Chapter 296: The One-Price Store
The bustling town of Crossford, located half a day’s carriage ride south of the poor Millbrook village, was originally the gathering trading place of the largest market in the region.
The Merchant Guild’s representative branch in Crossford was a majestic three-story building solidly constructed with gray stone. Right in front of the entrance was proudly hung a large sign exquisitely carved with the image of a brave sword crossing a laurel branch.
The respectable Baron Harlan Voss had been sitting rooted in the luxurious guest room on the second floor of that building for nearly an hour.
The person sitting leisurely opposite him was Garrick, the cunning manager of the Merchant Guild branch in Crossford. Garrick was a man having a plump jiggling physique, his hair always gelled combed shiny, his ten chubby fingers flauntingly wearing up to six rings with huge gemstone faces.
He sat patiently listening to Voss resentfully recounting for a whole hour, hearing to wherever he acted sympathetic nodding up to there, occasionally politely taking a sip of good tea, absolutely not raising his voice interrupting the guest.
"Therefore..." Voss gritted his teeth concluding, his tone hostile full of resentment: "The insolent Lyra City Hall people are using dirty money to lure my tenant farmers. I am an aristocrat, I absolutely cannot sit still with crossed arms watching them do whatever nonsensical things they want on my territory."
Garrick slowly placed his teacup down on the table, then slowly said: "Lord Baron, I profoundly understand your anxious sorrow. But today I also speak truthfully to you, my Merchant Guild branch is also having an aching head because of that damn Lyra city no less than you. These past few months, Lyra’s fragrant soap and high-quality fabric have been smuggled flooding all the way down to the Crossford market dumping, the price is even cheaper than my Merchant Guild’s goods by nearly half. Our regular customer contacts because of being greedy for cheapness have dragged each other leaving almost completely."
He narrowed his eyes spinning the expensive jade ring on his index finger, smiling with profound meaning: "You want your stupid tenant farmers to obediently return, while I want my goods buyers to return. I think we two can entirely shake hands cooperating helping each other overcome this difficult period."
Those two deceitful men put their heads together discussing for another half an hour then all dark plans were completely agreed upon.
Right within that week, the Merchant Guild immediately issued a strict ban down to all large and small merchants and peddlers having registered in the ledger with the Crossford branch: starting from now, it is absolutely not allowed to sell fabric, lighting oil, sewing needles and thread, and iron farming tools to any village located along Lyra’s newly dug canal. Whoever is bold daring to disobey the order will be permanently stripped of their business registration license, do not even hope to trade making a living in this land for the rest of your life.
At the same time that economic war broke out, the Voss family’s henchmen were also scattered dropping throughout the markets in the region, whenever meeting a crowd they deliberately gathered to spread rumors telling a thrilling story.
That Lyra city was actually a den harboring dirty non-humans, Dwarves and Beastmen swaggered arrogantly walking back and forth on the street every day, some even brazenly sat working proudly right inside the City Hall.
That the person glorified as Lyra’s Holy Son was actually only a cunning impersonator mage, the noble Church had countless times raised troops going to conquer suppressing the rebellion yet still had no way to suppress it, because he was a monster, only needing to wave his hand once and the earth under their feet naturally came alive attacking people, the trees in the forest tilted swaying whipping down cavalry.
That dark heretical magic if it was not dark sorcery then what the hell else was it. Whoever was greedy holding the money Lyra distributed, exactly personally sold their soul to the monster.
That fabricated story carried terrifying destructive power, spreading as fast as a forest fire, crawling all the way to the ears of the Millbrook villagers within exactly three days.
The familiar peddlers who normally carried their wares to the village once a month, this time waiting forever absolutely not seeing their figures anywhere. Any household having their sewing needle accidentally break had to grit their teeth wearing torn ragged clothes, any household exhausting their lighting oil the sky just turning dark had to climb onto the bed lying enduring the situation.
Out on the construction site where people were exhaustingly digging the canal, someone accidentally hoed breaking the hoe blade, wanting to have money buying a new blade to work also did not know where to dig finding a selling place, having to bitterly switch to using a shovel scooping dirt to get through the day.
The number of workers clinging staying going to work digging the canal still did not decrease, however the atmosphere enveloping the construction site had become heavy completely different from before. Some people digging enthusiastically for a while furtively looked up toward the distant Lyra city, their eyes containing a vague worry. Some people reaching the time receiving wages at the end of the day, their hands holding the sparkling copper coins kept hesitating endlessly, as if those inanimate coins had suddenly been heated on fire becoming scalding hot to the hands.
