I Said Make My Abilities Average! (LN) - Volume 8 - Chapter 66

Chapter 66:

The Dwarven Village 

“There she is! The village of Glademarl!” 

On the morning of the fourth day, the driver of the first wagon, who had the highest vantage point in the caravan, turned and called out to the others behind him. 

This particular driver was not one of the merchants but a professional who had been hired on for the expedition. No matter the industry, being at the forefront was always a position requiring the utmost skill. 

They had managed to arrive having taken only the one ogre attack. Of course, one was plenty. Had their guard been fewer in number, or had there been any parties of lesser rank in the mix, someone might have been seriously injured or killed, not to mention the damages that the caravan might have taken. Being attacked by seven ogres at once was not exactly a commonplace occurrence. 

Regardless, they had now safely arrived at the gates of Glademarl. 

They were only able to arrive so early in the morning because they had made camp quite near the village the night before. Getting in late at night would have caused trouble for the villagers, the merchants deemed, and it was an unnecessary expense. Of course, the hunters, who typically stayed in inns whenever it was possible, could not understand this logic. 

It was not that they could not grasp the merchants’ explanation, but still—they had to wonder why they could not have just made camp in some empty corner of the village, or the village square, if expense was their only concern. It would be far more convenient, if only in terms of them obtaining water. The members of the Crimson Vow pondered this question, but the other two parties did not even seem to pause, as though this had been the pattern on every journey. 

“Oh, is it already that time again? Welcome to the village of Glademarl, merchants and friends!” 

Just shy of the village, they were greeted by a young girl who looked to be no more than ten years old. 

Oh my goodness, my very first dwarf! She’s so little and cute! Wait, no, I won’t be deceived! She might look like a primary schooler, but she might well be a mother of three! Her speech patterns are definitely adult-like, no doubt about it! 

Adjusting her own first impression, Mile piped up, addressing the youthful-looking dwarf. 

“Pardon me, but this is our party’s first time here. We’re pleased to meet you. And I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, but—how old are you?” 

Oh my gods! thought the others. 

It was a straight pitch, right down the middle. Or really, a beanball. The group was flabbergasted at Mile’s candor. 

“You said it yourself, kid—you are pretty darn rude. But whatever. If you wanna know, I’m ten!” 

“She’s a straight shooter, too!!!” the group chorused. 

What a two-faced trick! I thought she was an auntie masquerading as a child, but she really is a child! Dwarves are formidable! 

The first round was a loss for Mile—not that she had any idea who or what she was fighting against. 

The dwarven girl did not have a beard, and her body was not the short, stout figure you would expect of most dwarves. She was a bit shorter than the 144 centimeters that was the average height for ten-year-old girls across the humanoid races, and a little bit pudgy, giving her somewhat of a roly-poly appearance. 

Apparently, dwarven growth rates were the same as those of any other humanoid race during their formative years. It was just that their heights topped out a bit sooner than the others. Elves worked much the same way. 

If, as per her previous conjecture, Mile’s height was the average of the heights of all the humanoid races—humans, elves, dwarves, and such—then it would be fortunate if she ended up just a slightly short human, with the soaring heights and elegant features of elves canceling out most of the dwarven features. Except for the areas where the combination of their features only amplified her lack of certain other parts… 

The caravan passed by the girl and headed for the square in the center of the village. The first order of business was to begin selling off all of the goods they had brought. For dinner, they hoped to make a meal out of fresh fish and vegetables purchased from the villagers. There was no time for that in the middle of the day, so for lunch they would eat the food they had brought with them. 

As travelers rarely stopped by this village, situated as it was in the middle of the mountains, there were no inns or anything of the sort. There was a small eatery, or rather, a tavern, but it could not be expected to host a sudden influx of twenty-plus people in addition to its usual crowd. They would need to have stocked up and prepared extra food ahead of time. Therefore, the caravan had no choice but to take care of their own amenities. 

The Crimson Vow initially presumed that they would simply cook their meals using the ingredients that Mile already had in storage, as they did when they were camping, but they were informed that they ought to drop a bit of money in the village while they were there. If they did not buy some foodstuffs from the locals, as the merchants typically did, the villagers might take offense. 

In a tiny village like this, the huntsmen and butchers and food sellers might all be friends or relatives of the smiths, or the village chief. Meaning that there were quite a few potential pitfalls… 

The leader of the caravan went to give his regards to the village chief, while the other merchants began unloading their wares from their carts, setting up an open-air market. 

“Hm? What are you doing there, Mile?” Pauline asked, watching curiously as Mile brought out a long table and began lining up various bottles and jugs upon it. Behind Mile was one particularly large bottle. 

“Oh, well, I brought some liquor with me. I thought that the dwarves might like it. It’s strong, high-quality stuff…” 

Mutter mutter . 

