooth."

    "Four hundred gold. No one in all of Zoliland would offer such a price."

    "I can recover what I lost on the barbarian deal!" the merchant thought aloud, giggling.

    "At least keep your thoughts to yourself and control your expressions when dealing with merchants. Just advice from a fellow merchant," Jasper sighed.

    ''Not that I''d expect better from a slaver,'' he thought privately.

    "Huh? Hehehe, sorry, dear customer. She''s yours¡ªno questions asked."

    Jasper opened his bag and counted out 500 gold coins¡ªa substantial loss, but worth it. He hadn''t chosen the girl solely for her beauty; at his young age, he already possessed remarkable foresight. He saw what others missed.

    "Now, give me the bill of sale." He then asked the people to witness the trade.

    Despite the mockery for his costly acquisition of two slaves, he paid no heed. Whether driven by their true value or youthful recklessness, he was resolute.

    When she stood and approached him, Jasper felt his heart constrict, nearly bursting. He took a deep breath, handed the bag to the barbarian, and continued strolling around the market.

    As they walked away, he moved closer to the woman and whispered, "I''ll be in your care, Miss Witch."

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None(Self-proclaimed merchant).

    Coins: Gold 436 Silver 50 Bronze 0 Copper 0.

 Chapter 4: Preparation.

    "I''ll Be in Your Care, Miss Witch"

    The words hung in the air like a spell, echoing in the enslaved woman¡¯s ears. Her eyes widened for a brief moment, a flicker of surprise breaking through her stoic expression before she quickly composed herself, her face settling into a mask of calm defiance.

    "Wow, such a strong will you have," Jasper remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes held a curious glint as he studied her, a flicker of embarrassment causing him to look away. "Can I take your silence as confirmation?"

    She remained quiet, her lips pressed together in a thin line, her gaze steady but unyielding. The market¡¯s cacophony¡ªthe shouts of merchants, the clinking of coins, and the occasional bray of animals¡ªseemed to fade into the background as an unseen current of tension flowed between them.

    Jasper chuckled, a low, almost musical sound that contrasted with the tension between them. "Let me tell you something," he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, almost confessional. "Since infancy, countless doctors have examined me, forcing strange tonics down my throat in desperate attempts to keep me alive. I was poisoned, you see, and came close to death more times than I can count. My father¡ªhe spent a fortune to save me. Yet, despite all his efforts, I was left with this." He gestured vaguely toward his hood, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This monstrous face hidden beneath my hood. People fear me, but the irony? I¡¯m weaker than I look, fragile despite the horror my appearance suggests."

    He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as his gaze drifted to the other slaves in the distance. Their hollow eyes and slumped postures spoke of lives stripped of dignity. "Thankfully, as the years pass, my body grows stronger, though not fast enough. Oh, forgive me, I¡¯ve wandered off-topic." He shook his head as if clearing away the weight of his memories. "I once asked the doctors if there was any way to restore my face, but none could help. Then, one day, I overheard the maids whispering about a witch¡ªone who had been burned at the stake. They said she was beautiful, unnaturally so. Most witches were old, but some, the younger ones, shared a peculiar trait: pristine skin, sleek hair, an almost ethereal presence. And so I began to wonder... was their beauty just a natural thing, or was it something more?"

    The woman finally spoke, her voice calm but firm, like a steady flame in the wind. "Why do you think I''m a witch? I was simply born this way."

    Her voice alone made Jasper¡¯s heart skip a beat. It was not just pleasant; it was extraordinary, carrying a melodic quality that seemed to linger in the air. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

    "I... I just..." He took a deep breath to steady himself, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his cloak. "Even noblewomen don¡¯t have hair as smooth and glossy as yours. To me, you seem like someone well-versed in herbal remedies, someone who knows exactly how to care for herself. I''ve never seen hair like that without deliberate effort. I notice even the smallest details because I constantly compare myself to others. When you lack something, you become painfully aware of it. You thoroughly inspect every trait you desire, trying desperately to understand and obtain it. That''s also why I knew you had just been captured."

    She let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly as if resigned to the conversation. "There is a huge difference between witches and herbalists. Calling herbalists witches is pure ignorance. We use herbs and knowledge collected over generations, meticulously testing and refining remedies. But those so-called witches¡ªthe charlatans¡ªmix spells with herbalism, and they deserve the fate they bring upon themselves. Why should we die alongside them? Why is it always the women who take all the blame when men do the same?" Her voice held restrained frustration, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

    Jasper raised a hand to halt her words, his expression softening. "Say no more. I understand your pain¡ªbeing labeled as something you''re not is cruel. Besides, women are generally considered subordinate to their fathers, husbands, or other male relatives. People see only what they want to see; they rarely listen, and even fewer try to understand. And now, on top of it all, you''ve been sold into slavery... what a harsh life. But this isn''t the place for such heavy conversations. I didn¡¯t mean to unsettle you." He paused, then added softly, "Oh, and don¡¯t worry. Your secret is safe with me."

    After carefully navigating the bustling market, Jasper stopped in front of a large cage where a robust young man stood chained. His broad shoulders and muscular frame spoke of strength and resilience, but his eyes held a quiet sadness, as if he had long since accepted his fate.

    "I''ll take him," Jasper declared, his voice firm. The ensuing negotiation was sharp and calculated, ending in his favor: 48 gold coins, a solid discount from the original price. With more than half his fortune now exchanged for slaves, Jasper set his sights on the wheelwright¡¯s workshop to buy a wagon and start anew.

    The workshop was a chaotic blend of wood shavings, tools, and half-finished wagons. Jasper scanned the assortment, his lack of practical knowledge leaving him indecisive. He called out for the owner, his voice cutting through the noise. "Hello! Anyone there?"

    A young boy, nearly the same age as Jasper, emerged from the workshop, wiping his hands on a stained apron. "How can I help?"

    "I want to buy your best tilt wagon here."

    The boy¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and he hurried inside, calling for his master. "MASTER! MASTER!"

    "Stop shouting, you brat! I''m not deaf," came the gruff reply.

    "There''s someone outside who wants to buy our best tilt wagon."

    The master, a burly man with calloused hands and a permanent scowl, left his workbench and rushed outside, pushing his apprentice aside. His eyes landed on Jasper, a hooded figure with three slaves standing silently behind him.

    "How can I help you, good sir?" the master asked, rubbing his hands together with a wide, practiced smile.

    "How much for your best tilt wagon here?"

    "That would be 15 gold coins."

    "Can you show me where it is?"

    "But of course! It''s this one." The master led Jasper to a sturdy wagon, its tilt made of fine leather and its wooden frame polished to a shine. "Everything about it is of the best quality. The tilt is made from leather, the wood is sturdy and durable, and there are two spare wheels inside in case of an emergency."

    Jasper ran a hand along the wagon¡¯s frame, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood. "Hmm, I like how thoughtful you are. So, how about 11 gold coins? Would that be a good price?"

    The master¡¯s smile faltered. "Huh? Sir, ripping off 4 gold coins at once is a bit too much, don''t you think?"

    Jasper shrugged, his tone casual but firm. "Yeah, I do, but I think you''re profiting too much. All the materials used to build this wagon don''t exceed 7 gold coins and 5 silver coins. I don''t need to tell you about the bronze and copper coins, do I?"

    The master hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Not at all. The materials cost me 8 gold in total."

    Pft!

    The third slave couldn¡¯t hold back a brief laugh that escaped his lips.

    Jasper shot him a quick glance before turning back to the wheelwright. "Ahem, you were certainly cheated. Anyway, you''re still making a 3-gold-coin profit. Don''t be greedy; your profit isn''t insignificant. Besides, I''m a new merchant and can''t afford to spend too much."

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    The slave woman muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible, "Says the one who bought me for 400 gold coins."

    Jasper ignored the comment and continued, "I''ll be going to buy a horse or two, and I''ll be back. Take your time to think, but I won''t wait until nightfall."

    The master nodded, his smile returning, though it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. "Okay. There''s a horse breeder if you keep going this way. His horses are good."

    "Thank you, but I already know where to buy the horses."

    As they walked toward a farm outside the city walls¡ªwhere peasants bred their horses at a cheaper cost¡ªJasper turned to the woman. "You don''t seem to know your true value, Miss Herbalist... If the slaver had kept negotiating with me, I would have gone broke to buy you, let alone for 400 gold."

    The three slaves exchanged glances, waiting for Jasper to elaborate, but he remained silent. The third slave, a  man with sharp features, grew impatient and asked, "Ahem, Master, may I ask why you went to such lengths to buy her? Did you fall in love with her? I can understand if you did, but I think 400 gold could get you other women as charming as her."

    Jasper¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile. "I don''t want to blabber too much, but what she has in her mind outweighs any amount of money I can give right now. That''s all. We''ve reached our destination."

    Jasper looked at the barbarian, Azm, and handed him a single gold coin. "Buy two horses¡ªyoung and strong ones. I trust your judgment." He paused, then added with a wry smile, "And don¡¯t take all day. We have a wagon to hitch."

    Azm nodded, his expression serious as he pocketed the coin and strode off toward the farm. Jasper watched him go, noting the man¡¯s confident gait and the way his muscles rippled beneath his tattered tunic. There was no doubt Azm knew his way around horses.

    The remaining slaves¡ªLysandra and Ivar¡ªstood quietly, their eyes darting between Jasper and the bustling farm ahead. The air was thick with the scent of hay and manure, and the occasional whinny of horses echoed across the fields. Peasants worked tirelessly, their faces weathered but determined, as they tended to the animals.

    Lysandra broke the silence, her voice soft but curious. "Why did you send him alone? Don¡¯t you want to inspect the horses yourself?"

    Jasper shrugged, his hood shifting slightly as he turned to her. "I don¡¯t know much about horses, and Azm does, he is Barbarian after all. Besides, I trust him to make the right choice. Sometimes, it¡¯s better to rely on others¡¯ expertise than to pretend you know everything."

    Ivar, chuckled under his breath. "That¡¯s a rare quality in a master. Most would rather make a fool of themselves than admit they don¡¯t know something."

    Jasper shot him a sideways glance, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Well, I¡¯m not most masters."

    It didn¡¯t take long for Azm to return, leading two sturdy horses by their reins. Their coats gleamed in the sunlight, their muscles taut and powerful. Jasper¡¯s eyes lit up with approval as he stepped forward to inspect them.

    "Well, that was quick. Did you check them thoroughly?" Jasper asked, running a hand along one horse¡¯s flank.

    "Yes," Azm replied simply, his deep voice carrying a note of finality.

    "Are they strong and young?"

    "Yes."

    Jasper chuckled, sensing Azm¡¯s impatience. "Hehe. Thank you." He didn¡¯t press further, not wanting to test the barbarian¡¯s temper.

    As they made their way back to the workshop, Jasper began speaking, his tone thoughtful. "You see how ironic this is? If we bought those same horses from a professional horse breeder, he¡¯d charge at least 10 gold coins for them, claiming he¡¯s a professional trainer and spouting all sorts of nonsense. While it¡¯s true there¡¯s a difference between those who know how to raise horses and those who don¡¯t, come on¡ªthese farmers are experts too. It¡¯s just a matter of social rank. Look at the cost difference. And all we need are horses to pull the wagon we¡¯re going to buy."

    The slaves listened, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amazement. Lysandra¡¯s eyes sparkled with interest, while Ivar smirked, clearly entertained by Jasper¡¯s speech. Even Azm, usually stoic, seemed to be paying attention.

    When they returned to the wheelwright¡¯s workshop, the master was visibly surprised by their quick return. "That was really quick, wasn¡¯t it?"

    "Time is gold. That¡¯s a merchant¡¯s motto," Jasper replied with a grin. "So, have you come to a decision?"

    The master sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It¡¯s a deal, though I¡¯m reluctant to let go of my best wagon at such a price. Next time, if you need repairs or to buy wheels, come here first."

    "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Master," Jasper said, extending a hand.

    "The pleasure is mine," the wheelwright replied, shaking it firmly.

    With the wagon secured, Jasper handed the two male slaves 10 silver coins. "Get some supplies for our journey. Food, water, anything we might need. And don¡¯t dawdle¡ªwe have a long road ahead."

    ***

    On their way to the market, Ivar broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Don¡¯t you think our master is a bit strange? He doesn¡¯t seem to treat us like slaves."

    Azm glanced at him but remained silent, his face unreadable.

    Ivar continued, undeterred. "Hey, don¡¯t misunderstand me. It¡¯s not like I hate it. It¡¯s just strange. My whole life, I was treated like nothing. I just find it strangely refreshing."

    "Can¡¯t you share a word with me, at least?" Ivar pressed, nudging Azm with his elbow.

    The barbarian responded with a few gruff words before falling silent again. "Let¡¯s get the supplies. I¡¯m not in the mood to talk."

    Ivar sighed dramatically. "Sigh, you¡¯re no fun."

    ***

    From a distance, Jasper watched the slaves return with the supplies. Azm carried a barrel of water in one hand and two sacks of vegetables in the other, his strength on full display. Ivar, meanwhile, struggled to match him, carrying two sacks, his face red with exertion.

    "How shameful," Ivar muttered, glaring at Azm. "You¡¯re making me look weak. Look at all the people watching. I¡¯ll never go with you again."

    Azm didn¡¯t respond, his expression as stoic as ever as he continued walking.

    After loading the wagon, they all climbed in, but Jasper noticed Azm¡¯s unease. The barbarian¡¯s jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the wagon tightly. Jasper leaned closer, his voice low. "What¡¯s the matter? Is there something you want to say?"

    Azm hesitated, his eyes flickering with emotion. "I¡¯m not going to leave this city."

    Jasper raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why?"

    The barbarian¡¯s voice was heavy with frustration. "That slaver has my wife captive. I don¡¯t know where he¡¯s hiding her; he threatened to sell her to a perverted noble if I don¡¯t comply."

    Jasper¡¯s expression darkened. "Don¡¯t you think he¡¯ll do it either way?"

    Azm¡¯s grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "I know, but I don¡¯t have any choice. I¡¯m clinging to the faint hope that he¡¯ll keep his promise, but I can¡¯t stay away from that slaver. I¡¯m afraid if I follow you too far, he¡¯ll do something to her."

    Jasper sighed, running a hand through his hair¡ªI mean, his polished head. "Of course, nothing is going to be easy in this life. For now, come on in. I¡¯ll think of a plan to save your wife before we leave. Just trust me."

    Azm¡¯s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination.

    As they settled into the wagon, Jasper turned to the group. "First of all, let¡¯s introduce ourselves properly. I can¡¯t keep calling you ¡®you.¡¯"

    Ivar was the first to speak, his tone light but with an undercurrent of bitterness. "In that case, you can call me Ivar. I¡¯ve been a slave since the moment I opened my eyes in this world. Sold from one master to another, there¡¯s nothing special about my life."

    Lysandra followed, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. "I¡¯m Lysandra. My father and mother went missing five years ago, and I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re dead or alive. I¡¯ve been living alone in the forest since then, until a group of bandits came to the area a week ago. When they noticed me, they started chasing me. It was then that the slaver found me being chased and bought me. I wasn¡¯t a slave, but for him to take me peacefully, he gave them 50 gold in exchange for me being handed over unharmed. If he hadn¡¯t shown up, I probably would have been..." She trailed off, her eyes distant.

    Jasper reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "For those bandits to sell you for 50 gold and that stupid slaver to sell you to me for 400 gold shows nothing but their stupidity." His attempt to lighten the mood earned a small smile from Lysandra.

    Finally, Azm spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "I¡¯m Azm, son of Akizol. My wife was kidnapped when I was hunting with my clan. She went to the river to refill the water jars but never returned. I¡¯ve been searching for her for two years now, and I finally found her here. It was their fortune that they didn¡¯t touch her, or I would have massacred them as painfully as possible. But when I found her safe, I couldn¡¯t be hasty and ruin all my years of searching."

    Jasper nodded, his expression serious. "May I ask what your wife¡¯s name is?"

    "Arinas."

