By the end of the week, my name wasn't just a topic of conversation; it was a contagion. The "Merchant of Wonders" had become a mythical figure in the Southern Territory, and the dwarf mines, once a place people only went to die of lung disease, were now the hottest tourist destination for the desperate and the curious.The logistical byproduct of this fame? A bartering economy that was frankly getting out of hand.Villagers from three hamlets over were trekking through monster-infested canyons just to trade a basket of slightly wilted kale for a "Divine Pop." See, word had gotten out that my lollipops could "cure sickness and lift curses." It was total nonsense, it was just high-fructose corn syrup and Red Dye No. 40, but in a world where "sugar" usually meant a gritty beet-root mash, my strawberry pops were basically Holy Relics. If a kid had a cold and felt better after a sugar rush, clearly, Arthur was a saint.To keep the peace, I opened a dedicated "Pop Shop" on the edge of the

And now, my industrial oasis?The plateau was no longer a "desolate wasteland." It was now home to a glittering forest of 100 Solar-Powered Hydrogel Harvesters, their metallic frames catching the brutal sun and sweating out life-giving water into reinforced vats. Around them sat the infrastructure of a modern labor camp: weather-resistant tents, and, of course, the ubiquitous $5 plastic chairs and tables.The aesthetic was "Post-Apocalyptic Chic meets Suburban BBQ."But the crown jewel? My new Merchant Shop.I’d leveraged my relationship with Chief Eto to get it built in record time right in the heart of the dwarf mining district. It stood there, a beacon of limestone and reinforced timber, topped with a fresh array of solar panels that hummed in the midday heat.I stepped into the shop, my boots echoing on the polished stone floor. It was currently a hollow shell, smelling of fresh sawdust and potential. Stacks of unopened boxes sat in the corner, my "Treasures of the New World." I e

"Master Art!" Elsa shouted, bursting onto the balcony. She was already fully armed, her elven bow glowing with a cold, blue light. Behind her, Jeon was cracking his knuckles, his pink shirt stretching precariously over his lats."Status!" I barked."T-too many! Damn it! There were too many!" Eto wailed, running toward us. "Our shields cannot hold against the sound! Their cries shatter our concentration! Master, if you have some divine weapon... some ancient relic to stop the screeching!"I frowned…yeah, what the hell im supposed to do now? I'm running out of VPs that could buy nuclear bombs.I looked at the chaos. Magic was flying everywhere, Herbert was lobbing fireballs that looked like miniature suns, and Milla was weaving threads of ice that decapitated dozens of the creatures at a time. But for every ten they killed, fifty more swarmed from the shadows. “What the hell!” The dwarves were being overrun because they couldn't coordinate; the bats' screaming was a literal signal-jammer

“Soon,” I thought, my fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic mug.Arthur believes he is building a "Merchant Monopoly." He believes he is "Tapping the Oxygen"—a phrase I still struggle to grasp, but one that clearly refers to his ability to manifest the impossible from thin air. He is a fountain of divine artifacts, and he is playing at being a merchant in a desert.Let him build. Let him plant his "Super-Seeds" and fill his "Merchant Shop" with wonders. I will continue to be his "helpful maid." I will train his farmers and analyze his hydrogels. I will learn the secret of the "Yellow Box" and the "Megaphone." And when the time is right, when the "Cursed Land" is the wealthiest territory in the hemisphere...I will not just take his kingdom. I will take his secrets.He thinks this paradise is his forever. He is a child playing with the tools of gods, unaware that a predator is sitting at his table, drinking his coffee, and learning his every move."Is the meat to your liking, Elene?"

The next day.The morning air was crisp, scented with the familiar, high-end aroma of the coffee machine hissed as it labored through its twentieth cup of the morning. Rufus and Lady Helga were sitting on the edge of my plush sofa, looking like they hadn’t slept a wink. They claimed they stayed because of "regional interest," but I knew the truth, they were addicts. They were waiting for the next "divine" revelation like kids waiting for Santa, and waiting for the shop opening, only Santa had a mesh-back office chair and a 68,500 VP balance.I set my mug down on a coaster, real slate, 5 VP a set, and leaned forward."Alright, gather 'round. We’re going live," I announced, my voice bouncing off the new solar-powered LED sconces I’d installed overnight. I’d set them to a soft, 'Vegas-Sunset' amber, mostly because I liked the way the color made the dwarf-gold trim on the curtains pop."Master Art," Elsa said, her tablet, a sleek, glass-screened device I’d manifested for her to track i