A growing din rose up from the dwarves, who were standing nearby watching the merchants work, all hoping to be the first to snap up the best goods for themselves. 

“High quality, huh?” 

“There’s no reason she’d have brought it all the way here if it were cheap stuff. Wonder if I should be intrigued?” 

A gaggle of dwarves, all short and stout and fully bearded—very much the sort you could point to and say, “Yep! Now those are the kind of dwarves you hear about in fairy tales!”—slowly began to approach. 

“Yes, of course! Hmm, I suppose I can let you have a little sample. Only one sample of each, though. If I let everyone have as much as they wanted, you’d drink up all my stock!” 

The dwarves gave a wry laugh, as if to say, “She’s not wrong!” 

Out of fairness, they chose eight trustworthy individuals from amongst themselves, each serving as a representative of one of the three varieties of wine and five types of spirits. Each was handed a sample. Among the spirits there were those similar to whiskey, distilled from corn and wheat, and those similar to brandy, distilled from fruits. Things like sugarcane and molasses were expensive, so one did not often see rum-type products on the market. 

The representatives each took one cup from the table and then passed it down the line so that each person could taste a tiny bit—after they had taken the first sip, of course. They all drank from the same cups; there was no one here who would be bothered by a thing like that. 

They each smelled the cup, took a bit into their mouths, appeared to roll it around on their tongues, and then drank it down, all with very serious looks upon their faces. 

This is kinda creepy , thought Mile, and one could not really blame her. It was a bit creepy to see this many bearded old-timers all in one place, looking so serious about anything. 

“I’ll take ’em! One of each!” 

“I’ll take two each of the spirits!” 

“Now wait a minute! Don’t just run off with ’em while everyone else is still tasting!” 

“I’ve just gotta run home and get my money, I’ll be right back. Three of each, can you hold ’em for me? You better not sell out while I’m gone, okay?!” 

The crowd was split into two: those who wished to buy on the spot and those who were worried that everything would sell out before they had a chance to. There were also those who did not have enough money on hand and had to rush home for more and those who rushed in to purchase without even tasting, based on the reactions of the eight representative dwarfs. 

“She really nailed this one, huh? Well, I guess I’m not surprised, if they can buy these from her for only twice what you’d pay in town…” 

The other merchants were stunned to see how Mile’s stall was flourishing. Of course, as much as everyone was running to her now, they would still have to buy salt and other staples, and any luxury items they wanted, so the others would begin to turn a profit too once the hype had died down. As a result, the merchants were not especially bothered. 

They were still stunned, however, both at what an incredible trick it was that she would have so much storage space and at the bargain prices for which she was selling her stock. 

Including the round-trip travel and the stay in the village, this expedition would take 8 days in total. There were 15 guards and 7 in the merchant party. Totaling that, you got 176 man-days. The average expected allowance to support one person per day, when factoring in the danger, was 2 half-gold per day, which totaled up to 352 half-gold. In terms of Japanese money, that was 3.52 million yen. 

When further considering the necessary expenditures for a business and matters such as the wear and tear to carts and horses, it was necessary to add in about 600 half-gold in order to turn a sufficient profit. 

That number was for gross profit, however, not a net return. In other words, it included the seed funds to purchase goods from the village for resale. It was important to allow for additional funds here, so that they did not lose everything in the event of a bandit or monster attack. Even if they were able to make a safe escape, moving too hastily would leave the horses and carts and a portion of their goods ruined. 

And yet, here Mile was, selling such a heavy, easily breakable, unnecessarily high-risk item such as liquor, for a mere 100 percent markup. Such a thing would be utterly impossible without that ability of hers… 

Envy overflowing, the merchants could not but heave a sigh at the thought of this most rare and precious blossom, who would never be theirs to hold. 

“So then, Miley, how much profit did you bring in for us?” Pauline asked with a grin. 

“Huh? This was my business. I bought the goods on my own time and sold them on my own time. It has absolutely nothing to do with the job that we accepted, so… Eeek! ” 

Pauline continued to beam. However, the feeling her expression conveyed was a complete 180 from what it had been moments prior. 

“So then. Miley. How much profit did you bring in for us?” 

“Uhh, oh ah, uhm, aaah…” 

Mile blanched as she sensed the black aura emanating from Pauline’s entire body. 

“Guess even the little lady’s got it rough…” 

The merchants who had been watching Mile with envy could not help but gaze upon her with pity now. 

“Pauline, that’s a little…” 

“The last time Mile made any money on the side, carrying the goods for those merchants who hired us, it was something we all agreed was ‘part of the job,’ right? As guards, our job is to protect the caravan, and that includes both the people and their property. This time is a little different, though. I’m sure even you can see that, Pauline.” 

