The Silent Merchant
Wash area, Zone 17 Bunker. "Don't move."
A brush hovered at the tip of Ayla's finger. Lenia Bright sat on a chair in front of the sink. A small rectangular mirror hung from a rusted pipe, illuminated by the white LED light above, casting her face in sharp relief. A cosmetics set from the System shop lay spread out on the sink—foundation, eyeshadow, lipstick, mascara. Total cost: 12 SP.
I monitored the proceedings from the control room via the earpiece.
"Open your eyes."
"……."
"I can't line your eyes if you don't open them."
"Is this a necessary process for combat?"
"It's not combat, it's disguise!"
Ayla grabbed Lenia's chin and adjusted the angle. The brush tip grazed her eyelid. Lenia's eye narrowed reflexively.
"I said stay still! You grab a sword barehanded but you're scared of a makeup brush?!"
"I'm not scared. It's a reflex to unnecessary contact."
"Ughhh—fine, again."
No change in Lenia's heart rate through the earpiece. No communication static. Ayla's voice rang out again.
"Boss! Come here for a sec!"
Twelve seconds from the control room to the wash area. I pushed aside the tarp curtain and stepped in. Ayla spread her arms wide and took a step back. Lenia rose from the chair.
She was different. Same face. No change in bone structure or contours. But this wasn't the Lenia who'd swung her sword expressionless inside knightly armor. Her sharp eyes had melted into soft shadows. Her roughly tied-up hair now cascaded over one shoulder, and a faint color tinged her lips. It was as if the knight's straight lines had curved into a woman's graceful arcs.
"What do you think, boss? I turned her into a whole new person!"
Ayla winked smugly, nose wrinkling.
"……."
She was beautiful. I cross-referenced Lenia's face with my memory of her. When she'd crawled out of the sewage, she'd looked wretched. Now? Not anymore.
"Would anyone from the Bright Knights recognize her?"
"No way in hell."
Ayla declared it flatly.
"The image people in the knights have of Lenia is 'expressionless woman in armor.' No one in the Empire would picture this stunning Lenia."
Sound analysis. There was a perceptual disconnect between knight Lenia and this Lenia. The brain remembers faces based on context.
"Lenia. Look in the mirror."
Lenia turned her head. The small rectangular mirror on the rusted pipe. A stranger stared back from the glass. Lenia's gaze lingered for 0.5 seconds. That was the biggest reaction she'd shown.
"……No anomalies."
Lenia didn't know that on the same day, a man named Kasian had stared into a mirror and felt his own face was unfamiliar. The difference?
Kasian had seen himself crumbling in the reflection.
Lenia had discovered a new self.
"Good. Get dressed."
---
Control room. Black suit jacket. White shirt. Black pants. All pulled from the System shop by Zeke. Perfect fit. I'd eyeballed her measurements on the first try. Instead of the tungsten black sword on her back, it hung from her left waist. I adjusted the jacket's inner harness so only the sword hilt peeked out from behind.
The fact she was armed was the message itself.
A briefcase sat on the folding table. Black faux leather. Cheapest from the System shop. I opened it and placed the vacuum-sealed fuse inside. On top, I laid a single sheet printing the residual mana scanner results.
Click. Locked.
"Hold the bag in your left hand. In an emergency, drop it with your left and draw the sword with your right."
"Understood."
"Viscount Vail leaked word to Kasian's inner circle about a 'trader holding Zone 17 wreckage.' Rendezvous point and time via earpiece in real-time. Route same as yesterday. From the vent to the surface exit, then follow my voice."
I set down the pen and looked up at Lenia. Suit on, makeup done, briefcase in hand. Not a knight, but a "silent trader" standing in the middle of the control room.
"Your first sales call. Bring back the sale."
Lenia picked up the briefcase in her left hand. The pale lipstick contrasted oddly with her expressionless face. She walked toward the vent. Steady stride. Straight back. The sword hilt inside the jacket swayed faintly with each step.
"Hey!"
A voice exploded from behind. Ayla.
Lenia didn't stop.
"Don't die!"
The words echoed off the control room walls. Lenia didn't reply. Just before departure, her right hand moved unconsciously. It gripped and released the sword hilt inside the jacket. A brief metallic scrape against her palm. Then she walked on.
Her even footsteps on the metal grating faded into the distance. The vent hatch opened, then clanged shut. Silence settled over the control room.
Ayla rolled an empty cola can across her fingertips, muttering.
"……At least answer, seriously."
