Ward woke to sunlight streaming through the small window and the discovery that he wasn't hungry.
He should have been. He'd gone to sleep with an empty stomach, no food since breakfast on Earth—however long ago that was now. By all rights, he should be ravenous, weak, possibly delirious.
Instead, he felt fine. Rested. Ready for another day of selling overpriced goods to suspicious customers.
He sat up and checked his watch. 6:47. He'd slept roughly eleven hours, assuming the watch was still keeping Earth time. The light through the window suggested morning, which meant this dimension had a day-night cycle that at least approximated normality.
Small mercies.
Ward showered—the water was still cold, but cold showers had a way of focusing the mind—and dressed in his hiking clothes. He'd have to do something about laundry eventually. For now, he had other concerns.
The food problem hadn't gone away. But apparently, his body had decided to ignore it.
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GOOD MORNING, SHOPKEEPER
Day 2 of Operation
Energy: 100 / 10,000
Shopkeeper Quest: 25 / 100 Gold
Active Customer Quests: 2
- Mira: In Progress (no updates)
- Chen Liu: In Progress (no updates)
The system wishes you a productive day.
(The system's wishes are non-binding.)
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Ward dismissed the window and took his place behind the counter.
The shop looked the same as yesterday—dusty, ancient, faintly neglected. The shelves held their mysterious inventory. The door showed nothing beyond its frame, waiting for the next dimensional traveller to wander through.
He didn't have to wait long.
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CUSTOMER DETECTED
Dimensional interface: Active
Origin: Unknown
Customer status: Supremely Confident
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The young man who strode through the door did so with the bearing of someone who expected the world to rearrange itself around him. Dark hair artfully tousled, new leather armour that creaked with every step, a sword at his hip that had clearly never seen combat. He was perhaps eighteen or nineteen, handsome in a soft, well-fed way, and he looked at Ward's shop the way a duke might look at a particularly quaint peasant cottage.
"You there," he said. "Shopkeeper."
Ward raised an eyebrow. "That would be me."
"I require provisions." The young man's gaze swept the shelves with practiced dismissal. "Quality provisions. For a quest of some importance."
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CUSTOMER PROFILE
Name: Aldric Thornwood
Class: None (untrained)
Level: 0
Title: Third Son of Baron Thornwood
Customer Affinity: Neutral (expects deference)
Current Equipment Assessment: Decorative
Combat Experience: Training dummies
The system recommends managing expectations.
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Ward's tabletop instincts fired immediately. He knew this archetype. He'd played with this player at a dozen tables over the years—the one who rolled a first-level character with a tragic backstory and delusions of grandeur, then charged the first enemy they encountered because "it's what my character would do."
Level zero. No class. Decorative armour. And that particular brand of confidence that came from never having been punched in the face by reality.
This was going to require careful handling.
"A quest," Ward said, keeping his voice neutral. "What manner of quest?"
Aldric straightened, clearly pleased to be asked. "There have been orc raids on the farms near my father's lands. Peasants crying for protection, livestock slaughtered, the usual tedium. The local garrison has been... insufficient." He waved a hand dismissively. "I intend to resolve the matter personally."
"You intend to fight orcs."
"Slay them," Aldric corrected. "One must be precise with language. I will track the beasts to their lair, eliminate the threat, and return victorious. It's quite straightforward."
Ward studied the young man. The pristine armour. The untested sword. The complete absence of supplies beyond what he was wearing.
"How many orcs?"
"One will suffice for the tale. Perhaps two, if they present themselves conveniently."
"And your party composition?"
Aldric's brow furrowed slightly. "My what?"
"Your adventuring party. The other fighters accompanying you on this orc-hunting expedition."
A flicker of something—embarrassment? defiance?—crossed Aldric's face. "I require no party. This is a personal matter. A proving."
Ward nodded slowly. A solo Level 0 noble charging into an orc camp to "prove himself." He'd seen this character die in session one more times than he could count.
The problem was, Aldric wasn't a character. He was a person. A stupid, arrogant, desperately insecure person who was about to get himself killed—and there wasn't a resurrection spell waiting in the wings.
Direct advice wouldn't work. Ward could see that immediately. If he said "you're going to die," Aldric would hear "this common shopkeeper doubts my noble blood" and storm out with nothing.
He would need to play on his ego.
"I see," Ward said. "A solo expedition. Very... ambitious."
"Ambitious?" Aldric's chin lifted. "It is a matter of capability. Some of us are born to heroism."
"Indeed." Ward gestured at the shelves. "Well, I'm sure you've already considered your equipment needs. Health potions, rations, rope, that sort of thing. The basics."