“Grngh…” Pauline grumbled at Mavis and Reina’s chiding. 

Unlike Pauline, Mile had little attachment to money. However, even though the other members of the Crimson Vow were her friends—or rather, because they were her friends—she wished to remain a bit independent when it came to matters of cash flow. After all, there were plenty of stories the world over of friendships torn asunder on account of money. 

She never borrowed money from anywhere but the bank. More importantly, she never lent or deposited money anywhere but the bank. Even if threatened, she never handed over money without reason. If she did so even once, she’d have people nipping at her heels for the rest of eternity. 

This was a lesson that her father had instilled into her and her younger sister time after time in her previous life, and reborn or not, it was a teaching she intended to uphold. 

And so, Mile continued peddling her wares. Once the dwarves realized that she had a practically endless supply, those who had only purchased a few bottles at the beginning, out of consideration for others, came back for more. Those who did not have enough money on hand rushed back to their homes yet again. Until, finally… 

“That’s all of it!!!” 

Mile stood up and stretched, finally having reached a stopping point. Behind her, Pauline gnawed furiously on her handkerchief. 

Somehow she had sold out of the massive amount of liquor she had brought with her, and all before noon. After that, business began to boom for the other merchants as well. Given that they had visited this village many times before, they already knew exactly how much of which items they would be able to sell. To have a large amount of stock left over would be a big loss for any merchant. 

While this village aimed to be as self-sufficient as possible, there were still certain things that they could only import from other places, such as salt and medicine and other specialized items. Then there were those items that, while they were not absolutely necessary for survival, were still something of a necessity. Paper, soap, and other such items always sold well. And because they were not bulky or easily damaged, they did not need to be sold at an absurd price. 

Finally, there were the so-called luxury items, such as spices and high-quality fabrics. 

There were clothes and furs produced within the village as well, but they were of poor quality. Rough and tumble as they might be, even dwarven women liked to have nice things to dress up in for special occasions, like festivals and weddings—outfits that you might call their Sunday best. 

Glademarl was a mountaintop village, so naturally the journey had been an ascent. The merchants prioritized keeping their loads light for speed and safety of travel over carrying goods that would not turn much of a profit. They needed to sell plenty in order to restock, for keeping too much cash during their journey could be a danger. 

And of course, however much the villagers might request something, there were still some things that they could not carry. So, folks normally had to forgive the fact that they could not stock alcohol, which was not only heavy and easily damaged by bad roads, but also exclusively a luxury item. For a regular merchant, it was not possible to sell the bottles for a price that offset the effort involved in transporting them—so all they brought were a few select samples to be given as gifts for the sake of currying favor. 

That said, there were ale and crude spirits produced even in the village, and most people drank just to get drunk—another reason there was no real need for the merchants to shoulder the risk of supplying alcohol. 

“What? I understand that you all face dangers to transport necessities here for the sake of the village, but shouldn’t you be selling your goods at prices that properly reflect the danger, effort, and expense of getting those goods here? Why are you allowing yourselves to take in such a narrow profit? If those goods are really items that they truly need, wouldn’t the villagers be willing to pay a higher price for them? And if they won’t pay, then they must not be items that they really need, in which case there’s no reason for you all to add to your own burden by carrying those unnecessary items up here!” Pauline said indignantly, having heard the whole explanation from the merchants while they camped. Even if it concerned someone else’s affairs, Pauline had a low boiling point when it came to any mercantile practices that she deemed to be irrational. 

“A merchant’s life comes with a lot of difficulties,” one of them replied, shifting uncomfortably. Of course, this comment was not directed at Pauline, but at someone else entirely… 

Just as Mile was in the process of packing up her empty stall, the caravan leader, who had headed off to the village chief’s house immediately upon their arrival, returned to the village square. While he was gone, apparently to take care of various negotiations, the clerk from his shop who had accompanied him had handled his sales. It was for this reason that he had been the only one to bring along an employee. 

Upon his return, the leader’s expression was not a happy one. 

“I know it’s a bit early, but why don’t we have lunch? Everyone, close up shop for now!” 

Though he had directed them to close up, this was still but an open air market. All they had to do was place a little sign saying, Out to Lunch , which had apparently been prepared ahead of time, on their register—the whole process was over in a matter of seconds. 

The villagers were all well aware that the merchants typically took a break for lunch at midday, so they had already purchased anything that they desperately needed. Afterwards they could window shop at their leisure, so there was no real hurry. For now, the villagers all returned to their homes. There were many places out in the countryside where folks ate only two meals a day, but a large percentage of the population here were involved in heavy physical labor, so they made sure to get their three squares. 

With the wagons lined up at their backs, the caravan parties gnawed away at their travel meals. 

