Back at his grandfather's house, Kael laid the bags on the dusty wooden floor and finally exhaled. His muscles ached from hauling everything, but there was satisfaction in that pain.
He pulled out the receipts first, scanning the items and doing mental calculations.
"This should be enough for the next batch."
[Storage Lv.2 – Capacity: 200 items / 100kg]
600 small matchboxes
200 large matchboxes
100 survival matchboxes
250 pocket flashlights (battery included)
180 AA battery packs (10-count)
90 cans of beef stew
60 cans of tuna
40 mosquito repellents (spray)
100 cockroach insecticides (tube)
50 plastic ponchos
100 lighters (windproof, refillable)
80 energy bars (high-calorie survival type)
15 first-aid kits (compact)
10 solar-powered lanterns
12 portable water purifiers
150 water bottles
50 packs of salt (1kg)
40 can openers
Kael took a long look at the list. Each item was simple. Common. Disposable, even.
But in the medieval world?
"These are luxury goods. No—lifesaving goods," he whispered.
He picked up a survival matchbox and held it in his palm. Orange plastic, waterproof, with a tight seal and a rough striker surface.
"Waterproof. Wind-resistant. Burns even if soaked. Any adventurer would kill for this."
He tossed it gently into his storage, watching it vanish with a glimmer.
The key wasn't just in what he brought—it was how he positioned it. Fire wasn't just fire—it was security. Light. Warmth. Food. Protection from the cold.
To Kael, these were inventory. To the people of that world, these were hope in a box.
Fantasy World
Kael had breakfast at the inn and then set out for his stall.
The morning crowd was already forming when Kael reached his stall. He wore a worn brown cloak over his shoulders, and his face was still relatively unknown—but people remembered the items. The rumors had spread.
By the time he finished setting up his wares, a crowd had already gathered. More than yesterday.
Dozens of them. Lining up. Whispering.
"That's him."
"He's the one who sold the fire-boxes."
"Did you hear? You just strike it, and it lights like magic!"
Kael kept his movements slow and deliberate. He placed the small matchboxes in rows, five per pile. Beside them were stacks of canned food, wrapped in bundles of twine. Flashlights, he placed in neat rows. Insecticide tubes in a small wooden crate. Water bottles in a woven basket.
Each item had its place. Presentation mattered. In a world where merchants shouted, lied, and begged for attention, Kael was silent and composed. That made him stand out even more.
The effect was deliberate. Organized. Mysterious. Professional.
A man in cracked leather armor stepped forward, eyeing the flashlight warily. He gestured at it with a gloved hand. "That rod… Is it some sort of baton? A weapon?"
Kael shook his head calmly. "Not a weapon. It produces light—without fire."
The man frowned. "You mean it glows? Like mageglass?"
Kael picked up the flashlight. "Not quite. Watch."
With a soft click, he pressed the button. The LED beam flared to life, cutting a clean white line. The crowd gasped. A few instinctively took a step back.
"By the gods…"
"It's like the sun trapped in a stick…"
Kael let them absorb it for a moment, then offered it handle-first to the man. "Don't look into it directly. See this switch? Press it down—that turns it off. Press again, and it comes back on. The light comes from a sealed source inside."
The man held it with both hands, as if it might explode. "And this lasts how long?"
"Each comes with a power cell inside. With moderate use—say a few hours each night—it'll last a full week. After that, the power runs out, and the light fades."
"What then?" another customer asked.
Kael turned to him. "I sell replacement power packs separately. Or… you wait until I restock."
A woman in a faded shawl stepped forward. "Is it magic?"
"No," Kael said plainly. "Not the kind you're used to. Just… craftsmanship. From a land far from here."
The simple truth worked better than mysticism. Kael knew better than to make promises he couldn't back. "It's water-resistant. Works even in rain or fog. Keep it safe. It's not cheap, and it's not easy to replace."
The first man nodded slowly, still staring into the unlit end of the flashlight. "How much?"
"Five silver coins."
That drew a murmur from the crowd. Steep—but no one laughed this time. They had seen it work.
The man grimaced, then reached into his pouch. "Worth it, if it means no more carrying flint or fire magic items at night."
Kael accepted the coins with a nod. "You'll find it's one of those things that's only expensive once."
He turned to the next customer, already lifting a water bottle from the basket.
And the line kept moving.
He kept his answers brief. Introducing people to his new type of products—that added to the mystique. A merchant who knew exactly what he was selling, but never oversold.
Prices were firm:
1 bronze coin for a small matchbox
2 bronze for the large ones
10 bronze for a waterproof survival box
5 bronze per canned meal
30 bronze for insecticide
5 silver for flashlights
5 silver for first-aid kits
10 silver for solar lanterns
Some grumbled, but most paid. Word had already spread that his items worked.
By midday…
"Sorry. All sales are over for today," Kael said, raising his hands.
A wave of disappointment ran through the remaining crowd.
"What?! Already?"
"Can't you stay a little longer?"
"Just one more matchbox!"
"I'll pay double!"
"Flashlight—please, my husband goes night hunting!"
"There are many mosquitoes in my house. Please give me mosquito repellents! Just one!"
Kael raised his hands. "That's it. All sales are over for today."
They groaned. Some even cursed. But no one forced him. His presence, his quiet confidence—it commanded respect.
Behind the Stall.
Kael sat down, breathing heavily. His pouch jingled with the weight of coins. The feeling should've been exhilarating. It wasn't.
Instead, he felt… worn.
"Another day like this and I'll pass out."
His fingers were cramped. His back hurt. He had handled many customers alone today, so he was very tired now.
Ah! I need an assistant now. Hmm, I think it's time to buy a slave.
Kael didn't like the idea. The word itself triggered something sour. But the reality was… brutal efficiency mattered. He needed a hand, and he needed it soon. The money he made today was enough to afford one.
He tallied the profits using the pocket calculator.
1. Small Matchboxes:
600 × 1 bronze = 600 bronze
2. Large Matchboxes:
200 × 2 bronze = 400 bronze
3. Survival Matchboxes:
100 × 10 bronze = 1,000 bronze
4. Canned Food (90):
90 × 5 bronze = 450 bronze
5. Insecticide (100):
100 × 30 bronze = 3,000 bronze
6. Flashlights (250):
250 × 5 silver = 250 × 50 bronze = 12,500 bronze
7. Misc (water, duct tape, first aid):
Flat estimate = 2,540 bronze
Total = 20,490 bronze
USD Value (Using Exchange Rate)
1 bronze = $1.00
Total Value: $20,490
Kael had spent $4,627.99 USD for all the items.
So profits:
$20,490 - $4,627.99 = $15,862.01
He leaned his head back and let out a long breath.
"Jackpot."
He laughed, not loudly—but with a tired kind of satisfaction.
Tomorrow, he'd visit the Slave Market.