[PoV Dario – Young Merchant]
Why was this child staring at me like that? As if I were some strange man, a lunatic out of place. His gaze was empty, yet piercing. All my life, I had traded from city to city, meeting all sorts of people, and never had I been looked at like this by a child.
Had his parents never taught him manners? Or… perhaps he was just born with such a stare.
Annoying.
I snorted, deciding to ignore it. After all, he was still a child. Maybe he was traumatized, or maybe that was just his nature.
My eyes shifted outside the window. Better to look at the scenery than keep staring at the little boy.
The cart continued moving, creaking softly as its wooden wheels left the desert sand and touched the stony path. Dust still swirled, dancing in the hot, dry air. The desert wind slammed against the window, carrying a dry, earthy scent.
Slowly, the horizon that had been just a vast desert began to reveal something. Faint shadows of city walls, watchtowers, and an old fortress standing firmly, as if challenging the sky. In the distance, thick cloth banners flapped atop the towers, displaying the emblem of a black-bladed aura sword over a silver shield—the symbol of Ashenblade authority.
Azbirut.
I glanced at the boy still lying on the long seat. His face was pale, his eyes still empty, like a soulless body. I tried to spark his interest, hoping for even a flicker of curiosity.
“Look at that!” I called, pointing outside the window. “This city is called Azbirut.”
No reaction. His lips remained tightly sealed. His gaze briefly turned toward me, then returned to emptiness.
I sighed softly, refusing to give up. “Azbirut is an important city, you know? It’s ruled by Aldric Ashenblade. People call him the Ash Knight, The Guardian. They say he’s the nephew of one of Aetheris Kingdom’s dukes, Kaizen Ashenblade.” I glanced at him, hoping for even a hint of interest in his eyes.
“Many mercenaries come here,” I continued, “they’re paid more than in other cities. And Azbirut is also a hunting ground for monsters for hunters and mercenaries. With so many unexplored places across this vast desert, adventurers come here. A place for them.”
And still, his expression was like a stone wall. His eyes only stared out the window, as if the great city meant nothing.
Silence. His gaze remained vacant.
I rubbed the back of my neck, beginning to feel foolish. My whole life as a merchant, and this was the first time I’d felt so unappreciated by a dying child. It was so difficult to cheer him up. As if not only his body was numb… even his expression was dead. No emotion, no reaction.
“Well… when you’re better,” I said softly, half-joking, “I’ll take you for a tour. Maybe you’ll be interested, huh?”
Again, no response.
I exhaled deeply, letting time pass. The cart continued moving, passing the main road, which was gradually becoming crowded with caravans, wooden carts, and wagons pulled by donkeys and camels.
---
The sunlight scorched the surface of the stones, reflecting blinding heat. The distinct desert scent mingled with the smell of sweat, sunburned skin, and dust, filling the air. In the distance, the sound of horse hooves and clinking chains echoed along the cobblestone streets.
Azbirut.
A city whose economy thrived on trade, mercenary work, and the endeavors of merchants.
Upon arriving at an open square within the city walls, the drivers pulled on the reins, slowing the exhausted horses’ pace. The creak of wheels stopped with a final jolt. Dust swirled, temporarily obscuring vision before slowly settling to the ground.
Inside the city, the atmosphere changed immediately.
The open square became a temporary stop. Drivers eased their horses and donkeys, while carts’ wheels came to a halt with a slight jolt. Dust rose as sand and stones rubbed against iron.
Wooden doors swung open. Merchants dismounted one by one, wiping sweat from their faces. Wooden chests, sacks of grain, and leather pouches filled with spices were unloaded and lifted onto the backs of hired laborers.
Life came alive.
Street vendors shouted prices. Customers bargained loudly. Children ran between stalls, eyes sparkling at foreign crafts, silver bracelets, and gleaming small knives. In the distance, the faint sound of war drums echoed from the barracks. The clanging of hammers shaping metal in the blacksmith’s workshop created a harsh rhythm of city life.