"I have my sword. My armour." Aldric touched the hilt at his hip. "Thornwood steel. The finest in the barony."
"Decorative?"
The word hung in the air. Aldric's eyes narrowed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The armour," Ward said, his tone carefully neutral. "It's very fine. Excellent craftsmanship. Clearly ceremonial quality."
"This armour was commissioned for—"
"For looking impressive at court functions, yes. I can tell. The stitching is purely aesthetic—it would pull apart under stress. And the leather hasn't been properly treated for combat. It's meant to be seen, not struck." Ward shrugged. "Perfectly adequate for a formal dinner. Less so for an orc's axe."
Aldric's face had gone slightly red. "You presume to lecture me on—"
"Not at all. I'm sure you're aware. An experienced warrior would have noticed immediately, of course. The way the panels are joined, the thickness of the hide. Dead giveaway."
The flush deepened. "I am perfectly aware of my armour's qualities."
"Of course you are." Ward nodded agreeably. "And what about healing? You've brought potions, I assume?"
Silence.
"The orcs you're hunting," Ward continued conversationally, "they typically fight in groups. Tribal structure. Where there's one, there's usually a camp nearby. Six to twelve warriors minimum, plus scouts, possibly a chief or warleader. They favour axes and crude swords, but they're strong. One solid hit can break bones. Two can kill." He paused. "A health potion can mean the difference between limping home victorious and bleeding out in a ditch. But I'm sure you knew that."
Aldric's jaw had tightened. "I had intended to acquire supplies. Obviously. That's why I'm here."
"Ah. Then you'll want the combat package." Ward gestured at the shelves. "Health potions are twelve gold each. I'd recommend at least two for orc hunting—they have a nasty habit of getting hits in even when you're winning. The rations are five gold, and you'll want those unless you're planning to forage in orc territory, which..." He let the sentence trail off meaningfully. "Rope is eight gold. Essential for a dozen reasons. And trail mix—eight gold for sustained energy on long pursuits. You'd be surprised how many promising hunts fail because someone got tired at the wrong moment."
"Trail mix," Aldric repeated flatly.
"The experienced hunters swear by it. But I'm sure your natural endurance is sufficient."
There was a long moment of silence. Ward watched the war playing out behind Aldric's eyes—pride versus fear, ego versus survival instinct. The young noble wanted to storm out, dismiss Ward as an impertinent commoner who didn't understand the natural superiority of good breeding.
But somewhere beneath the arrogance, some small part of his brain was doing the math. One orc was never just one orc. Axes broke bones. He'd brought no potions, no food, no rope, no light.
He'd brought a pretty sword and a prayer.
"Your prices," Aldric said finally, "are outrageous."
"They reflect the quality."
"Twelve gold for a healing potion? The alchemists in Valdros sell them for three."
"Then I suggest purchasing from them." Ward's expression remained pleasant. "I'm sure it won't matter."
Aldric's eye twitched.
"The rations," he said. "Five gold seems excessive for food."
"It is food. Specifically, it's food that won't spoil, won't attract predators, and provides actual nutrition rather than just filling your stomach. But again, I'm sure you've packed provisions from your manor's kitchen. Bread, cheese, perhaps some cured meat? Should last you... a day? Maybe two before it turns?"
Another silence. Ward could see the realisation dawning: Aldric hadn't brought food at all. He'd snuck out with his sword and his armour and his dreams of glory, and he hadn't even thought about eating.
Level zero. No supplies. Charging into orc territory.
This was worse than a TPK waiting to happen. This was a character who never should have left the tavern.
"Very well." Aldric drew himself up, visibly reassembling his dignity. "I shall require your rations. And..." He hesitated. "The rope, I suppose. A wise warrior considers all contingencies."
"Indeed they do."
"And this trail mix." The words came out slightly strangled. "For... sustained energy."
Ward nodded, maintaining his neutral expression with some difficulty. Aldric moved to examine the sword display, his posture stiff with wounded pride. Ward let him browse, watching the young noble slowly add items to his mental list. The rations. The rope. A sword that he handled like he'd never held one before.
"This blade," Aldric said, not looking at Ward. "What makes it worth seventy-five gold?"
"It's a sword. It cuts things."
Aldric's jaw tightened, but he added it to his growing collection. Ward noted with grim satisfaction that the pile of equipment was looking increasingly sensible. Still not enough for a solo assault on an orc camp, but enough to maybe—possibly—give the idiot a fighting chance.
