CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 41: MERCHANTS EDGE

Frank held up the item in question: a small, cracked stone with a faint glyph on it. It hummed slightly.

Only slightly.

The label in his inventory said:

[Unstable Pebble – May Scream. Not Magical.]

"Perfect," Frank muttered. "Because what everyone wants in a trade is an unpredictable paperweight that occasionally yells."

The faceless vendor stared at him across the crooked stall.

A floating scroll hovered beside them:

[Final Trial: Upsell the Unsellable. Trade required: one item from your own inventory deemed worthless.]

[Buyer is semi-sentient and resistant to persuasion.]

Frank sighed, flipped the pebble in his hand once, then stepped up to the table.

"Alright, listen up, no-face," he began, slipping instantly into pitch mode. "I see you. You’re tired. You’ve probably sat here all day listening to the same trades—scrolls, trinkets, whatever overpriced rune-candy your last customer brought."

No reaction.

Frank grinned. "But you’ve never seen this."

He placed the pebble on the table with a dramatic clack. "This, my blank-eyed friend, is the only product in your world capable of three things simultaneously: being functionally useless, emotionally unstable, and legally unregulated."

The vendor tilted its head.

Frank leaned in.

"You want edge? This pebble doesn’t follow rules. It screams. Literally. At random. Do you know how rare genuine chaos is in a place like this?"

Still no response.

Frank pressed on. "Picture this: You’re hosting a trade duel. All eyes on you. You pull out your sword—so predictable. But then? You place this stone on the table. It screams. People flinch. That’s power. That’s mystery. That’s brand disruption."

The vendor’s fingers twitched.

Frank smirked.

"I’ll even throw in a little satchel for it," he added, pulling out a cloth pouch from his pack. "Call it a muffler—your customers get surprise, but not ear damage."

The scroll flashed.

[Buyer Accepts Offer.]

[Final Trial Complete.]

[Trader Evaluation: PASSED]

[Trader Rank Advanced → D-RANK]

The market began to dissolve around him in shimmering light.

Frank crossed his arms as the walls faded.

"I can’t believe I sold a screaming rock," he said. "Actually—no. Of course I did."

The last thing he heard before everything blinked white:

[Bonus Award Unlocked: "Hype Under Pressure" – +1 Charisma, +1 Perception]

Frank stepped through the portal and stumbled back into his apartment like he’d just finished a long con and a gym workout at the same time.

"Still standing," he muttered, brushing glowing market dust off his jacket. "Still handsome. Still undefeated by faceless weirdos."

Before he could make it to the fridge, a voice hit him from the hallway:

"You portal-jumped without backup again, didn’t you?"

Frank froze.

Then smiled.

"Juliet," he said without turning. "So nice of you to keep my couch company."

She emerged from the kitchen, arms crossed, hair tied back, eyes sharp. "You said evaluation, not dimension-hopping into cursed bargain bins and chaos-stalls."

"I was evaluated," Frank said, dropping his bag by the door. "Three successful trades, one magical panic-attack rock, and an emotionally manipulative bee jar later—boom. D-Rank, baby."

Juliet blinked. "Bee jar?"

"Don’t ask."

She tilted her head. "You look like you just sweet-talked your way out of a con."

"I did sweet-talk my way out of a con. And into a promotion." He tapped his wristband.

[Rank: D-Class Trader – Active]

[Bonus Traits Applied: +1 Charisma | +1 Perception]

Juliet leaned in slightly, examining the system light. "Well... damn. You really did it."

Frank raised a brow. "Is that... approval?"

She rolled her eyes. "I’m considering clapping. Internally."

He grinned. "Your faith in me is overwhelming."

"Don’t let it go to your head."

Frank walked over to the fridge, popped it open, then frowned. "Did you eat my last fusion bar?"

Juliet tossed him a fresh one from the counter. "I replaced it. I’m not a monster."

Frank unwrapped it, took a bite, then flopped onto the couch with a content sigh. "You know, I’ve survived a mimic, dueled a chi-warlord, fought off cultists, and convinced a sentient jar of bees to trust me. I think I’ve earned a nap."

Juliet smirked. "Five minutes. Then we figure out what that ’promotion’ attracts next."

Frank closed his eyes.

"Deal."

Frank was mid-bite into his fusion bar, half-lounging on the couch when his wristband pinged—softly at first, then with an excited, sparkly chime.

[CONGRATULATIONS, D-RANK TRADER FRANK HAGAN!]

You are now eligible for exclusive cross-realm affiliate bonuses and premium merchant collaborations!

He blinked.

"What the hell is a premium merchant collaboration?" he muttered, already suspicious.

Juliet leaned over the back of the couch, squinting. "That doesn’t look like a system notification. It’s got... glitter."

"I know." Frank tapped the glowing badge.

The screen burst open in a scroll of violently colorful text, featuring clip art of spinning coins, goblin silhouettes, and what looked like a gold-toothed smiley face.

"Hello, Esteemed Trader Hagan!"

You’ve caught the eye of MOGGREL—Royal Vendor of Skitterfang Hollow, Legal-ish Seller of Bargain Miracles, and Master of Opportunity™!

As a special welcome gift to D-Rank Traders with hustle, grit, and just enough desperation, we invite you to claim your FREE mystery crate!™

Limited Time Only. No fine print! Definitely no soul clauses!

Frank read it twice.

Then a third time.

Then whispered, "Oh no."

Juliet was already grinning. "Please tell me you know this lunatic."

"I know of him," Frank groaned, sitting up. "Moggrel. Goblin market scam vendor. Sells counterfeit goods, rigged potions, sometimes live spiders disguised as health pills."

Juliet laughed. "You made it to D-Rank for this?"

He tapped the "More Info" tab. It brought up a glowing box that slowly spun until it showed a lumpy, smoke-puffed crate marked "DO NOT OPEN INDOORS."

Frank rubbed his face.

"Yep. This is bait."

Juliet leaned closer. "Are we opening it?"

Frank stared at the crate icon, then at her.

Then sighed. "Of course we’re opening it. I’m a trader. It’s in my contract to be curious."

Realm: Skitterfang Hollow — Deep Market Warrens

The glowstones buzzed overhead, casting sickly yellow light over warped counters and cages of twitching potion bottles. The Goblin Market was alive tonight—full of haggling, hollering, and the occasional smoke explosion from unstable charm ingredients.

And in the heart of it all, seated on a throne made of dented crates and rusted lockboxes, Moggrel was giggling.

Not laughing.

Giggling.

The kind of giddy, chest-shaking wheeze only a goblin could make when watching chaos unfold in real time.

"Has he opened it?" Moggrel squeaked, tapping his communication orb with long, crooked claws.

A nearby assistant—a hunched goblin in a patchwork blazer and cracked monocle—peered into a viewing mirror swirling with violet static.

"Crate has been received," the assistant hissed. "He read the message. His pulse jumped. He’s curious."

"Oh-ho-ho," Moggrel grinned, teeth shining under oily light. "Curiosity... that’s where the real contracts start."

He jumped off his throne and waddled over to a glowing ledger pulsing with trade signatures.

"Frank Hagan," he said, tasting the name. "Upstart. Earth-born. Fast hands. Faster mouth. Too clever for most."

He dragged a claw across the ledger, revealing an entry that shimmered in unstable gold.

Pending Bond: If Opened, Curiosity Equals Consent.

(Void where forbidden. Enforcement rules vary. Goblin Market not liable for confusion, accidental possession, or spatial implosion.)