The next morning, JP left the guild hall after submitting a minor herb quest, his mind preoccupied with ideas for better irrigation tools. But as he crossed the busy village square, three men stepped into his path.
They were finely dressed compared to the farmers—merchants, with polished boots and smug faces. The largest of them stroked his beard as he looked JP over.
"You're the outsider with the strange tools, aren't you?" the man said smoothly. "We've seen your lanterns, your scoops. Impressive work. But here in this village, trade flows through us. If you want to sell, you'll supply us exclusively."
JP frowned, already sensing where this was going. "And if I don't?"
The merchant's smile tightened. "Then you'll find villagers less eager to buy, and your coin purse emptier than you'd like. We decide who thrives here."
The others nodded, one cracking his knuckles for effect. Villagers passing by slowed, curious but unwilling to interfere.
JP took a slow breath. Part of him wanted to fold, to avoid trouble. But another part—the stubborn electrician who once worked in the toughest conditions back on Earth—refused.
"I didn't come here to bow to people who think they own everything," JP said evenly. "I'll sell to whoever I please. My work is mine."
The bearded merchant's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret that, outsider."
As JP pushed past, the square buzzed with murmurs. Some villagers looked impressed. Others looked worried. JP's defiance had drawn a line in the sand. And though he walked away with his head held high, he couldn't shake the chill that ran down his spine.
The merchants wouldn't let this go.