The smells of sweat, hot metal, and exotic spices mixed together, filling every corner of the streets.
This was Azbirut—alive, bustling, and teeming with people.
---
[PoV — Caravan Leader]
“Ahhh…”
I stretched, my old bones creaking after a journey that seemed endless. Desert dust still clung to my clothes, and the scorching heat of Azbirut was merciless, even in what was supposedly the milder season.
Before me, the city was alive. The clamor of merchants, street vendors shouting their wares, and mercenaries passing by with weapons at their hips—all busy chasing profit, bargaining endlessly like a river that never stops.
Memories of my youth flickered. This sight reminded me of my younger days—when I ran through the markets like a wild boy, chasing silver coins and dreaming of becoming a great merchant. But now? I was just an old man with white hair and a back beginning to stoop, though the spirit within me had not yet fully faded.
Suddenly—
“Dukk!”
Something bumped against my waist.
I staggered back slightly. Looking down, I saw a little girl sitting on the ground. In her hand, a melting ice cream—or perhaps a milk candy from a nearby stall—had fallen, leaving a sticky white stain on my trousers.
Her face was tense. Her eyes wide, lips trembling, nearly crying.
I crouched gently, lifting her gloomy face, and smiled softly. “Oh, it’s alright. Don’t cry, okay? Uncle will get you another ice cream.”
But instead of relaxing, the girl looked even sadder. “But… old man… I got your pants dirty…” she said softly.
Old man…?
I understood I was no longer young, but hearing that—it felt like a small knife stabbing at my pride. I took a deep breath, calming myself.
“Hahaha, it’s really alright,” I said, stroking her messy hair. “These can be washed again.”
The girl still looked remorseful. “But… but…”
I shook my head, still smiling. “Come on, let’s get another ice cream. This time, I want to try it too. Looks delicious.” I leaned forward slightly. “By the way, who are you here with?”
“My… mom…” she whispered.
I lowered my voice, not wanting to frighten her more. “Where’s your mother, little one?”
Her eyes began to glisten. “I… I got lost…” she murmured, and finally a few tears slid down her cheeks.
I sighed, and without thinking, wiped her tears away with my thumb. “It’s okay. Let’s look together while we eat some ice cream. Uncle will accompany you, alright?”
In the middle of our conversation, someone handed me a clean cloth. I turned.
Selim.
My trusted man, my personal guard. The tall man with kind eyes stood there with his usual calm expression.
“Here, Chief…” he said softly, his voice heavy.
I took the cloth and began wiping the stain from my trousers. “See? Clean again, right?” I smiled at the girl.
Gradually, the color returned to her face. Her crying subsided, and the corners of her tiny lips lifted into a small, innocent smile.
“Now, let’s go get some ice cream, and then find your mother, alright? Uncle wants to try too. Want to guide me?”
“Okeey… Old man!” she exclaimed, laughing, her face bright in front of me.
Another stab to my chest. Old man…
But whatever. I let it slide.
Seeing that smile… somehow, it warmed me. Like seeing a granddaughter I hadn’t met in years.
“Let’s go, Old man!” The girl grabbed my big hand with her small, energetic grip and dragged me through the crowd. The smell of spices, dust, and roasted meat mingled in the air. Vendors called out, mercenaries walked past with breastplates, and the jingle of silver coins could be heard in the corners of the market.
Behind us, Selim sighed, shaking his head as he followed my steps. “Chief…” he muttered, as if he had already given up on my antics.
---
[PoV Doria — Young Merchant]
Finally… I arrived.
As soon as the cart wheels stopped, I drew a deep breath, letting the hot air mixed with Azbirut’s dust fill my lungs. To others, this might just be an ordinary city amidst endless desert. But to me, Azbirut was a goldmine.
The market here was crowded during trading season. From dawn to sunset behind the desert storms, and continuing into the night with oil lamps glowing at street corners. People came from various cities, even from distant regions of the Aetheris Kingdom, bringing their own merchandise.
