Kai sprinted down the familiar, winding path from Briarstead to Greenhill, his pack weighed down by a jumbled assortment of herbs, trinkets, and small animal pelts he had gathered on his recent quest. Every step felt urgent, the weight on his shoulders a constant reminder that this world was as much about surviving as it was about fighting. The System had, with its usual unfeeling tone, nudged him towards selling his goods. Sell them at Greenhill, it had said, and learn the art of trading.
"Learn trading," I muttered, readjusting the sack on my back. "Why does it sound like it's sending me into battle?"
Greenhill's marketplace loomed ahead, bustling with noise and energy. Colorful stalls lined the street, each overflowing with goods that ranged from food and leatherwork to metal trinkets and curious, half-dried plants. Merchants and customers alike filled the air with laughter, bartering, and the occasional argument that broke out when a deal went awry.
For a moment, my heart raced with anticipation. Trading couldn't be harder than learning how to wield a blade, could it? Surely it was just a matter of showing up and finding someone interested in what I had. I marched forward with determination, but that initial confidence quickly wavered as I was engulfed in the thrumming pulse of the market. Vendors shouted prices over each other, their voices merging into a confusing blur. Shoppers darted between stalls, their arms loaded with goods.
Swallowing hard, I approached the first merchant I could find—a man hunched over his wares of dried meat and cured skins, his eyes keen and sharp, like a hawk's.
"Um, I've got some herbs here," I began, holding up a bundle of marigold. "I heard they're useful for healing poultices. I'd like to sell them."
The merchant looked me over, his mouth twitching in amusement. "Marigold, eh? Common as weeds. You're better off picking dandelions and selling those." He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I'll give you two coppers for the lot."
"Two?" I blurted, taken aback. I'd expected at least ten! "But—"
The merchant shrugged. "Take it or leave it, kid. Someone else will bring the same thing in by afternoon."
I wanted to protest, but he'd already turned his attention to another customer. Flustered, I stuffed the marigold back into my sack and moved on, already feeling out of my depth. It wasn't just the goods that mattered here; it was understanding what was valuable and how to position myself with a sense of authority. But how was I supposed to project authority in a world I barely understood?
The next stall offered a glimmer of hope. It was a woman selling cloth dyed in a dozen shades, with hands that moved as quick as her eyes over her wares. When I showed her my sack of herbs, she listened with interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"These herbs could fetch you a decent sum," she said, "if you knew how to dry them properly. But fresh? Not so much." She scrutinized the herbs in my hand, picking out the stems. "Look here—see how soft the stems are? It means they'll rot quickly. I'd pay a bit more if they were dried. Three coppers."
It was more than two, but still not even close to what I'd hoped. The woman sensed my frustration and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Listen, lad," she said gently, "no one's going to pay top coin for a novice's collection. There's more to trading than gathering things and slapping a price on them."
I left her stall feeling a mix of gratitude and defeat. Every merchant I approached had some new criticism or clever quip about my inexperience. One merchant laughed at my offer, saying I'd be better off giving him the herbs for free as "market practice." Another shook his head as if I'd tried to sell him a handful of dirt.
Hours passed. My confidence crumbled with each failed attempt. By midday, my throat was dry, my stomach empty, and my mind a mess of anger and shame. My meager earnings wouldn't even buy me a decent meal. In this world, everything felt like a battlefield—only here, my weapons of knowledge and skill were dull, blunt things that wouldn't impress even a beggar.
Just as I was about to give up and head back to Briarstead, a wizened, gray-bearded merchant with deep-set, observant eyes noticed me lingering near his stall. His booth was filled with all manner of trinkets, some of which sparkled under the sun in a way that hinted at hidden enchantments or rare materials. He seemed different from the other merchants—quieter, perhaps a bit too watchful, like he knew I was struggling before I even opened my mouth.
"Trying your luck as a trader, are you?" he asked, his voice smooth and steady, with an air of patient wisdom.
I nodded, not quite able to meet his gaze. "Trying and failing, more like."
He chuckled softly. "Inexperience is like a wound, son. Painful at first, but it'll heal if you let it." He reached out and took a small vial of my herbs from my pack, inspecting it with a practiced eye. "Tell me, what's the value of this marigold to you?"
I hesitated, remembering the other merchants' comments. "I thought… ten coppers, maybe?"
He raised an eyebrow, his expression mildly amused. "Ten, you say? Interesting. But do you know why someone might pay that?"
"Well… it's a healing herb, right?" I stammered. "People might need it."
The merchant nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And if everyone around here knows it's good for healing, why should they pay you for something they could gather themselves?"
I was stumped. "Because… it's already gathered?"
He chuckled, patting my shoulder. "Close. But no, lad. The value is in the knowledge and preparation, not just the object. Traders don't sell goods—they sell convenience, skill, quality." He held up the herb. "Dried, preserved properly, and stored, this marigold might be worth ten coppers. Fresh? Not so much."
I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. He handed me the herb and added, "Watch the market. Don't just sell. Learn how these people think, what they want. And when you know that, lad, they'll come to you."
The advice was simple, but it struck something deep within me. All this time, I'd thought that trading was just another skill I'd pick up quickly. But it wasn't about the goods—it was about understanding value, understanding people. I left his stall feeling a little more enlightened but still defeated, clutching a small handful of coppers.
As I turned back to Briarstead that evening, I felt heavier than when I'd arrived. The weight wasn't physical, but a gnawing sensation that I was, once again, just a step behind in a world that seemed to demand mastery of skills I'd never even considered. I couldn't deny it; my lack of trading skill wasn't just an inconvenience. It was a glaring weakness, one that could cost me more than just a few coppers.
With every step, I vowed to return to Greenhill and try again. Trading wasn't as exciting as combat, but the merchant's words had touched something inside me. I needed to be more than a fighter. This world demanded flexibility and resilience. I was out of my depth, yes, but that didn't mean I'd stay there forever.
Tomorrow, I'd return to Greenhill. This time, not to sell, but to learn. To watch, observe, and understand the pulse of the marketplace. Maybe one day I'd become the kind of person who could walk into a market and leave with more than just a few coppers. But for now, I had to start small. I'd have to swallow my pride, embrace failure, and let this wound of inexperience heal.
As I approached the edge of Briarstead, the familiar sight of the village lights welcomed me. For the first time, the warmth of home didn't quite erase the sting of today's failure. The quiet houses, the empty streets—they all seemed to whisper the same thing.
There's still so much to learn.
With a heavy sigh, I made my way back to my hut, settling down beside the small, worn campfire pit outside. My mind churned with thoughts of Greenhill, of the merchants, of the trinkets and the goods I'd struggled to understand. This world had more to it than monsters and quests—it was a world of people, of knowledge, of skills that couldn't be measured by strength alone. And maybe, just maybe, it was a world I could someday call my own.