The day has come.
The market war has begun.
We had prepared for this through bribes, negotiations, recipe failures, diplomatic efforts with rogue children, and approximately seventeen near-fires in the kitchen.
The fruits we'd gathered came from a web of unlikely alliances, and the books? Let's just say my karma balance may never recover.
As the crisp morning air filled my lungs, I stood in front of our festival stall, hands on hips, watching as sunlight gleamed off the freshly polished sign.
The stand wasn't grand—it didn't need to be. It was charming, inviting, and just flashy enough to grab a wandering eye. Wooden panels painted soft cream with accents of maroon and gold. Bunting made from pages of damaged books, Mira had artfully folded into fans. And, in the back?
An oven. A real, glorious, portable oven.
Who knew? I'd joked about it in passing, and Vale, bless his absurd preparedness, had taken me to a tiny blacksmith-slash-enchanter shop that specialized in "field catering solutions." It had cost me more than a noble's monthly allowance.
Wealth: 102 gold coins, 12 silver coins, 38 bronze coinsNote: A portable enchanted oven has been added to Assets.Warning: Remaining karma points: 0Congratulations on your investment! You are now poor. But warm.
Even in the early hours, the festival grounds were already bustling. Merchants rushed to finish setting up, streamers flew, music echoed from the central plaza, and the air was thick with anticipation and the scent of spiced bread.
The Orphans' Guild Stall was located in a prime spot—between the arena and a roast vendor whose meat smelled like temptation and bankruptcy. Foot traffic would be constant.
And we were ready.
Mira was adjusting the display of books and flyers with quiet precision. A chalkboard menu stood beside her, each tart flavor written in elegant script alongside a short, pun-laced story.
Story Brews & Heroic Bites
All for One and One for All: Four fruits in a drink with a twist.
Elementary, My Dear: Peach and mint, lightly chilled.
Fairy Tales: A pink brew with a sweet yet tangy flavour
Count's Revenge: Peach and Redberry Tart Cake Served with Vengeance.
Two-sided Tart: A Lemon and Peach Tart, both sweet and sour
Treasure Tart: Golden Orange Tart with a shiny finish
On the other side, Syd and Lysandra were checking the tart trays, steam hissing as they calibrated the baking timer on the enchanted oven.
It had taken Mira four screaming matches and a burnt batch of crusts to get them tart-competent, but we'd done it. They even had matching aprons now.
Mia and Farrah had set up the drink station: rows of glass jugs filled with chilled fruit juice in a gradient of jewel tones. We'd enchanted the barrels underneath to stay cold all day.
The display was beautiful.
And efficient.
Everything was staged for high-speed sales. Tart shells were pre-baked and stacked in insulated crates, ready to be filled and warmed. The juicing station had siphons and a tipping mechanism. The oven could bake ten mini-tarts in under five minutes.
I watched as Syd hoisted the chalkboard sign above the booth:
THE ORPHANS' GUILD PRESENTS: FLAVOR, FATE, AND FIREBERRIES!
A few heads turned already. Good.
I couldn't help it—my lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile.
Money. Fame. Victory.
All within reach.
"Eamond," Mira called, without looking up from a basket of bookmarks, "Stop grinning like a villain. You'll scare the children."
"This is my normal face," I replied.
"Exactly."
Lysandra snorted from the oven. "He's just excited to extort people legally today."
I walked over to help stack the sample trays, brushing imaginary dust from the tablecloth. "It's not extortion. It's... strategic delight distribution."
Vale arrived a moment later with Garret, both of them dragging a cart filled with backup supplies.
Vale clapped me on the shoulder. "The arena opens at ten. Your first wave of traffic should hit in—" he checked a small wind-up watch "—twenty-two minutes."
I exhaled slowly. This was it.
Three weeks of chaos, planning, and flour-fueled ambition. Three weeks of running a bootleg culinary institute out of an orphanage. Three weeks of telling fruit vendors yes and asking the craftsman guild for help.
" Okay, I'll take the rest to set up the arena stand. So, Mira, you're in charge here."
"Why don't you make me in charge?" Lysandra asked, disappointed.
"Do you want to handle an annoying customer without getting angry?" I countered.
"I'll leave it to you, Mira," Lysandra replied.
As I left them to go to the Arena, I saw that many people started to fill the commercial area, and the street started to become busy.