I smiled widely. A golden opportunity lay before me.
“Hehehe…”
A small chuckle escaped my lips unconsciously, making my smile split wide, perhaps oddly for others. My fingers moved lightly in the air, as if already counting the piles of silver and gold coins I would soon earn.
But then, my laughter stopped.
I suddenly realized I wasn’t alone in the cart.
In the back corner, among the trade goods and sacks of spices, a child lay weakly. His gaze was blank, his face pale. His messy black-gray hair partially covered his face, but his eyes… they looked at me curiously, as if asking why I was laughing so strangely, like a madman.
Ah, I didn’t care about the child’s reaction—he had seen my expression. Besides, I had no time to just sit inside the cart.
I quickly jumped down, moving swiftly toward my subordinates. They already knew the rhythm. Some were busy unloading chests, others just standing, wiping sweat as if that could stave off Azbirut’s scorching heat.
“Pull the carts! Bring all the goods to the market! Don’t dawdle, I want my stall open before the sun slips! Hayel, manage the business first! I’ll join later!” I shouted loudly.
And as usual, Hayel—a young man in simple clothes, medium brown hair, with a thin cut above his left eye partially hidden by hair—answered calmly. His face serene, as if all this were just daily routine.
“Okey , Boss!” he called, carrying a large wooden box on his shoulder.
They moved immediately, fast and nimble, following Hayel’s directions. His hand pointed, his steps precise. He was… perfect to represent my trading business.
After making sure everything was in order, I returned to my horse cart.
Without further words, I bent down and lifted the child onto my back. Light. Too light. His body was hot, skin dry from the raging sandstorm that had lasted all night.
I strode quickly toward the row of buildings at the edge of the market. Among spice shops and weapon workshops stood a building with a weathered sign reading ‘Rosem Bloom Clinic.’ The building looked fairly well-kept, with clean whitewashed walls. A small bell hung on the dark brown wooden door.
Upon entering, the strong scent of medicine greeted me. A female clerk at the front desk yawned lazily, not even looking as I came in. But when her eyes caught the figure I carried, her expression changed.
“Give me a room… for a week.”
I placed a bundle of silver coins on the counter.
The clerk glanced at the coins, then returned her gaze to my back. There was a flicker of surprise on her face, but she remained professional. He simply nodded, opened a drawer, and handed me a brass key.
“Second floor, number eleven. A nurse will come by later.”
I nodded without a word and headed for the wooden stairs in the corner. Each step creaked under my weight, sending dust swirling in the air. Room eleven was at the far end of the dim corridor. I opened the door and entered.
The bed was simple, just a wooden frame with a thin mattress. But it would do. I carefully laid the child down on it.
His face was exhausted, his body pale. Yet, his eyes remained half-open, silently watching me.
I took a small pitcher of water from the table, poured it into a glass, and brought it to his lips. Slowly, I let drops trickle into his mouth. He sipped gently, his eyes half-closed, as if regaining a bit of strength.
I didn’t stop there. From the leather satchel at my waist, I took out a small bottle of healing potion—a reddish liquid that shimmered in the lantern light. I poured it into his mouth bit by bit.
“You have to stay strong, kid,” I murmured, even though I didn’t really know who he was. Somehow, I hoped he knew… the story of Dariath Village that had been reduced to ashes.
His tattered clothes couldn’t be left as they were. I pulled out a clean cloth from my bag and replaced his ripped garments with something more suitable. His skin was marked with fine scratches from the desert sands, and I applied ointment from a small bottle.
After ensuring he was more comfortable, I turned toward the door. The market awaited. Opportunities didn’t come twice, and my subordinates were likely already scrambling to manage the flood of customers without me.
Yet, before stepping out, I looked back once more. He was still lying there, his eyes now shut tightly.
“Hey… I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring you some snacks,” I said flatly.
No reply came, but I took it as consent.
I drew a breath and closed the door, leaving him in quiet. The hum of the market outside still echoed, and the distant clang of the city guard’s change of shift rang faintly.
