In the bustling market, a merchant was selling goods with his daughter, but sales were truly dismal.
"If we can't sell much even today, it'll be even harder on normal days." The man sat back on the carriage shaft. His goods were not among the most expensive, because the Imperial City never lacked excellent products, and those nobles would never stop at his stall.
So this time, most of the goods he had brought were mid- to low-end items, including paper and pens. His target customers were scholars and the like, people who did not have especially high standards for quality as long as the items were usable.
He had also visited several bookstores in the city. The paper in some of those shops was even worse than his, but they all had stable customer bases and long-standing trade relationships built on trust.
A traveling merchant like him found it difficult to get a share of the market.
"Could it be that buying this batch of cheap paper was a mistake?"
He had originally wanted to sell these things at cost, but lowering the price only made people suspect the quality, making them even harder to sell.
"Dad, you really don't have the talent to become a great merchant." The girl sorted the merchandise. Under the streetlamps, her originally dark skin took on a faint warmth.
In truth, as long as the price was right, there would always be customers. People like Mel Carlo would buy them. Failing to sell even a single item was simply bad luck.
"What nonsense are you talking about? I'm a born merchant."
Just as the man sighed, a man wearing leather clothes stopped in front of their stall.
The merchant promptly greeted him. "Sir, what would you like?"
"No. I just want to ask whether you sold some paper and pens to three children."
"Sir, my prices are absolutely fair. I definitely didn't cheat any children out of their money. They were all willing transactions." The man immediately explained. His travel-worn face, covered in stubble, looked particularly forlorn.
The instant this man appeared before him, he had already guessed his identity. He was probably a member of the Imperial City Gang, and likely ranked above a minor boss. It seemed the gang was still investigating the matter of the duke's daughter's wallet.
After all, the Imperial City Gang had suffered a loss. They had handed over a minor boss to calm the Duke's Mansion's anger. That meant either he had been targeted, or the three children had.
No matter how suspicious he was inside, he kept a smile on his face. That was the basic professionalism of a merchant. "Would you like some paper and pens as well?"
"Sure. How much?" The gang investigator smiled at the merchant.
He had already gathered some information. From asking the nearby bookstore owners, he had learned that this traveling merchant did business in the area. Those paper and pens had most likely been bought from here. If they had bought things, they must have spent money.
"One silver coin for three notebooks. Quill pens cost the same."
"I can buy some paper, but the quill pens are too expensive. Since that's the case, I won't beat around the bush. You've probably guessed my identity already." The gang investigator's expression instantly turned cold. "Where are the coins those three children spent? I want them."
"Sir, so many customers come and go every day. How could I possibly remember every one of them? I thought you were one of the children's parents and believed I had cheated them out of their money." The merchant was not nervous. This was the Imperial City, and the guards patrolled frequently. Even the Imperial City Gang would not dare attack him openly.
Nor did he feel the need to keep the secret. But this secret had to be sold for a good price, didn't it? If that child chose to use him to escape the Imperial City, it meant he could receive 2,500 Oren in one go.
Even if these goods could not be sold in the Imperial City, they could still be sold elsewhere. At the very least, he would not lose money.
"So you don't intend to talk!"
"No, sir. I'm a merchant, and different people have different ways of doing things. If you are willing to buy more goods, perhaps I can answer your question."
The gang investigator's face darkened, and his hand moved to the dagger at his waist. But when he heard the footsteps of guards passing behind him, he gave up.
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"How much do you want?"
"How about 500 Oren?"
"Fine. You merchants really are cunning." The gang investigator directly tossed eight silver coins onto the stall.
One of them was for buying paper, two were for exchanging the stolen goods, and the remaining five were payment for the information.
"Certainly, sir. I'll solve your problem right away. Claire, use a burlap sack to wrap three notebooks for this gentleman." After giving the instruction, the merchant took two silver coins from his money pouch. The coins were very new, more like collectibles than the currency in circulation.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sure you can tell at a glance. These two silver coins are very new, nothing like coins that have passed through countless hands."
A good merchant needed to understand how to weigh risks. He might be killed by the gang for 2,500 Oren, and that kid might not even come looking for him. But these 500 Oren were immediate. At least he now had money for the journey home.
That kid probably had not expected the gang to still be investigating after several months.
The gang member took the two silver coins and gently pinched them between his fingers. The merchant was right. The coins were extremely new. Perhaps taking them to the Duke's Mansion and asking around would reveal something, but that matter had already passed. Going there again would be asking for trouble. Better to start with the little piglets first.
"Sir, perhaps you could buy all this paper. I can give you a suitable price. If you have a way to sell it, you'll definitely make a considerable profit."
"Haha, outsider, you probably don't know this yet. These high-profit goods have long been monopolized by the nobles' merchant guilds. Forget you—even I would have trouble selling them. Whenever you come here, they lower their prices and make it impossible for you to sell anything. A merchant like you probably can't withstand much turbulence." The gang investigator laughed. Naturally, he knew some of the situation.
The fewer traveling merchants there were, the higher the profits for those local merchants with stable sources of goods. It was a stable monopoly.
But this small merchant before him had clearly been caught in the crossfire of a war between great merchants.
"Go home early, country bumpkin!" The gang investigator turned and left with the cloth sack.
That was also a kind reminder. Once there were more refugees in the city, even the goods might be robbed. The war between the lands beyond the border and the Demon King's Army had never stopped, and more and more regions had fallen.
The merchant's expression did not ease. It was not because those mocking words had provoked him, but because he had learned the problem and still had no way to solve it.
No one was targeting him at all. It was merely a war between local great merchants and outside great merchants, and he had become a victim. The great merchants were waging a price war.
First, they lowered prices to seize the market and drive all competitors to death. Once they obtained a monopoly, they gained the power to set prices and could harvest the market as they pleased.
"Father, why didn't you give him all three silver coins?"
"Because I'm still planning to earn the remaining 2,500 Oren."
"Daughter, perhaps I should write a book about merchants." The man looked at his daughter, Claire. Perhaps she would become an outstanding merchant, inheriting his sharp instincts and her mother's red skin.
"You'd better not write one. With how reckless you are, Father, I think His Majesty the King might cut off your head." Claire was not in high spirits. Who could have imagined that her father would suddenly want to become a merchant?
"Can we go back now? At least we have travel money now. Or do you want to sell all these goods at a loss?"
"I know. Luckily, it hasn't rained heavily lately. Otherwise, the paper would get damp and become even harder to sell."
"Either way, we can't sell them. You don't need to worry about that, Father."
"You say such discouraging things all day. Who did you learn that from? I don't remember your mother being like this."
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