Business

A sharp blade and a loud shout snapped Fizzle out of his fantasy. The goblin merchant realized what he had done and broke into a cold sweat as he looked at the boy before him, whose face wore a faint, knowing smile. He put on a sycophantic grin again, not daring to make a single rash move.

Although the glittering gold coins made his heart itch, Fizzle valued his own life more than those lovely little yellow nuggets.

A few years earlier, when he had sailed from Kalimdor to the Eastern Kingdoms aboard a merchant ship, he had been caught in a terrible shipwreck. Only a handful of passengers, including him, had survived the entire fleet's destruction. The unfathomable power of nature had taught him how fragile life was, and made him cherish his own all the more.

Feeling the cold blade pressed against his neck, the goblin merchant no longer thought about how to offload this batch of goods onto the brat before him and wring every last coin from the boy's purse. All he wanted now was to get through this mess in one piece.

Andorhal might have been a small town, but to keep trade and commerce safe, it had some of the best law and order in the entire Kingdom of Lordaeron. Any violent altercation would bring the guards running within ten minutes, escorting those involved to the local station for a stern talking-to.

So in a well-policed town like this, anyone bold enough to draw a sword in the street was either reckless and tired of living, or a major figure with powerful backing.

But the boy standing before him wasn't the least bit rattled by the unexpected turn of events, despite his young age. The guard behind him, who had drawn his sword and threatened the merchant, acted as if it were only natural. If Fizzle couldn't tell which kind of person he was dealing with, then all his years on the road and his lifelong knack for reading people had been for nothing.

"Th-this honored gu—no, my l-lord, I was just startled by the unique aura you give off. I... I meant no offense!"

The goblin merchant hurriedly gathered his thoughts and stammered out an explanation. His words were a bit of a muddle, but he understood one thing clearly: the boy, who looked so young and innocent, was the one in charge. If the child spoke up, the towering guard behind him would naturally stop pressing him.

The three-finger-wide longsword rested heavily on his shoulder, keeping him from making any rash moves. After his hurried explanation, Fizzle could only try to look as pitiful as possible and hope the boy would forgive him.

"Abberton, don't be so tense. Let him go."

Alvin turned to look at his guard. "I'm sure this honest merchant has learned his lesson."

Fizzle keenly noticed the emphasis the boy placed on the word "honest." He knew the other was warning him not to try anything. The goblin merchant couldn't believe it: how could a child barely taller than himself have such a crafty mind?

"Of course, my dear lord. I, Fizzle, have always been an honest, law-abiding, well-behaved merchant." Though astonished by the boy's extraordinary shrewdness, Fizzle knew he was at the other's mercy and didn't dare show any resentment.

The goblin merchant forced a smile more awful than a grimace, doing his best to give the sword-wielding man a guileless expression and show him that he was a respectable, harmless merchant.

As a royal guard, Abberton's duty was to obey the prince's orders. The young knight suppressed his dislike of the greedy, filthy green-skinned creature before him, gave the goblin at his feet a warning snort, and slowly slid his longsword back into its scabbard.

Fizzle, who had spent years among humans, could clearly see the young knight's contempt and wariness. That sharp, disgusted gaze seemed to say, "Watch yourself, you piece of trash!"

Hmph, all brawn and no brains! Fizzle cursed Abberton's reaction inwardly, but having only just escaped a threat to his life, he didn't dare show his displeasure. He pretended not to notice the knight's hateful stare and turned his attention to the boy, who was examining his wares.

Besides the human, High Elf, Dwarf, and Troll settlements, the wilderness and jungles of the Eastern Kingdoms were home to large numbers of humanoid creatures: Kobolds, Gnolls, and Murlocs. They had their own languages, simple cultures, and distinctive customs.

Because their forms were so different from those of the dominant races on the continent, the living space of these three humanoid peoples had gradually shrunk as humanity expanded. They had been forced to retreat in large numbers to places far from civilization. Isolated from the outside world, they had developed primitive societies and unique languages of their own.

In Alvin's memory, these peoples had developed communal ways of life over thousands of years, both to cope with the possible Scourge and to withstand humanity's relentless expansion. They usually traveled together in loose-knit tribes.

But this group, being sold as slaves by the goblin merchant, clearly wasn't what he had expected. The fierce-looking Gnolls had hardly any old, weak, or sick among them; more than ninety percent were young adults. They looked skinny, but with enough effort, they could probably regain their strength.

In the center of the lot behind the goblin merchant, a group of healthier-looking Gnolls stood in a loose circle, huddling around several who looked ready to die of old age. The elderly Gnolls seemed to hold higher status, which struck the boy as strange.

According to the accounts of those who came before him, Gnoll tribes followed the most savage of principles: strength was the best credential. The strongest and most dangerous Gnoll usually became the leader, while the frailest old ones were generally kept as emergency rations.

After carefully studying the two groups of humanoid creatures, the boy began to form an idea. He looked at the green-skinned goblin standing off to one side, not daring to do anything unnecessary, and asked, "Merchant, do any of the goods in this batch speak Common?"

A customer! Alvin had barely opened his mouth when the goblin merchant, who had been carefully watching the two of them, realized the boy was interested in his wares.

Make a killing off him! That was Fizzle's first instinct, born of goblin habit. But the thought had barely crossed his mind when the tall warrior in armor standing behind the boy made him reconsider. He had only just escaped that man's sword; he had never thought he'd lived long enough to die!