I sipped my coffee, eyes fixed on the monitor. Lenia's signal crept up the vertical vent shaft on the screen.
---
Imperial Palace, Kasian's office. In front of the full-length mirror, Kasian fastened his cufflinks. Platinum. Sun emblem. Suppressing the faint tremor in his fingertips took two seconds longer than usual to secure them.
"Solon."
The elderly priest in long robes bowed from the shadows in the office corner. High Priest Solon. The man with the Empire's keenest divine sense after forty years in the church.
"Your Highness."
"If the one I'm meeting today brings a fake, you detect it."
"Of course, Your Highness."
Solon replied.
"Detecting faint mana fluctuations with divine power is one of my few talents."
"And if it's real?"
A brief silence.
"If it's real…… Your Highness will hold the throne."
The corner of Kasian's mouth twitched upward. Not a smile. More like a muscle spasm.
He couldn't send a proxy. Embezzling a national treasure was the utmost secret. Each new person who knew multiplied the risk exponentially. Solon's verification had to happen on-site, and off-the-books payments required his personal approval. And above all—
He wasn't the type to entrust a deal involving his own life to another.
Kasian fiddled with his cufflinks once more.
"Four escorts. Trading post backroom. Two escape routes secured. Suppress on my signal."
"Taking every precaution."
"Not precautions. Insurance."
Kasian turned from the mirror. Before taking a step, a hiss escaped through his teeth.
"This isn't a deal. It's war."
---
Zone 17 Bunker control room. I lounged back in the folding chair. Six minutes to rendezvous. I brought the earpiece mic to my lips.
"Lenia."
"Signal received."
"Final rundown before contact. Three rules."
Ayla perked up in front of her monitor, pausing her cola can and tilting her head.
"Rule one: Never state a number first. Price, terms—whatever they ask. You stay silent."
"Understood."
"Rule two: If I say 'close the bag,' close it. 'Stand,' you stand. 'Walk,' head for the door. No questions."
"Understood."
"Rule three: Otherwise, just breathe."
0.5 seconds of silence.
"Understood."
I pulled away from the mic and took a sip of coffee. The black bitterness spread across my tongue. Ayla spun her chair, head cocked.
"Boss, that's it? Just three rules? No prep for what Kasian might say?"
"Doesn't matter what Kasian says."
"……Why?"
"The longer the talk, the more info leaks. Lenia doesn't talk, so zero leakage. Kasian throwing questions at a wall. No data to analyze, politicians fill blanks with their own scenarios. That self-contradiction works in our favor."
Ayla froze, mouth half-open.
"But…… what if he haggles the price? I know better than anyone how stingy that bastard is."
"Kasian's not most afraid of traps."
I reclined the chair back with a creak.
"Time."
The chair creaked again.
---
Abandoned Trading Post. East outskirts of the Imperial capital. A two-story stone building deserted for a decade after the owner fled in the night. Windows boarded with planks, the faded sign above the entrance illegible from weathering.
Basement backroom. Kasian had arrived first. One round oak table. Two chairs. A single mana stone lamp overhead bathed the room in dim orange.
Kasian sat in the facing chair, Solon behind him to the right. Four escort knights posted at the four wall corners. All armed.
The door opened. Lenia entered. Black suit jacket. White shirt. Briefcase in left hand. Cold eyes piercing through her makeup. Steady stride. Gaze locked straight through Kasian's eyes.
The room's air shifted.
Kasian instinctively tried to read her. To survive under his father, ruler of the Empire's political arena, reading people had to be as natural as breathing. Tone of voice, eye movements, finger tremors, breath intervals. A politician's instinct collected and analyzed every micro-signal automatically.
Lenia stopped in front of the table. Didn't sit.
What Kasian read: Nothing.
No expression. Eyes unmoving. Hands steady. Breath neither fast nor slow. Uniform grip on the left-handed briefcase, right hand naturally at her side.
One escort knight's eyes narrowed. Inside Lenia's jacket, left waist—a faint metallic outline. Armed.
The room's physical tension ratcheted up.
Kasian's left hand rose. Index and middle fingers toyed with his cufflink.
"Sit."
Lenia didn't sit.
Kasian's analysis routine spun idly. Ignoring a command? Or not recognizing it as one? Neither made sense. A normal trader would bow before the crown prince; even a bold merchant showed minimal courtesy. This woman seemed beyond the concept of etiquette.
"Fine."
Kasian lowered his voice.
"Show me what you've brought."