    Jasper sighed, his voice heavy with resolve. "It saddens me to think of what I¡¯m about to do, but I hope you live well with her from now on. Tomorrow is the day you finally reunite with her. Now, let¡¯s go to the nearest inn to spend the night."

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None (self-proclaimed merchant).

    Coins: Gold 387 Silver 40 Bronze 0 Copper 0.

 Chapter 5: Nightfall Scheme, Dawns Action.

    Night fell, its inky veil spreading across the city like a shroud, cloaking the streets in shadow. It was the perfect time for anyone with a scheme to set their plans into motion. After securing a modest inn room for each one of them, leaving Lysandra and Ivar to rest(4 bronze coins in total.), Jasper motioned for Azm to follow him. The flickering light of a lone lantern cast long, dancing shadows on the walls as they moved through the inn¡¯s narrow hallway.

    "Azm, follow me," Jasper whispered, his voice low and urgent. "We are going to find your wife tonight, and we will act at dawn."

    Azm nodded, his towering frame looming in the cramped space. Jasper wanted to offer a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but the barbarian¡¯s height made it impossible. Instead, he clenched his fist and tapped Azm¡¯s chest lightly, a gesture of solidarity.

    They stepped out into the cool night air, the city¡¯s streets stretching before them in search of a clue. Jasper led the way, his eyes scanning the darkened alleys and crumbling buildings. They were searching for the most wretched, forgotten corners of the city¡ªplaces where desperation clung to the walls like moss.

    When Jasper noticed a group of shadowy figures huddled around a flickering fire in a lifeless street, he halted. The faint glow of the flames illuminated their rough, weathered faces, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and decay.

    "Hey, Azm, look," Jasper murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you see those people? I want you to ask them to find your wife. Give them all the details about her and the slaver. Also, give them two bronze coins and tell them that if they find her, you¡¯ll give them three more. But threaten them¡ªif they dare take the money and run, you¡¯ll skin them alive."

    Azm raised a brow, his expression a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "Are they reliable?"

    "Don¡¯t worry," Jasper replied with a sly grin. "These people would throw themselves off a cliff for a single copper coin. If she¡¯s really here, it won¡¯t take them more than two candle-burns of time (two hours). They¡¯ll gather all their comrades to start the search. Just stay here until they find her, then come back to the inn."

    Jasper yawned, stretching his arms as he turned to leave. He was eager to steal a few hours of sleep before the chaos of dawn.

    Azm approached the group of ragged figures, his massive frame casting a long, ominous shadow over them. The thug-like bunch, sitting around the fire, heard his heavy footsteps and sprang to their feet, knives glinting in their hands. But the moment they saw the towering barbarian, their bravado evaporated. Some pretended they were just playing, others hid quickly, and a few stood frozen, their hands trembling.

    Azm stopped in front of them, his piercing gaze sweeping over the group. He stared in silence for a few seconds, the tension thickening like fog. Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and commanding. "Hey, you! Where¡¯s your leader?"

    The gang hesitated before turning to a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek. The man blinked,

    looking back at them with a shocked expression. "Since when am I the leader, you bastards?"

    The barbarian stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. He extended his hand, and the scarred man shrank back, fear etched across his face. But when Azm opened his hand to reveal two bronze coins, the man¡¯s eyes widened, and he straightened up, a glimmer of hope replacing his fear.

    "I want you to do something for me," Azm said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

    "Anything for you, sir," the man stammered, his voice trembling.

    "There¡¯s a slaver named Edward. He¡¯s hiding a woman named Arinas. She¡¯s about this tall." Azm gripped one of the gang members'' head, his large hand covering the man¡¯s face. The man¡¯s legs went weak, and he struggled to stay upright.

    "She has long, black, wavy hair. She¡¯s quite fit, with light honey-colored skin and brown eyes. You have until dawn to find her. If you do, you¡¯ll get another three bronze coins. Deal?"

    "Deal," the man croaked, his voice barely audible. "But, sir, what happens if we don¡¯t find her?"

    Azm didn¡¯t answer. He just smirked, a chilling expression that sent shivers down their spines. It was enough to send them all scrambling into the night, their fear of the barbarian outweighing their love for money. The street was soon empty, with only Azm standing alone, the fire¡¯s dying embers casting a faint glow on his face. He sat down, his massive frame dwarfing the makeshift seat, and waited for good news.

    As the gang dispersed into the night, they began to question their own capabilities.

    "Boss, can we really find her? I¡¯m afraid that barbarian will skin us alive if we don¡¯t. What if she¡¯s not in this city? Will he retaliate against us?" one of the gang members asked, his voice trembling with fear.

    "Shut your mouth, you fool! Get to work! It¡¯s our end if we don¡¯t find her. Call all the boys and have them search every nook and cranny. Leave no place unchecked, even if it¡¯s a noble¡¯s mansion, anything and anyone related to that **** slaver," the boss barked, smacking his subordinate on the head.

    A candle-burn later, the boss came running back, dragging a young boy with him. The barbarian watched as they approached, panting heavily, their faces flushed with exertion.

    "So?" Azm asked, his voice calm but laced with anticipation.

    "Sir, this boy knows where she is. A woman matching the description you gave us," the boss gasped, trying to catch his breath.

    "You¡¯re not playing tricks on me, are you?" Azm¡¯s eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing.

    "I wouldn¡¯t dare, sir. I even brought the boy who saw her," the boss replied, pushing the young boy forward.

    "Hey, kid, are you sure you saw Arinas? Her description isn¡¯t unique. You could find a million women matching that description," Azm said, his tone skeptical but hopeful.

    "I¡¯m sure, sir. Edward is new here. He rented a basement to store a single woman matching that description. But let me tell you, it¡¯s heavily guarded. There are five people watching over it," the boy said, his voice steady despite the barbarian¡¯s intimidating presence.

    The barbarian laughed loudly, his laughter echoing through the empty streets like thunder.

    "Good job, kid. Here¡¯s the rest of the deal. Treat this boy well¡ªhe¡¯s my lifesaver," Azm said, tossing the promised coins to the boss.

    "Heh, absolutely, sir. After all, he¡¯s my lifesaver too," the boss replied, his relief evident.

    At dawn, the roosters began crowing, their sharp cries piercing the morning air and signaling the start of a new day. The city slowly came to life as peasants began their farming routines, merchants set up their stalls, and the streets filled with the hum of activity. Azm stood at the head of Jasper¡¯s bed, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the sleeping man. Unable to wait any longer, Azm coughed loudly, jolting Jasper awake.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    "What¡¯s the problem, Azm? Is it dawn already?" Jasper mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

    "Yes, it is. I waited for you to wake up, but I couldn¡¯t wait any longer. For a moment, I considered invading their hideout and taking her back myself, but I wanted to trust you. I feared my rashness might lead to her death," Azm admitted, his voice heavy with emotion.

    Jasper yawned, stretching his arms. "You¡¯ve really changed my perspective on barbarians. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll do my best to ensure she¡¯s safe and sound."

    "Good. Bring the others to the wagon. I¡¯ll explain the plan," Azm said, his tone firm but tinged with urgency.

    Azm quickly woke Ivar and Lysandra, instructing them to meet at the wagon as soon as possible. When they joined Azm and Jasper in the wagon, confusion was evident on their faces.

    "What¡¯s going on, Master?" Ivar asked, his brow furrowed.

    "We¡¯re going to stir up some trouble today. Follow my orders carefully," Jasper replied, his voice calm but commanding. "First, Lysandra and Ivar, I''ll be giving you 5 silver, I want you to buy clothes for Lysandra¡ªsomething that will help her hide her face and identity. Then, she¡¯ll go to an apothecary to buy some herbs. I need you to make a poison."

    Lysandra spoke firmly, her voice steady. "Let me be clear, Master. I won¡¯t help in killing people."

    "Don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t want a deadly poison. I need something that will incapacitate someone for at least a year. And who¡¯s it for? Some scum who ruin other people¡¯s lives," Jasper explained, his tone reassuring.

    "And what about me, do I only escort her, Master?" Ivar asked, his confusion growing.

    "After escorting Lysandra to the clothing shop, come back quickly. You¡¯ll help me because our wagon is going to be half-destroyed," Jasper said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

    Ivar was baffled. "What?"

    "Azm is going to destroy this wagon and stage a rebellion against me. He¡¯ll go to save his wife, while you¡¯ll escort me to that cunning slaver. And Lysandra, I hope you don¡¯t take this opportunity to escape. It¡¯s common for a slave to run, but while I don¡¯t consider you slaves, others do," Jasper said, his gaze shifting to Lysandra.

    Lysandra remained silent, her expression unreadable.

    "Finally, Azm, I hope you don¡¯t forget about me," Jasper said, removing his hood. Everyone was shocked by his appearance. Even goblins seemed beautiful in comparison. They felt as if a monster was about to prey on them.

    Jasper¡¯s gaze fell on them, and they couldn¡¯t hold his stare for more than a second. They thought he might be a monster disguised as a human.

    "Yeah, that¡¯s to be expected. Of course, you won¡¯t forget a face like this. Don¡¯t mind what I said," Jasper said, his tone tinged with sadness as he pulled his hood back up. The prejudice of others was deeply rooted and hard to overcome.

    Azm took a deep breath, his expression softening. "This is the first time I¡¯ve been this shocked. I¡¯m sorry." punching himself "You¡¯re my savior and my brother. From today onward, your enemy is my enemy. I am Azm, son of Akisol, from the Taniri Clan, your eternal ally. If you ever come by the clan, tell them my name, and they¡¯ll help you with whatever you need." Azm confessed, holding Jasper in a tight embrace. Jasper, who had been alone his whole life, couldn¡¯t help but cry silently. Tears of joy, which he thought were gone forever, filled his eyes.

    Both Ivar and Lysandra felt ashamed of their earlier reaction and joined Azm in a group hug. After regaining his composure, Jasper initiated the start of their plan.

    "Now, let¡¯s show those ugly merchants how a true ugly merchant acts."

    After Lysandra and Ivar left for a short while, Azm began destroying the wagon. Jasper shouted, pleading for mercy. It wasn¡¯t a perfect act, but the sheer force of Azm¡¯s destruction was enough to convince anyone. People came running at the commotion, but when they saw the barbarian in a berserk state, no one dared to step forward. All they could do was listen to Jasper¡¯s pleas for mercy. After reducing the once-sturdy carriage to a scrap heap, Azm took one of the nearby horses and left.

    The people rushed to Jasper. "Are you okay, young man?"

    "How can I be okay after all that? That slaver, Edward, tricked me into buying a barbarian for 100 gold coins, guaranteeing he was as tame as a lamb. Now look what happened¡ªmy wagon is destroyed, and I nearly got myself killed."

    From afar, Ivar came running and shouting, "What happened, Master?"

    "Now you show up, you fool! I nearly got killed by that barbarian, and you were off relieving yourself!"

    The people kept staring at Ivar wiht digusting gazes.

    "Tsk, I hate slaves like that. He deserves to be whipped until you¡¯re satisfied," one of the onlookers said, shifting the blame to Ivar. Though it pained him to hear, Ivar knew it was all part of the plan.

    "This isn¡¯t the time for that. I need to get my money back from that trickster. Will anyone come with me as a witness?"

    They hesitated, making excuses.

    "Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t take your time for free. Anyone who comes with me as a witness will get a silver coin for their trouble." Their eyes lit up at the offer.

    "That trickster has to pay for his shameful deeds!"

    "Yeah, we can¡¯t allow such things in our city!"

    Ivar helped Jasper, who pretended to struggle to move, and they headed straight for the slave market.

    "I¡¯m sorry you had to hear those words, Ivar."

    With a smile, Ivar replied, "It¡¯s a small price compared to you losing someone as strong as Azm."

    "It¡¯s the opposite, Ivar. I¡¯ve won him."

    Edward, happily sorting his slaves, had no idea what disaster was coming his way. Singing and dancing, he saw a crowd approaching and thought his luck had turned. But then, the shouts of complaint filled his ears.

    "That¡¯s the trickster!" they cried.*9

    "What¡¯s going on?" Edward asked, noticing Jasper. "What¡¯s wrong, good sir? Is there a problem? Why are they calling me a trickster? There must be some misunderstanding."

    "Why do you think? The barbarian you sold me went berserk, destroyed my wagon, nearly killed me, and stole my most precious and expansive horse."

    "What?! That¡¯s impossible! He would never dare do such a thing. Without proof, what you say is just hearsay."

    "He who has no witness is a liar, and I have nine of them here."

    "Yeah, you cheater! Your actions nearly cost someone their life!" one of the crowd shouted.

    "Yeah! If you don¡¯t compensate him, you¡¯re doomed!"

    The slaver found himself cornered. If he didn¡¯t comply, he¡¯d lose his reputation and so his business. In a panic, he remembered the barbarian¡¯s wife and tried to run to the basement to check on her. He ordered his men to follow, but Jasper and the others blocked his path.

    "Compensate the man first! There¡¯s no escape!" the men shouted angrily.

    "Okay, okay! How much do you need?" Edward asked, his emotions a mix of anxiety and fear.

    Jasper took his time calculating. "The price of the barbarian was 100 gold. It should be doubled, No! Tripled¡ªI¡¯m being generous since he almost killed me. And, well, he destroyed my wagon and took my precious horse..."

    "JUST TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU NEED, YOU ****!" Edward exploded in rage.

    "Wow, no need to be so aggressive. The wagon is 15 gold, and the horse is well-trained, strong, and young, so that¡¯s 90 gold. All in all, 405 gold, and we¡¯re done."

    Appraising a warhorse is challenging, as prices can reach 150 gold for those trained by former knight-breeders. Horses from regular breeders typically range from 10 to 100 gold, depending on the breeder''s reputation. Peasants, even with horses of comparable quality, are often overlooked. This is how Jasper executed his trick, inflating the value of his so-called "precious" horse from 5 silver to an astonishing 90 gold. It was a ludicrous price, but no one dared dispute him.

    Edward, in no state to argue, ordered his subordinate to compensate Jasper and then rushed off like the wind toward the basement. His fear fogged his judgment.

    A smirk spread across Jasper¡¯s face. His actions were the best remedy for those who treated others¡¯ lives as nothing. After receiving his compensation and paying the witnesses, they returned to the inn, where Lysandra waited, her face hidden under a hood.

    She removed the hood, revealing her face and new outfit, which left them all flustered.

    "Ahem, did you get what I asked for?" Jasper inquired.

    "Yes, I¡¯ll prepare it whenever you need."

    "You can start now¡ª"

    "Massacre! It¡¯s a barbarian!" A shout interrupted him, and people began running in all directions. The city wasn¡¯t large, so any major event drew crowds.

    Jasper and the others ran toward the commotion, only to find Azm covered in blood.

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None(Self-proclaimed Merchant.)

    coins: 792 Gold 25 Silver 1 Bronze 0 Copper

 Chapter 6: Royal Capital.

    Azm and his wife stood at the heart of the chaos, surrounded by the fallen bodies of knights and Edward¡¯s loyal subordinates. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of sweat. To the untrained eye, the scene might have seemed like a grim tableau of death¡ªlifeless corpses strewn across the ground, brutally mangled and left in silence. But amidst the carnage stood a woman full of life and feeling: Arinas, Azm¡¯s wife. She stood firm, her hands clenched tightly on the reins of a horse, her knuckles white with tension. Her eyes darted anxiously toward her husband, who was delivering a slow, agonizing retribution to the slaver who had dared to cross them. Her heart pounded with worry, fearing for Azm¡¯s safety even as he exacted his vengeance.

    Azm¡¯s hands moved with deliberate precision, each crack of bone echoing like a macabre symphony. The slaver¡¯s screams were raw and guttural, a sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who watched from a distance. No one dared to intervene. Even Edward, tears of blood streaming down his face, could only stand and bear witness to the barbarian¡¯s wrath. It was a grim reminder of the fate that awaited anyone foolish enough to enslave a barbarian or harm his kin.

