Reivan sat in his small study, staring at the bag of gold the mercenaries had given him. He turned it over in his hands, listening to the soft clink of coins. A normal merchant would be thrilled to receive this kind of payment, but to him, it felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his future.
I was supposed to live a quiet life. So why do I feel like I just stepped onto a battlefield?
After the mess with the Red Fangs, Reivan had one clear goal: Get out of mercenary affairs before it was too late.
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A MERCHANT’S PLAN
Reivan knew one thing for sure—war was coming. He had written down the timeline back when he first realized he was stuck in Age of Dominion, and everything was moving just a little too fast. Mercenary groups were getting more aggressive, nobles were fortifying their power, and small conflicts were already breaking out along trade routes.
If he didn’t want to get dragged onto the battlefield, there was only one path: money.
Gold moved armies. Gold bought information. Gold could be the difference between a noble's downfall and their ascension.
And he was about to use that fact to his advantage.
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A ROUTINE TRADE... OR SO IT SEEMED
Two days later, Reivan found himself at one of Ravensburg’s bustling trade houses. The hall was filled with merchants haggling, brokers negotiating, and clerks running numbers faster than a gambling den. His father, Gerald, was beside him, arms crossed as he watched Reivan work.
"You’ve been strangely motivated lately," Gerald muttered. "You sure you’re not planning something dangerous?"
"Of course not," Reivan lied smoothly. "Just looking to make a profit."
Gerald raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
Reivan spotted his target—a mid-tier merchant named Hugh Leimann, known for handling grain trades between Ravensburg and the southern regions. He wasn’t powerful, but he had connections to the big players in the city.
"Master Leimann," Reivan greeted with a smile. "I hear grain prices are set to rise in the next few months. Have you considered adjusting your supply routes?"
Leimann squinted at him. "And what makes you say that, boy?"
Reivan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Because the Duke of Farnell is tightening his control over the southern trade routes. The increase in tariffs will raise transport costs. That means those who buy grain now, before prices spike, will be sitting on a fortune in a few months."
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Leimann’s expression changed. "And how exactly do you know this?"
Reivan simply smiled. "A little foresight never hurt anyone."
He had no real proof that the tariffs were coming—he only knew that, in the game’s timeline, they would happen soon. But from the outside, it looked as if he had insider knowledge.
Leimann hesitated, then nodded. "I’ll buy more than usual. But if your information is wrong, boy, I’ll make sure everyone knows it."
"Then let’s hope I’m right," Reivan replied smoothly.
As Leimann placed a large order of grain, several other merchants in the hall took notice. If Leimann was making a big move, did he know something they didn’t?
Whispers spread. Within an hour, multiple traders started buying up grain in large quantities.
Reivan took a step back, arms crossed as he watched the chaos unfold.
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A NOBLE’S ATTENTION
Up in the private balcony of the trade house, a man in fine noble robes tapped his fingers against the wooden railing, watching the sudden shift in the market.
"That boy… is he the same one from the mercenary rumors?" the noble murmured.
A steward beside him bowed. "Yes, Lord Mertens. His name is Reivan Valcrest. The merchant’s son."
Lord Mertens chuckled. "Fascinating. A mere merchant’s son swaying the market with a few words? Either he’s a fool, or he’s more dangerous than he looks."
The steward hesitated. "Shall we intervene?"
"No," Mertens said, eyes glinting. "Let’s watch for now. If he keeps making waves, we may have to test his true value."
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A MERCHANT’S REPUTATION GROWS
Back on the trade floor, Reivan smirked as he finished a modest trade of his own.
"Aren’t you buying more?" Gerald asked. "You started this mess. Might as well make the most of it."
Reivan shook his head. "I don’t want to draw too much attention. Just enough to make people curious about me."
And it worked. Within the hour, multiple traders approached him, subtly trying to pry information from him.
Reivan deflected most of them with vague answers, letting their imaginations fill in the gaps. The more mysterious he seemed, the more valuable his word became.
"So, you manipulated a deal, didn’t you?" Sylphy’s quiet voice came from behind him.
He turned, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn’t say manipulated… I just nudged things in the right direction."
She tilted her head. "And now you’re in the eyes of nobles and merchants alike. That’s not ‘staying under the radar.’"
Reivan rubbed his temples. "Yeah… I may have overdone it."
Sylphy gave a tiny smirk. "You keep saying you want to be left alone, but the world keeps making you important."
Reivan groaned. "I hate how right you are."
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ANOTHER UNEXPECTED INVITATION
That evening, as he returned home, a messenger dressed in the colors of House Mertens was waiting at the door.
"Sir Reivan Valcrest," the messenger said with a bow, handing him a letter sealed with an elegant wax crest. "You are invited to discuss a business opportunity with Lord Mertens."
Reivan held back a sigh. Great. More noble drama.
He opened the letter and skimmed through it. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Mertens wasn’t just offering a meeting. He was offering a partnership.
Gerald, reading over his shoulder, let out a low whistle. "You’re in deep now, son."
Reivan closed the letter, running a hand through his hair. He had wanted to escape the mercenary business, but now he had an even bigger problem.
He wasn’t just being noticed. He was being recruited.
And he had no idea how to say no without making things worse.