THE DIMENSIONAL MERCHANT-Chapter 81 - 80: Meeting with the Raven Guild

Fantasy world.

Kael stirred with a sharp inhale, his senses returning.

He blinked the blur from his eyes and slowly sat up.

He was seated comfortably on a cushioned chair in a spacious room framed by carved oak beams. Warm lanterns glowed from crystal sconces, their soft light flickering over scroll racks, hanging maps, and a large polished desk.

And sitting behind that desk was a rotund man dressed in robes far too expensive for someone trying to look humble. Gold embroidery wrapped around the cuffs like serpents, and thick rings weighed down each of his fingers.

"Merchant Kael," the man said, spreading his arms in a show of welcome that felt more like a performance than a greeting. "I must offer my deepest apologies. Truly, truly sorry for the rough method of your arrival."

Kael narrowed his eyes. The headache hadn’t fully cleared, but his instincts were already screaming.

The fat man turned toward the door and barked, "Did I not say to bring him respectfully? This wasn’t a kidnapping—it was a meeting!"

A muffled voice answered from the hallway, uncertain. "He... resisted."

The man sighed theatrically, swatting the air with a pudgy hand. "Of course he resisted! He’s not a bloody cow. You bow. You offer terms. Gods above, are we barbarians?" ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

He turned back to Kael, grinning like they were old friends. "Forgive them. Their manners are blunt, but their loyalty is... useful. And the world is dangerous these days. Precautions, you understand."

Kael looked at the fat man, a little annoyed.

Tch. What do these people want from me? But it doesn’t seem like they have any intention of harming me. They haven’t tied my hands or feet and haven’t hurt me so far.

Anyway, if it becomes necessary to fight them, I won’t back down. I still have my knife... and the AK-47 I took.

The man gave a short bow—impressive, considering his belly. "Let me introduce myself properly. I am Molvar Thorne, regional manager of the Raven Merchant Guild. You may have heard of us."

The smallest of the three great merchant powers in the Blue Kingdom—dangerous, and unafraid to operate in gray areas. Smugglers, exotic traders, curio dealers, and sometimes worse. Their Ginip branch was small, but Molvar’s rank meant he held real authority.

Molvar didn’t seem to mind Kael’s silence. His smile only deepened. "It seems you’re annoyed by all this."

He lifted his hands as if in surrender. "Please. Don’t be. I brought you here not for threats, but for opportunity. And yes—yes—we should’ve sent a proper invitation. But time is money, and you, dear Kael, are becoming... quite valuable."

Kael’s voice was flat. "If I’m so valuable, you should’ve sent tea, not a kidnap squad."

Molvar laughed—a rolling, belly-deep sound that jiggled his chins. "Ha! Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right. This is all a... misunderstanding of tone."

Then he clapped once.

A servant scurried in, bowing low.

"Bring refreshments. Fruit, bread, something warm. Lord Kael must eat before we discuss business."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "Let’s skip the bread. Tell me why I’m here."

Molvar gave a wounded look. "So cold, so direct. You truly are a merchant after my own heart." Then he leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "But fine. I won’t waste your time."

He placed a rolled parchment on the table and tapped it.

"We’ve observed your recent ventures. Soap, medicine, light tools, snacks... revolutionary products. Nothing magical, yet effective. Unique. But the problem is where these products actually come from."

Kael remained quiet.

Molvar’s tone darkened. "And that bothers people."

Finally, Kael spoke. "People like you?"

Molvar chuckled, though his eyes didn’t smile. "Yes. People like me. You’re a merchant, Kael. You understand how rumors spread. You understand supply lines. Everything has a cost. Everything has a source. But you? You produce without raw inputs."

He leaned forward, voice lowering.

"We want to know where it all comes from."

Kael’s mouth was a thin line.

"I already told someone," he said. "I bring it from my homeland. Far from here."

Molvar raised an eyebrow. "Then tell us more. This homeland. Its trade routes. Its ports. Your country name? Its export laws?"

Kael hesitated.

He didn’t know this world’s map well enough to fake a place. And saying the truth—that he came from another world entirely—was out of the question.

"I don’t see why I should answer," he said finally. "You’re not a noble. Not a king or a governor. You took me illegally. Why should I tell you anything?"

Molvar’s face remained still. But his fingers began to tap on the desk.

"Because we can help each other," he said. "You’re a businessman. So are we. We can protect your supply lines. Expand your reach. Provide muscle. We can even help you avoid... unwanted attention from certain parties."

Kael snorted. "And in return, you want everything."

Molvar didn’t deny it.

Kael sat up straighter. "You think I’m stupid? You want to know where I get my stock so you can take it. Undercut me. Flood the market. Or worse—cut me out and leave my shop gutted."

Molvar opened his mouth—but Kael cut in.

"I may be young," Kael said, voice growing cold, "but I’m not naive. You’re not offering a partnership. You’re offering submission."

Silence.

Molvar sat back slowly, folding his hands.

"Let me remind you," he said, "that we know everything about you."

"We know you killed Red Morn. Although it was in self-defense. You also burned down the Artificer’s shop and forced him to leave town. We know all this—and you took both of their money. We have enough evidence against you. What do you think will happen if this gets out?"

Kael took a slow breath.

Then he met Molvar’s gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was calm—too calm.

"Do whatever you like."

Molvar blinked. Kael continued.

"You think you’re the first to try and corner me? Threats don’t rattle me. I killed Red Morn—and yes, I did it. He came for me, and he died. End of story."

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