"Don't wander too far, I don't want to waste time looking for you," I warned Garred in a serious tone.
Garret nodded, and we came to where our stand is.
Jake and Link are still setting up the stand. I only let the older kids work, while the younger kids stayed with Matron Celine at the orphanage with some older kids.
"It seems like things are going well."
"Yeah, things are going smoothly. But why aren't we selling books and only selling food and drinks?" Jake asked
"Simple, the ones going to the arena don't need entertainment while eating, and who said we weren't selling books?"
"We are?" Link asked
"Well, we're going to make them curious using the drink's name, and when they ask why we named it that, then we'll tell them about the books we're selling at the commercial area."
"So our job isn't just selling, but advertising," Vale confirmed
"Exactly," I said. "Strategic product placement. But with juice."
Link raised an eyebrow. "So… we're drink salesmen and book promoters?"
"Think of it this way," I said, gesturing toward the neatly arranged crates of chilled flasks, "every cup we sell is a story hook. Get them curious, then send them to the real prize."
Jake smirked. "And Mira gets to do all the actual explaining?"
"She lives for it," Vale said. "You've seen the way her eyes light up when someone asks about character arcs."
We all shared a brief, conspiratorial grin.
With the arena's fanfare warming up in the distance, we kicked into the final setup. Our arena stand wasn't as elaborate as the main one, but it was mobile, cleverly designed to fold open like a chest—two large drink barrels with a small oven built into the bottom crate. Smaller than the main oven, but good enough for warming tarts.
I set down the menu board with exaggerated care. The title shimmered magically, thanks to a light enchantment Vale had insisted on adding.
Story Brews & Heroic Bites
All for One and One for All: Four fruits in a drink with a twist.
Elementary, My Dear: Peach and mint, lightly chilled.
Fairy Tales: A pink brew with a sweet yet tangy flavour
Count's Revenge: Peach and Redberry Tart Cake Served with Vengeance.
Two-sided Tart: A Lemon and Peach Tart, both sweet and sour
Treasure Tart: Golden Orange Tart with a shiny finish
"These names are ridiculous," Jake muttered, stifling a laugh as he ran a cloth over the counter one more time.
"Ridiculous sells," I said, adjusting the menu board so it caught the light just right.
"Especially when the customers are fresh off a sweaty duel and thirsty for something unique. If they laugh, they remember it. If they remember it, they come back."
Jake snorted. "You should put that on a motivational poster."
"We'll start serving in a few minutes," I continued, scanning the growing crowd.
"It'll be slow at first—people are still arriving, getting their bearings. But when the sun hits its peak, they'll be hungry, thirsty, and just a little too tired to argue with their cravings."
As the sun began its slow climb toward the zenith, the festival grounds around the arena were coming alive.
Competitors were doing warmups, stretching, and practicing swings with blunted weapons. A few children darted between booths, laughing as they chased after a floating festival balloon shaped like a wyvern. Spectators were beginning to gather along the stone steps of the arena, fanning themselves with pamphlets and chatting animatedly.
From every corner came the scent of sizzling meats, roasting nuts, and fried pastries. Banners fluttered, a bard's lute plucked a lively tune somewhere nearby, and vendors shouted over one another like roosters in the morning.
It was perfect.
We had the only drink stand near the arena, and our stall faced the main thoroughfare. Roaring stomachs and roaring crowds often went hand in hand.
"Alright," I said, straightening my coat and adopting my best 'charming merchant' posture.
"Positions, everyone. Link, you're on drinks. Jake, tarts. Vale, keep an eye out for trouble—and nobles. Preferably both. Garret…"
Garret grinned before I could even finish.
"You'll be the hook," I said. "Go bring in our customers."
With a salute far too dramatic for his small size, Garret turned to the stream of people and stepped forward, arms wide like a miniature showman.
"Do you thirst for justice?" he shouted in a booming voice that surprised even me. "Or just for something cold and vaguely magical?"
He pointed at the drink board, which shimmered faintly under the sunlight enchantment Vale had added.
A group of teens—two boys and a girl, all with padded dueling gear and arena wristbands—paused mid-step and burst out laughing.
"Did he just say 'vaguely magical'?" one of them asked.
"Yes!" Garret beamed. "And mildly heroic, if you add a tart."
They exchanged glances, then turned toward our stand.
Three steps. Three laughs. Three potential customers.
First blood.