    Unable to endure the spectacle any longer, Azm ended the slaver¡¯s suffering with a brutal twist, ripping his head clean from his body. The crowd gasped, their faces pale with horror. Azm raised the severed head high, his voice booming like thunder across the battlefield. ¡°Let this be a warning to anyone who dares to touch a barbarian¡¯s kin! This is the fate that awaits those who try to enslave us!¡±

    With his wife at his side, Azm mounted his horse and rode off, the slaver¡¯s head dangling from his belt like a grotesque trophy. He intended to hang it in his clan¡¯s territory as a grim reminder to all who might defy them. As they galloped away, Azm caught sight of Jasper in the distance. The two men locked eyes for a brief moment, and in a silent gesture of respect, they each clenched a fist and struck their chests. It was a wordless farewell, a bond forged in the heat of battle. Then Azm was gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.

    Though a handful of knights gave chase, Azm dispatched them with ease. Jasper, seeing no need to involve himself further, turned his attention to the battered wagon. He hauled it back to the workshop, his mind already racing with plans for the next steps.

    ¡°We¡¯ve done what we came here to do,¡± Jasper said, brushing dirt from his hands. ¡°Now let¡¯s head to the wheelwrights, sell this heap of scrap, and get ourselves a new wagon.¡±

    Ivar tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. ¡°Huh? Don¡¯t you think you¡¯re forgetting something, Master?¡±

    Jasper frowned. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Poison,¡± Lysandra whispered, her voice low and sibilant, like the hiss of a snake. The word sent a chill down Jasper¡¯s spine.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for that anymore,¡± Jasper replied, shaking off the unease. ¡°Our friend Azm has done more than enough.¡±

    Azm had ensured that the knights who humiliated Jasper at Baron Buck¡¯s mansion would trouble no one ever again. Their deaths were brutal and public, designed to send a clear message to anyone who dared to cross Jasper. Rumors spread like wildfire: a curse had struck down the very knights who had assaulted him in Baron Buck''s hall. Jasper had long suspected that someone was retaliating on his behalf, though he couldn¡¯t identify who. But now, he was determined to take matters into his own hands. He began by encouraging the spread of the rumored curse among the crowd, hoping that fear would reach the furthest corners of the land. Fear was a potent weapon, and he intended to wield it effectively.

    The rookie guard clung to his captain, shivering as he heard tales of the knights'' gruesome fate...

    The wheelwright¡¯s shop was a bustling hub of activity, filled with the rhythmic clang of hammers and the sharp scent of freshly cut wood. The craftsman, a portly man with a perpetual smile, greeted Jasper warmly. ¡°Ah, if it isn¡¯t our favorite merchant! How can I help you toda¡ª¡± His cheerful tone faltered as his eyes fell on the mangled remains of Jasper¡¯s wagon. ¡°What the¡ª, what happened to my beautiful wagon?¡± he exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine sorrow.

    Jasper shrugged, feigning nonchalance. ¡°A barbarian happened. He destroyed it and made his escape. I¡¯m just grateful he didn¡¯t crush me along with it. Anyway, I¡¯m here to sell it as scrap and buy a new one. Plenty of the parts are still usable. Please give me your second-best wagon, deduct the scrap¡¯s value from the price, and don¡¯t forget to throw in a discount. After all, I¡¯m one of your best customers now.¡±

    The craftsman¡¯s smile returned, though it was a bit more strained this time. ¡°Anything for a loyal customer,¡± he said, though his eyes lingered on the wreckage with a hint of regret.

    The deal was struck for five gold coins. As Jasper hitched the horse to the new wagon, the craftsman called out, ¡°Sir, I never caught your name.¡±

    Jasper paused, his face still hidden beneath his hood. After a moment, he replied, ¡°I¡¯m known as the Ugly Merchant. At least, that¡¯s what my epithet will be.¡± Without waiting for a response, he climbed onto the wagon and drove off, leaving the craftsman staring after him.

    ¡°What a strange fellow,¡± the craftsman muttered to himself. ¡°Though I can see why he calls himself the Ugly Merchant. He made me buy high and sell low.¡±

    His apprentice, a wiry young man with a sharp tongue, smirked. ¡°You¡¯re just a fool when it comes to buying and selling, Master.¡±

    The craftsman shot him a glare. ¡°Quiet, you brat, and get back to work!¡±

    Jasper¡¯s next stop was the mercenary guild. The journey to the royal capital was fraught with potential dangers, and he wasn¡¯t willing to take any chances. Hiring an escort cost him thirty-five silver coins, but it was a necessary expense. He paid half upfront and the rest upon arrival, a common practice to ensure the mercenaries stayed loyal.

    The journey itself was surprisingly smooth. The roads were well-traveled, and the mercenaries were professional, if a bit surly. Jasper took the opportunity to ask Lysandra if she wanted to visit her hometown before continuing, but she shook her head. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left for me there,¡± she said quietly, her eyes distant. Jasper didn¡¯t press further.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    They stopped in every village to replenish their supplies(costing them another 5 silver), but Lysandra remained hidden in the wagon, only emerging when absolutely necessary. Jasper and Ivar were cautious; they knew all too well how mercenaries could turn on their employers, especially when greed or lust clouded their judgment.

    When they finally reached the royal capital, the sight took their breath away. The city was a sprawling labyrinth of towering stone buildings, bustling marketplaces, and crowded streets. It was the first time any of them had seen such grandeur, and they couldn¡¯t help but stare in awe. However, the mercenaries seemed increasingly irritable as they navigated the city¡¯s winding streets.

    Their unease became clear when a passerby sneered, ¡°What are these country bumpkins doing here? Our city is turning into a cattle pen!¡± The remark was followed by a chorus of jeers and disdainful glares. Jasper, however, remained unfazed. He had long since grown immune to such insults.

    After paying the mercenaries their due, Jasper made his way to the merchant guild to register as a merchant. The guild¡¯s influence was limited, but registration was a necessary step for anyone looking to establish themselves in the trade.

    The guild hall was a cacophony of voices, with merchants haggling over deals and discussing their latest ventures. Jasper approached the receptionist, a harried-looking man with a permanent scowl. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Jasper said, his voice calm but firm. ¡°I¡¯d like to apply for a merchant identity.¡±

    The receptionist looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Jasper¡¯s hooded figure and rough dialect. ¡°Tsk. At least show me your face if you want to work as a merchant.¡±

    Jasper sighed. ¡°My face was ruined when I was a child. That¡¯s why I keep it hidden.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I need to see your face at least once. Or do you have a recommendation letter from a prominent merchant or noble?¡±

    ¡°No, I don''t have. And I know that showing my face is the obvious thing to do. But I¡¯m the son of the late merchant Kenan.¡±

    The mention of Kenan¡¯s name sent a ripple through the room. Conversations halted, and all eyes turned to Jasper. Everyone knew Kenan¡¯s son had been disfigured, but they wanted to see his face for themselves. The receptionist¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°Yeah, and I¡¯m the crown prince. Stop wasting my time. Either show me your face or leave. I don¡¯t have all day.¡±

    Reluctantly, Jasper removed his hood, revealing his hideous face. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. The receptionist wasted no time in driving him out. ¡°Our guild isn¡¯t powerful, and if we associate with you, we are doomed. Adding you would ruin our image with that face of yours. Get out!¡±

    ...

    Kenan, though successful as a merchant, had inadvertently tarnished the reputation of his trade. Zoliland, a fledgling kingdom, was still adapting to the newly established feudal system. The hierarchy placed the king and nobles at the pinnacle, followed by knights, scholars, merchants, mercenaries, and commoners, with peasants at the base. Merchants, already viewed with suspicion, were seen as self-serving and opportunistic, and Kenan¡¯s actions only deepened this disdain.

    For 70 years since its founding, Zoliland had struggled with a crippling shortage of salt. The kingdom relied on unfair trade agreements with neighboring realms, as the sea was too distant, and transporting salt from the coast was prohibitively expensive and fraught with the risk of theft. The kingdom had no choice but to endure these exploitative terms¡ªuntil Kenan changed everything.

    Thirty years ago, Kenan discovered a salt lake in a perilous, uncharted region teeming with monstrous creatures too powerful for most to confront. Against all odds, he found a safe route through the danger. With his men, he began harvesting the salt, refining it, and presenting it to the king¡ªnot as a gift, but as a business proposition. The king, eager to secure this invaluable resource, offered Kenan a noble title in exchange for ownership of the lake. But Kenan, shrewd and forward-thinking, declined the title. Instead, he requested the exclusive right to distribute the salt, arguing that he was the one who had discovered the lake and the only one who knew the safe route. Reluctantly, the king agreed.

    This decision sparked outrage among the nobility. Kenan¡¯s refusal of a title, coupled with his monopoly on salt distribution, was seen as an affront to the established order. The nobles, already wary of merchants, now harbored a deep-seated resentment toward Kenan in particular. His success had not only disrupted the kingdom¡¯s fragile hierarchy but also cemented the merchants¡¯ image as cunning opportunists who valued profit over honor. In their eyes, Kenan had overstepped his station, and his actions would have lasting consequences for both himself and his trade.

    To be completely honest, Kenan¡¯s move was, in some ways, unwise. He had risked his life to discover the salt lake and secure the route, and the thought of handing over what he had nearly died for to others was unbearable. His pride and determination clouded his judgment, but for Kenan, it was a matter of principle. He couldn¡¯t let go of what he had fought so hard to claim, even if it meant making enemies of the very people who held power in the kingdom. On the other hand, Jasper left all the wealth when he knew he couldn''t guard it on the pretense he trusted Ferdinand to take care of it. Deep down, he is still trying to trust Ferdinand, but is he really trustworthy?

    ...

    Jasper returned to the wagon, his mind racing. Ivar and Lysandra waited for him to speak, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. ¡°What happened, Master?¡± Ivar asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

    Jasper sighed deeply. ¡°Do you know the chance of being accepted as a merchant?¡±

    ¡°Well, no?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s 99.99%.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°I got the 0.01%.¡±

    ¡°Wow, while I didn''t get it, you are so lucky, master!¡±

    Lysandra smacked Ivar on the head. ¡°Are you stupid?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid. I just don¡¯t understand what he¡¯s saying about those 99 somethings.¡±

    Lysandra groaned. ¡°I can¡¯t blame you; you¡¯re illiterate. It¡¯s my fault. See these ten pieces of wood? If I break one into ten small pieces, the chance of being accepted is like randomly picking one of the nine whole pieces, including the nine small pieces. In comparison, the chance of rejection is like the chance of me randomly picking this one faulty piece out of all the pieces. Do you get it now?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, doesn¡¯t that confirm how lucky he is?¡±

    ¡°Ugh! I¡¯m done explaining!¡± Lysandra shouted, throwing the sticks at him.

    ¡°Stop, please! I was just joking!¡± Ivar pleaded, shielding himself.

    Jasper chuckled. ¡°Leave him be, Lysandra. He¡¯s not wrong. I was lucky. If I had joined them, they would have controlled my every move. The best course of action is to create our own guild.¡±

    ¡°Is that even possible?¡±

    ¡°Not right now, but it will be soon. To start a guild, I¡¯ll need a building as large as this one, pay the royal family ten to thirty thousand gold, and give them forty percent of our income, adding the help of building roads and funding the royal army. It could go up to forty-five or forty-eight percent.¡±

    ¡°But Master, isn¡¯t that too much? It¡¯s like we¡¯re doing all the work while sharing the profit.¡±

    ¡°What can we do? That¡¯s how most kingdoms operate. The nobles avoid paying their fair share, burdening the rest of us. It¡¯s a corrupt system from top to bottom... Wait a second.¡± Jasper¡¯s voice trailed off as he pondered. ¡°Sharing the profit while doing all the work...¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it! Let¡¯s find a place to stay first, then we¡¯ll start working.¡±

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None(Self-proclaimed Merchant.)

    coins: 790 Gold 5 Silver 1 Bronze 0 Copper

 Chapter 7: A Wife?

    After settling on an inn(2 Bronze coins each), Jasper and the others ventured into the sprawling royal city, their eyes widening at the magnificent stone architecture that towered around them. Unlike the humble wooden structures of outlying townships, these buildings stood as monuments to power and prestige¡ªintricate stonework carved with the precision only wealth could command. The royal city''s grandeur was undeniable, but so too was the arrogance it bred in its citizens, who carried themselves with an air of superiority that seemed to flow from the very cobblestones beneath their feet.

    As they navigated the bustling streets, a heart-wrenching sound pierced through the noise of the crowd¡ªpained whimpers echoing from a shadowy alleyway.

    Arrgh... sob... arrgh...

    Punch!

    Rounding the corner into the alley''s gloom, they were met with a horrific scene. A young woman cowered against the wall, her face streaked with tears and blood, while a burly man loomed over her, fist raised for another blow. Most disturbing of all was the circle of onlookers who watched with detached curiosity, as though witnessing nothing more unusual than a street performer. They soon lost interest and left, as if it were an everyday occurrence, leaving the herbalist shocked.

    Lysandra''s oceanic eyes flashed with righteous fury as she turned to her companions, expecting immediate action. Yet both Jasper and Ivar stood frozen, their faces masks of resignation. Bewilderment and anger rushed through her veins as she broke the silence, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

    "Why are you just standing there like statues when someone is being beaten half to death before our very eyes? Have you no conscience? No courage to act?"

    Ivar met her gaze, his weathered face revealing the calluses of a soul long hardened by reality. "And what exactly can we do?" he asked, his voice hollow.

    "Obviously, help her!" Lysandra shouted, her fists clenched at her sides.

    Ivar released a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of countless similar scenes witnessed throughout his life. "Lysandra, I fear Jasper''s kindness has distorted your understanding of how this world truly operates. Look closer¡ªthe markings on her neck reveal she''s a slave, and the law grants her owner the right to treat her as he pleases. Before you judge too harshly, remember that my existence wasn''t much different from hers until recently. You should be thankful that our master possesses a compassionate heart, or we wouldn''t be standing here any differently than that poor girl. But I cannot fault your reaction¡ªthis is your first glimpse into the cruel reality of slavery."

    Throughout their heated exchange, Jasper remained eerily silent, his gaze fixed on the scene yet somehow distant. In his mind''s eye, he wasn''t seeing the beaten slave girl but rather his younger self, cowering as neighborhood bullies circled him like vultures whenever he ventured outside to play. Their taunts and blows rained down while passersby averted their eyes.

    "Let''s go," he finally murmured, breaking his trance. "We don''t have the luxury of wasting the entire day."

    Lysandra''s shoulders slumped with disappointment. She had expected more from Jasper¡ªhad believed him different from others.

    Noticing her crestfallen expression, Jasper''s voice softened. "Don''t look so dejected, Lysandra. Despite what tales might have you believe, I''m no hero capable of righting every wrong in this broken world¡ªI''m merely human. You''ve spent your life sheltered in the embrace of the forest, untouched by society''s cruelest realities. You''ve never witnessed how women are treated in these parts, nor how a slave''s existence ranks below that of a common street dog."

    Though Lysandra''s lips parted to protest, she swallowed her words, the pain in her eyes speaking volumes about her inner conflict.

    "The numbness will come with time," Ivar added with grim practicality. "It''s a terrible thing to grow accustomed to such sights, but we cannot rewrite the rules that govern this world with what we are now." He walked on, scratching the back of his head with one hand while resting the other on his hip. "Such beauty wasted beneath those bruises. A crime in itself to mar such a face."

    At Ivar''s unexpected comment, Jasper halted so abruptly that his companions nearly collided with him. He turned slowly, his penetrating gaze fixing on Ivar with sudden intensity. "Do you find her beautiful?"

    Beads of nervous sweat formed on Ivar''s brow as he struggled to interpret Jasper''s interest. "Do you want her?" Jasper pressed, his voice unreadable.

    Ivar remained silent, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. Jasper''s line of questioning took an unexpected turn. "Let me ask you, Ivar, how old are you?"

    The question caught Ivar off-guard. "Obviously, I don''t know," he admitted, embarrassment coloring his voice.

