-Midday-

  Slouched against a wall in the dimness of an alley, Sen listened in on the chatter about trade—rice prices, silk deliveries, and merchants squabbling over deals. The air was a mix of cooked meat and incense, with a side of the delightful aroma of sweaty bodies strolling past.

  The most striking feature of the market, however, was the currency itself. Sen watched a couple of transactions unfold as people passed their coins to merchants. The crimson coins exchanged for common necessities—some fruit, a loaf of bread, or a tool for working the fields. They were ruddy, almost blood-like, and definitely stood out against the warmer tones of the earth. It made sense: crimson coins were probably

  the base currency, meant for the masses, for those simply scraping by.

  Then there were the yellow coins, which seemed to be treated with more care. Merchants handed them with an air of reverence, and Sen noticed that the yellow coins were used to pay for luxuries, such as rare spices, jewelry, and, as he witnessed firsthand, exquisite textiles.

  The people who used these coins, too, carried themselves differently—often more proudly, with an air of confidence. Their pockets jingled not with the ctter of everyday survival, but with the promise of status and wealth.

  Sen's sharp ears picked up the flow of chatter around him. In the alley, the conversations weren’t much different from the market itself. People seemed to talk in the same manner, with words like "Katte" and "Kane" still rolling off their tongues, though they weren't necessarily shouting. It was almost as if every interaction was structured by these words, each one signifying a type of exchange—either goods or value.

  "Kore ikura ka?" Sen overheard one conversation as a woman, a merchant by the looks of her attire, haggled over a bundle of vegetables.

  "Sō, Kore no ryō wa..." another man responded, his voice rising slightly as he tried to negotiate a price.

  Sen couldn't catch every word, but he got the gist: there was some serious haggling going on, a verbal tango where prices weren’t set in stone but shifted like quicksand, depending on what the buyer and seller could agree on as fair—or a total rip-off.

  In a shadowy corner of the alley, an old man was propped up on his cane, eyeing the bustling crowd. He muttered something to his younger buddy, who nodded and slipped him a red coin before heading off to the market.

  Sen noticed that business here was a mix of trust and wariness—like there was an invisible code of respect that ruled these transactions. Even amidst the chaos, there was a strange sense of order lurking beneath the surface.

  His brain was buzzing as he pieced together what he’d observed. This market wasn’t just about buying and selling; it was a snapshot of society itself. The way goods changed hands revealed the power dynamics, the connections among people, and the tangled web of money, influence, and social standing.

  Those funting yellow coins strutted around like they owned the pce, heads held high, probably demanding more respect. Meanwhile, the ones with only red coins? They were the everyday workers, scraping by in a world where everything was dictated by cash.

  (Money. I won't get anywhere without it.)

  He looked over at his spear and sack. He had no clue what they might be worth, but he knew he had to get his hands on trading.

  After some thought, Sen straightened up and pushed off the wall.

  He stayed hidden in the shadow for a few moments, watching the ebb and flow of transactions. He kept his distance, not wanting to draw attention just yet. Merchants hawked their wares, some haggling fiercely while others exchanged coins with a disinterested air, as if the deals were a mere formality.

  He took a few steps forward, but this time, he was deliberate, calcuting. Instead of rushing into the first stall, he waited. His leather sack swung at his side, the bone spear still loosely in his grip. He was in no rush. Let the market breathe. Let the crowd thin out a bit. He wasn’t just selling gear, he was making a mark, figuring out who needed what.

  It took another five minutes before he found what he was looking for. A merchant was eyeing the crowd, clearly running low on inventory, but not desperate enough to reduce prices.

  His stall was stacked with small tools and trinkets, a few crafted goods, some of them clearly of better quality than the junk Sen had seen earlier. This was where people who valued something more than a quick fix might come—someone who could appreciate what Sen had to offer.

  This time, Sen walked toward the stall with purpose, observing the merchant’s demeanor. The man didn’t seem overly busy, but the steady stream of potential buyers showed there was a market. Sen knew exactly where to step in.

  -The Trade-

  Sen stepped toward the merchant’s stall, his grip tightening around the strap of his leather sack. He had watched enough transactions to get the gist of how things worked—at least, he hoped. But as he neared the stall, his confidence wavered.

