THREE WEEKS EARLIER

‘Raspberry bonbons—five for a bronze!’ Ted shouted over the murmur of the market goers as they strolled past his stall. ‘Rose cubes—four for a bronze! Get ‘em while they’re… a normal temperature.’

He sighed; business was slow today.

Ted’s Confectionary had had maybe ten serious browsers, and only two of them had actually purchased anything. And, what’s more, one of them had bought only five sweets, which was barely worth the trouble of bagging them up.

It was no wonder, then, that Ted had had to pivot his business over the last few months. Creating and selling sweets—that had been his dream, back from when he was a young boy, but now that he was actually doing it, he realised just what a cutthroat world it was.

There were narrow profit margins, high time investments required for actually cooking the sweets, and enough competition in the relatively small Tundras market that every so often merchants would sabotage one another. Ted had been the victim of such a crime twice, and the perpetrator around eight times.

‘Raspberry bonbons, sir? For the partner, sir?’ Ted tried, doing his best attempt at a smile as he shook a bag in the general direction of a passing gentleman.

The man didn’t so much as glance at him. Customers held all the power in this relationship, with this power came a complete disregard for social norms like being polite.

But then Ted saw a woman he recognised—or, at least, a hood that he recognised; he never saw the woman’s face. The small woman approached casually, looking down at the stock atop the stall as though browsing it, before whispering, ‘Do you have what I came for?’

Ted nodded, meeting the woman’s lack of gaze and rifling through the boxes underneath the stall. This side business—the aforementioned “pivot”—was where the real money came from. Perhaps the term “real money” overstated how much revenue it was pulling in; it was still few and far between.

‘Here,’ Ted said, pulling an identical paper bag up from beneath the stall, this one filled with blueberry bonbons. The difference with these ones, however, was that they were enchanted.

‘Stamina drain?’ the woman asked, her voice raspy.

‘That’s the one.’ Ted handed the sweets over, taking the decent amount of coin from the woman in return. ‘Could I ask what they’re for, madam? I imagined a competition, perhaps, or—’

‘It wouldn’t be good business to make a habit of it,’ the customer replied. ‘Asking, I mean. Patrons of your industry… I cannot imagine they much want to advertise their deeds.’

Ted held up his hands in apology. ‘Please. Forget I asked.’

The woman nodded, took the enchanted—some might say “cursed”—sweets, and then turned away. When she’d taken a few paces, she turned back to Ted. ‘I intend to challenge someone to a duel. One that I would not naturally win.’

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Ted smiled. ‘For love or for honour?’

The woman turned away once more, without replying.

And so Ted filled in the rest of the story for himself. He daydreamed this duel—a hooded woman storming into a grand castle, throwing down her disguise and revealing her beauty before challenging a duke to fight for the death. It was for both love and honour, in Ted’s mind—to win back the hand of the Duchess, to whom the hooded woman had always intended to be married.

‘You got duprica?’ a passing old woman said.

Ted snapped from his daydream, pulling himself from the top of the cart and hearing it creak as a result. ‘Duprica?’

‘Fabric,’ the old woman clarified.

‘Yes, I know, madam, but…’ Ted gestured towards the sign that read Ted’s Confectionary. There was still an arrow hole in it.

The woman looked at the sign, blinked, and then looked back to Ted. ‘Duprica?’ she asked again.

‘I sell sweets, madam.’

‘No fabrics then?’

‘No, madam.’

The woman said no more, and turned away.

Ted couldn’t help but eyeball his swinging sign once more. Specifically, he couldn’t help but eyeball the damage those adventurers had done to it. He was trying to run a business here, and he didn’t need adventurers hiding from soldiers behind his stall!

At least fate had seen fit to allow him some revenge. Those cursed sweets had been meant for a customer—one who had been very angry that Ted had got rid of them already—but it was worth it. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of that dumb rogue vomiting conjured water and not understanding where it was coming from. He only hoped that the pretty sorcerer hadn’t got caught in the crossfire—she seemed the type to like sweets too.

Ted sighed, and got back to work, shouting about his wares and getting only momentary glances in his direction in return. It was feeling like an increasingly futile business, all of this. The customers of the Tundras didn’t know good produce when it was displayed in front of them, and they damned well didn’t have the money to pay a fair price for it. If only he was able to—

Suddenly, a notification flashed before his eyes. A boost to enchanting experience—the skill he used to create those cursed sweets.

It wasn’t uncommon that he got notifications like these, as these enchantments were so often used in resolving a fight. Like all magick and combat skills, experience was rewarded at the close of battle, based on your contribution to the fight.

What separated this particular notification apart was the amount of experience—it was in the tens of thousands.

Level up after level up notification came flooding in, boosting his Intelligence and Dexterity with every moment that passed.

Someone out there—some genius of a person—had used his cursed sweets to take down someone or something of an incredibly high level. A rare monster, or a hero, or a god.

Ted found himself sinking to his knees, closing his eyes in silent gratitude to whoever it had been that had helped him so. This amount of experience was game-changing. This increased his skill to a level that put him amongst the best enchanters in the land.

‘Sir, could I get—’ a passing customer said.

‘No,’ Ted replied, batting the man away.

The Gentle Tundras were beneath Ted, now. At this level of skill, he could be one of the finest enchantment merchants in the land. And he could take his business to somewhere rich, where the customers would hand over decent coin for his services.

‘But I—’ the attempted customer tried again.

‘I’m closed,’ Ted replied, and finally the man got the message.

There was only one thing for it—it was time to head to more prosperous lands. It was time to head for the Goldmarch.

Fame and fortune awaited.