Chapter 39 Trade Conference

The conference hall felt like a whole different world from the bustling summit outside. No colorful stalls, no shouting merchants, no fairy crossbow mishaps—just one of the largest chambers Amos had ever seen. Tiered seating held hundreds of representatives: merchant lords, guildmasters, banking consortiums, noble observers, trade ministers. Amos couldn’t help but miss the fairies. At least they were straightforward.

Amos, seated under the alias Eoghan Rise, quietly took in the scene as the proceedings unfolded. The talks kicked off with trade routes, followed by shipping contracts, import taxes, mining rights, and agricultural forecasts. Mana crystal production came next, then insurance regulations, warehouse ownership disputes, and trade tariffs—lots of trade tariffs. Soon came arguments about them, and then arguments about the arguments over them.

Amos stared blankly.

"..."

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. He could feel his soul slowly slipping away. The Broken Crown. The smuggling ring. The assassinations. The vanished villages. None of it came up. Everything was tediously ordinary. A merchant droned on for nearly fifteen minutes about grain transport costs, while somewhere nearby, Karos stayed out of sight. Probably. Hopefully. But he wasn’t so sure anymore. By now, she might have just blended into the furniture.

Something finally caught his attention when a man stepped into the conference hall. Instantly, atmosphere shifted—not in a dramatic way, but subtly, like the room itself was adjusting to his presence. There was an undeniable weight about him. His silver hair was slicked neatly back, and his sharp eyes seemed to dissect whatever they landed on. He wore an expensive dark coat decorated with numerous insignias. On appearance alone, he wasn’t particularly intimidating—it was the way others reacted to him. Merchants rose, guildmasters greeted him first, nobles gave respectful nods, and even seasoned traders seemed cautious. Amos recognized him immediately. "Ah."

His grandfather had brought him up in conversation countless times—the legendary merchant king, one of the richest men on the continent, a man whose influence could rival that of entire nations.

Grandfather's description had been:

"If that old fox ever smiles at you, check your pockets and believe me you should. I am saying this when I am called THE FOX."

It was a fair assessment. Amos watched with interest as the old merchant calmly took his seat. Then another figure followed him in—a young woman with pink hair. For a moment, Amos froze, then quickly relaxed. Not her. Definitely not her. The resemblance was uncanny: the same faint pink hair, similar facial features, the same graceful bearing. But the differences stood out. This young woman moved with the poise of nobility—confident, composed, perfect posture. And most telling of all—her mana was different.

Amos's eyes narrowed slightly. His perception, enhanced by dragon blood and the Heart of Mana, naturally noticed such things.

Mana signatures were like fingerprints—no two exactly alike. The girl from earlier had a soft mana flow, gentle and almost mist-like. This woman was different. Her mana shone bright, refined, and sharp, like polished crystal. Maybe they were related, but they weren’t the same person. Not even close. Probably.

The old merchant spoke softly to her, and the young woman nodded before taking a seat beside him. Then, unexpectedly, she glanced toward Amos. Their eyes met for a brief moment—she blinked, he blinked back—and they both looked away, neither showing much interest. The conference carried on, and the negotiations continued.

***

Amos waited patiently.  

An hour slipped by, then another.  

Still nothing— clues, no sign of the Broken Crown, no shady dealings, no secret meetings.

Only merchants bickering over shipping rights.  With a sigh, Amos leaned back in his chair.  

"This can't be it."

A familiar voice suddenly appeared beside his ear.

Karos.

"Patience."

"One day you're going to kill me."

"No."

Her gaze remained fixed somewhere across the chamber.

Amos followed her eyes.

"Something wrong?"

Karos was silent. Meanwhile, across the hall, the merchant king's granddaughter casually glanced toward Eoghan Rise again.

For some reason.

The silver-armored adventurer seemed vaguely familiar.

She couldn't quite place why.

....

Because they did have meet once. Few years back at the auction, though both probably don't remember it.

***

A certain mute, pink-haired girl sat staring at her notebook, thinking about a strange adventurer and wondering if she would see him again tomorrow. The first night of the conference wrapped up well after sunset, and as soon as the chairman announced adjournment, hundreds of representatives began filing out of the hall. Some looked pleased, others annoyed, and many already seemed drained, despite six more days ahead. The old merchant rose from his seat—calm, unhurried—as if eight hours of talks had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll. His granddaughter followed, the perfect picture of a merchant heiress. Unfortunately, the moment they stepped into their carriage, that flawless image began to crack.