    "Hmm, yes¡ªyou mentioned being enslaved since infancy. Let me approach this differently," Jasper mused. "Were you there, thirty years ago, when the kingdom shed the heavy burden of costly foreign salt and established its own supply?"

    "No?" Ivar replied, uncertainty evident in his voice.

    "Perhaps you recall the jubilation when the king declared a single-year tax amnesty twenty-two years ago?"

    A flicker of recognition crossed Ivar''s face. "Yes! I remember that clearly¡ªit was because of the birth of the crown prince. My master was positively ecstatic that day, though I was but a child then."

    "Did you still have your milk teeth at that time?" Jasper inquired, his questioning seemingly random yet purposeful.

    Ivar winced at the memory. "Please don''t resurrect that particular ghost, master. I remember it as though it happened yesterday. My owner then was a cruel man who fooled me saying I would perish once all my teeth fell out. I starved myself and barely spoke for months, desperately trying to preserve each tooth. Looking back, I was probably quite the troublemaker to inspire such torment. But what does it matter now? He was merely a withered old man teetering on death''s doorstep."

    Stolen novel; please report.

    A small smile tugged at Jasper''s lips. "Children typically begin losing their milk teeth between their fourth and sixth year¡ªat least according to the medical texts I''ve studied. If we assume you were five then, you would be approximately twenty-seven now¡ªa full-grown man in every sense. So, tell me honestly, Ivar, do you yearn for a wife? For companionship?"

    Ivar''s entire body seemed to flush as perspiration dampened his tunic. His mouth trembled before he drew a steadying breath and answered with surprising conviction: "I truly do. The nights grow unbearably lonely with no one to share them."

    "Then answer what I asked before: Is she beautiful to your eyes? Do you desire her as your own?"

    Throughout this exchange, Lysandra listened with mingled curiosity and embarrassment, her cheeks flushing crimson as she averted her gaze.

    "Yes," Ivar confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper as his entire face blazed red.

    "Very well," Jasper nodded decisively. "Let''s return to the alley."

    When they retraced their steps, the brutal scene continued unabated¡ªthe slave girl still crumpled on the ground, weeping as blows rained down. Jasper approached the aggressor with calm determination.

    "Enough! Continue at this rate and you''ll have a corpse rather than a slave."

    The man whirled around, confronted by a hooded figure whose stature belied the commanding presence in his voice.

    "And who might you be to interrupt my business?" he snarled, hand still raised in mid-strike.

    "Someone with interest in the woman you''re systematically destroying. She appears quite tasty. May I inquire why you''re treating her so brutally?"

    The man drew himself up, scanning Jasper with suspicious eyes. "Lost eight silver to that cheating bastard at the tavern," he growled.

    "I see. And what connection does that have to this woman''s punishment?"

    "None whatsoever. Simply needed something to vent my frustrations upon."

    "Such a waste, If I may ask¡ªwho is she to you?"

    "You''re certainly full of questions for such a small man! She belongs to my ailing father. He purchased her to tend to him in his infirmity. Now that he''s on death''s doorstep, I''ll inherit her along with everything else. Until then, I''ll do as I please with her."

    A short distance behind Jasper, Ivar''s knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, restraining the impulse to intervene.

    "Perhaps we could reach an arrangement," Jasper suggested smoothly. "I''ll compensate you for the eight silver coins you lost if you''re willing to part with her." Jasper tested the man¡¯s resolve, knowing that gamblers are often blinded by greed.

    The man''s laughter echoed harshly off the alley walls. "Another swindler, I see! Do you take me for a fool?" He advanced menacingly toward Jasper, aggression evident in every line of his body.

    With deliberate slowness, Jasper pushed back his hood, revealing his face. The man gasped involuntarily, retreating several steps. Jasper''s unsettling appearance¡ªa feature that had brought him nothing but misery in childhood¡ªnow served as a powerful tool of intimidation.

    "Young man," Jasper''s voice carried a deadly calm, pretending to be an ancient monster, "you display remarkable boldness for someone so clearly outmatched. I''ve lost count of those who have come to regret provoking my temper. I suggest maintaining your civility while I''m still inclined to be reasonable."

    Fear flickered across the man''s face despite his efforts to conceal it. "You''re attempting to swindle me with merely eight silver for a slave! Everyone knows slaves are valued in gold, sir." His tone wavered between defiance and newfound respect.

    "Indeed they are. But judging by your enthusiastic beating, I assumed she was destined for an early grave regardless. Dead flesh commands little price on any market, wouldn''t you agree?" Jasper''s eyes widened unnaturally as his lips curled into a grotesque parody of a smile, never forgetting to wipe his drooling saliva. The terrifying visage proved too much, the slave girl fainted where she lay, while the man''s trousers darkened with a spreading stain.

    "S-Sir," he stammered, "she''s more resilient than she appears. I''ve left her in far worse states before without causing lasting damage."

    "Enlighten me¡ªwhat sum did your father pay for her acquisition?"

    "Ten gold coins, sir," the man replied, visibly trembling.

    "I''m feeling generous today. Twelve gold seems fair..." Jasper paused, eyeing the woman''s battered form. "On second thought, considering her current condition, perhaps the original price would be more appropriate."

    "That would be most acceptable, sir!" The man agreed eagerly, relief evident in his voice.

    "Was there formal documentation of the purchase, or merely a verbal agreement?"

    "Only verbal, sir."

    Behind them, Ivar and Lysandra struggled to maintain their composure, amazed at how thoroughly Jasper had transformed the towering brute into a quivering supplicant.

    "Then let''s finalize our transaction before your neighbors and family, ensuring no misunderstandings arise later. But heed this warning¡ªspeak of our private conversation to anyone or why I''m buying her for..." Jasper''s voice dissolved into an inhuman laugh that sounded more like desperate inhalations than exhalations, "...and you''ll discover firsthand what it means to become a meal in my table."

    With the transaction completed, they returned to their inn, the unconscious woman carried carefully between them. Jasper instructed Lysandra to tend to her wounds while he and Ivar resumed their interrupted business. The anticipation radiating from Ivar was palpable as they departed.

    What Jasper did wasn''t out of kindness. He wanted to chain Ivar, knowing that slaves can sometimes revolt. By buying him a wife at her original price too, he aimed to secure Ivar''s loyalty. After all, who was Ivar to Jasper? He was someone he had known for less than a month.

    The same was true with Azm. He couldn''t control a barbarian, so why not make him an ally? It was better than losing his money, along with a powerful slave, and possibly his life as well.

    Even though Jasper felt the sincerity of Azm, Ivar, and Lysandra that day when they hugged him, he couldn''t bring himself to trust them fully. After all, the human heart is fickle, The same happened with Maida¡ªhis stepmother.

    Entering a tavern, Jasper surveyed the patrons until his gaze settled on a hollow-eyed man slumped in the corner. As Jasper approached and tossed a few gold coins onto the table¡ªnot intending to give it to him though, the stranger''s lifeless eyes suddenly sparked with renewed interest.

    "How may I be of service?" he inquired, eyeing the gold.

    "I''ll be direct," Jasper stated, sliding into the seat opposite. "I require a merchant''s identity. You''ll become one in name, while my associate and I handle all actual commerce. For this simple arrangement, you''ll receive twenty percent of all profits without lifting a finger. The remaining eighty percent belongs to me."

    The man''s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why not register yourself or your companion? Why involve an unknown third party?"

    Jasper leaned forward, fingers interlaced before him. "My companion bears a slave''s brand and cannot legally hold such positions. As for myself, I intend to pursue a different profession, and kingdom law prohibits dual registrations. Your selection was merely circumstantial¡ªa fortuitous encounter. This arrangement costs you nothing while potentially yielding substantial gain. Surely you recognize the opportunity before you?"

    Though the stranger feigned careful deliberation, the gleam of avarice in his eyes betrayed his eagerness. "I place myself at your disposal, Mister..."

    "''Mister'' will suffice."

    "Names matter little to me. Let''s prosper together, Mister," he replied with newfound enthusiasm.

    "Indeed we shall," Jasper affirmed, smirking beneath his hood.

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None(Self-proclaimed Merchant.)

    coins: 780 Gold 4 Silver 3 Bronze 0 Copper

 Chapter 8: Welcome Home!

    Azm and Arinas lay beneath the vast canopy of stars, their makeshift camp illuminated only by the pale silver of the crescent moonlight filtering through the sparse cloud cover. The sturdy oak tree to which their horse was tethered creaked gently in the night breeze, its leaves rustling a lullaby. Without shelter, the crisp night air nipped at their exposed skin, causing occasional shivers despite their closeness.

    Azm reclined on the dewy grass, each blade cool against his back. He gazed at Arinas with wonder etched into every line of his weathered face, his eyes reflecting the starlight as they traced her features. The gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath seemed miraculous to him after their long separation. His arm curved protectively around her, serving as both her pillow and her comfort, his warmth seeping into her bones. His other arm gently covered her small body like a blanket bringing her closer, afraid that if he closed his eyes, she might vanish like morning mist.

    In the stillness of night, a sound barely perceptible reached him¡ªdry grass bending under calculated paws, a whisper of movement against the earth. Azm''s ears pricked instantly, catching what even the horse, with its sensitive hearing, had missed. His muscles tensed beneath his relaxed exterior. With practiced care, he lifted Arinas''s head, his movements fluid and deliberate, and placed it gently on the soft earth. The transfer was so smooth that not even a change in her breathing pattern betrayed any disturbance to her slumber.

    Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, Azm''s eyes adjusted to scan the perimeter. There they were¡ªSilver-Fanged Wolves emerging from the darkness like ghosts materializing from shadow. Their metallic fangs gleamed wickedly in the moonlight, each one as long as a man''s finger and twice as sharp. Saliva dripped from their powerful jaws, sizzling slightly as it hit the ground. Their yellow eyes, glowing with predatory intelligence, assessed him and the sleeping forms behind him.

    Azm stood motionless, his breathing even, his posture deceptively casual. Not a single bead of sweat formed on his brow, not a single tremor ran through his muscles. His face remained impassive, the face of a man who had danced this deadly dance many times before. With deliberate slowness, he rotated his head left and right, the vertebrae in his neck popping in sequence with a sound like twigs snapping. His fingers followed suit, each joint cracking as he flexed them, preparing for what was to come.

    With measured strides, he moved toward the wolves, his hand finding the hilt of his sword¡ªthe very weapon he had claimed from a fallen knight, its balance now familiar in his grip. The metal sang softly as he drew it from its sheath, the sound almost apologetic in the quiet night. He had hoped to dispatch these creatures swiftly, silently, allowing Arinas to remain in peaceful slumber, but the wolves were too cunning for such simplicity.

    They began to spread out in a practiced formation, their movements synchronized like dancers in a lethal ballet. Some focused their attention on him, hackles raised and teeth bared, while others began circling toward the vulnerable horse and his sleeping wife. Their strategy was as clear as it was effective¡ªdivide his attention and exploit the weakness.

    Recognizing the futility of his initial plan, Azm retreated several steps, his boots pressing firmly into the earth. He reached down without taking his eyes off the predators, his hand finding Arinas''s shoulder with unerring accuracy.

    "Hmm, what''s wrong, Azm?" Her voice was thick with sleep, her eyes fluttering open to the danger surrounding them.

    "Wake up, Arinas. We have unwelcome company here. Stay behind me; I''ll deal with the¡ª"

    In that split second of divided attention, when his eyes left the wolves to meet hers, a particularly bold wolf launched itself through the air. It was a gray blur against the night, jaws open and aimed directly at Azm''s exposed throat. Without even glancing in its direction, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, Azm swung his sword in a perfect arc. The blade caught the moonlight before catching the wolf, cleaving it neatly in two. The halves of the creature fell to either side of him, steam rising from its bisected body as blood soaked into the thirsty earth.

    "Even if you are cunning, you still fall for the same trick, you stupid monsters," he said, his voice carrying no strain, no excitement¡ªjust the calm certainty of a man stating a simple truth.

    The remaining wolves witnessed their pack member''s demise with calculating eyes. The dynamic shifted instantly. Their approach became more measured, more cautious, like skilled gamblers reassessing the odds. One wolf, with a coat the color of storm clouds, approached from the left, its movements suggesting an imminent attack. As Azm adjusted his stance and sword to meet this threat, the wolf suddenly pulled back, its paws skidding slightly on the ground as it retreated.

    It was a feint, and from the opposite side, another wolf¡ªthis one larger, with a scar running down its muzzle¡ªseized the opportunity. It launched into the air and sank its silver fangs deep into Azm''s muscular arm. The fangs pierced through flesh and scraped against bone, but Azm''s face remained a mask of concentration rather than pain.

    The wolves continued their coordinated assault, their timing unpredictable to anyone but Azm, who had faced their kind countless times. Still, fighting alone without his clan members at his back meant accepting certain wounds. As they continued their pattern of feinted attacks from one side followed by real ones from the other, Azm adapted.

    He deliberately left his armed side exposed, pretending to focus his attention on the wolf whose fangs were embedded in his flesh. His sword arm swung wide, seemingly leaving his opposite flank completely undefended. The wolves, sensing weakness, pounced from the vulnerable side¡ªonly to meet the whistling edge of Azm''s blade as he completed a full circle swing, his movements so fast they blurred in the dim light. Heads separated cleanly from bodies, rolling across the grass with expressions of surprise forever frozen on their canine features.

    The wolf attached to his arm sensed the changing tide and attempted to release its grip, but Azm flexed his massive arm muscles, trapping the fangs within his flesh. Each time he moved to strike this wolf, its companions would attack from the opposite direction, only to meet their deaths as Azm''s blade found them with unerring accuracy. When no wolves remained brave enough to approach, Azm finally turned his full attention to the trapped wolf. With a single, powerful slash, he severed its head, freeing himself from the creature that had served as both captive and bait¡ªfirst drawing its companions to attack, then drawing them to their deaths.

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    The surviving wolves, now reduced to half their original number, retreated into the darkness. Their yellow eyes gleamed one last time from the edge of the clearing before they vanished into the night, carrying with them the knowledge that they had encountered not prey, but a predator far more deadly than themselves.

    Throughout the entire confrontation, Arinas had watched her husband with unwavering pride. Though she had always known of his strength, she had never before witnessed his prowess in battle. Women of the clan typically remained within its protected borders, shielded from such dangers. Yet she felt no fear as she observed the wolf latched onto his arm and its companions circling for the kill. Her trust in his abilities was absolute, though concern for his wounded arm flickered across her features once the danger had passed.

    "We have to treat your hand, Azm," she said, already rising to her feet, her eyes assessing the damage.

    "Wait for a second, Arinas. I need to check if those monsters have any cores first," he replied, kneeling beside one of the fallen wolves, his fingers probing the creature''s chest cavity.

    "We can come back to check. Let''s go; there''s a river nearby," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

    Their horse, exhausted from the day''s journey, had somehow slept through the entire fight, its sides rising and falling in deep slumber. Suddenly, its eyes flew open, whites showing in terror. It began to neigh frantically, its hooves pawing at the ground as it strained against its tether.

    The coppery scent of fresh blood had drawn something else to their camp¡ªsomething far more dangerous than wolves. When the massive shape emerged from the tree line, Azm''s eyes widened in genuine alarm, the first real fear he had shown that night. Thousands of scenarios passed in front of his eyes; in most of them, he lost his beloved wife.

    "What is a troll doing here?!" The words escaped him in a harsh whisper.

    Beside him, Arinas went rigid, fear coursing through her veins like ice water. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and her breathing came in short, sharp gasps. Both knew the truth¡ªa troll was not an opponent that could be faced by a single warrior, no matter how skilled. Even for Azm, such a confrontation would require extensive preparation, and victory would be far from certain. Escape was impossible with the horse in its current state of panic, and he could never send Arinas away alone with the wolves still lurking in the darkness. His options dwindled to one¡ªprepare to fight, and likely die.

    "What do we do, Azm?" Arinas asked, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her widened eyes and pale face.

    "Let''s take a few steps back and see," he responded, his tone controlled as they retreated toward their agitated horse. With a swift, calculated movement, Azm delivered a precise blow to the horse''s head, rendering it unconscious. The animal collapsed to the ground, suddenly silent.

