THE VIRGIN MERCHANT: Buying Modern Warfare In Another World

Chapter 9

I squared my shoulders, put on my best 'innocent peasant' face, and opened the door to the kitchen.

When I walked into the kitchen, my jaw hit the floor. This wasn't a meal; it was a feast. Sizzling sausages, poached eggs, creamy oatmeal, and a steaming pot of herbal tea. But sitting at the head of the table was the real shocker.

She was an Elf. But not just any elf. Her hair was a cascading waterfall of rainbow hues that shifted as she moved, and her eyes were a green so vibrant they looked like polished emeralds. She smelled like a forest right after a rainstorm—damp earth, lemon, and pine.

"I am Elsa," she said, her voice like wind chimes. "Mistress Helga sent me to escort you to the Great Smithy for supplies. But before we break bread... may I see it?"

I knew what she meant. I pulled out the Leatherman. She didn't just look at it; she studied it with a terrifying intensity. Her fingers hovered over the steel, her elven mana reacting to the industrial purity of the metal. "It has no soul... yet it is perfect," she whispered, her voice trembling. "How is this possible?"

"Trade secret," I said, sliding it back into my pocket and digging into the sausages.

At 7:00 AM, we stepped out into the crisp morning air. The Merchant District was just waking up, but the shadows in the side alleys were still deep and heavy. We were walking toward the supply depot, Elsa gliding beside me with a grace that made my internal "Woman-Phobia" alarm go off every five seconds, when the atmosphere curdled.

The street went quiet. Suddenly, four men stepped out from behind a stack of crates. They were mercenaries—scarred, smelling of cheap ale and unwashed leather. One had a notched broadsword; another carried a heavy spiked mace.

"Well, well," the leader sneered, a man with a broken nose and yellow teeth. "The little rat and his elven pet. Hand over the silver tool, boy, and maybe we’ll only break your legs."

Elsa stepped in front of me, her hands glowing with a soft, green light. "Back away, filth. You are threatening a guest of Helga’s House."

"Helga isn't here, pointy-ears," the mace-wielder growled, lunging forward.

Elsa moved like a blur, a whip of emerald energy lashing out from her fingertips and catching the first man in the chest, sending him stumbling back. But there were four of them, and they were seasoned killers. Two of them flanked her, forcing her to focus her magic in two directions.

The fourth one, a massive brute with a jagged dagger, saw his opening and lunged straight for me. "Gotcha, you skinny little..."

My heart did a somersault. My phobia flared, but my survival instinct was faster. I didn't run. I didn't scream. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the Viper-X, and thumbed the safety.

As he grabbed my collar, his sour breath hitting my face, I jammed the prongs into his exposed neck.

CRACK-THWOMP!

A blinding arc of blue electricity exploded in the dim alley. The sound wasn't like a sword clashing; it was the sound of a thunderbolt being trapped in a bottle. Fifty million volts surged through the mercenary’s nervous system. His eyes rolled back, his body stiffened like a board, and he let out a choked, gargling sound before collapsing into the mud, his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

"What?!" the leader yelled, momentarily distracted from Elsa.

I didn't wait. I stepped toward the man with the mace who was trying to circle Elsa. He swung his weapon, but I ducked, thanks to my "skinny-boy" agility, and pressed the Taser into his thigh.

ZAP! CRACKLE!

He shrieked as blue lightning danced across his armor, bypassing the metal and cooking his nerves. He hit the ground so hard I felt the vibration in my boots.

Elsa finished the other two with a blast of wind that sent them crashing into a stone wall, but she stopped, her emerald eyes wide with absolute shock. She looked at the two men on the ground, smelling of scorched hair and ozone, and then at the small black device in my hand.

"By the World Tree..." she breathed, her rainbow hair shimmering with agitation. "That... that wasn't mana. I felt no spell-weave. Arthur, what the hell is that?"

I stood there, my hand shaking slightly, the Taser still humming with a faint, deadly blue glow. I looked at the fallen thugs, then at the beautiful, terrifying Elf.

"This?" I said, my voice dripping with the sass of a man who just realized he brought a nuke to a knife fight. "This is just a little thing I call 'Personal Space Enforcement.' In my village, we don't like being touched without permission."

I smiled and thought that for the first time in two lives, I felt like the one people should be afraid of.

*****

The walk to the Great Smithy was an assault on the senses. Now that my stomach wasn't eating itself, I could actually appreciate the city. The Lower Merchant District was a sprawling labyrinth of cobblestones and commerce. Food stalls were everywhere, the air thick with the scent of honey-glazed skewers, yeasty bread, and some kind of spicy roasted nut that made my mouth water.

I noticed a pattern: the heavy lifting, the stalls, and the guard work were almost entirely male. The women I did see were mostly tucked away in the shadows of upscale salons, managing ledgers in offices, or peering out from the windows of high-end inns. This world was old-school, rigid and stratified.

Beside me, Elsa was buzzing. Her rainbow hair seemed to pulse with her curiosity.

"Arthur," she whispered, her emerald eyes darting to my waist where the Taser was hidden. "That light... that blue scream of energy. You truly didn't chant? No focus? No circle? Even the High Mages of the Elven Courts must whisper to the spirits of the storm to call such lightning."

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p' as I stepped over a puddle of questionable origin. "Just science. Or, you know, 'Relic stuff.' I made it in the slums using... uh... very ancient techniques the sisters at the orphanage taught us."

She frowned, her pointed ears twitching. "An orphanage that teaches the forging of Divine Relics? What kind of sisters were these?"

"Very... intense ones," I lied smoothly. "They taught us everything. Math, reading, logic. The basics."

"Math?" she asked, tilting her head. "You mean the Star-Calculations? Only the Royal Astrologers and the High Merchants of the Gold Bank study the language of numbers. Tell me, if you have twelve bags of grain and a lord takes five-twelfths, what remains?"

I blinked. "Seven bags. And a very annoyed farmer."

Elsa stopped dead in the street, staring at me like I’d just levitated. "You didn't even use your fingers. You... your brain is a terrifying place, Arthur."

I just smirked. If she was impressed by 2nd-grade subtraction, wait until I showed her long division. I’d be hailed as a god of wisdom.