Farmer or Cultivator? Why not both?

Ren focused on selling his blue milk throughout the week. He neglected his vegetables and only sold the berries and apples the wine house needed. He was raking in insane profit, and he had so many buyers that he was the only one selling milk in all of Tunish. The sheep and goat rearers who once ran their own milk stalls resigned to selling directly to Ren instead, but to them it was good business. They no longer had to worry about excess milk going to spoil when Ren would buy all they had and sell it within days.

Even Erigald had been drawn into it. The majority of his customers were those from the city rather than Tunish itself, but since Ren began selling the milk, the wine house’s sales within the village had fallen to a depressing low. The half-dwarf had heard about the blue milk that everyone seemed to love, and he had been genuinely happy to hear that Ren was doing so well for himself.

However, no merchant or businessman liked to hear of falling profits from any population, no matter the cause. He had heard of how good it tasted. His own daughter had gotten a wineskin of it and loved every drop.

It had to be something truly special to have the entire village enamored by it. Everyone was enamored by it except him. He was not going to have a drink. He was not going to try it unless Ren personally convinced him to. Quite frankly, Ren’s contributions to his wine business had expanded the scale of trade, introduced new flavors, and generated more profit than Erigald had ever seen, but Tunish was his home. He wanted to do well at home too.

"Two wineskins please." A woman stepped forward and handed over a silver coin. Ren’s assistant, the blonde girl from the other day, collected the coin and handed back four copper coins to the woman with a smile. Until Rokku came to take the reins, Ren had decided he needed someone to help. She was a good fit.

She was the last in the queue, and now they could rest. Onova settled into the soft chair her boss had provided for her. Speaking of her employer, Ren stood in the market square watching the sales play out with quiet satisfaction. Over the course of the week, he had grown more proficient with mana imbuement, now able to imbue mana into inanimate objects for stretches of time. Milk sales had gone so well that he had practically established a monopoly, and he had begun selling beyond Tunish entirely, sending wineskins to nearby towns and cities. He was doing very well for himself.

Then he spotted Erigald in the market square, making his way toward the stall. Onova had noticed him too and rose to her feet to attend to him. But Erigald’s expression was not one of warmth. He wore a poker face that could easily be mistaken for a stern one.

"Where is your boss?" he asked, his voice low.

Onova turned toward Ren.

Ren approached and extended his hand. The half-dwarf looked at it, then at Ren’s face, and hesitated.

’Oh right. People don’t do this here.’ He had mixed up the customs of his old world with this one again. Erigald took the hand regardless and shook it.

"It is good to see you, Erigald." The businessman almost never came into the village. For him to have come in person, there was something he needed to address.

"You are doing very well for yourself, Ren. My own daughter loves your milk. I find myself wondering how you go about it, especially how you achieve that blue color. Tell me."

Ren chuckled and stifled a laugh. He looked down at Erigald’s face and caught the wry smile the half-dwarf was wearing.

"A businessman never tells his secrets. How is business going?"

Erigald kept his smile. "Good. Very good. Never been better. But your milk seems to be taking my Tunish customers."

Ren shrugged. "The people like what they like."

"Let me have one wineskin. I have to taste this wonderful milk myself. I am tired of being stubborn."

Ren nodded and turned to Onova, who moved quickly and handed one over. "Do not worry about the coins. It is on me," Ren said.

Erigald took the free milk, nodded and began walking back the way he had come. Ren had half-expected him to drink it right there, in front of him. He would have loved to see the reaction.

They sold the last bottle shortly after. Twenty-one bottles in total, amounting to over a hundred wineskins, all in a single day.

The flow of business almost made Ren reconsider his plans to move on. But he knew he needed to go. He would eventually tire of selling milk wineskins, and he needed greater guidance to grow as a cultivator. The stall would not hold him forever.

He was glad for what he had built. He was well on the way to becoming the richest man in Tunish, overtaking Erigald, and Erigald had clearly seen it too, which was perhaps why he had been so reserved. What Ren did not know, however, was that there were forces far beyond Tunish already conspiring against him.

________________________

The bells of the city Marina rang. It was time for prayers, and the inhabitants paid heed. Night had come, close to the hour of sleep. The city glowed with precious glowstones, but the streets were empty, and all were indoors at their devotions.

"I have to head home soon. My wife dislikes me staying out late. You know how many people want me dead out there. I would not want her to worry." The man spoke in an irritated tone to the two beside him. He was tall and blonde, dressed in a suit jacket and woolen trousers, his clothing ornate enough to announce his wealth without a single word. This was Uvamin of Marina, the city’s richest man and one of the most powerful merchants in all of Maldrin.

To his right stood Ceyan, a dark-skinned man with fewer teeth than fingers, rotund and mean-looking, and also a powerful merchant. The third was Sayanim, an administrator of the city and a merchant in his own right. They had gathered for a singular purpose.

The large warehouse around them was mostly dark, lit only by weak glowstones that cast pale rings of light around the men and whoever else they had invited. None of them wanted to be there, but it would have been foolish to do this in daylight when the shaman’s eyes and ears were most active.

Kneeling before them were six figures clad entirely in black, their skin hidden except for a narrow slit left open for sight. They were Sayanim’s personal agents, his own ears and eyes. Among them, set apart on the floor a few meters ahead, was something else entirely.

Ceyan walked toward it, crouched down, picked it up, and held it out toward the silent, watching men.

"Find out who in Tunish makes this," he said, holding up a bottle filled with blue milk.