Chapter 4: Lady in Silk and Shadows
The bells of Ylmare rang softly that morning, echoing across stone streets and ivy-covered towers. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the market square, Farhan once again set up his stall under the shade of the temple's great oak. The aroma of mint soap and freshly brewed coffee — brewed from a cleverly repurposed camping kettle — drifted in the breeze.
By now, he had gained a small but steady clientele. Mothers came for soap and toothbrushes. Adventurers wanted instant noodles and torches. Children adored the tiny packets of candy he introduced the previous evening.
But this morning, something felt different.
He noticed it in the way passersby glanced over their shoulders. In the way a hush fell as a group of armored knights passed the cobbled road, flanking a sleek, open carriage.
It was ornate — midnight black, gilded with silver.
And inside sat a woman cloaked in velvet and silk.
Her presence was electric. Long black hair, regal bearing, and eyes like amethysts.
She stepped down from the carriage with a grace that turned heads and halted footsteps. Her name whispered from nearby lips:
"Lady Seraphina Velmont…"
"The Viscount's daughter…"
"A spellcaster of the Royal Court…"
Farhan didn't flinch. He kept arranging his stall, pretending not to notice. But in truth, he was watching her every step.
She approached with two guards at her back. Her heels clicked on the stone as she stopped before his table and picked up a toothbrush.
"What an odd wand," she murmured. "Is it enchanted?"
Farhan smiled. "Only with good hygiene."
A pause. Then, to his surprise, she laughed — a low, melodic sound that somehow made his heart stutter.
"You're the merchant everyone's whispering about," she said, examining a soap bar next. "The one defying the guild's heavy hand."
"I just sell things people need," Farhan replied, his tone even.
Seraphina met his gaze directly. "You interest me, merchant. These items — they are neither crafted by local artisans nor imported through noble channels. And yet, they're like nothing we've seen."
She raised a sachet of instant coffee, her gloved fingers delicately feeling the packaging.
"Tell me the truth. Where do your goods come from?"
Farhan paused for a moment.
Then: "A distant land."
"You evade well," she said, eyes glinting. "I admire that. But beware, Master Merchant. In this world, secrets are currency… and someone is always paying to uncover them."
She placed a gold coin on the table. "One of everything."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's far more than the price."
"It's also a gift," she replied. "For defying men like Bron. For amusing me. And for not trembling at my title."
Farhan gave a soft chuckle as he packed her order. "Then allow me to offer a gift in return."
He handed her a sealed black pen — a ballpoint. Simple, elegant.
"What does this do?"
"Try writing with it. No ink bottle needed."
As she tested it on the edge of a parchment, her eyes widened.
"Incredible…" she whispered. "You truly are a merchant of mysteries."
She turned, her guards following, and as her carriage rolled away, Farhan finally exhaled.
"She's going to be trouble," he muttered to himself.
---
That night, Farhan sat alone in his rented room at the inn, counting coins and updating his inventory log on his phone. His stock was running low again — the soaps, torches, and noodles had nearly sold out.
"I need more niche items," he mused. "Something flashier... more impactful."
His fingers moved across his phone, searching online marketplaces.
> Order Placed:
> * 1x Battery-powered Hair Dryer
> * 3x Digital Watches
> * 1x Water Purifier Straw
> * 5x Thermal Blankets
> * 1x Solar Power Bank
But as he confirmed the purchase, a loud knock came at his door.
He froze.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
He carefully approached, whispering, "Who is it?"
"It's Harl. Open up. Now."
Farhan unlatched the door. The old merchant pushed in quickly and shut it behind him.
"You've made too many waves," Harl hissed. "Bron's furious. He tried to have the priestess bribed. When that failed, he went to the City Watch."
"I'm operating legally—"
"You were. But they're changing the rules. A new decree passed this evening. All foreign merchants must now register their origin and provide a guild sponsor. It's retroactive. Meaning you're in violation."
Farhan's jaw tightened.
"So what now?"
"You leave. Tonight. Before dawn."
"I'm not running."
Harl grabbed his shoulder. "Listen, boy! Bron isn't your only problem anymore. The Royal Treasury is taking notice. And worse… so is the Arcane Division."
Farhan blinked. "Why?"
"Because your goods aren't *just* foreign. They're untraceable by magic. Enchanters tried to divine their origin. All they got was silence. That kind of anomaly? That draws attention from people you don't want attention from."
Farhan paced. His thoughts raced. If magical authorities were noticing his "Online Shopping," he was in deeper trouble than he'd anticipated.
Then Harl said something that made his blood run cold.
"And last night… someone broke into your stall."
Farhan turned slowly. "What?"
"They didn't steal anything. But they left behind a note."
Harl pulled a folded parchment from his cloak. Farhan opened it.
It read:
> "Your secrets are slipping. Be gone before someone more dangerous arrives."
There was no signature.
No symbol.
Just the words.
Farhan's mind spun. Who could it be? Bron? The Arcane Division? Or someone else entirely?
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
Then made a decision.
"I won't run," he said.
"Boy—"
"But I'll go dark. Shut down the stall. Vanish for a few days. Let them think I'm scared. Then… I hit them where it hurts."
Harl blinked. "How?"
Farhan looked toward the window, where Ylmare's skyline shimmered faintly.
"By launching a product so miraculous, so powerful, that even nobles will fight to protect me."
---
Three Days Later
Ylmare buzzed with rumors. The mysterious merchant had vanished. His stall abandoned. Some said he fled in the night. Others claimed he'd been arrested or assassinated. The marketplace felt empty without him.
But just as the gossip reached its peak, a noblewoman's carriage arrived at the temple courtyard.
Lady Seraphina Velmont stepped out, flanked by her guards, and placed a scroll on the empty stall table.
It read:
> "This vendor is under the personal protection of House Velmont. Any threat made toward him is a threat to us."
Whispers erupted across the square.
And far beyond the city, in the capital itself, agents of the Arcane Division took notice.