---
[PoV — Caravan Chief]
Azbirut’s market that afternoon was full of intoxicating commotion. The scents of spices, smoked meat, and sweat mingled, carried on the hot wind leftover from a recently passed storm. The sun reflected off the colorful patched tents and cloth roofs, creating a dazzling glare.
I walked slowly, carrying the little girl on my shoulder. Her tiny body felt light, but the weight of her anxiety had been noticeable when I first found her in the crowded market. Beside me, Selim walked with easy, relaxed steps.
“Where’s the ice cream stall, little one?” I asked gently, glancing over my shoulder.
She only shook her head slightly, her eyes scanning the bustling crowd. After a few moments, her gaze landed on a wooden cart decorated with faded ribbons and a small bell. On it, rows of ice cream in simple coolers were displayed.
I could see her eyes light up.
“Ice cream… that one!” she shouted excitedly, pointing at a strawberry flavor whose bright red hue stood out, clearly captivating for such a small child.
I chuckled. “Alright, let’s stop by first,” I said, setting her down.
Selim nodded quietly, saying nothing, and joined us on a long bench at the edge of the hot street. We enjoyed the cold treat under the scorching sun, briefly taking respite from searching for her mother. The sweet, cold ice cream was a small comfort in the sweltering day.
Afterward, we continued through the market. I carried the little girl on my shoulder again.
We walked slowly through the hustle: watching street performers, sampling food given out for free, and occasionally pausing at toy stalls—even without buying anything, the girl’s wide-eyed gaze revealed small, unspoken admiration.
But soon, the small body on my shoulder tensed. She turned quickly and pointed toward the far side of the market.
“Th-there… Mother!” she shouted.
I squinted, following her tiny pointing finger. Amid the moving crowd, I saw a woman running hurriedly. Her neatly tied-up hair was now loose and messy, and her breathing was labored as if she’d run several blocks.
Both of her hands clutched shopping bags that bounced wildly with her steps. When she finally reached us, her body nearly collapsed, held upright only by her firm grip on her daughter’s shoulders.
“Huft… huft… huft…”
Her breaths came irregularly, her eyes swollen, but when she saw her beloved child unharmed, I noticed a glimmer of relief in her eyes.
I gently lowered the girl, bringing her down in front of her mother.
“This is your mother?” I whispered.
The child turned toward me, her eyes sparkling, her smile bright.
“Yes, this is my mother,” she replied firmly.
I slowly set the girl down, and she immediately hugged her mother’s legs tightly.
The woman bent down, returning her daughter’s hug with a sense of relief.
“Say thank you to this man first, my little girl,” she whispered, rubbing her daughter’s back.
“Thank you, old man!” the girl said, smiling brightly at me.
Strange. I used to feel annoyed being called that. But this time…
I actually felt a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long while. Somehow, that smile brought back memories of my own granddaughter.
“Oh… it’s nothing,” I replied casually, nodding lightly.
The woman still looked worried.
“I’m sorry… did my daughter trouble you?”
The girl lowered her head, her face turning red. I knew she was thinking about the moment she bumped into me earlier and spilled her ice cream on my pants. I smiled, trying to ease the tension.
“No, not at all,” I answered quickly. “In fact, she kept me company while we walked.”
I looked at the little girl and gave her a small nod, as if saying, Don’t worry, our secret is safe. The girl smiled again, while her mother could only watch, puzzled by our silent exchange.
“I… I brought a little gifts. Please accept it,” said the mother, handing me two small packages of sweet cookies.
I took them with a smile.
“Thank you.”
They walked away, the mother holding tightly onto her daughter’s tiny hand. I stood there, watching their backs slowly vanish into the crowd.
“So… this is what it feels like to be an old man, huh…” I murmured softly, a small smile forming on my lips.
“Ah, finally realizing it, Chief,” Selim’s annoying voice sounded beside me.
I sighed, letting my subordinate’s words slide.