What was the essence of trade?
The answer had once been etched by the Visaji of the Wandering Continent onto the scales in Dennis, the most prosperous city of the White Horse Kingdom—value was born of scarcity, and exchange ended in satisfaction.
These merchants, who traveled between Zeyarila's mountains and deserts and were renowned for their shrewdness, firmly believed that once all splendid rituals and false promises were stripped away, trade was nakedly reduced to one thing—give and take, exchanging what each side needed.
An old Visaji broker would narrow his clouded yet sharp eyes and tell you that the most successful trade was one where both sides felt they had gotten the better deal—you got what you lacked, I got what I desired, and for that instant, the scales of desire reached a fleeting, delicate balance.
This principle held unshakably true in human markets, dwarven mines, and even the ethereal halls among the elves' treetops.
Gold coins, food, Mithril, Magic Scrolls... needs came in every strange variety, but in the end, they all had form and substance. They could be measured, priced, and placed upon the trays at either end of a scale.
So the question was, when the trading partners were the elves and Glimlin of the Treant territory, what would they need?
That was the question Chen Yu was considering.
"Your Majesty, what do you think of those Moss Monsters?"
At the mention of bugs, Count Bran's drool would not stop flowing. It dripped onto the red-hot Slime's head and evaporated with a sizzle.
"If you ask this count, these fragrant, soft little bugs are the most precious goods in the world. Feed Moss Monsters with mushrooms grown by the Glimlin, then trade them away—this is absolutely a business that guarantees profit without loss." Its tone was