While they were within the village, all of the food tucked away in Mile’s storage was off-limits, and any of the ingredients purchased from the villagers were meant for dinner. For the sake of saving money and time, lunch would be a simple affair. The food sellers and their dependents in the village could not complain about that much. 

As he chewed on his hardtack, one of the merchants turned to the leader. “So, what’s the bad news?” 

Having known each other for a long time, he could guess that something had gone awry just based on the air around the leader on his return. The third merchant, of course, looked as though he had come to the same conclusion. 

It was not yet noon, but the leader had gathered them all together the moment he returned. He had directed them to sit with their backs to the wagons in such a way that they could easily survey their surroundings and guard against any eavesdroppers. From these clues, the situation had become clear to everyone. 

(Of course, by “everyone,” we mean the merchants, and the Devils’ Paradise, and the Fellowship of Flame. The three hired drivers and the four members of the Crimson Vow had not picked up on this at all.) 

The leader replied in a low voice, “Only half of the metalwork we were promised is ready for us. And yet, the total price is the same as it always is.” 

“What?!” the other three merchants, including the leader’s employee, cried. 

Their shock was understandable—the price of the goods they had come to purchase for resale had just doubled. And since they only were getting half of what they had been promised for the same cost, they would have to double their usual markup just to turn a profit. In other words, they would have to raise their sales price in town to twice what it normally was or never be able to recoup their costs. 

And yet, that was never going to fly with their customers. 

They were being charged double the previous price for the same goods—for goods that were non-perishable, unaffected by the vagaries of the weather or season. There was no customer who would buy at that price. There was no set market value for metalwork, after all. 

Everyone would just buy their goods from other shops, who obtained their stock by other routes—or hold off on buying until the prices returned to normal. 

“Showing their true colors, huh?” 

At prices like that, the smithed goods alone would put them into the red. Moreover, continuing to provide the service of carrying necessities all the way into town and selling them at a reasonable price was out of the question without the profits from the metalwork. 

Consequently, there was not going to be a next time. This was the last time that this caravan would ever travel to Glademarl, and they would not be making any purchases while they were here, either. 

This poor mountain village, atop a road overrun by monsters and brigands, had just lost its revenue stream, along with its only means of obtaining necessities. 

It was over for them. 

“B-but none of the villagers seem like they would do anything like that,” said Mile. 

“ Those guys forget about everything else when you put some good booze in front of them, ” the merchants retorted in unison. 

That’s weird though, thought Mile. Why would they purposefully do something so suicidal? 

Finding this suspicious, Mile asked the leader, “This is obviously pretty weird, right? For them to pull something like this so suddenly. There must be something going on…” 

“Yeah, I think so, too. There has to be a reason that they couldn’t fulfill our order. I don’t think they’d tell us that unless they had no other choice in the matter. However…” 

“However?” Mile interjected. 

The leader continued, “Even if something is going on, they’re the ones who decided, ‘Well, even if we only made half of what they asked, we can still give it to ’em and just request the same price.’ It would be one thing if they had actually discussed it with us, but instead, they’re treating us like idiots!” 

Ah… 

Finally, Mile understood why there had been such an eerie feeling in the air—and the reason they had camped just outside of the village rather than inside. And even now, why none of them seemed enraged or even frantic about the chief’s sudden demands. And why none of them were the least bit concerned about the village’s well-being. 

None of them actually like this village very much… 

She then pitched a straight ball right over the plate. With gusto. 

“Do you all hate the villagers here?” 

“M-Mile, what are you saying?!” asked Mavis, but she was the only one who appeared to be surprised. 

Apparently Pauline and Reina had already picked up on this fact. 

“That would be correct. We put a good face on for them because we’re merchants, but to tell you the truth, these villagers have always taken us for idiots. So, as far as we’re concerned, the folks here aren’t anything more than trade partners who can help us increase our profits. They certainly aren’t valued customers or anything like that. So, if they lose value to us as trade partners, then we’re outta here. That’s all there is to it. 

“The fact that we accept all the risk of coming here and bringing them their necessities to sell at a completely unprofitable rate isn’t because we care about them or anything. We only bother because they demanded that we do so if we want to buy their stuff. But if they’re gonna gouge us on the one thing we come here for, then there’s no point in us even coming. We’re merchants. We aren’t idiots or saints.” 

All the usual warmth had vanished from the merchants’ faces. It seemed their plans were already set in stone. They were going to abandon this village, or rather, withdraw from any future dealings. 

It made sense. There was not a single reason that any merchant would continue to make a dangerous eight-day round-trip journey to a village of surly customers who did nothing but put them in the red. 

Even so, Mile still found something suspicious about this whole thing. 