    The troll advanced, each footfall sending tremors through the earth beneath them. The ground literally shook with each step, a rhythmic "Thoom... Thoom..." that reverberated through their bodies. Its massive form blotted out the stars as it approached, its shadow stretching across the clearing like a living thing.

    But to their astonishment, the troll simply gathered the wolf carcasses in its enormous, gnarled hands. It collected them one by one, indifferent to the humans who stood frozen nearby, and then turned back toward the forest, disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived.

    Azm released a breath he hadn''t realized he was holding, the exhale seeming to deflate his entire frame. "That was a really close call. I''m not sure what I would have done if that thing decided to fight. I don''t like backing down. I''ll be sure to come back and hunt you, you piece of ****."

    The absence of a full moon had worked in their favor, as monsters were known to be more aggressive under its light. Azm hoisted the unconscious horse onto his broad shoulders as if it weighed no more than a child, and they made their way toward the sound of running water in the distance.

    At the riverbank, Arinas tore a strip of fabric from her own clothing, the ripping sound sharp in the quiet night. With gentle, practiced movements, she bound Azm''s wound, her fingers working deftly to ensure the bandage was tight enough to stem any bleeding but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

    "I think we need to continue our journey, even if it''s night. We''ll reach the clan by noon if we start now," Azm suggested, his eyes scanning the tree line for any further threats.

    Arinas nodded her agreement, her face set with determination despite the exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath her eyes.

    Azm turned to the still-unconscious horse and, with a decisive movement, splashed water onto its face. "Wake up, you stupid horse. You nearly killed us there." The animal jerked awake, scrambling to its feet with a startled whinny as the cold water shocked it back to consciousness.

    "Even though this horse seems stupid, I still like him," Arinas said with a soft giggle, the sound like bells in the night air, a moment of lightness after their ordeal.

    They traveled through the remaining hours of darkness and into the morning light. By noon, the guards of the Taniri clan spotted a shadow approaching from the distance. As the figure drew closer, recognition dawned, and their voices rose in excited shouts that carried across the plains.

    "Our champion has returned! Azm and Arinas are back safely!"

    The announcement spread through the clan like wildfire, and people emerged from their dwellings, running toward the approaching travelers. Their faces were alight with joy, hands raised in welcome, voices joining in a chorus of "Welcome home!"

    Azm sat tall on the horse, his eyes drinking in the sight of his clan members¡ªfaces he hadn''t seen for two long years. A smile of triumph spread across his weather-beaten face, the joy of homecoming written in every line. Beside him, Arinas''s eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over as she beheld her people once more.

    Suddenly, a small figure darted through the crowd, racing toward them with abandon. Tears streamed freely down the child''s face, leaving glistening tracks on dusty cheeks. Seeing this approaching form, Azm''s composure finally broke. With the gentleness of handling the most precious treasure, he lifted Arinas as though she weighed nothing and leapt from the horse''s back. His feet had barely touched the ground before Arinas broke free, running with arms outstretched toward their child.

    Though two years had brought many changes to the young one they had left behind, a parent''s heart never forgets. Arinas enfolded the child in her arms, her tears finally spilling over to mingle with those of her offspring. The clan gathered around the reunited family, their joy palpable in the air, and a celebration began that would last a full day and night¡ªa fitting welcome for the champions who had returned home at last.

 Chapter 9: A Scheme Behind The Curtain.

    Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak!

    The sound of knuckles rapping against polished mahogany echoed through the ornate meeting chamber, bouncing off marble columns and heavy velvet curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. A bead of sweat trickled down Count Geob Von Era''s temple as he observed the Marquis with growing irritation.

    "Can you stop knocking on the table, Marquis Steven Von Ford?" Count Geob''s voice was controlled but strained, his fingers tightening around the gilded quill in his hand.

    Slam!

    The Marquis''s fist crashed onto the table, causing goblets to rattle and several nobles to flinch. His face had flushed a deep crimson that nearly matched the royal tapestries adorning the walls.

    "Isn''t it bothering you, Count Geob Von Era? Am I the only one who is about to lose my mind here!" The Marquis''s voice rose to a near shout, his carefully groomed mustache quivering with each word. "These merchants grow bolder by the day while we sit idle!"

    "Take it easy, Marquis." A soft voice cut through the tension as Duke Ravenhill entered through the heavy oak doors. His silver-trimmed cloak whispered against the marble floor as he approached, the emblem of House Ravenhill gleaming on his breast. "Let''s wait for the king. I''m sure he will find a way out of this dilemma."

    Around the grand table, the atmosphere was thick with unease. Some nobles muttered complaints behind jeweled hands, while others maintained a dignified silence, though their white-knuckled grips on armrests betrayed their inner turmoil. The scent of beeswax candles mingled with expensive perfumes and the faint musk of fear¡ªa peculiar fragrance unique to powerful men facing the prospect of diminished influence.

    After what seemed an eternity, the double doors swung open with a resonant creak. Guards in polished armor snapped to attention, the sunlight from the hallway windows glinting off their spears as they announced in perfect unison: "His Royal Majesty, King Alistair of Zoliland!"

    Every noble rose immediately, the scraping of chairs against stone creating a brief cacophony. Silks rustled and jewelry clinked as they bowed in practiced unison.

    The king entered with measured steps, his crown of gold and sapphires catching the light from the high windows. His face, though lined with the worries of ruling, maintained the serene confidence expected of Zoliland''s monarch. A heavy ermine cloak draped from his shoulders, and beneath it, his doublet bore intricate embroidery depicting the kingdom''s storied history.

    The king raised his palm, the royal signet ring gleaming. "Thank you all. I''m pleased to see you gathered here." His voice filled the chamber without effort¡ªa voice trained from birth to command. "However, what''s the problem that has brought you together with such grave expressions?"

    "Your majesty, allow me to speak." Marquis Von Ford stepped forward, the sunlight from a nearby window illuminating the dust motes around him like a halo of anxiety.

    The king nodded, settling into his ornate chair at the head of the table. "Go ahead, Marquis Von Ford."

    "As you can see, your majesty," the Marquis began, his voice steadier now in the royal presence, "the merchants'' influence is growing at an alarming rate. While they remain nominally under our control for now, their wealth increases exponentially with each passing season." He paced as he spoke, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. "In the near future, their coffers will outshine our own, leaving us nobles beneath them in all but title. Not only will we lose our reputation, but we may soon find ourselves seeking their favor if this continues unchecked."

    Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembly like wind through summer wheat.

    "I agree wholeheartedly, your majesty," added Baron Lorenthal, his aged voice carrying the weight of three generations of nobility. His gnarled fingers tapped against the table as he spoke. "The merchants'' reserve of silver grows astronomically, leaving our ancient houses struggling to maintain appearances. We cannot accept lowly merchants becoming wealthier than us; it will erode our authority before our people''s very eyes."

    The king stroked his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully, the silence stretching as he considered their words. The only sound was the distant call of birds in the royal gardens and the occasional creak of armor as the guards shifted their weight.

    "Hmm," the king finally spoke, his voice resonating with thoughtful authority. "So it wasn''t only I who observed their concerning rise to prominence." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers forming a steeple before his chin. "However, have no fear. I shall dispatch an epistle to every sovereign on our continent, and together we will address this mercantile threat."

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    He rose from his seat, moving to the large map of the realm that adorned one wall. With one finger, he traced the borders between kingdoms. "I received correspondence from the Kingdom of Azuria not a fortnight ago, suggesting we enact similar laws to strengthen our collective grasp on our dominions. We shall arrange a summit with the other monarchs within the next three months."

    The king turned back to face the assembly, his expression resolute. "I have no doubt they too face these same challenges with their merchant classes. So, prepare proposals that will demonstrate our kingdom''s wisdom and foresight when we meet with our royal peers."

    "That''s a brilliant strategy, your majesty," Count Geob said, visibly relieved. "With unified royal action, no merchant would dare consider emigration to neighboring realms, even when faced with more stringent regulations."

    As the meeting continued, none of the assembled nobility noticed the servant who slipped quietly from the chamber, memorizing every word to report to his true master.

    The cobblestone streets of the merchant quarter bustled with afternoon activity as Jasper and his companions made their way through the crowd. Vendors called out their wares, the aroma of street food mingled with the earthy scent of livestock, and apprentices rushed between shops with deliveries and messages.

    Walking alongside Jasper, his undisclosed representative Robben could barely contain his excitement. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his new doublet¡ªfiner than anything he''d worn before, yet deliberately modest enough not to draw unwanted attention.

    Jasper placed a firm hand on Robben''s shoulder, feeling the man''s trembling beneath his grip. "Just calm down," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the market''s clamor. "Don''t show them how excited you are, Robben. I won''t be showing myself with you often. I don''t want anyone to connect us."

    "Don''t worry, Boss." Robben''s voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat and continued more steadily. "No third person will know about our deal."

    Jasper and Ivar exchanged meaningful glances, their expressions causing Robben to backtrack hastily.

    "Cough¡ªno fourth person will know," Robben amended, his eyes darting between the two men.

    "We still have partners," Ivar said coolly, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. The sunlight glinted off the small scar above his right eyebrow as he studied Robben''s nervous face.

    "No fifth...? No..." Robben sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Never mind. No one besides me and your cohort will know about this arrangement. I swear it."

    "That''s for the best." Jasper nodded, satisfied with the man''s capitulation. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery as they paused at a crossroads. "From now on, Ivar will be your contact and will provide you with all necessary details. You''ll meet regularly, so the tavern where we found you will serve as an appropriate location." He glanced up at the position of the sun. "Now go. We have our own business to attend to. The goods will reach you within two weeks at best, or a month at worst."

    Robben nodded eagerly, his new boots barely making a sound as he hurried away toward the imposing structure of the Merchant Guild. Its fa?ade of imported stone and stained glass windows marked it as one of the wealthiest establishments in the city.

    Jasper and Ivar turned in the opposite direction, making their way toward the Mercenary Guild. The streets grew narrower and less kempt as they left the merchant quarter behind, the sweet smells of commerce gradually replaced by the earthier, more pungent odors of the working district.

    As they rounded a corner, they encountered a grisly sight. A group of haggard mercenaries struggled to control a cart loaded with monstrous carcasses. What caught Jasper''s eye, however, wasn''t the grotesque cargo but the mercenaries themselves. Their armor was dented and splashed with dried blood, their faces gaunt with exhaustion. Several looked ready to collapse where they stood, clutching wounds hastily wrapped in bloodied bandages. Beside the monsters, wrapped in stained cloth, lay the unmistakable shapes of their fallen comrades.

    "Must have been quite a hunt," Ivar murmured, his hand instinctively moving to the knife at his belt.

    Jasper nodded grimly. "And not worth the cost, I''d wager."

    The Mercenary Guild loomed before them, a sturdy stone building marked by weathered banners and the unmistakable scent of leather, sweat, and weapon oil. Inside, the air was cooler but heavy with the same smells, along with the metallic tang of blood from the dissection rooms in the back.

    Jasper approached the reception desk, where a scarred man with calculating eyes assessed him immediately. "I need fresh Horned Rabbits'' hides," he stated without preamble.

    The receptionist nodded and disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with several pelts. He laid them out for inspection, the distinctive bronze horns still attached to some.

    "These are all we have that meet your standards," he explained as Jasper examined them with expert fingers, testing thickness and flexibility. "The rest are either damaged or poorly preserved."

    Seeing Jasper''s hesitation, he leaned forward slightly. "Do you want to offer a request for more Horned Rabbits'' hides? I can guarantee delivery within a few days."

    Jasper looked up, his fingers still absently stroking the soft fur. "And how much would it cost me to make such a request?"

    "It depends on the quantity you require," he replied, reaching for a ledger bound in worn leather.

    "Hmm, how about fifty hides?"

    He made some quick calculations, her quill scratching against the parchment. "Let me see... That would cost approximately 100 silver."

    "That''s quite the expense," Jasper mused, his mind already calculating potential profits. "But not a bad investment. Very well, prepare to announce the quest." He leaned forward, his voice becoming more authoritative. "But note this clearly: I need the hides within two days of slaughter. If delivered a day faster, I''ll add 10 silver as a bonus." He continued detailing his requirements for quality and preparation, the receptionist noting everything with practiced efficiency.

    "Certainly, sir. You''ll need to sign here," he pushed the ledger toward him, "and pay half now, with the remainder due upon delivery of the goods."

    "That''s acceptable." Jasper nodded, retrieving a small pouch from his inner pocket. The coins clinked softly as he counted out five gold pieces. "Notify me promptly when everything is ready."

    "Of course, sir."

    As he turned to leave, a commotion erupted from the dissection room at the back of the guild. A voice rang out, filled with unmistakable excitement:

    "IT''S A MONSTER''S CORE!!!"

 Chapter 10: Ivars Joy

    "IT''S A MONSTER''S CORE!!!"

    Almost immediately, the shout was cut short, followed by a tense silence that seemed to ripple through the guild. Several nearby mercenaries exchanged meaningful glances before studiously returning to their drinks.

    Jasper paused, his curiosity piqued. "A monster''s core?" he thought, recalling mentions of such items in obscure texts he''d studied. According to conventional wisdom, they were useless curiosities¡ªyet the man''s reaction suggested otherwise. His voice had carried the unmistakable tone of someone who had discovered an incredible treasure.

    He turned slightly, considering whether to investigate further, but a burly guard had already positioned himself before the dissection room door, his crossed arms and unwavering stare making it clear that access was restricted.

    "Something isn''t right," Jasper murmured to Ivar as they left the guild, squinting as they stepped back into the bright afternoon sun. "That reaction was too genuine to be nothing."

    "Perhaps another time," Ivar suggested quietly. "Some secrets reveal themselves only with patience."

    "Indeed," Jasper conceded. "And I suspect this is one worth waiting for."

    They continued their walk toward the inn, their pace leisurely as they navigated the increasingly crowded streets. The afternoon was wearing on, and workers were beginning to fill the thoroughfares as they finished their daily labors.

    Jasper noticed Ivar''s erratic pace¡ªsometimes rushing forward, other times falling behind¡ªand smiled knowingly. "Are you getting impatient to see your soon-to-be wife?" he asked, his voice tinged with gentle amusement.

    Ivar responded with a flustered laugh, his usually composed features softening. The thought of seeing her clearly brought him joy, yet embarrassment colored his reaction. In all his years, he had never held a woman''s hand¡ªnot even his mother''s. Orphaned before his earliest memories formed, he had grown up with only the vaguest concept of family.

    "You know, Ivar," Jasper said pensively as they walked beneath the lengthening shadows of the buildings, "I truly envy you. You seem happily in love, and your happiness is evident in every step you take."

    "Huh?" Ivar looked genuinely surprised. "Are you the one saying that, Master? With your wealth, you could purchase any wife you desired, or take female slaves without question. Your coffers ensure no one would refuse you."

    "As if it were so simple," Jasper replied, his voice growing quieter. "In my experience, which is negligeable, girls haven''t merely mocked me¡ªthey''ve avoided me like a plague victim." A shadow passed over his features as painful memories surfaced. "I have no desire to force myself on anyone. But imagine falling in love for the first time, only to have the object of your affection not just avoid your gaze but weep at your approach." He sighed deeply, the sound carrying years of rejection.

    Ivar fell silent, unsure how to respond to his master''s rare moment of vulnerability. They walked in silence for several minutes, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant hum of the city around them.

    Finally, Ivar spoke, his tone deliberately lighter. "You know, Master, I''m certain that someday you''ll find someone who appreciates your kindness and sees beyond your exterior. I believe that with absolute conviction." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Or you could become the wealthiest man in the kingdom, and someone will surely love you for that reason alone, at the very least."

    "You are not helping here," Jasper replied. "My father was the wealthiest man in the entire kingdom, yet I was treated as nothing more than a curiosity by noble ladies¡ªsomething to gawk at in their idle hours. And the common folk?" He shook his head bitterly. "They believe I''m cursed, that anyone who touches me will suffer a terrible fate."

