Rion leaned against a wooden stall, watching the marketplace shift around him. His recent victory over Darius Haldrek felt good, but he knew better than to celebrate too early. Winning one battle didn’t mean winning the war.

  The moment he had sold out his saffron, Darius had retaliated—by lowering his prices even further.

  By noon, merchants whispered that Darius was selling at a loss, something only a rich merchant could afford.

  A few days ago, Rion would have panicked. Now, he just smirked.

  He wasn’t going to fight in a game Darius had already mastered. If saffron had become a battlefield, then it was time for Rion to choose a new one.

  Rion spent the afternoon wandering the outskirts of the market, watching what people needed but weren’t finding.

  It wasn’t long before he saw it.

  A long line stretched outside a herbalist’s shop. Inside, an old apothecary prepared medicine, grinding dried roots and mixing them into vials. The waiting customers—mostly workers, sailors, and lower-class citizens—looked impatient.

  Rion tapped the shoulder of a man in line. “What’s going on?”

  “Fever season,” the man muttered. “Storms bring sickness from the ports, and the other apothecary shops charge too much. This guy is the only one with fair prices, but he takes forever.”

  Rion’s mind started racing.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Medicine wasn’t just a product—it was a necessity. People would buy food and spices when they had money, but they had to buy medicine, no matter what.

  If he could sell faster than the old herbalist, he could own a market that even Darius hadn’t touched.

  Rion stepped inside the shop. The apothecary, a thin, gray-haired man named Master Brann, barely glanced up as he crushed dried leaves into powder.

  “Come for medicine?” Brann muttered.

  “No,” Rion said. “I’m here to solve your problem.”

  Brann finally looked at him, unimpressed.

  “You have too many customers,” Rion continued. “And you’re working too slow.”

  The old man huffed. “I work at my own pace. If they don’t like it, they can go somewhere else.”

  “They can’t,” Rion said. “That’s why they’re still here.”

  Brann grumbled, but he didn’t argue.

  Rion smiled. “Let me help. You focus on making the medicine, and I’ll handle the business. No more long lines, no more impatient customers.”

  Brann raised an eyebrow. “And what do you get?”

  “A percentage of the sales,” Rion said. “Nothing changes for you. You still sell at your price, but I make sure more people buy.”

  Brann stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Fine. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Rion set up a small stand outside the shop and immediately changed the way the business worked.

  Instead of making customers wait for their orders, he prepared ready-to-sell medicine packets with labels. He wrote short descriptions of each remedy so people knew exactly what they were buying.

  Word spread quickly. Within hours, people stopped lining up and started buying directly from his stand.

  By sunset, he had sold out all of Brann’s stock.

  Brann counted the coins, his eyebrows raised. “I usually make half this much in a day.”

  Rion grinned. “Told you I’d solve your problem.”

  The old man smirked. “You’re greedy, kid. But I like your style.”

  As Rion pocketed his share of the earnings, he noticed something in the crowd.

  A man in fine clothes stood watching from a distance. Not Darius. Someone else.

  Someone important.

  Rion’s success was no longer just catching the attention of merchants.

  Now, the nobles were watching, too.