“Um, but as far as I could see, none of the villagers really looked like bad people…” 

Indeed, Mile had seen the villagers who had stopped by to shop from them as nothing but smiling, friendly dwarves. 

“You’re right, they aren’t bad people.” 

“What?” 

The members of the Crimson Vow, save for Pauline, appeared shocked at the merchant’s unexpected reply. They looked frantically around, but as far as they could tell, none of the villagers still in the square were paying them any mind. It would be difficult to overhear a conversation that was spoken in such hushed tones, and none of them would have any interest in the internal affairs of merchants, anyway. The members of the Devils’ Paradise and the Fellowship of Flame, who had been listening silently this whole time, continued chewing on their provisions as though they were not affected at all. 

They had known this all from the start. That was what their attitude conveyed. 

“These villagers are, by and large, craftspeople by trade. There are plenty of farmers and lumberjacks, too, but the ones we deal with are the blacksmiths, who are really the heart and soul of this village, a fact with which I’m sure most folks would agree. They have a strong sense of dignity and are incredibly proud of their skills and techniques. 

“Their smithing is number one amongst the humanoid races. Far better than anything that a human or elf could produce. So, they ‘allow’ the other races to purchase and use what they create. That’s what they believe, from the bottom of their hearts. 

“So, it’s not that they harbor ill will towards us, or hate us, or wish death on us, or resent us, or anything like that. They’re skilled craftspeople who enjoy good booze with good friends. It’s just that they’re prideful and look down on the other races when it comes to smithing. They feel that anyone who desires what they make should grovel before them and do anything they say. But no, they aren’t exactly bad people.” 

“ That sounds plenty bad to us!!! ” 

As they often did, the four members of the Crimson Vow spoke together. 

*** 

“At any rate, everyone, let’s keep selling this afternoon, just as we planned. I’ll head over to the blacksmith’s shop and try to find out what’s going on. If it seems like we can work something out, we’ll continue selling tomorrow and leave the day after next. If it’s no good, then we might just head out at some point tomorrow. If there’s anything in town that you can still buy at the normal price, then we can probably go ahead and buy just that. Any objections?” 

The other two merchants shook their heads. The third was employed by the leader, so his opinion did not have much additional weight. He himself was aware of this, and as a result, did not even bother reacting. 

Meanwhile, the members of the Crimson Vow were silent, still puzzled at this turn of events. Though the other two parties were already aware of the situation with the villagers, they too looked a bit stumped. 

Later, Reina would ask them, “Why didn’t you tell us about the villagers beforehand?” 

Her question was met with the following reply: “There wasn’t any need to tell you any unfavorable information about people who you hadn’t even met. We figured it was best that you meet them and decide for yourselves, rather than unnecessarily biasing you against them.” 

It was a fair explanation that Reina could not help but accept. 

“Now then, I think it’s about time we got back to our stalls. I’ll head over to see the smiths, as a representative of the caravan. There’s no point in even talking to the chief anymore.” 

Apparently, the reason that the leader had not come back right after going to give the chief his regards was because he had been trying to press the man for more information. Yet ultimately, he had come up empty-handed. 

Just as the leader stood to leave… 

“I’d like to come, too!” Mile declared, standing up with him. 

“Hm?” 

The other members of the Crimson Vow stood as well, looking exasperated. 

The leader was momentarily taken aback, but once he considered the fact of Mile’s storage magic, he nodded. There were really no drawbacks to bringing the Crimson Vow with him, and if they could use Mile’s magic as leverage, that might make negotiations a bit smoother, or so he hoped. 

Everyone finished their pitiful lunches of water and bread, and then dispersed to their various tasks. 

“This is one of the blacksmiths we usually purchase from,” said the leader, as the five of them stood before a shop. 

The other hunters had not accompanied them, instead splintering off to tend to their own affairs. There was no real reason for them to come, and having that many rough-looking hunters all in one place would probably look like intimidation, which would certainly be bad for negotiations. The Crimson Vow gave off no such impressions, so bringing them along was much safer. 

“Is the master in?” the leader called into the doorway of the workshop, and a youth who was probably an employee or apprentice went to summon the master smith from further inside… Though of course, judging by the beard on him, he was not a very young-looking youth… 

Everyone in the village knew that the caravan had arrived this morning, so the dwarf did not bother asking the leader’s name. At the same time, there was no doubt that the folks from this shop had all been lined up at Mile’s little stand, the master smith included. 

Indeed, the man who appeared to be the master smith shortly appeared. He had rosy cheeks, perhaps due to the fact that they were warmed every day by the flames of the smithy. 

“Well, I’ll be! The little lady booze-seller is here! If you’ve got any left, I’ll take all of it!!!” 

Ah, yes. The reason that his cheeks were so red was that he had been drinking like a fish since morning. 