Amidst that turbulent time, there was only old woman Agnes alone still maintaining the old living routine. Every day she hunched over leaning on her wooden cane going out to the construction site since early morning dew, silently sitting picking up every single rock on the canal bank until late afternoon. Arriving at the time receiving exactly twenty-five wage coins she calmly tucked them neatly into her deep pocket, not bothering to cast her eyes looking at anyone or paying attention to the discussing words. Someone in the village sorrowfully chose words asking her if she was afraid of having her soul sold losing to the devil, the old woman only snorted coldly once:
"My old aged soul died floating following that damn dam since spring last year already. Now regardless of whoever fairly pays money then I break my back working for that person."
That weekend, Baron Voss continued taking another vicious chess move.
He ordered people bringing a palanquin to invite Father Anselm, the old virtuous priest overseeing the Church of Light’s small chapel in Crossford, all the way down to Millbrook village to preside over conducting a grand mass on Sunday morning.
The small chapel of Millbrook village had originally been abandoned rotting for many years, located secluded at the head of the village, the wooden door had rotted falling apart, on the roof only remaining bare half a broken bell tower. Voss ordered his henchmen going cleaning sweeping it cleanly leaving not a single dust speck, he even generously personally spent money from his pocket buying entirely new type wax candles lighting it up brightly.
Father Anselm was a skinny sickly old man, his hair already white as snow, the ash-gray mass robe draped on his body had faded worn old, right at the elbow part even having to patch a piece of different colored fabric looking extremely impoverished. The chapel in Crossford town originally was destitute all year round, the money the commoners contributed annually almost entirely had to wait relying on the Voss family’s "charity", therefore when Voss opened his mouth inviting he absolutely had no right to refuse.
The news about the important mass was brought by the Voss family’s people knocking on doors loudly informing across the village since a few days prior.
The intelligence news from Millbrook flying returning to the Lyra City Hall was already the matter of two days later. Dale hugged the report stack running breathlessly up to the City Hall. Mayor Elric having just finished skimming the content immediately dispatched people running going urgently calling George in charge of the Department of Culture and Arts side and also the representative of the Department of Social Security to arrive opening a meeting discussing countermeasures.
George crossed his arms listening finishing the head and tail origin of the story, he did not need to rack his brain thinking long immediately speaking the solution: "The Merchant Guild refuses to sell stuff to the villagers then our Lyra City Hall personally opens a store out selling. Soap, fabric, lighting candles, needles and thread, iron tools... what thing does Lyra’s warehouse not have readily available boundlessly."
He paused his words for a beat, then enthusiastically contributed an additional bold idea: "I think we should play the one-price selling tactic. Every single item on the shelf listed the identically dirt-cheap price. Many villagers are illiterate not proficient in calculating, selling at one price then it is very easy for them to remember. People when going buying only need to count in their pockets bringing along how many coins then they can pick up that many items bringing back."
The Department of Social Security representative hearing it pleasing to the ears nodded her head forcefully approving immediately, she even eagerly volunteered receiving right the task part of dispatching her female staff members going down to the spot to stand at the selling counter.
Kid Brian sitting silently in the corner of the room now just pulled the fountain pen tucked on his ear down, flipped the thick ledger open clicking his fingers calculating rapidly for a while then raised his baby face up announcing:
"I calculated it already. If selling at the one price of ten copper coins then the soap item still generates profit, lighting candles generate profit, needles and thread generate profit, fabric is calculated breaking even on import. Only the iron hoe blade item the City Hall has to suffer completely losing three coins per piece."
"Losing three coins then the City Hall just suffers the loss." Sane sitting leisurely crossing his legs at the head of the table position casually spoke up deciding: "Bring the goods out selling."
Kaelen sitting beside nodded agreeing with that bold-handed decision, but he carefully instructed adding a strategic sentence: "You guys erect that store right at the spot the water canal runs into Millbrook village, build it proudly right on the strip of land we outright bought from Voss."
The field store was erected at lightning speed in just exactly two days.
This terrifying progress had the huge merit of the muscular White Elephant clan carpenters dispatched from the Crimson camp side. They completely did not bring over a single nail or a single wooden stick of Crimson to rely on power, but directly carried their toolboxes all the way to the carpentry workshop in Lyra city, sat down with the Lyra local carpenters, enthusiastically teaching them how to make wooden mortise joints.
The head of this wooden stick was chiseled carved into a square hole, the head of that wooden stick was whittled carved into a peg fitting the hole exactly. The two sticks only needed to be tapped lightly with a hammer blow and they fitted tightly together, locking rigidly to the point two robust men even using force twisting had absolutely no way to separate them.
The Lyra carpenters finishing learning the secret just sat blankly disassembling then assembling forever, disassembling assembling to the tenth time still gaping their mouths open praising admiringly.
The entire store frame structure was machined ready-made into sections right in the workshop, carefully numbering the ordinal numbers with paint onto every single stick. After that all were stacked neatly onto three ox carts transported clanking down to the canal end point.
