The private chamber was a secluded meeting room within the merchant guild, designed for confidential dealings. Reserving it was simple, requiring only a simple booking. Although the Barony’s merchant guild was relatively modest, it boasted several private chambers, each carefully designed to ensure privacy and discretion.
Following Alden’s detailed instructions, Samuel had booked the chamber for the next day. Alden was particular about the setup: a dimly lit stage barely visible to the naked eye, with chairs arranged in an orderly fashion at a measured distance from the stage.
Jones had barely slept the night before, his mind abuzz with anticipation of meeting the soap’s creator. By dawn, he was already awake, hurrying to the merchant guild.
A middle-aged man at the reception, his expression bored, pointed Jones towards the reserved room. What Jones saw inside made him grit his teeth in frustration. The room was packed with over twenty merchants, all seated and chatting animatedly. He hadn’t anticipated such a large turnout, especially given the barony’s modest size.
Jones took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The buzz of conversation filled the room, a mix of excitement and speculation. He carefully made his way to an empty seat, scanning the room for familiar faces. While he recognized a few, many were strangers, likely small merchants from neighbouring towns.
Impatience grew as the scheduled meeting time passed. Two hours went by without any sign of the soap’s creator. Jones was growing frustrated. Despite his attempts at making small talk, his anticipation turned to restlessness.
Just as Jones thought he couldn’t take it anymore, a raspy voice echoed from the stage. He squinted through the dim light but could only make out two vague silhouettes.
“Thank you for waiting, everyone,” Alden’s voice resonated through the chamber.
A hushed silence fell over the room as the lights dimmed further, casting eerie shadows on the stage. The attendees exchanged curious glances, puzzled at when Alden had taken the stage.
“You can call me Mr. Enigma,” Alden continued, his voice carrying an air of authority and mystery. He paused, letting the silence stretch until it became almost unbearable. The room collectively held its breath, hanging on his every word as the tension grew thicker.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“You must all be wondering why I’ve gathered you here,” Alden said, scanning the crowd as he tried to gauge their interest. “I am the creator of the soap,” he declared with unwavering confidence, “and I am here to present you with an offer of a lifetime. If you work with me, and you’ll ascend to the ranks of the top 50 merchant guilds in the Ignis Empire.”
The room erupted in murmurs. The merchants, stunned by Alden’s audacious claim, exchanged sceptical glances. Jones, who had been observing in silence, frowned in displeasure, his scepticism mirrored by the whispers of doubt.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Alden said, raising his voice to quiet the crowd. “You’re all here for the soap-making method. It is a one-of-a-kind product in this world.” He paused, a sly smile creeping across his face.
Jones shifted in his seat, his mind racing with questions. The potential was undeniable, but so were the risks.
“Do you know the cost of making one soap?” Alden asked. “Less than a tenth of a copper. And the price drops further when produced in bulk. I don’t need to tell you how much money you will make. The market is vast, so even if all of you sell it, you won’t be able to cover the entire geography.”
Jones noticed the shifting mood. The prospect of such profit was too enticing. Greed gleamed in the eyes of the merchants. He refocused on the indistinct form, pushing aside his initial contempt.
“There won’t be any negotiation,” Alden declared. “Pay 1,000 gold upfront, and the formula is yours.”
The room erupted in angry protests from the merchants, their disbelief and frustration boiling over. Before chaos could escalate, Alden spoke again, cutting through the noise. “Remember, this product surpasses any alchemical potion because even a peasant will use it."
Alden knew he held all the power in this negotiation. He alone had the secret to this high-margin product with a vast market potential. His young age and need for money were the only reasons he offered the formula, since these circumstances hindered his ability to capitalize on it himself.
The most crucial part of Alden’s plan was ensuring the enforcement of the contract while maintaining the secrecy of his identity. In this world, the power structure made both objectives possible.
The guilds wielded significant influence, second only to the Orders. Among these was the merchant guild, which enforced business contracts and protected intellectual property but also provided a range of other services. One such service was customisable private rooms, which, though common across guilds, facilitated Alden’s plans.
Additionally, the merchant guild operated an entity akin to a bank known as the Elysian Vault, offering loans and deposit facilities. All this infrastructure gave Alden the security and leverage needed to execute his deal.
After the uproar subsided, a burly merchant stood up, face flushed with anger. “This is a daylight robbery!” he exclaimed, gesturing animatedly. “You expect us to pay 1,000 gold without considering the risks?”
A slender, younger merchant spoke up, her voice sharp. “The soap might sell now, but what if the market changes? The promise of profit is great, but we need more assurance.”
Several merchants nodded in agreement, their dissatisfaction clear. An older gentleman with a distinguished beard added, “We’re risking a fortune. What guarantees do we have that our investment will pay off?”
Tension filled the room. Merchants exchanged heated words, their distrust of Alden’s offer growing. Alden, however, remained calm and composed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice steady, “I understand your concerns. Every venture has challenges, but think about the potential profit. This soap is not a fad; it’s a necessity. The demand will only grow, and you will be at the forefront of this expansion.”
His words, though well-crafted, did little to ease the merchants’ fears. They whispered among themselves, weighing the promise of profit against the uncertainties.