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TRANSACTION PREVIEW
Simple Iron Sword: 75 Gold
Common Rations: 5 Gold
Standard Rope: 8 Gold
Adventurer's Trail Mix: 8 Gold
Subtotal: 96 Gold
Customer Funds: Sufficient (noble household)
The system notes this is substantially more than the customer intended to spend.
The system approves.
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Aldric stared at the total with the expression of a man who had walked in expecting to buy nothing and was leaving with a small armoury.
"Nearly a hundred gold," he said.
"Quality equipment costs money. I'm sure a household of your standing won't miss it."
Another wound to the pride—the implication that a hundred gold was significant to a baron's son. Aldric's jaw tightened, but he produced a coin purse that was, Ward noted, reassuringly heavy.
"The Thornwood family pays its debts."
"I never doubted it."
The transaction completed. Ward watched the system register the sale—ninety-six gold, pushing his quest progress well past the hundred-gold target. The Shopkeeper Quest was complete, though he'd deal with whatever reward that triggered later.
Aldric gathered his purchases with the careful dignity of someone pretending they'd intended to buy all of this from the start. The trail mix went into a pocket, the rope coiled over his shoulder, the sword at his hip alongside his decorative Thornwood blade.
"Shopkeeper," he said, pausing at the door.
"Yes?"
"You speak as if you know a great deal about orc hunting."
Ward considered his response. "I've studied the subject."
"Studied." Aldric's tone was skeptical. "From books?"
"From... experience. Of a sort."
"Hmm." The noble's gaze swept over Ward—the hiking clothes, the counter, the dusty shop. Whatever he saw apparently didn't impress him. "If you ever tire of selling provisions, perhaps you might consider a career in tactics. You have a gift for making men feel inadequate about their choices."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't intended as one." Aldric turned to leave, then paused again. "The orcs. You mentioned they travel in groups. Camps of six to twelve."
"Typically."
"And if one were to encounter such a camp... alone..."
"One would want to scout first. Identify numbers, positions, routines. Look for isolated sentries—an orc separated from the group is far more manageable than an orc with friends. Pick off the edges. Never engage the full force. And have an escape route planned before you need it."
Aldric absorbed this in silence.
"That sounds almost like cowardice."
"It sounds like surviving. But I'm sure you know best."
The noble's lips thinned. For a moment, Ward thought he might argue. Then something shifted in his expression—a crack in the armour of ego, just for a moment.
"I will remember your advice, shopkeeper."
"Ward."
"What?"
"My name. It's Ward."
Aldric blinked, as if the concept of a shopkeeper having a name was faintly surprising. "Ward, then. I am Aldric Thornwood, third son of Baron—"
"I know. The system told me."
Another blink. "The... system?"
"Never mind. Good luck with your orcs, Lord Thornwood."
The door opened onto a forested landscape—tall trees, dappled sunlight, the kind of wilderness that could hide a hundred orc camps. Aldric stepped through without looking back, his new equipment creaking slightly as he moved.
The door closed behind him.
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CUSTOMER DEPARTED
Quest: Orc Hunt (solo)
Stakes: Medium-High (×1.5 energy multiplier)
Equipment purchased: Comprehensive (for the stated threat)
The system notes that ego remains the primary risk factor.
Good luck with that.
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Ward stared at the door for a long moment.
Nearly a hundred gold. The kid had spent nearly a hundred gold because Ward had made him feel like a fool for not being prepared. Every insult to his competence, every implication that he wasn't a "real" adventurer, had translated directly into equipment purchases.
It was manipulative. It was cynical. And it might have just saved the idiot's life.
Or not. Aldric was still Level 0, still alone, still hunting orcs with more confidence than skill. All the gear in the world wouldn't help if he charged into the middle of a camp screaming about noble blood.
But he had a chance now. A slim one, maybe, but better than the nothing he'd walked in with.
Ward checked his watch. 9:15. Barely an hour since the shop had opened, and he'd already completed his Shopkeeper Quest.
A new window appeared.
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QUEST COMPLETE!
Shopkeeper Quest: Sell 100 Gold worth of items
Progress: 121 / 100 Gold
REWARD UNLOCKED
You may select one new inventory item to add to your store's stock.
Available options:
[View Selections]
The system congratulates you on your mercenary efficiency.
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Ward dismissed the window for now. He'd look at the reward later.
Three customers served. Three quests pending. A cultivation disciple heading into a cave with something waiting for him, a young herbalist on a routine gathering trip, and now a noble's son hunting orcs solo.
He was getting better at this. The manipulation, the careful management of customer psychology, the art of selling people things they didn't know they needed.
It felt uncomfortably like his old job.
Ward sat behind the counter and waited for the next disaster to walk through the door.