“So she closed up the wounds and then healed them with some paste that turns into flesh?” Mel blanched at the idea of having a part of his skin replaced by paste. Sounded horribly uncomfortable. His stomach was unsettled, but that was more likely due to the pungent odor that permeated the inn.

“Technically the paste was flesh, just goopified. Or something. There’s probably a really smart and important sounding word to describe it, but I don’t know it.” Simon said, shuffling through papers and making the occasional marks. Apparently paying taxes was a lot more than just declaring what you were going to be selling, and his last haul was massively important. He told Mel, looking quite embarrassed, that he really had to keep working on it before his grace period ran out. Mel had no clue what he was talking about, but then again, he really didn’t know much about taxes.

“That sounds disgusting. I wonder what it would taste like…”

Simon shot him a look that conveyed both disgust and curiosity. “Like a person I would assume, so it would probably be cannibalism!”

Mel shrugged. “If it isn’t actually made of a person, it can't be cannibalism. What if there was some sort of mushroom that tastes just like a person? That wouldn’t be cannibalism then would it?”

“I’ll be honest Mel. If there was a mushroom that tasted just like a person, I would hope it would be illegal to eat. If only to avoid the horrific and grotesque outcome of a Diabolical Chef serving someone a part of a person and saying it was just a mushroom.” Simon retorted. He had a point. That would be like something straight out of a horror novel.

“Okay, okay. Human mushrooms would be a bad idea. I’ll admit that. But it wouldn’t inherently be cannibalism would it?” Simon didn’t even respond, just shook his head and kept writing. “Hey aren’t documents like these typically super secretive?”

“I mean, some Merchants like to keep their dealings secret. But I’m an Honest Merchant. If I lied to someone to get a better deal, even if it’s lying by omission, I would probably lose my class. That’s fine by me though, because I almost always get a better deal than Swindlers do. I’ve got skills that level the playing field, and a fine clientele that enjoy not having to double check my work.” Simon pushed his glasses up, frowning at one piece of paper in particular. It looked to Mel like a jumble of numbers, all lined up in odd columns.

The continued talking until Simon finished up his work, stacking all the papers in order according to some unknown variable. Probably just page number or something simple. Or possibly the number of letters on each page. Maybe it was based on how many commas there was in every other paragraph. Mel snuck a glance at the process. It was page number. Lame.

“So I’ve been holding off on this for a bit, because I didn’t want to be distracted. You quite literally saved my life. And you're a genuinely good person. As such, I would like to formally thank you.” Simon stood up, and looked directly at Mel. “If there is anything you need or want, I will do everything in my power to help you. Money, not a question. Want a magical self driving cart to carry you around the world? A flying carpet to take you over the seas? You can ask for anything and I would be more than happy to get it for you.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Uh, I don’t want to seem rude or anything but could you actually afford stuff like that? All of those seem like they would cost hundreds if not thousands of gold.” Mel asked, a bit anxious. He didn’t really want anything like that. If he could just go from point A to B he seriously doubted he would ever go anywhere. There would be no fun in it.

“Mel, I just made one of the largest shipments of ether crystals in a hundred years. To Langston of course. There have been much larger shipments made to other places before. My point stands. I am ridiculously wealthy right now.” Ether! That’s what he had in the armored wagon? Mel thought about how much half a wagon of ether would cost. Given that it was absolutely essential for almost any magic items or enchantments, and that Langston constantly produced magic paints… Simon was definitely going to level. Probably more than once. It was simply unimaginable that someone under level 50 could possess that much wealth.

“I have only two things I want in that case.” He said tentatively. It still didn’t seem like it could be real. “A magic cloak, and 10 gold coins.”

Simon smiled, as though he was the one receiving a gift. “So what kind of enchantments do you want the cloak to have?”

That was a tough question. What kind of magic would work best for a Traveler. He already had more firepower than he ever wanted to use. But his own normal cloak was already good enough at keeping him safe from basically anything that wasn’t a knife or arrow. “Something that can serve as a variety of tools. Like if it had a bunch of pockets that had tools and things in it.”

That way he would never find himself in a situation he couldn’t fix. After all, if he had the equipment for every situation, he would never lose! Unless of course it was a situation in which tools could not win the day. Simon interrupted his musing with a happy sounding “I know just the thing! There’s an enchantment that allows objects to change shape and serve as a variety of tools. It’s quite popular with Farmers and Construction Workers. I’ll have a cloak commissioned by the end of the day. I can probably have it here in a week.” He explained, while taking out ten coins from his coin purse.

“Alright then. Now that we have my reward for being an amazing person handled, and you're done with your paperwork, wanna go grab dinner? It’s getting late and I want to try out some good food around here.”

Simon grinned and grabbed his jacket. Mel couldn’t understand how the man could possibly be cold, it was still summer. Well, it was getting close to fall, but still. It was quite hot outside. Mel’s cloak kept him nice and cool, insulating him from the sun. The restaurant they went to was incredibly fancy. He couldn’t actually figure out what the name was, because it was in a different language. He asked everyone from Simon to the Waiter, but he kept getting different answers. It had amazing food though. Mel glanced at the thirty year old man, who he had initially thought was nearly forty. Simon leaned back in his chair, relaxing after his third bowl of soup.

“Where did you put all the soup?” He accused the Honest Merchant. Mel had a plate of meats and various rolls, but Simon had drained three massive bowls of soup with an inhuman appetite.

“I have a skill for it!” He laughed. “After I got the skill Merchant's Physique I could eat all I want without getting fat.” He gloated.