"Grandfather."

"Hm?"

"The eastern grain consortium accepted too quickly."

The old man smiled.

"They're desperate, Elodie."

"They concealed it well, Grandfather."

"Not well enough."

The young woman nodded thoughtfully as the conversation carried on through the ride—trade routes, shipping contracts, investment opportunities, market forecasts—the sort of talk that could drain the life from Amos. Eventually, the carriage passed through the gates of a private estate reserved for their family during the summit, arriving at a large guarded by layers of security. Elodie stepped out first, followed by the old merchant, as several servants came forward. Then, from entrance hall, a familiar figure emerged—faint pink hair, delicate features, and a small notebook held to her chest. Her eyes lit up instantly.

Elodie froze looking at her own twin sister.

"..."

The old merchant smiled.

"Ah."

The pink-haired girl fidgeted nervously, a guilty expression flickering across her face for barely three seconds before disappearing. The old merchant let out a quiet chuckle.

"So."

Edith looked away. Elodie crossed her arms. "You snuck out."

The pink-haired girl flinched. The reaction was answer enough.

"You promised not to leave without informing anyone."

Edith slowly lowered her head. The old merchant interrupted. "Now now." His eyes twinkled with amusement.

"I believe the more important question is whether she enjoyed herself."

The pink-haired girl immediately looked up. The old merchant smiled knowingly.

"Well?"

Edith hesitated for a moment before giving a slow nod. A faint smile touched the old merchant’s lips. Elodie blinked in surprise—her sister rarely left the estate willingly, and almost never came back looking so content. The pink-haired girl snapped open her notebook, scribbled quickly, and then held it up.

Lots of things.

The old merchant laughed softly. "I should hope so. The Merchant Summit is one of the largest gatherings on the continent."

The girl immediately began writing again.

Fairies chased a thief.

"..."

Elodie stared. The old merchant burst out laughing.

"Wonderful."

The girl continued.

Saw a fish that predicts weather.

"Ah, yes."

And a chicken worth more than a house.

The old merchant paused. "..."

Elodie paused. "..."

"Those things are usually absurdly overpriced."

The old merchant nodded. "Agreed."

The pink-haired girl appeared pleased with their agreement, but then she paused for a moment, and the old merchant noticed right away.

"So." His smile became slightly wider. "Did you meet anyone interesting, Edith?"

The girl's ears flushed red, and Elodie narrowed her eyes. The old merchant's grin spread even wider. The pink-haired girl froze, realizing her mistake, and quickly looked away. The grandfather and Elodie shared a glance, suspicious. Very suspicious. The notebook was returned.

A few words appeared.

Maybe.

Elodie instantly sensed that someone had gotten involved with her twin sister. There was simply no other explanation. Her sister hardly ever communicated with strangers in writing, and for her to admit finding someone interesting? That was unheard of. The old merchant leaned in closer. "Oh?"

The pink-haired girl quickly clutched the notebook to her chest, a clear sign of defensiveness. The old merchant chuckled once more. "A young man?"

The girl's face flushed bright red. The answer couldn’t have been clearer. Elodie pinched the bridge of her nose, already nursing a headache from hearing her sister might be swindled. The old merchant, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled.

"Was he handsome?"

The girl buried her face behind the notebook.

"Grandfather." The granddaughter sighed. "Stop teasing her."

"But this is entertaining."

"It has been less than one day."

"Exactly." The old fox looked far too pleased.

The pink-haired girl kept hiding behind her notebook. The old merchant let out a chuckle, then his expression softened—genuinely.

"Did he treat you kindly?"

Edith glanced over the notebook and gave slow nod, while the old merchant’s eyes grew thoughtful. He understood his granddaughter—she was cautious, painfully so. Trust never came easily to her. For her to come back smiling, to spend the evening thinking about a stranger… whoever this person was, they had clearly made a remarkable first impression. Meanwhile, far away in another district of the summit. Amos sneezed.

"..."

Then immediately returned to complaining about merchant conferences. Completely unaware that an entire wealthy family was currently discussing him.