    His voice grew firmer as he continued, "I could amass all the gold in the world, but changing how people think? That''s a far more difficult task." A new determination entered his voice. "But if I cannot have what I desire as the wealthiest merchant, I shall claim it as the wealthiest king instead."

    "I''ll stand beside you until the end, Master," Ivar pledged quietly. "Until your hair turns gray and your steps grow slow. Just don''t forget to make me your right hand when you wear the crown."

    Jasper''s head tilted slightly downward, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He reached out, patting Ivar on the shoulder with genuine affection. "You have my word."

    The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone street as they approached the inn. It was a modest three-story structure of timber and stone, well-maintained but deliberately unremarkable¡ªthe perfect place to conduct business without drawing unwanted attention.

    Jasper rapped his knuckles against the solid oak door in a specific pattern. After a moment, they heard light footsteps approaching from within, followed by the soft scraping of a bolt being withdrawn.

    The door opened to reveal an old woman, her shriveled eyes immediately assessing them before she stepped aside to let them enter. They climbed the narrow staircase in silence, the worn wooden steps creaking softly beneath their weight. At the end of a short hallway.

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    Upon arriving at Lysandra''s room, they knocked upon the door softly, she swiftly opened granting them entry. The scent of healing herbs and fresh linens greeted them as they stepped in, a welcome change from the stinky streets.

    "How is she?" Jasper asked quietly as Lysandra secured the door behind them.

    "Awake and somewhat improved, the wounds will heal in time, though some may leave scars."

    The room beyond was small but clean, illuminated by the warm glow of oil lamps. The window wwas covered with light curtain that filtered the late afternoon sunlight into a soft, diffuse glow. A small table held various bottles and bandages, evidence of Lysandra''s careful nursing.

    On the bed lay the woman they had rescued from the harsh treatment, her bruised face turned toward the door as they entered. Though still confined to the bed by her injuries, she was conscious now, her eyes following their movements and a faint smile appeared on her lips.

    Earlier that day, approximately three candle burns ago(3h), she had awakened from her unconscious state. Her eyelids had felt as heavy as stone, her vision blurred and unfocused as she struggled to determine her surroundings. A gentle voice had drifted to her ears through the haze of pain.

    "Did you wake up?" The voice had been melodious and warm, carrying a gentleness she had almost forgotten existed.

    "Mm," she had responded, barely moving her swollen lips as her eyes darted about, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar room.

    Something cool and soothing had touched her injuries, and she had focused on the blurry figure tending to her, with a herbal scent filling the room tickling her nose. Gradually, her vision had cleared enough to reveal a woman of extraordinary beauty kneeling beside the bed. Despite wearing normal clothing, and the obvious effort to tend the wound that high ranking woman don''t have, the woman possessed an elegance that would have suited the highest courts of the land. Her eyes were indeed like the deepest ocean¡ªmesmerizing and fathomless. Her hair fell in silken waves that caught the light with every movement, and her skin seemed to glow with an inner radiance.

    "Thank you, pretty lady," she had whispered through cracked lips.

    "I''m not a noble to be called a lady," the woman had replied with a gentle smile. "I''m a slave like you. Just call me Lysandra."

    "Thank you, Lysandra." She had studied her caretaker''s face with growing wonder. "You look more like a noble lady than any true noble I''ve ever seen. Please tell me, where am I?"

    "You''re in my chamber," Lysandra had explained while applying a fragrant salve to a particularly angry bruise. "Our Master bought you from your previous owner. He intends to wed you to Ivar, who is also a slave in our household."

    The injured woman''s vision had blurred again, this time with tears that welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "What a miserable life this is," she had whispered, her voice breaking. "I cannot even enjoy a moment''s peace or make choices of my own."

    "May I know your name?" Lysandra had asked, her touch remaining gentle as she wiped away the tears.

    "Mina," she had replied between quiet sobs.

    "Well, Mina, let me tell you why my master likely purchased you," Lysandra had begun, setting aside her healing supplies to sit beside the bed.

    ...

    "So you mean to say that if that man, Ivar, hadn''t expressed interest in me, your master wouldn''t have intervened?" Mina had asked after hearing Lysandra''s explanation.

    "That appears to be the case," Lysandra had confirmed. "But I suspect he was also moved by your suffering and saw an opportunity to help when Ivar mentioned your beauty. That''s merely my impression, of course." She had leaned forward, her voice growing more earnest. "What I can assure you of is that he won''t mistreat you. Notice how freely I speak with you now. Isn''t a forced marriage to a kind man preferable to continued abuse? Here, at least, you''ll be safe from harm."

    Mina had fallen silent, considering Lysandra''s words carefully. As she had pondered her situation, her tears had gradually subsided, as if her body had accepted the reasoning before her mind could fully process it. Lysandra, sensing her need for space, had busied herself with other tasks, allowing Mina the dignity of reaching her own conclusions without pressure.

    After enough time had passed to boil a small pot of tea, Lysandra had returned with a tray of simple food. Mina, still too weak to sit up unaided, had accepted Lysandra''s help to lean against the headboard while being fed small bites of bread and soup.

    Though she had initially fought to maintain her composure, the unexpected kindness had proven too much. Tears had begun to fall anew, transforming her words of gratitude into broken apologies.

    "I''m sorry, Lysandra," she had confessed between careful sips of broth. "I cannot control my tears. My former master''s foolish son would strike me for crying. I was assigned to care for his father¡ªa man so foul that even his own family avoided him. The old man would shout constantly and forget what he had done moments before." Her voice had grown softer as she recounted her hardships. "I rarely slept, tending to him day and night. And after the family ate, they either claimed there was nothing left for me or offered scraps that wouldn''t satisfy a cat, even though I''m the one who prepared their food."

    Lysandra had been unable to maintain her composure at this tale of cruelty. Setting aside the food, she had gathered Mina in a gentle embrace, mindful of her injuries. "It''s over now," she had whispered fiercely. "You''ve endured enough suffering. It''s time for life to reward your patience."

    She had held Mina until the younger woman''s tears subsided, then continued feeding her while sharing stories of her own life since Jasper had purchased her and the others¡ªIvar and Azm. These tales of kindness and respect had gradually eased the tension from Mina''s battered body, offering her the first glimmer of hope for her future in many years.

    After finishing her meal, Lysandra had helped her lie down again, continuing their conversation until the sound of knocking announced the arrival of Jasper and Ivar.

    "Welcome back, Master," Lysandra greeted. "As you can see, our new member is awake and recovering."

    Jasper nodded, his expression thoughtful as he assessed Mina''s condition from a respectful distance. "That is good news indeed." He turned to Ivar, whose gaze had not left Mina since entering the room. "Perhaps introductions are in order?"

    Now, as they entered the room, Mina''s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the men¡ªone clearly her new master, and the other, she presumed, her intended husband. Despite her fears, she noticed that neither looked at her with the cruelty or dismissiveness she had come to expect from men with power over her fate.

    Though Jasper''s facial features were hidden, her mind, influenced by Lysandra''s praise, conjured an image of kindness in his gaze, completely forgetting she''d passed out after seeing his face previously.

    A faint smile tugged at her lips as she caught Ivar''s unwavering, almost foolish stare. It was the look of someone gazing at something they admired, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a flicker of warmth stirred within her.

 Chapter 11: A Threat Arising.

    Jasper stepped into the room with a quiet grace, his hood pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that concealed any hint of his expression. The dim light from the flickering candles danced across the fabric of his cloak, giving him an air of mystery. He grabbed a chair from the corner, its legs scraping softly against the wooden floor, and positioned it near the bed where Mina lay. Sitting upright, he crossed his right leg slowly, his hands resting on his knee in a deliberate, almost regal manner. His movements were measured, as if every gesture carried weight.

    Mina watched him from the bed, her body stiff and aching, her breaths shallow. The faint scent of herbs and ointments lingered in the air, a reminder of Lysandra¡¯s healing touch. Mina¡¯s green eyes followed Jasper¡¯s every move, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a strange mix of emotions, her fingers nervously clutching the edge of the thin blanket draped over her. Jasper¡¯s hooded face tilted slightly toward her, but he remained silent, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second.

    Jasper knew his first impression was crucial. He could see the bruises on Mina¡¯s face, the faint traces of dried blood on her lip, and the way she winced when she shifted even slightly. Her former master¡¯s son had left her broken, both in body and spirit. Jasper¡¯s fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, a soft tap-tap-tap that filled the silence. He was stalling, carefully choosing his words, aware that one wrong move could shatter the fragile trust he was trying to build.

    "How do you feel right now?" Jasper finally asked, his voice low and raspy, it carried a roughness that hinted the suffering life was living. He leaned forward slightly, his hood shifting but still hiding his face. "Is your body still aching?"

    Mina¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper, her words trembling as they left her lips. "I¡¯m feeling better, thank you for taking care of me."

    Jasper nodded, the motion barely perceptible under the shadow of his hood. "That¡¯s good to hear. Lysandra is a skilled healer." His hand moved to the back of his other hand, tapping his fingers in a rhythmic pattern¡ªpinky to index¡ªas if he were counting seconds. The sound was soft but deliberate, a subtle distraction from the weight of the conversation. "Did Lysandra tell you what happened and why I brought you here?"

    Mina¡¯s gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "Yes, master, she did."

    Jasper exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint crackle of the candles and the distant hum of the wind outside. Then he spoke again, his tone measured and calm. "So, for you to accept your situation clearly, I¡¯m not going to wed you at the moment. First, take your time observing Ivar. I can assure you, he¡¯s a good man." Jasper¡¯s hood turned slightly toward the corner of the room where Ivar stood, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention.

    Ivar, a tall and broad chested figure with a wavy voluminous hair, looked as though he wanted to disappear into the wall. His face flushed a deep red, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. Jasper¡¯s voice broke the silence again, sharper this time. "Do you have anything to say, Ivar?"

    Ivar stammered, his words tumbling out in a flustered rush. "Who? Me? No. Yes. I mean¡ª" He cut himself off, his ears turning crimson as Lysandra and Mina exchanged glances. Lysandra, standing near the door with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smile. Mina, despite her pain, let out a soft giggle, her hand covering her mouth.

    Jasper slapped his forehead, the sound sharp and sudden. "Get a grip, you old kid! You¡¯re embarrassing us here."

    Ivar closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more sincere. "I¡¯ll be in your care. I hope our lives turn for the best together."

    Mina¡¯s cheeks flushed a light pink, and she nodded, her voice barely audible. "Likewise."

    Jasper cleared his throat, the sound breaking the momentary awkwardness. "Ahem. So, Mina, let me ask you¡ªwhat are you good at?"

    Mina hesitated, her fingers tightening around the blanket. "I¡¯m a good cook," she said quietly, her voice gaining a little strength. "And I do all the house chores. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been doing since I was a kid."

    Jasper tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hood shifting. "Hmm, a good cook, huh?" His tone was thoughtful, almost playful. "Are you good with knives? I mean, do you cut swiftly and cleanly?"

    Mina¡¯s brow furrowed, and she glanced at her hands, still marked with faint scars. "I think so?" she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

    "Good. I need you to heal up quickly we are having a work in few days, be preapred."

    "I''ll do my best, master."

    A few days later, Jasper arrived at the guild to check on his request, only to find the mercenaries who had taken the job already waiting for him, the quest completed. Though they had succeeded in their task, they hadn¡¯t managed to deliver the skins on time. Jasper handed over the remaining half of the payment (-5g) to the guild, watched as the goods were loaded onto his wagon, and then set off without delay. His next stop was to rent a workshop and hire a team of workers¡ªthis was the beginning of their first business venture.

    As they unloaded the wooden crates of skins from the wagon, Ivar, ever the curious one, furrowed his brow and broke the silence. ¡°Master, why are all the skins soaked in water like this? Won¡¯t they spoil if they¡¯re left wet for too long?¡±

    Jasper glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ¡°Two days in water won¡¯t ruin them. It¡¯s part of the process,¡± he explained, his tone calm and measured. ¡°I instructed the mercenaries to treat the skins with salt and alum for half a day before soaking them in water for the remainder of the time until they reached us. I even offered them a bonus if they could deliver the skins faster. And I made sure they checked for any remaining flesh on the hides¡ªnothing can be left behind. I knew they wouldn¡¯t make it on time, but the incentive pushed them to work harder. It saved us a day or two and shifted some of the workload onto them.¡±

    Ivar¡¯s eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. ¡°That¡¯s a cunning way of thinking, Master.¡±

    Jasper raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. ¡°Do you hate it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ivar replied with a chuckle. ¡°I like it. Hehe.¡±

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    Once the wagon was emptied, Jasper directed the workers to carefully inspect each skin before placing them into large vats filled with a lime solution. The soaking process was meticulous and time-consuming, spanning ten days in total. The skins underwent multiple stages of lime treatment, each followed by thorough rinses in fresh water to remove the caustic residue. After the hair follicles had sufficiently loosened, the workers moved on to dehairing the hides. Some set aside the fur for further processing, while others stretched the skins onto wooden frames, meticulously scraping and thinning them to achieve the desired thickness. Finally, the treated hides were left to dry, smoothed out, and prepared for sale¡ªa product of patience, precision, and Jasper¡¯s shrewd planning.

    ...

    Jasper¡¯s father, Kenan, was the one who conceived the plan, but he died before he could see it through. The hides of the Horned Rabbits were perfect for creating high-quality parchment, and their fur was considered a luxury material for clothing. Fearing their dangerous nature, people had overlooked their worth, comparing them to normal rabbits. Many were still afraid to involve themselves with monsters, as in the past, there had been an incident where monsters were used as ingredients, which ended up causing a plague. It was a disaster, and as a result, many people remained cautious about dealing with anything related to monsters.

    Yet, Kenan knew that there were some underhanded parties behind it, and they were still working to defame monster-related materials. For what purpose, Kenan didn¡¯t know¡ªit was probably just hatred. His sole problem was hunting the Horned Rabbits, which was no easy task. However, when mercenaries began using strategies to hunt monsters down, it became less risky and more fruitful. When Kenan learned that mercenaries had devised a strategy to deal with the creatures, he immediately saw an opportunity to profit from it. Now, it was his son, Jasper, who would reap the benefits.

    ...

    Once everything was loaded onto the wagon, Ivar wiped the sweat from his forehead with a tired sigh. "Whew, finally! We¡¯re done," he muttered, his voice tinged with relief. He carefully secured the goods and set off to meet Robben, making sure not to forget Jasper¡¯s strict instructions.

    "Remember," Ivar said, his tone firm, "the parchment is of the highest quality, so no less than 16 silver per piece is acceptable. As for the fur, the standard price is 12 silver. No exceptions, understood? Also blablabla..."

    Robben nodded eagerly, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of selling such valuable goods. Without wasting a moment, he took charge of the wagon and began his selling journey, the wheels creaking as they rolled over the uneven path.

    Meanwhile, Jasper returned to the mercenary guild, his cloak billowing slightly as he pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The familiar scent of polished wood and ale greeted him, mingling with the low hum of chatter and clinking mugs. He strode confidently to the reception desk, his boots echoing on the stone floor. This time, he placed a request for a thousand Horned Rabbit skins, his voice calm but firm as he dictated the details to the wide-eyed receptionist.

    The receptionist, a young man with a mop of unruly hair, blinked in disbelief as he scribbled down the request. A thousand skins? It was an enormous order, but these days, hunting Horned Rabbits was considered an easy quest thanks to the strategies mercenaries had developed. The reward Jasper offered was staggering¡ª2000 silver coins¡ªenough to make even the most seasoned adventurers take notice. The receptionist¡¯s hands trembled slightly as he finalized the request, his excitement barely contained. After all, he was the one who would get credit for processing such a lucrative order.

    As soon as the quest was posted on the guild¡¯s board, the room erupted into chaos. Mercenaries crowded around the board, their voices rising in a cacophony of shouts and arguments.

    ¡°2000 silver? That¡¯s a fortune!¡± one burly man exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.

