Chapter 41 Good old Cliches

The third day of the Merchant Summit began exactly as Amos had expected.

Which was to say—

He had absolutely no intention of attending another merchant conference.

"The agenda yesterday is taxation reform."

Karos looked up from the stack of papers.

"Then discussion concerns maritime insurance."

Amos stopped in his tracks, turned around, and immediately started walking the other way.

"No."

"It is important."

"No."

"There is also still a discussion regarding grain imports."

"Karos."

"Yes?"

"If I attend that, I might become the first recorded victim of death by boredom."

"That is unlikely to happen."

"You underestimate me."

Karos sighed. "Very well. I shall attend in your place again tonight."

"A reliable subordinate truly is mankind's greatest treasure."

"You are saying that because you are trying to avoid work."

"Correct."

Satisfied with this arrangement, Amos escaped before Karos could force additional responsibilities onto him. A true victory.

***

As expected, the girl was already by the fountain. She sat quietly on the stone edge, pink hair catching the light, her sketchbook resting on her lap. The moment she spotted him, her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face. Amos stopped in his tracks.

"Oh no." He pointed. "You smiled."

She looked confused.

"You've been spending too much time around me."

The girl immediately scribbled something.

Whose fault is that?

"Certainly not mine."

She raised an eyebrow.

"It is definitely yourself."

Edith smiled again.

Amos groaned.

"See? Corrupted by yourself. I ain't done any of that"

***

The two spent the morning much like the days before, exploring, eating, marveling at odd inventions, and watching merchants try increasingly ridiculous ways to lure customers. At one stall, a vendor was selling self-stirring spoons. At another, a man claimed his chair could boost intelligence. Amos, waited, then got up.

"It failed." The merchant looked offended. Well, Amos had actually hoped it would work. Edith nearly laughed.

By midday, they had made their way to one of the bustling market districts. The crowd was denser there, with merchants shouting, customers haggling, and coins clinking as money changed hands. Amos paused by a nearby stall as he saw something caught his eyes.

"Wait here."

Edith nodded. He pointed a finger at her.

"Do not get kidnapped."

She rolled her eyes. Then wrote.

I am not a child.

"Confident words."

And with that, Amos disappeared into the crowd.

***

A few minutes later, Edith stood quietly in the square, waiting for him with patience. Then, a shadow fell across her.

"Well, well."

She froze.

A young man stood before her.

Several followers behind him.

The moment Edith saw him, her expression immediately darkened.

The young man laughed. "So, it really is you."

Edith turned away, choosing to ignore him. Unfortunately, he had no intention of being ignored.

"THE Merchant King's precious granddaughter." His grin widened. "Shouldn't you be hiding in your mansion?"

Edith's fingers tightened around her sketchbook.

The young man stepped closer. "I heard you can't speak."

No response.

"Still broken, huh?"

Several of his companions laughed.

"That's rude."

Another laugh.

"Though I suppose it's true." The young man leaned forward. "Tell me." His voice lowered. "Did your family finally give up on fixing you?"

Edith tensed. The teasing was nothing new. Rival merchant families seized every chance to take shots at the Markults. Edith—quiet granddaughter of the Merchant King—was an easy mark to pick on.

The young man smiled. "Maybe your grandfather should have invested in a better heir. OH, WAIT HE DID! HE PICKED YOUR TWIN!"

The laughter grew louder. Edith dropped her gaze and tried to slip away, but a hand caught her wrist. She stopped cold.

"Hey." His voice sharpened. "I'm talking to you."

The crowd noticed, but no one stepped in. They knew the boy—the heir to a wealthy merchant family. Trouble, the kind everyone would rather steer clear of.

"Look at me."

Edith squirmed as his grip tightened, a flicker of pain crossing her face while the young man’s smile grew broader.

"See?"

"Not even a proper response."

"Maybe—"

A hand rested on his shoulder, making him pause. There was something off about the touch—something really dangerous. Slowly, he turned and found himself staring straight into a pair of green eyes.

"I told you to not get kidnapped, didn't I? though I probably should also had told you to not get harass."

The young man frowned. "Who are—"

CRACK.

The sound rang out across the square. The boy let out a scream as his arm was twisted behind his back. Not broken—at least not yet—but dangerously close. The crowd went still. Edith’s eyes went wide, and Amos watched with a look of genuine curiosity.

"Did your parents never teach you manners?"

The boy dropped to one knee. "Agh!" His face turned pale. The pressure rose, just a bit, and the scream grew louder.

"You grabbed a lady." Amos tilted his head. "Without permission." Putting more pressure.

The boy's shoulder made another unpleasant sound. "Stop!" One of the followers shouted, drawing Amos’s gaze. The man instantly regretted speaking up.

Amos then turned his focus back to the boy. "Then again." His voice stayed calm, almost pleasant, which somehow made it even worse. "You also insulted a helpless mute girl." More pressure.

The boy cried out. "Wait—!"

"And somehow someway." Amos continued. "You thought that was acceptable doing it in front of all this people. Is it because of your family?" Another sound came from the shoulder, not quite breaking but close enough that everyone present understood what would happen next.

The boy’s panic set in. This wasn’t a bluff. The man gripping him would really snap his arm—no hesitation, no remorse—just like breaking a twig. Edith quickly grabbed Amos's sleeve. Amos paused and looked down.

The girl shook her head, her eyes clearly pleading,

Please stop.

Amos held her gaze for several seconds before letting out a sigh, disappointment written all over his face.

"Lucky you."

The pressure eased and the boy crumpled, clutching his arm and trembling. Amos crouched a bit, meeting the merchant heir’s gaze.

"Listen carefully." The square became completely silent. "If I ever see you harassing her again." His voice remained perfectly calm. "I won't stop at almost."

The merchant heir went pale as Amos patted his injured shoulder, making the boy almost cry out.

"Good." Amos stood, then turned to face Edith. Inst, his demeanor shifted, as if nothing had happened.

"Sorry." He held up a paper bag. "I was buying snacks."

The crowd watched in, the contrast unsettling. Edith’s gaze followed theirs. She glanced at the bag, then at Amos, then back again. Slowly, took it. Amos gave a small nod.

"I picked everything that looks good." Then he pointed at the collapsed merchant heir. "You know." He sounded thoughtful.

"You really should stop attracting trouble." Edith looked at him in disbelief.

Me?

"Yes."

You almost broke his arm!

"Put emphasis on the almost."

The emphasis only seemed to make things worse. The merchant’s heir looked on the verge of tears, Edith buried her face in her hands, and Amos let out a weary sigh.

"Fine."

After a pause, he softly rested his hand on her head. It is a simple, quiet gesture.

"You alright?"

For a moment, Edith froze, then she slowly nodded, and Amos smiled—this time, it was a truly gentle one.

"Good."