The city breathed with life.
Merchants drifted out of tree-hollow homes.
Druids unrolled herbal mats.
Beastfolk sharpened bone tools.
Elves prepared potions under glowing mushrooms.
Dwarves hammered metal beneath enchanted lanterns.
And right in the middle of all this…
Yava opened shop.
The Merchant at Work
Yava stood behind a simple wooden stall he had rented for exactly one silver coin — because, according to him, “Negotiation is an art. Overpaying is a crime.”
He laid out his wares with calm precision:
- Strange jeweled daggers
- Old lenses and scope relics
- Tiny spatial trinkets
- Enchanted rope hooks
- A compass that spun only when someone lied
- And a crystal orb full of swirling ink
Albion citizens stopped mid-step.
“Artifacts?”
“Ancient relics?”
“In the morning market?”
“Who is this man??”
Kael, Eryn, and Borgas stood behind him like reluctantly hired staff.
Kael:
“Why are we doing this again?”
Yava:
“It is training.”
Kael:
“What part of selling junk is training?”
Yava:
“Basic economy. Customer interaction. Discipline.”
He pointed casually:
- Kael – Customer service & security
- Eryn – Cashier, accountant, bookkeeper
- Borgas – Delivery and heavy lifting
Yava:
“A merchant’s students must not be lazy.”
Dael, who had followed them purely to heckle, muttered:
“Hypocrisy at its finest… You’re a Divine Merchant, but we’re doing the labor—HEY! Let me go! Let me—”
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Borgas and Kael escorted Dael out before he bought the entire market.
Divine Shop
As soon as Yava opened his hands in a small gesture of welcome, the crowd surged.
“Sir, how much for this compass?”
“It detects lies?!”
“The metalwork on this dagger—where did you find it?”
“Is this pre-war craftsmanship?”
“What does this sphere do?”
Yava smiled politely.
“For the sphere, one gold coin.
For the dagger, ten.
For the compass, three silver coins.”
The prices were absurdly low.
Albion citizens began trembling with joy.
Eryn leaned in, whispering:
“Master… these artifacts are worth hundreds of gold coins on the black market…”
Yava replied calmly:
“I am not selling artifacts. I am buying trust.”
Kael whispered, horrified:
“He’s doing psychological warfare in a marketplace…”
Borgas nodded.
“Food next?”
“No,” Yava said.
The Permit Problem
Just when the stall reached peak chaos—
with thirty customers waving coins and shouting offers—
Albion market guards arrived.
A squad of six armored peacekeepers marched forward, halberds crossed.
“Merchant!” their captain barked.
“No one may conduct trade inside Albion without proper Guild authorization. Present your permit.”
Kael stepped forward instantly.
“Oi, listen, he’s—”
Yava raised a hand.
“It is fine.”
He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a thin metal badge, forged from silvery-blue alloy.
Ancient runes spiraled across its surface, glowing faintly like starlight under water.
The guard captain took it—
—then froze.
His eyes widened.
His voice trembled.
“This… this is the Universal Platinum Permit… issued only by the Continental Merchant Guild…”
The other guards leaned in.
“That rank is only held by seven people in all of Aetherra!”
“It’s recognized by every kingdom… even Eryndor!”
“Wait—there were rumors the Divine Merchant vanished years ago—”
The captain slowly looked up at Yava, pale as snow.
“Sir… we deeply apologize.
It has been many years since anyone saw a permit of this caliber.
We did not realize who you were.”
Yava bowed slightly.
“No offense taken.”
The guards straightened instantly.
“Please continue your business freely, Master Merchant.
Should any trouble arise, summon us.”
Albion citizens stared at Yava as if a mythical beast had just revealed itself.
Kael leaned in.
“Master… how do you have that thing?”
Yava answered calmly:
“I simply took a long break.”
Eryn whispered, “We’re following a legend…”
Borgas: “Shiny.”
Dael returned just in time to see the crowd bowing toward Yava.
“See? See? I leave for ONE minute and he starts a cult.”
The Council's Notice
Not long after the guards left, a group of armored druids approached — bearing the Crest of Roots, marking them as representatives of the Albion High Council.
“Divine Merchant Yava,” their leader said with a respectful bow,
“The Council of Roots requests your presence.
There are matters of national concern that require your expertise.”
The crowd gasped.
A council summoning was not casual.
Not political.
It was urgent.
Yava rolled up his sleeves, closed his stall neatly, and nodded.
“Very well.”
Before leaving, he gestured toward the trio.
“Continue observing the market.
Note the differences between Albion and Eryndor commerce.”
Kael: “We’re… studying?”
Eryn: “We’re students, after all.”
Borgas: “We’re hungry.”
Dael: “We’re buying snacks.”
Yava paused, sighing deeply.
“…Do not destroy the market while I am gone.”
His calm steps carried him toward the Council Hall, flanked by druidic guards.
Albion watched him pass —
the Divine Merchant reborn from rumor into reality.
End of Chapter 10 — Part I