    ¡°I¡¯m taking this one¡ªno arguments!¡± another shouted, already reaching for the quest parchment.

    ¡°Like hell you are! I¡¯ve got a team ready to go!¡± a third retorted, shoving his way forward.

    Fists flew, and the guild hall descended into a brief but intense scuffle as mercenaries fought over who would claim the quest first. The receptionist ducked behind the counter, clutching the quest ledger to his chest, while Jasper stood calmly to the side, observing the chaos with an air of detached amusement.

    Beneath his hood, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though his expression remained hidden. He crossed his arms, leaning casually against a wooden pillar as he watched the scene unfold. The mercenaries¡¯ eagerness only confirmed what he already knew: his plan was working.

    "Excuse me, Mister Receptionist. I¡¯d like to place another request," Jasper said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the receptionist pause mid-smile.

    The receptionist had been beaming with joy just moments ago, thrilled to process Jasper¡¯s lucrative order for Horned Rabbit skins. But now, his expression shifted, his cheerful demeanor faltering as he leaned forward, curiosity and caution mingling in his eyes. "What is it, dear sir?" he asked, his tone still polite but noticeably more guarded.

    Jasper¡¯s hood tilted slightly, shadows obscuring his face as he spoke. "It¡¯s nothing too complicated. I need ..."

    The receptionist¡¯s face transformed, his earlier joy melting into something darker, more calculating. His lips curled into a faint, almost malicious smile as he nodded slowly. "Anything for you, dear sir," he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I¡¯ll ensure the right person is chosen for the job."

    ***

    Robben made his way to the agents of the nobles, the intermediaries responsible for procuring supplies for their wealthy masters. He carried with him a sample of the parchment, its smooth texture and impeccable quality evident even at a glance. His first stop was the agent of the most attention-seeking noble of them all¡ªMarquis Steven. It was common knowledge among merchants that if you could impress Marquis Steven, your product would sell itself. Despite his disdain for merchants, the Marquis had a peculiar habit: if he liked something, he would boast about its quality to everyone in his circle. His endorsement was like a wildfire, spreading quickly among the nobility and ensuring that others would follow suit.

    However, dealing with Marquis Steven was not without its risks. He was far from foolish; in fact, he had a sharp eye for quality. Anyone attempting to deceive him or pass off subpar goods would find their business reputation ruined overnight. Unless you were absolutely certain of your product¡¯s excellence, it was best to steer clear of him altogether. But Jasper had no such doubts. He was confident in the quality of the Horned Rabbit parchment and fur, and he knew this was his chance to make as much money as he can.

    Before anyone else could catch on to the potential of Horned Rabbit materials, Jasper took the initiative. He placed large orders for hides, ensuring he had a substantial stockpile to meet the growing demand. His foresight paid off. Within three months, he had sold over 5,000 parchments and furs. His reputation¡ªor rather, Robben¡¯s reputation as his intermediary¡ªsoared as nobles and merchants alike clamored for the high-quality goods.

    The merchants who dealt in parchment grew increasingly frustrated as their profits plummeted astronomically. They gathered together, their voices rising in anger as they complained about Robben ruining their business. It was unacceptable, especially since Robben was a newcomer to the trade. How could someone so new outshine them so completely?

    "We need to either ruin his business or find out what kind of skin he¡¯s using to create his parchment," one merchant declared, slamming his fist on the table. "Calfskin is the best quality known, yet he¡¯s managed to get his hands on something even better. We have to uncover his secret, or we¡¯ll lose everything."

    "I agree," another merchant chimed in, his tone dark and bitter. "We can¡¯t let some upstart destroy us, or we¡¯ll become laughingstocks. I¡¯d rather kill him and be done with it."

    A third merchant, older and more cautious, raised a hand to calm the group. "We can¡¯t jump to killing him as our first move. We need to find out his sources. Marquis Steven is already fond of this new parchment¡ªif we can get our hands on it, we¡¯ll strike it big. But if we can¡¯t uncover his secret, then we eliminate him and free ourselves from this headache."

    The room fell silent as the merchants exchanged grim looks, the weight of their desperation hanging heavy in the air. Each of them knew that their livelihoods were at stake, and they were willing to do whatever it took to protect them.

 Chapter 12 : Conspiracy.

    Three months later, beneath the vaulted arches of Eldermere¡¯s grand council hall, the King of Zoliland sat among his fellow monarchs, their faces etched with tension. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and the faint metallic tang of armor polish. Before them, sprawled across an ornate oak table, lay maps and ledgers¡ªevidence of the merchant guilds'' unchecked expansion. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows, making the kings¡¯ expressions unreadable as they debated their next move.

    Aldric of Eldermere, his broad frame draped in a fur-trimmed crimson robe, cleared his throat with a wet, rattling cough that silenced the murmurs in the room. His voice, though hoarse, carried the weight of command.

    ¡°Cough, let me start by thanking you all for coming here.¡± He paused, his piercing gaze sweeping over the assembled rulers. ¡°We share the same blight¡ªthese merchants, like rats in a granary, grow fat while we struggle to grasp this new feudal order. We lack the reins to steer them. So.¡± He leaned forward, his jeweled rings glinting. ¡°Before I speak my mind, I would hear your thoughts. What do you propose?¡±

    A ripple of displeasure passed through the kings, thinking that he was acting arrogant on purpose to point out that he was stronger than them, but they couldn¡¯t confront him at the same time.

    Keldrin Stormcrest of Thunderreach, a mountain of a man with a beard woven with silver thread, scoffed, his gauntleted fist clenching. His voice dripped with disdain.

    ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time before those coin-counting snakes slither into our courts and demand a seat at this table.¡± He slammed his palm down, making the goblets tremble. ¡°We must remind them of their place¡ªbeneath our boots. Let it be law: any merchant who dares sell us inferior goods will lose not just his gold, but his name. His hands. His tongue.¡±

    Theron Brightvale of Luminara, the youngest and fairest among them, recoiled as if struck. His fingers tightened around the cup he was holding, his knuckles whitening.

    ¡°And when they rise up? When the streets run red with their fury?¡± His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air. ¡°Or have you forgotten the last emperor a hundred years ago? The one who thought chains and beheadings would keep his throne? He held sway with unbearable tyranny, along with his charlatan wizard-priests. We can¡¯t push our people into a corner¡ªit¡¯s the first step to our downfall. We were all commoners from wealthy families before. What gives us the right to enslave our people, making them feel like lower beings?¡± ¡±

    Keldrin¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Let them try. We¡¯ll hang their corpses from the city gates as a warning.¡±

    Theron¡¯s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, but the cold glint in the other kings¡¯ eyes told him he stood alone.

    ¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time before those merchants grow their influence, so we must establish certain rules to limit them or to assert our superiority over them. For example, we declare ourselves as beings superior to them¡ªour blood, our flesh, and everything related to us is above them. Any merchant who sells us low-quality goods will not only be punished but will also have his fortune and identity as a merchant stripped from him,¡± Keldrin said with an arrogant tone.

    A few other kings agreed, while others did not react. Theron was displeased with how the conversation was going.

    Aldric of Eldermere listened carefully to the other kings before speaking. ¡°Cough, my fellow kings, I agree with what you¡¯ve all said, but we must find a solution. Cruelty breeds rebellion, but weakness invites defiance. There is another way. My counselor here has a few proposals. I liked what he told me, so I wish you would hear him out and give your opinions or suggest alternatives if you disagree. It¡¯s better than debating all day.¡±

    The room fell silent after Aldric¡¯s speech. He snapped his fingers as a signal for his counselor to speak.

    ¡°Ahem, first of all, I appreciate that you¡¯ve all honored me by allowing me to speak and present my humble proposal regarding this predicament we face. It has come to my consideration that we may alter the exchange rate of gold¡ªfrom 10 silver to 1 gold, we would change it to 100 silver for 1 gold, thus reserving gold for the usage of the nobility, while silver remains the medium of exchange for merchants and affluent commoners. Nonetheless, it is not prudent to implement this change forthwith. First, we must collect as much gold as we can from merchants for a period of one to two months, then announce the change. This will ensure that we augment our coffers and make it harder for merchants to aspire to our rank.¡±

    ¡°The idea is good, but the execution is difficult. I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t stand idly by if you do it like that,¡± King Torvain Stonehelm, ruler of Stoneharbor, interrupted.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware of the consequences. That¡¯s why we will collaborate with the wealthiest merchants¡ªgranting them minor noble titles, of course. They¡¯ll pacify their peers by promising shared benefits. The markets will erupt in chaos initially, but once those profit-driven merchants realize their gold¡¯s value will soar, they¡¯ll scramble to stabilize prices to exploit the exchange rate. And by leaving a few gold coins in commoners¡¯ hands, some will wake up newly wealthy from a single coin. That alone will quell unrest.¡±

    ¡°I find the concept agreeable, yet merchants are ever shrewd. They shall persist in their alliances. Bestowing titles upon them risks augmenting their power.¡± Alistar von Aster, ruler of Zoliland, concluded, his gaze lingering with a hint of predatory amusement.

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    ¡°Yes, that would transpire were we to remain idle. But we shall not remain so. First, they shall be permitted to pacify the populace¡ªwe wish to avoid force, save in direst necessity. Second, we shall sever their ties with their merchant brethren, thus reinforcing the notion of noble preeminence. Over time, their mindset¡ªand their children¡¯s¡ªwill change. They¡¯ll strive to align themselves with us, seeking noble marriages and paying hefty sums for the privilege. The royal family, as the highest noble house, will reap the greatest benefits. In the end, the nobles will be the ultimate victors.¡±

    All the kings¡¯ eyes widened in amazement at the idea¡ªexcept for Luminara¡¯s King Theron Brightvale, who kept his head down, hiding his expression. He knew he couldn¡¯t oppose the other kings after that speech. To do so would brand him a traitor¡ªor worse, it could lead to war.

    ***

    Over the three-month deal, Jasper worked nonstop with all the workers in the workshop, earning a net profit of 8,000 gold and 58,400 silver from selling 5,300 parchments and furs. Unfortunately, the parchment merchants discovered the source of the parchment and began imitating Robben (Jasper), slowing his sales in the fourth month. Additionally, something strange was happening that Jasper couldn¡¯t quite grasp. Previously, there had been many gold coins alongside silver, but now his sales were entirely in silver. The nobles were paying in gold, which was unusual¡ªthough most merchants preferred trading in silver, as it was easier for commoners to make change. Jasper, being a new merchant, saw things differently, but he couldn¡¯t yet perceive the threat.

    By the end of the fourth month, Jasper''s overall earning reached 8,000 gold and 86,400 silver. After deducting Robben¡¯s share, he was left with 8,000 gold and 53,120 silver.

    In the fifth month of the Parchment Fur trade, Ivar delivered the goods to Robben and declared that this was the final month of the deal, per Jasper¡¯s orders. After this, Robben could begin his own journey as a merchant. Excited, Robben nodded and took the goods¡ªbut he never appeared on the day they were supposed to meet and hand over the earnings.

    When Robben didn¡¯t show up, Jasper knew something was wrong. Ivar asked, ¡°Did something happen to him?¡±

    ¡°I hope that¡¯s the case.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, master?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I hope he didn¡¯t run off with the money. Remember earlier this month when I told you to inform him this was our last deal?¡±

    Ivar¡¯s expression turned to shock. ¡°You think he stole the money?! He couldn¡¯t be that ungrateful!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m hoping something happened to him. Better than stabbing us in the back.¡±

    Mina and Lysandra were stunned by Jasper¡¯s conclusion, saying he deserved to die if he had betrayed them¡ªespecially after five months of hard work. Even Jasper had helped, and now someone was stealing their earnings? It was outrageous.

    The next day, Jasper went to the mercenary guild to check if his secret mission had been completed. Unfortunately, or fortunately It had. The receptionist escorted him to a room deep inside the building, where a mercenary sat on a wooden bench with a bag on the table.

    Jasper sat across from him and asked bluntly, ¡°So, did it go as planned?¡±

    ¡°Your suspicion was correct. I found out he sold all your goods to other merchants and fled the city. As ordered, I cut off his hand and left him in the forest. I doubt he¡¯ll survive¡ªnot with all the monsters roaming there. And here¡¯s something extra: he sold your goods for over 2 gold each. He profited big. You can¡¯t trust people so easily.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for your work¡­ Can I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡± said the mercenary, nodding

    ¡°You could¡¯ve taken the bag and run. I¡¯m sure you know how much money is in there.¡±

    ¡°Greed is the first step to the grave. I don¡¯t want to end up a bandit or die young. I value my reputation, and I don¡¯t do more than I¡¯m ordered.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for your honesty.¡±

    After settling the payment, Jasper took the bag and left the guild, where Ivar was waiting. ¡°So, how did it go?¡±

    ¡°Just as I suspected¡ªhe was a traitor.¡±

    ¡°That ungrateful bastard! How could he betray the hand that fed him?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Ivar. Honestly, this is for the best. We got our money back¡ªplus his share. Isn¡¯t that better?¡±

    ¡°Well, when you put it that way, I can¡¯t argue. I just wish I could punch him if I ever saw him again.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll never see him again.¡±

    Back at the inn, Jasper and Ivar regrouped with Lysandra and Mina to discuss their next move.

    ¡°Now we have 100% of the sales. Don¡¯t you think we should thank Robben for his greed?¡± Jasper said.

    ¡°Looking at it that way, I can¡¯t disagree¡ªbut I still can¡¯t forgive him for tricking us. We have to be more careful from now on,¡± Lysandra said, pouting.

    ¡°I agree,¡± Mina added.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware he was selling at such high prices¡ªtricking us into thinking he was selling at the standard rate. I knew he¡¯d betray us eventually, which is why I hired a mercenary to deal with him. Now we have in total 10,415 gold, 123,430 silver, and a lonely bronze coin.¡±

    ¡°Ivar, go with Lysandra and buy whatever herbs she needs.¡±

    ¡°Why would I need herbs, master?¡± Lysandra asked.

    ¡°For our new guild. You¡¯ll be preparing medicines and personal care products. Your knowledge will be the foundation of our business.¡±

    ¡°What about me?¡± Mina asked.

    ¡°You can also go with them. If anything happens, you and Ivar will pretend to be Lysandra¡¯s slaves. Since she doesn¡¯t have a slave brand like you two, it¡¯ll be good camouflage in case of discrimination. I¡¯ll take 100,000 silver to establish our guild. The rest is for you to manage¡ªbuy whatever you want after securing the herbs. Consider it your reward for your hard work.¡±

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: None(On his way to be a guild master)

    Coins: 10,415g 123,430s 1b 0c

 Chapter 13: Today we Celebrate, Tomorrow we Obliterate.

    Jasper moved through the city in his new carriage, the wooden wheels clattering against the cobblestone streets as he headed toward City Hall. The sunlight filtered through the tiny gaps in the canvas cover, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. An uneasy sensation gnawed at the pit of his stomach¡ªsomething wasn''t right, but he couldn''t put his finger on it.

    The marketplace buzzed with unusual activity. Merchants haggled with unprecedented vigor, their voices rising above the typical market chatter. Silk-clad noble agents, normally rare sights, weaved through the crowds with practiced nonchalance, their eyes constantly scanning the stalls. However, Jasper pushed these observations aside¡ªhis heart was too full with the prospect of finally creating his own guild and starting his business independently.

    "No more begging for acceptance," he whispered to himself, his lips forming a smile beneath his hood. "No need to work under someone else'' guild. I''ll be my own master."

    As he moved through the streets, pedestrians parted before him like water around a stone. Some stared openly at his fully covered form, their eyes narrowing with suspicion or widening with morbid curiosity. A mother pulled her child closer as he passed, whispering something that made the little one''s eyes grow round. Jasper''s shoulders stiffened, but he continued forward. Their stares were nothing new¡ªjust another day in a life defined by others'' perceptions.

    The carriage jolted to a stop. The City Hall loomed from afar, though it was before him, he was just nervous. Jasper took a deep breath, feeling the rough fabric of his hood brush against his damaged skin, and stepped forward.