  The merchant, a middle-aged man with a sharp gaze, was already eyeing him. His hands moved deftly, adjusting the dispy of tools and weapons in front of him, but his expression showed caution. Sen didn’t look like the usual buyer.

  Sen exhaled slowly. No point hesitating now. He lifted his bone spear slightly and gestured toward it. “Trade,” he said, keeping his voice even.

  The merchant’s brow furrowed. He eyed the spear and the leather sack, then looked back at Sen, waiting.

  (Shit.)

  Sen clenched his jaw. He had heard enough words tossed around the market, but stringing them together himself was another problem entirely.

  He gestured to the merchant’s wares—knives, pouches, small tools—then back to his own items. “Katte,” he said, trying to recall the word he had heard earlier. “Katte… ah… kane?”

  The merchant squinted. Then, with a sigh, he folded his arms. “Kore wa ikura desu ka?”

  Sen recognized the phrase from earlier. It was a question. A price? Maybe. But the exact meaning was lost on him.

  (Three should be reasonable enough.)

  He lifted three fingers, hoping the gesture would get the point across.

  The merchant snorted. “Fuzaken na.” He shook his head, then said something else—too fast for Sen to follow.

  Sen’s patience was wearing thin. He was used to fights where he could communicate with his fists, not this damn verbal puzzle.

  Exhaling through his nose, he resisted the urge to scowl. Fine. If words were useless, he’d let the spear do the talking.

  Sen flipped the weapon in his grip, holding it out horizontally. Then, in a swift motion, he smmed the butt of the spear against the merchant’s wooden counter. The solid thunk drew the attention of a few nearby buyers.

  The merchant’s eyes flicked to the spear again, but this time, there was more scrutiny in his gaze.

  Sen took the opening. He yanked the sack open and pulled out his bone dagger. He twirled it between his fingers before stabbing it into the wooden counter beside the spear—just enough force to make it stick. Then he tapped his knuckles against the bde, staring the merchant down. "Your move?"

  The merchant let out a short grunt, the kind an old wolf makes when it realizes the pup in front of it has teeth. He reached for the spear first, testing the bance, running a calloused finger along the smooth bone, then giving it a few experimental swings. Sen had carved it from the remains of that desert beast—its material was tough as hell, and he knew it.

  The merchant's expression barely changed, but his fingers twitched slightly. Approval.

  Next, he yanked the dagger free, rolling it in his palm, checking the weight. He flicked the bde slightly, testing its sharpness. His lips pressed into a thin line—still unreadable, but Sen could tell he wasn’t unimpressed.

  Then, the merchant set both items down and reached under the counter. When his hand came back up, he pced three small yellow coins in front of Sen.

  Sen’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t dumb. He had seen yellow coins exchanged for better items. This was a lowball.

  He tapped the dagger. “Motto.”

  The merchant exhaled sharply through his nose, then pulled another two yellow coin from his pouch and set it down. “Roku,” he said, his tone firm. Final offer.

  Sen considered it. He could push harder, but he wasn’t in a position to piss off a potential supplier. More importantly, this was a first step.

  He gave a curt nod, then scooped up the coins. He left the dagger and spear where they were, not bothering with a final gnce. With Money in his hands now, the next step was securing a pce to rest and sleep.

  Suddenly his stomach growled as if to remind him that while he had money, he had not eaten in hours. His eyes scanned the market once again until it settled on a stall serving stew in the open street.

  (That will do.)

  Walking up to the stall and he plopped down on a stool, raising a finger. "Ichi," he said, making his order clear.

  The vendor, a humanoid lizard nodded and immediately started preparing the stew.

  Sen squinted, examining the vendor's features. (A lizard person, huh? Not shocking, this pnet has always been weird.)

  While Sen waited for his food, he took a moment to stretch his sore muscles. (Gotta find a pce soon.)

  When the vendor set his meal in front of him, the delicious aroma hit him hard.

  "Finally, a real meal." Sen dove in, polishing off two bowls in no time.

  After paying with a yellow coin and he received back 4 red coins.

  Gazing at the coins in his hands, he pondered for a second. ( 4.. that means one yellow coin is worth 10 red coins.)

  Then he stuffed the coins into his sack and refocused on what he needed to do next.