The Merchant's Costly Blunder
"Right now? 'No boss around? I don't want to waste time, so don't play coy—just call him over.'"
It's black-market cash anyway, and in this world, this isn't some cheap cart you ride once and ditch. It's a top-tier luxury carriage meant for long-term cruising. To get the best with that kind of service, the owner I demanded—the caravan master at minimum, or at least a branch manager—needs to show up to close the deal smoothly. As I glanced around while speaking, a few seasoned-looking merchants smacked their lips in regret and quietly clicked their tongues.
From the gear we're packing to my naturally extraordinary looks and the casual way I summoned the boss, it seems I've already weeded out the small fry pretty effectively. Sure, it's a free ride and I'm planning to blow the whole pouch, but now that it's in my hands, this money's mine. Why feed these lowlifes when I could build connections with a branch manager or caravan master for the same price? That's the real profit.
'Trying to scam my money, you fucking parasites...'
I snorted at their dripping regret in their eyes and waited. While I chatted idly with my women—still clueless about carriage prices—the creak of footsteps on the second-floor stairs hit my ears, naturally turning my head.
"Pleased to meet you. Just as I heard, you're quite the striking figure... and your companions as well."
"Huh? You know me...?"
My girls might've visited before, but for the owner of a place I'd never set foot in to act like we're old pals? Total confusion. 'I haven't done anything flashy enough to be famous...' Sure, there was that wyvern takedown, but that was hush-hush. Tilting my head in genuine puzzlement, the caravan master opened his mouth with a warm smile that suited his plump, affable face.
"Griham let me know someone like you would be dropping by—but merchants and adventurers are bound together whether we like it or not..."
"Ah..."
Our sharp little Gonjiam bastard must've hustled around to make sure everything was squared away. 'And the way he specified "adventurer" means it's tied to Margaret's husband?' Unlike Margaret—my personal fuckhouse receptionist—Stewart's face was already fuzzy in my memory. Whatever, it meant things would go smoothly, so I nodded firmly.
"I'm nothing special, but knowing that much makes it awkward."
"Griham and others are all interested in you, and you call that nothing special...? Oh, right—introductions are late. Name's Adam."
"Berg. These are my party—my family."
As I introduced the crew with a wry smile at his sparkling eyes, his already friendly face stretched into a beaming grin. Not your average merchant; as a caravan master, he clocked my women's extraordinary vibe at a glance, especially Tier and the rest. He nodded along, scanning us, but suddenly his expression fogged over, head tilting.
His gaze nailed to Tier, raking her from head to toe—it pissed me off. I glared, basically asking what the fuck he was doing, and he snapped out of it, bowing hastily.
"My apologies. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just... she seems from the Frost Wolf tribe—we trade with them, so..."
His leering eyes on my woman and the way he harped on it grated hard, but his vibe and actions rang true, so I sighed inwardly and glanced at Tier.
"Yeah. Probably. She's got that tribe scent all over her."
"Oh..."
"Chief still doing well?"
"Yes. Too well, to the point he looked a bit gaunt last time. Haha."
Even during our occasional fucks, Tier tried pushing weird folk remedies I'd never heard of, and when I grilled her on who taught her that bullshit, it traced back to Frost Wolf skirt-chasing traits. Adam, clearly familiar with it from dealings, scratched his head, sweat beading despite his calm words.
"Still? Don't tell me he still hasn't had a daughter?"
"Yes... You know an awful lot for thinking she's just some tribeswoman?"
"Damn right. House was close by—played with the chief's kids all the time. Hell, I'm part of why the auntie wants a daughter so bad."
Tier, ostracized as a kid but adored by adults, wagged her tail with a goofy grin. 'Makes sense... Kids couldn't handle her size and attitude, so they ganged up, but adults? Village pride.' Even in my world, a B-rank prospect in the boonies sparks pig-slaughtering frenzy; in this power-is-everything place, Tier's innate edge was practically divine providence.
"Ah! So you're Tier, miss?"
"Yeah. That's me."
Adam blinked in shock at Tier's casual nod while she reminisced. Her title had upgraded to "miss," making my shoulders puff up like I'd earned the praise.
"Chief said to find you ASAP..."
"Huh? She wrote she'd handle it adventuring and left."
"Well... 'If not a daughter, then a daughter-in-law...'"
He shot me a "what now?" look.
"So basically, quit adventuring, come home, and marry his kid?"
Tier was mine anyway, and tribe traits or not, zero chance she'd leave. I spat it out dismissively—no real emotion—but thud! Boom! Brain and body don't always sync. I usually reined it in, but the raw killing intent leaked, foaming horses and crumpling nearby staff.
"You going, Tier?"
"Hehe. No way!"
Her flat tone—blissfully oblivious when pissed—shook her head like the world could burn. Whatever was so funny?
"She says no? ...Look, we'll swing by the Empire trip if we pass through, handle it ourselves—don't sweat it."
Staff wrecked, Adam nodded frantically, legs shaking, eyes trembling. Glancing over, his rings were shattered, glow dead. Caravan master baseline resistance plus artifacts barely saved him. I tsked in dissatisfaction.
"You killed the mood, so just deliver the carriage home yourself."
"Y-yes. Got it!"
I'd called them family—implying everything—and he'd get that. 'Still fishing between me and that chief pissant? No holding back needed... Fucking prick.'
In a might-makes-right world, never touch honor. Strip a man's pride, and he takes any revenge sweet. Laughable, this caravan master pissing himself blind. Crash!
"Ack! Gah!"
Replaying it fueled my kick; remaining rings exploded as Adam tumbled pathetically. Stewart and Griham had soured me on merchants and nobles a bit.
'Yeah... this savage world's norm. Sigh.'
Long-overdue flex with the girls to blow off steam—ruined. Sensing most horses dead via aura, I shook my head and turned.
Swish.
"What?"
"Nothing."
My pouty lips aside, Tier grinned, tail coiling my arm. My mood soured, hers sky-high—head tilt. 'Sh, shit. Now?'