The next day, Sanwi awoke in its usual chaos. Vendors shouted in the streets, children begged for coins, and carts creaked over worn cobblestones.
Ciel walked alone. His thoughts echoed inside his head:
Money is a weapon. Words can kill. A promise is a contract.
He stopped in front of a crowded square. There it was again—the clandestine rice market. The same men shouting, the same sacks of grain piled at their feet. But this time, Ciel wasn't here just to watch.
He approached cautiously, catching the attention of an old man with a gray beard, who held a ledger.
"Hey, kid. You're too young to be betting here."
"I don't need age," Ciel replied calmly. "Only eyes."
The old man burst out with a raspy laugh.
"Your eyes won't fill your stomach."
"Maybe not. But they can read what others ignore."
Intrigued, the old man let him stay at the back.
The bidding began. A round-faced merchant shouted loudly:
"Tomorrow the harvest will be delayed by rain! Prices will rise! Buy tonight!"
Panic swept the buyers at once. Bills flew from pockets, sacks sold for more.
But Ciel noticed something else. In the crowd, a young courier was wiping his boots—covered in dry dust. Not a trace of mud. And in the distance, the sky was clear, the air heavy but stable.
A lie.
Ciel took a deep breath and stepped forward. His voice, still youthful but firm, cut through the noise:
"There will be no rain tomorrow."
Silence fell. Men turned toward him, startled.
The round-faced merchant frowned.
"Who are you? A street rat daring to challenge men of trade?"
"I'm a rat, maybe. But even rats can read the sky."
A few laughs scattered through the crowd. But some, intrigued, hesitated.
Ciel continued:
"Look at his boots. Dry. And the wind blows from the south, not the north. No rain. If you buy now, you're paying too much for nothing."
The merchant faltered, fumbling for words. Uncertainty rippled through the buyers like a wave. Some stepped back, clutching their bills. The prices stopped climbing.
The gray-bearded old man came closer to Ciel, an amused smile tugging at his lips.
"You can speak. And you can observe. But words without action are worthless."
He handed Ciel a small pouch.
"Take this. A hundred bills. Prove to me you can make them grow."
Ciel stared at the pouch, surprised.
"Why me?"
"Because I've seen more liars than grains of rice in my life. But you… you lie with the truth. And that's far more dangerous."
That evening, Ciel returned home, the pouch hidden under his shirt. Inside, Blisen was waiting, leaning against the wall.
"Where were you?" he asked sharply.
"At the market."
"You think you'll change your life with three sacks of rice and pretty words?"
Ciel pulled out the pouch and placed it on the table. The clinking of coins silenced his brother.
"I don't need to steal, or fight. Others will give me their money themselves."
Blisen stared, his mouth slightly open. Then he chuckled, shaking his head.
"Little brother, you're starting to scare me."
That night, Ciel opened his notebook and wrote new lines:
A lie can buy a day. A truth can buy a life.
Greed blinds a man more surely than night.
A poorly read contract is a blade turned against oneself.
He paused, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight.
Outside, the alleys of Sanwi seemed asleep. But in truth, they teemed with invisible threats, secret markets, silent wars that few could see.
And in the midst of that chaos, a naïve boy was beginning to understand that every word, every number, every promise could become a weapon.
Ciel Darkness had no sword, no feared fists, no inherited fortune. But he had just won his first invisible battle.
His first public intervention at the market.
His verbal confrontation with a manipulative merchant.
His first "investment," entrusted by an elder.
The clash with Blisen, who was beginning to realize his brother was no longer so naïve.