“What? You’re tellin’ me you weren’t goin’ door to door to sell your leftover liquor stock…?” 

The smith slumped in disappointment. 

“Liquor? Oh, pardon me!” said the leader. “This is just the usual little extra we have with us, but here, have this!” 

He took out one of the gift bottles he had prepared and handed it to the master smith. 

Oh… 

Finally, Mile realized exactly what it was that she had done. 

“Oh, liquor, huh? Say, what is this…?” said the smith, clearly disappointed, as the leader began to fret. 

There were, of course, breweries in town, and being that this was a village of blacksmiths, they possessed the equipment with which to distill their own spirits. However, they were usually unable to temper their own appetites long enough to let the spirits age, drinking them all up as soon as they finished producing them. Thus, on a practical level they lacked the means to make their own high-quality drink. And to be honest, their most basic productions were nothing to write home about. 

So, the brands that the merchants always brought with them as gifts had been received with a warm welcome…up until now. 

The master smith normally felt it was unfair to drink it all on his own, so he usually let his workers have a nip here and there, too. However, he now looked upon the merchant leader’s gift without much interest. It was inevitable that the merchant leader should be perplexed by this, wondering what about the circumstances had changed. 

This was especially true because Mile had not set up her temporary stall until after the leader had headed to the chief’s house, and by the time he got back, she was sold out of her stock and had more or less packed everything away. He knew that she had been selling something, as she had sought his permission to try opening up shop with something that she had brought along in her storage. He had given his permission but not thought to pay the slightest attention to exactly what kind of wares she was offering. He had assumed she was just playing a little game to pass the time, selling something that she had bought along her travels: some items she no longer needed or perhaps some fresh herbs that would not keep for very long. 

At any rate, a delicate set of negotiations then began, though it seemed that the leader and the master were a pair who had had such exchanges many times before. This time, with the lady liquor-monger, who might have more of her high-quality stock by the merchant’s side, the master smith was inclined to be a bit more receptive. 

“You’ll get half of what you asked for, but the price is gonna be the same.” 

Unfortunately, this talk was not going well for the merchant’s side. Hearing the same thing from the smith as he had from the chief, the leader looked troubled. 

“Your chief told me the same thing. However, I know for certain that the chief would never make a decision like that on his own. The fact that it seemed like it was a done deal for him means that what he told me was in agreement with what your people must have told him. What we wish to know is the reason that you came to this decision out of the blue and whether there is any way we can get you to change your minds. Apparently, you did not tell the village chief the truth, so I was hoping you might tell us the reasoning behind the change in prices. 

“All I’m asking you to tell me is the facts. If you cannot give me any reason for this change, then we will not be purchasing anything, and we will likely never return to this village again. I feel that we’ve built up a mutually beneficial relationship. It would be unfortunate to tear down everything that we’ve built up over the years simply because you refuse to be honest with us, wouldn’t it?” 

From the leader’s stern wording, the smith could tell that he was serious and that refusing to talk could become a problem for the village’s longevity. So, with a solemn expression, he opened his mouth. 

“Very well. Apparently, the chief didn’t think it was his position to say, but I guess it’s a problem if I can’t tell ya. Tell ya the truth, it’s a matter of pride. Of course, ya can’t blame him. He’s gotta act as our representative, and this is a matter of honor for us dwarves. We might all be the same types of people, but we can’t just go lettin’ humans or elves see us in a moment of weakness when it comes to our smithin’. Please don’t think bad of ’im… 

“Anyway, if the caravans stop coming here, then we won’t have anyone to sell our works to, and that just can’t happen. We’d have to get our own carts and guards, and go around from village to village, sellin’ our wares on foot. T’think of it…” 

For the dwarves, who were craftsmen and not merchants by nature, the thought of spending their lives going around peddling instead of making things was unbearable. Plus, even at twice the price as before, they could not hope to turn much of a profit that way considering the cost of wagons and guards and such. Whether or not the others would admit it, the master smith was ready to acknowledge that much. 

Apparently, orcs and ogres had begun taking up residence on the mountain where the dwarves mined iron ore. They could get the wood that they used to fuel the flames of their forges from elsewhere, but that mountain was the only place from which they could source their raw materials. 

The fact that that mountain was nearby was the reason why the dwarves had even built this village where they had in the first place. Without it, there was no reason why they would settle in such an inconvenient location, deep in the mountains. 

At this, the merchant leader replied directly. “Well then, why don’t you just eliminate them?” It was, of course, the logical solution. 

Dwarves possessed both physical strength and stalwart forms. On top of their solid bodies, this village could easily produce the necessary weapons and armor. All of this meant that they were in a good position to take out these monsters all on their own. In fact, there was a certain subset of dwarven youths who left such villages as this one favor of moving to human settlements to become hunters. 