    Inside, the hall echoed with footsteps and hushed conversations. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, highlighting the polished floor that reflected his cloaked figure like dark water. The air smelled of parchment and expensive ink. Jasper approached the registration office, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

    The city manager, a portly man with a meticulously trimmed beard and rings adorning every finger, eyed Jasper with obvious distaste. His quill scratched against parchment as he detailed the payment tiers.

    "The minimum payment gets you the license only," the manager explained, his voice clipped and professional. "Find your own building, handle your own affairs. The highest tier"¡ªhe paused, looking pointedly at Jasper''s modest attire¡ª"provides a building in the merchant quarter and certain... considerations from the authorities."

    Jasper remembered his father''s note, pages full of wisdom: "Never depend on those who can revoke their favor on a whim. What they give with one hand, they take with the other." The memory strengthened his resolve.

    "I''ll take the basic license," Jasper declared, placing a precisely counted stack of coins on the desk. "I''ll find my own building."

    The manager''s eyebrows rose, disappearing beneath his pomaded hair. "As you wish." He pushed the papers forward, then hesitated, his eyes fixed on Jasper''s hooded face. "But first¡ªcan you take off your hood? I need to see your face." His tone shifted from professional to demanding. "I don''t think that''s too much to ask, is it?"

    Jasper''s fingers tightened around the edge of his hood. "No, sir," he replied, his voice barely audible. "It''s just... my face is ruined, and I fear it might make you uncomfortable." The familiar knot of shame formed in his throat.

    The manager waved a dismissive hand. "It''s fine. I''ve seen all kinds of faces in my time." His eyes flicked to the guards standing at attention by the door. "I need to verify your identity before approving your request."

    Reluctantly, Jasper pulled back his hood, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. The cool air of the hall brushed against his exposed skin¡ªa rare sensation. He could feel the weight of the manager''s stare, the sudden stillness of the room pressing down like a physical force. The silence stretched, becoming a living thing between them.

    The manager coughed, a wet, uncomfortable sound. "Ahem... Yes, perhaps you should keep your face covered." His voice had lost its commanding edge, replaced by something close to unease. "I doubt I''ll sleep well tonight otherwise."

    Jasper couldn''t tell if the man was mocking, joking, or serious¡ªhis tone suggested the latter¡ªbut he simply nodded and pulled his hood back up, grateful for its familiar weight and the protection it offered from prying eyes. To his surprise, the manager processed the paperwork with unusual speed, his questions perfunctory, his manner distracted, as if eager to conclude their business.

    With the guild deed in hand¡ªthe parchment still warm from the freshly pressed seal¡ªJasper stepped back into the sunlight. His heart hammered against his ribs. The document represented more than just permission to trade; it was his first step toward carving out a place where he could exist without judgment. Now, all that remained was finding a suitable location.

    Sadly, the city seemed determined to thwart him. Building after building proved unsuitable¡ªeither commanding exorbitant prices for prime locations or offering dismal structures in forgotten corners of the city. By late afternoon, Jasper''s reserve of patience drained, and frustration settled around his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

    The setting sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets as he made his way back to the inn. His muscles protested with each step, and the weight of disappointment made his shoulders slump. He climbed the creaking stairs to his room, the familiar smell of cheap tallow candles and old wood greeting him.

    The sound of his footsteps echoed in the corridor. Step! Step! Step!

    He pushed open the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The hinges creaked softly.

    "Hmm? What are you all doing here?" Jasper asked, taking in the sight of his three companions gathered around the small table in his room.

    Ivar, tall and broad-shouldered with a face that looked perpetually ready to smile, jumped to his feet. "We were waiting for you, Master," he answered, his deep voice warm with affection.

    Jasper hung his cloak on a peg by the door, careful to keep his hood up. "Did you finish the tasks I gave you?"

    "Of course!" Ivar''s chest puffed with pride. "Though some people looked down on Mina and me," he admitted, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced at the petite woman sitting quietly by the window. "Lysandra handled them brilliantly. If I may say so, she carried herself like a true master while we were shopping."

    Lysandra, elegant even in simple clothing, inclined her head modestly, but the quirk of her lips betrayed her pleasure at the compliment.

    "That''s good to hear," Jasper nodded. "As for me..." he paused, savoring the moment, "I secured the deed."

    The reaction was instantaneous. All three leapt up with excitement, their faces transformed by genuine joy. Ivar whooped, his callused hands clapping together. Mina''s usually reserved expression blossomed into a radiant smile, and Lysandra clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling.

    "Calm down, calm down," Jasper said, waving his hands, though warmth bloomed in his chest at their reaction. "We still need to find a place for the guild. Anyway, how much did you spend on the herbs?"

    Lysandra straightened, slipping effortlessly into her role as business manager. "Twelve thousand silver''s worth," she reported, her tone precise. "It''s a significant amount, but still modest for a merchant guild." She hesitated, a flash of uncertainty crossing her features. "I didn''t want to spend more without your approval¡ªafter all, it''s your money."

    Jasper''s voice softened. "When I gave you the funds, I trusted you completely. Even if you''d spent it all, I wouldn''t have minded. After all, none of us could help in crafting the drugs. "He crossed the room to the window, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the city''s skyline. "Still, it''s wise not to exhaust our resources in one go. We''ll assess our business''s progress before purchasing more."

    He turned back to the room, his gaze settling on Mina and Ivar. Mina sat with perfect posture, her delicate hands folded in her lap, but her eyes¡ªalways expressive¡ªdarted occasionally to Ivar, who couldn''t seem to stop fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "If you two are ready," Jasper said gently, "just say the word, and I''ll witness your marriage."

    A deep blush spread across Mina''s cheeks, and Ivar''s ears turned scarlet. Even Lysandra who¡¯s normally composed, felt heat rising to her face for reasons she couldn''t quite articulate.

    After a moment of charged silence, Ivar took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "I think we''re ready, Master." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he glanced at Mina, who nodded, her eyes bright with unspoken emotion.

    "Then tomorrow is your day, my friends." Jasper''s voice carried a weight of sincerity that made the simple words feel like a blessing. "Now, let''s eat and rest."

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Morning brought with it the smell of fresh bread and the promise of new beginnings. Jasper and his companions left the inn, their spirits high despite the early hour. The streets, normally busy with merchants setting up their stalls, seemed unusually tense. Before they could reach City Hall for Ivar and Mina''s wedding, the clatter of armored boots against cobblestone drew their attention.

    City guards marched through the streets, their polished breastplates catching the morning light. They moved with purpose, posting edicts on walls and ensuring crowds gathered to listen.

    One guard, his voice trained to carry across battlefields, bellowed: "Hear ye, people of Zoliland! His Majesty, King Alistar von Aster, has met with the fellow monarchs of our continent to enact unified laws."

    The crowd fell silent, shopkeepers abandoning their half-assembled stalls, laborers pausing with loads half-lifted.

    "Henceforth, gold coins shall be recognized as noble currency. Their value will increase from ten silver per gold to one hundred silver per gold. All who possess gold must treat it with respect and keep it polished. Also bla bla bla¡­"

    The silence held for one heartbeat, two¡ªthen shattered.

    Chaos erupted like a sudden summer storm. Some cheered, their faces alight with the realization of newfound wealth. Others stood frozen, the blood draining from their faces as they calculated losses. Within moments, the sad crowd split: those cursing themselves for not hoarding gold, and those whose silver-based wealth had effectively been slashed to a hundredth of its former value.

    Arguments broke out like wildfire. A woman screamed at her husband for spending gold on a new plow last week. Others crumpled to their knees, hands clutching their ledger. Children, sensing the tension but not understanding its cause, began to cry.

    Jasper and his companions stood rooted to the spot, the celebrations from earlier evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun. Their savings¡ª11,420 silver, now equivalent to a mere 114 gold¡ªfelt like a mockery of their hard work. Each silver coin, once a step toward freedom, now represented a fraction of what they had believed.

    Ivar''s face reflected the devastation they all felt. His broad shoulders sagged, his hands hanging limp at his sides. The wedding day he had anticipated since Jasper''s promise now seemed tainted by the king''s decree.

    Lysandra''s reaction was immediate and visceral. She began hitting her forehead with the heel of her palm, her eyes wide with self-recrimination. "Oh my god, I''m sorry, Master!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "I should have spent everything yesterday¡ªnow its value has plummeted. The market prices will skyrocket, and we won''t be able to buy the same amount of herbs with what we have left." Each word was punctuated by another strike against her forehead.

    Jasper felt a surge of anger so intense it made his vision blur at the edges. The nobility''s casual disregard for common livelihoods, the calculated timing of the announcement¡ªit reeked of conspiracy. But he forced himself to inhale deeply, to center his thoughts. Anger would not solve their problem.

    "Sigh..." The sound escaped his lips as he reached out, gently but firmly grasping Lysandra''s wrist to stop her self-punishment. "Don''t blame yourself, Lysandra. This is a scheme by the nobles and kings¡ªwe couldn''t have done anything." His voice was steady, a counterpoint to the chaos around them. "Yes, prices will rise, but we don''t know by how much. If anything, we were lucky we spent silver instead of gold yesterday. And despite the loss, we''re still on the winning side."

    Mina, who had been silent until now, her face a mask of quiet distress, finally spoke. "Master, why did you spend silver instead of gold? Isn''t silver the merchants'' preferred currency?" Her voice was soft, almost lost in the commotion of the street.

    "It was heavier," Jasper explained, his pragmatic answer cutting through the emotional tension. "There''s a big difference between carrying a hundred thousand silver and ten thousand gold. I wanted to lighten the load." A wry chuckle escaped him. "Imagine if I hadn''t had a carriage yesterday¡ªI wouldn''t have been able to transport all that silver. Honestly, we got lucky. If our business had been with commoners, I''d have spent gold instead, for silver is better suited with them."

    Ivar, who had been studying Jasper''s hidden face with concern, ventured hesitantly, "So... you''re not angry?" His voice held a note of disbelief, as if he expected Jasper to explode at any moment.

    "Just frustrated, that''s all," Jasper admitted, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his hood. "Why? Did you think I''d ruin your wedding over this?"

    "A little," Ivar confessed, turning away, the back of his neck reddening. "I was scared for a moment."

    Lysandra, recovering from her earlier distress, seized the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Hee hee hee!" Her laugh was forced but determined. "Look how much Ivar wants to marry Mina!" Her teasing, intended for Ivar, instead made Mina blush furiously, the color spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

    Jasper couldn''t help but chuckle at their reactions. "Relax, Ivar. You''re all family to me. Nothing I feel will ever ruin your happiness."

    The three looked at him with such raw emotion that they nearly embraced him right there in the street. They held back, mindful of public observation, but their expressions¡ªIvar''s grateful smile, Mina''s glistening eyes, Lysandra''s softened features¡ªspoke volumes.

    "We love you too, Master," Lysandra said, her voice unusually gentle. "You''re our family as well."

    Jasper cleared his throat, grateful for the concealment his hood provided as embarrassment heated his ravaged face. "Ahem," he managed, adjusting his cloak. "Let''s keep moving. The streets are chaotic, and we don''t need to run into some bigoted lunatic."

    City Hall, so imposing yesterday, felt actively hostile today. The guards at the entrance eyed them with suspicion, and the air inside was thick with tension. They approached the notary''s desk, where a thin man with ink-stained fingers looked up at them with immediate disdain.

    ...

    "Let me get this straight," the notary said, his voice dripping with contempt. He gestured at Ivar and Mina with his quill, spattering tiny droplets of ink across his ledger. "You want to register slaves as married?"

    Jasper stood straighter, keeping his voice level. "Yes. They''re under my ownership, and I wish to formalize their union."

    The notary''s laugh was sharp and ugly, echoing off the walls. "Pfft! You hear this, folks?" He turned to his colleagues, who paused their work to listen. "Ha! These lowborns think they can play house." He looked back at Jasper, his smile vanishing. "Get lost, kids¡ªwe don''t waste parchment on filth like you."

    Jasper''s fists clenched inside his sleeves. "But other slaves have been registered before. What''s the issue?" His voice remained calm, though tension threaded through each word.

    The notary''s face hardened. "I don''t have time for this. Get yourselves out of here before I forcefully kick you out." He looked down at his papers, dismissing them entirely.

    They had no choice but to leave, their steps heavy with defeat. Outside, Ivar could no longer contain his rage. He stomped his foot against the ground, the impact sending a sharp pain up his leg that he welcomed. "That bastard!" he spat, his voice a low growl. "Would it kill him to just do his damn job and keep his mouth shut?!"

    Lysandra and Mina stood in silent fury, their eyes conveying what words could not. Jasper placed a hand on Ivar''s shoulder, squeezing gently.

    "We''re used to this," he said quietly, the resignation in his voice somehow more painful than anger. "But mark my words¡ªone day, they''ll regret it. When the tables turn, they''ll be the ones begging." His voice dropped lower, a promise meant for the four of them alone. "Let them laugh now. We''ll see who laughs last."

    The marketplace, usually a place of orderly commerce, had transformed into a scene of barely contained panic. Butchers argued with customers over prices, craftsmen huddled in groups, calculating losses on scraps of parchment. Greengrocers looked at their wares with new eyes, mentally adjusting values. Strangely, the established merchants maintained their composure, neither raising prices nor joining the general outcry¡ªa detail that didn''t escape Jasper''s notice.

    "They knew," he thought, watching a silk merchant calmly reassure a customer. "They were warned." But he kept these suspicions to himself, focusing instead on salvaging what remained of Ivar and Mina''s special day.

    At an artisan''s stall, relatively untouched by the surrounding chaos, Jasper pointed to a pair of simple silver rings displayed on a velvet cloth. "How much?" he asked, his voice neutral.

    The artisan, an older woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, appraised him openly. "30 bronze or 3 silver," she replied, her voice firm. "No haggling."

    "Here," Jasper said, placing the coins in her weathered palm.

    She examined them briefly before nodding. "A fine purchase, sir." She handed the rings to Jasper.

    He turned and presented the rings to Ivar and Mina, whose expressions shifted from surprise to a deep, wordless gratitude. Even in this moment of joy, Jasper couldn''t help but note the irony: these two, who had been abandoned by those who should have cherished them most, now stood on the threshold of creating their own family. What memories did they have of their blood relatives? Did Ivar remember his mother''s face? Did Mina recall her childhood home? Or had these memories been erased by the trauma of betrayal? In reality, as was common for slaves, they were orphans from a young age. Their parents, if they survived, probably endured even greater hardship. So, blame was a futile concept for both parent and child.

    After purchasing food to enjoy the ceremony, they went out of the city to celebrate in their own way, leaving the city behind in chaos. There, under the open sky, Jasper performed a simple ceremony. No official would recognize it, no registry would record it, but as Ivar and Mina exchanged rings and promises, with Jasper and Lysandra as witnesses, the connection between them was as real and binding as any sanctioned union.

    As he watched them, Jasper felt a bittersweet ache in his chest. He had given them what he himself desired most: a simple, peaceful life¡ªhonest work, genuine love, and the hope of growing old together. But for him, such dreams remained beyond reach. One glimpse of his face would shatter everything he had built. The world would never see beyond his ruined features. Even Ivar, Mina, and Lysandra, who cared for him deeply, couldn''t fully hide their discomfort when they saw his true appearance.

    As the afternoon sun bathed the green land outside the city in golden light, casting long shadows across the uneven ground, Jasper prepared all the food for celebration, then he raised his hand. "To new beginnings," he said, his voice steady with resolve. "And to family¡ªnot the one we''re born into, but the one we choose."

    The others raised their hands in response, their faces alight with hope despite the day''s setbacks. In that moment, surrounded by those who had chosen him as surely as he had chosen them, Jasper felt something rare and precious: belonging. "For us and for all those who wronged us, today we celebrate! Tomorrow we obliterate!"

    <hr>

    Jasper.

    Profession: A guild master on paper.

    Coins: ¡ü 10,415g ¡ý11,415s ¡ý1b ¡ý0c