So, if the villagers were to put together a band of young fellows in their prime, hardened by their daily labors of mining and smithing, the likes of orcs and ogres would never stand a chance. 

Indeed, living in a little village in the middle of the mountains meant that they had to drive away the local monsters themselves, and in between the times when the merchant caravan arrived, they had to carry their own goods to other settlements to sell them, and to purchase their daily necessities. Surely, they could kick about an ogre or two. 

“We could, with a lot of damages.” 

“Hm?” 

Yes, they were dwarves: strong, healthy, able to forge skilled goods and make their living in the direst of environments, a proud race. 

With their pride on the line, they had set out to quash the monsters that had settled in near their precious mines. The village poured their all into the battle, putting their faith in a collection of brave, skilled volunteers—of which they lost six, while many more were injured. They had failed their mission, and at great cost to themselves. Alas, it was unlikely that there would be any skilled healing mages in a village populated by dwarves, who lacked an aptitude for magic. Even piling on all of the healing herbs in the village was only enough to dull their pain, not cure the fighters. 

With so much of the village’s battle strength lost, they could no longer afford to break up the capable fighters into two groups: one to defend the village, and the other to protect the mines. Left with no option but to sneak into the mines with just a few miners and a few guards so that the monsters would not catch wind of them, the acquisition of new iron ore had sharply decreased. Furthermore, there were many craftsmen, smiths and apprentices alike, who were injured badly enough that they were in no shape to do their work. Losing even two skilled smiths from a single shop was enough to grind production to a halt. 

Thus, even though they could only provide half of the usual stock, they could not afford to sell it for half of the usual pay. They had intended to send a representative of the village back to town along with the caravan, earnings in hand, and use it to buy a stock of medicine, as well as hired a skilled healing mage, if possible. To accomplish this would require a lot of money. 

“A healing mage? What? No, you should hire some hunters to get rid of those monsters, first! The way things are going, more and more of your miners are going to get hurt. And if things get worse, the village might even end up overrun! You need to contact the Hunters’ Guild immediately!!!” the merchant leader cried. 

The smith, however, shook his head. 

“For us dwarves to go cryin’ to a bunch of humans because we can’t protect our precious mines with our own hands would be a disgrace to our whole race! We’d be the laughingstock of the continent, and our village’s reputation would be in shambles. No one would ever want to buy anything we make ever again!” 

These guys are a pain in the neck!!! the humans silently screamed. 

Truly, these dwarves did place just a little too much worth on their own pride… 

“Well, at least now I understand the situation. My heart’s a bit more at ease knowing all this—and that you aren’t just arbitrarily holding some absurd price over our heads,” said the leader. 

“Oh, so you understand!” the smith replied, with a smile of relief. 

“Still, no matter what the circumstances may be, we can’t make any transactions that will put us in the red. We have a responsibility to ourselves, our allies, our families and employees, and of course, our valued customers. It’s one thing to make charitable contributions in more prosperous times, but to accept such unfavorable terms in the line of our main business would be truly idiotic. We’d lose credibility, and be made fun of, looked down upon. People would start provoking us, saying, ‘You bought at a higher price from those guys! Why are you trying to pull the rug out from under us?!’ and we’d never be able to negotiate for a good price ever again. 

“These monster problems are your problems, not ours. They are by no means a compelling reason for us to complete any questionable transactions and risk both our fortunes and our reputations. Honestly, this is an awful lot like how the chief imposed his arbitrary conditions on us in the first place. He doesn’t care about our circumstances at all!” 

The smith fell silent, his face clouded. He did not appear to have been expecting such a vehement refusal. 

He may have been a fool for his work, and a man of hubris, but he was not truly a fool. He seemed to be aware that they were asking something absurd of the merchants, and so he could not bring himself to rebuke or rage at the now-unhappy merchant he had done business with so many times before. He could only look on, his face vacant and bitter… 

“Well, I guess we should go and take care of those monsters then, huh?” Reina abruptly proposed, breaking the silence. 

“Wh-what are you—?” 

The smith was lost for words at how simply she had said this. The merchant leader looked surprised as well. The other three, however, chimed in, hot on her heels. 

“If you don’t have medicine, why not just use healing spells?” 

Who is she, Marie Antoinette?!?! Well, honestly, Marie never actually said that famous line. When the book that quote was written in first came out, Marie was only nine years old, and definitely was not yet on the throne… 

Pauline’s words had apparently sent Mile down one of her usual rabbit holes. 

“That’s right,” Mavis added, “If you failed once, you just have to come back stronger. Get more forces and fight for those mines!” 

W-wait, is this a Chrome-Shelled Regios situation?!?! 

As always, a thought floated through Mile’s head that no one else would understand, but it got her fired up nevertheless. 

“Have you all even been listening?! Like I said, our village’s fighters are in shambles, and we’re not gonna go crawling to the humans for help!” the smith shouted, forgetting his position. 

Mile looked at him, dumbfounded, and said, “What? You don’t have to go all the way to town to put in an extermination request. If you want to go for a second round, all you have to do is make use of the hunters who just happened to be in town along with a merchant caravan—hunters, who might join in for a little extra pay? It’s nothing but a little bit of work for a little bit of coin. That shouldn’t be a burden on your dwarven pride, right?” 

“Uh…” 

She was right. It might wound their pride, down in the depths of their hearts, but they were no longer in any position to have the luxury of worrying about that. However… 

“A-are you sure? Those monsters are really strong! We haven’t been living up on this mountain for centuries just for show. We never thought we’d fall so easily to some measly orcs or ogres. Honestly, how did it come to this…? You humans in this country, you’re adults at fifteen, right? Sure, those other hunters are one thing, but some of you girls are barely out of the nursery! You might be really hurt—hell, you might not even make it back alive! You shouldn’t be risking your lives!!” 

The smith tried to refuse the Crimson Vow’s proposal and urge them to reconsider. 

“Hah!” Reina said with a sneer. “Don’t underestimate a C-rank mage!” 

“Nor a C-rank swordfighter!” added Mavis. 

“And don’t underestimate us humans!!!” they said as one. 

Ignoring the master smith, who was now at a loss for words, Mile asked the merchant leader, “We’re only employed as your guards during the travel portion of the trip, yes? While we’re staying in town, we’re free to do whatever we like with our time, regardless of our employers’ wishes. That is what our contract says, correct?” 

“Yes, that is true, but…” 

“But?” 

“If you don’t come back in good enough shape to complete your guard duties on the journey home, that would count as a breach of contract.” 

There was no malice in the merchant’s words. It was merely a very merchant-like way of praying that they would return home safe. 

To a merchant, contracts were everything. If there was any danger of a promise being broken, the fury a merchant could summon would transform them into an army of one. This merchant was doing everything within his power to confront the Crimson Vow’s reckless proposal. 

“We’ll come back safe, I promise,” said Pauline. “I swear it in the name of the gods of commerce.” 

The leader was stunned to suddenly be addressed as a fellow merchant. The other three followed her lead. 

“I stake my honor on this, as a future knight,” said Mavis. 

“And I stake my reputation as a C-rank hunter,” chimed Reina. 

“And I swear on the name of the little old lady who runs the candy store!” added Mile, at which all the others asked: 

“ And who the hell is that?!?!?! ” 

“Still, in my opinion… At the very least, we need to propose this to the chief, and then get the approval of two-thirds of the smiths. If we make an extermination attempt and end up with that many more smiths injured, it’s gonna be a problem for the village’s future. I’m sure that most of the other smiths feel the same way I do, but they might agree, if I explain it to ’em. As for the chief… The chief ain’t hardheaded or crazy, but he has got the weight of the whole village on his shoulders, so he’s always gonna pick the village’s safety over anything else. Even if I as an individual think you’ve got the right idea, there’s still a chance the chief might have to say no. We can’t put this to him bluntly. If we just go bargin’ into the chief’s house like this, our little talk’s never gonna get anywhere…” 

The others were at a loss for a reply, but they understood what he was saying. Understanding this, and knowing that they could not simply march straight up to the chief’s house and demand his approval, the members of the Crimson Vow looked troubled. 

Just then— 

“ Youuu bashtaaards!!! What’sh the big idea shellin’ yer fancy-schmancy highfalutin shpiritsh t’everyone but me?!?! Y’think ya can messh with me like that?! Why you little…!!!” 

“Oh! It’s the chief!” 

The chief was angry. He had been in talks with the merchant leader the whole time Mile was selling her liquor, and so he had no idea that the sale was even going on, only hearing about it after the fact from those who’d been lucky enough to purchase something and let him try a tiny nip. Apparently he had tracked them down on the report of the other merchants. 

“Give it t’ me! Give me shome right now!!!” 

At first glance, Mile was a thoughtless idiot, and while that was in some ways true, she was also an unexpectedly anxious individual, who always put safety first. Therefore, she always had a backup plan, a “just in case” contingency that allowed her to live by the philosophy that one should always be prepared. Pauline knew as much from the way that Mile always spoke and acted, and from the morals in a number of the Japanese Folktales Mile told. So, she looked subtly over to Mile’s face to confirm, and… 

Nod nod. 

Mile nodded, with a warm smile. 

Seeing this, Pauline smiled as well, the grin on her face a wicked one…