The next morning the worker team exhaustingly erected the skeleton frame, in the afternoon hurriedly finished roofing the roof with thin wooden planks stacked overlapping each other like fish scales, by that night all wooden goods shelves had been completely set up. Little Ivy eagerly volunteered holding a brush writing the signboard hanging before the door.
The little girl carefully wrote really large, the strokes really round, so that people standing from all the way on the other side of the canal bank could also read clearly the words:
[Every Item Is Ten Coins]
The goods were transported displayed fully onto the wooden shelves right in the night. Lyra’s fragrant specialty soap was stacked into towering piles, soft cotton fabric rolled up pre-cut into segments enough to sew exactly one shirt, sewing needles were packaged ten pieces a package, thread was pre-wound into spools of all kinds of colors.
Snow-white wax candles were tied tightly into bundles of six candles. Lying modestly in the innermost corner were dozens of shiny black iron hoe blades personally hammered forged out by the Dwarf blacksmiths in the city, every single blade razor-sharp shining brightly, holding up trying extremely heavy-handed solid.
Sunday morning, Father Anselm leaning on his cane clattered arriving at Millbrook village since very early dawn.
The hunched old man personally opened the rotting chapel door, diligently lit candles on the altar, exhaustingly arranged aligning the wooden pew rows neatly, then stepped up standing solemnly on the podium waiting for the pious sheep villagers arriving attending mass. The chapel’s bronze bell had broken lying silently long ago, so the Voss family’s henchmen had to divide themselves going knocking on every door to urge.
But arriving exactly at the time holding mass, inside the freezing chapel there were only exactly three sparsely attending people. A senile old woman sitting fingering her rosary mouthing words in the front pew row, a profoundly deaf old man entering sitting for coolness, and a green-snot-nosed child being temporarily dumped left there by its busy mother because there was no one at home watching it.
Father Anselm stood silently on the podium looking down at the three people below, then sadly cast his gaze looking toward outside the door.
At the canal end area about several hundred footsteps away from the chapel, a line of people queuing snaking endlessly before the one-price store door had stretched crowdedly all the way to the stream bank. A farmer man having just gleefully bought a new hoe blade, ran straight out to the canal bank removing the old rotting hoe handle inserting the new handle in.
Several miserable women each tightly hugged a newly fragrant fabric piece in their arms, gathering in groups of three groups of five standing putting their heads together exclaiming admiring comparing fabric colors. A skinny child holding a fragrant soap bar up to his nose sniffing inhaling taking, finishing inhaling satisfactorily then generously handing it to his stunted younger sibling sniffing together.
Father Anselm stood like a stone statue silently looking at that scene for a very long time.
Then he slowly turned back, calming his mind performing completely the mass for those meager three people.
He still raised his voice preaching exactly identically to what had been carefully composed and prepared from home, that this extreme destitution was exactly the challenge the merciful God of Light bestowed down to test humans’ loyal steadfast heart, that a sheep having fierce faith would never sell cheaply exchanging their soul taking the immediate benefits before their eyes.
There was only one different thing, his preaching sermon today ended much shorter than usual, and the raised voice was also much softer weaker than usual.
The mass ending, he silently blew out the flickering candles, clattering using a padlock locking the chapel door really carefully then slowly leaned on his cane walking toward that noisy store.
When he stepped arriving the store had sparse fewer queuing people. The staff girl standing guarding the counter was a gentle young girl belonging to the Department of Social Security. Seeing his prominently standing out ash-gray mass robe, the girl was stunned for a moment, but right after that still maintained a polite attitude bowing greeting:
"I greet you Father. May I ask what Father needs to buy at our store?"
Father Anselm stood awkwardly embarrassed for a long time, his aged face flushing red, ultimately finally daring to lower his voice speaking softly: "Miss sell me a package of sewing needles. And... give me a spool of thread too."
"Yes sir, what color thread spool do you take Father?"
The old man slowly raised his coat sleeve up, staring intently at the crude patch on the elbow already beginning to unravel fraying thread, bitterly saying: "Sell me the gray color. My coat has gray color."
The girl gently took the goods handing them to him, packaging them carefully neatly into a piece of newspaper. Father Anselm tremblingly counted exactly ten copper coins placing them on the counter surface, hurriedly receiving the package then walking really fast out the door, his head lowered down so low as if fearing some sheep would accidentally recognize his identity.
The story about the priest going buying thread patching his coat was urgently reported all the way up to the City Hall right that night.
Kaelen swept his eyes reading finishing the report then remained silently pondering for a moment, then he turned instructing Dale: "Dale, next time if he arrives at the store, you remember telling the staff delicately gifting him adding one more thread spool."
Sane sitting crossing his legs on the table beside hearing that sentence, interrupting dropping a sentence: "You are so stingy, just gift that old man a new coat completely freeing yourself of the burden."
"You don’t understand, doing that won’t work." Kaelen lightly shook his head: "If gifting a new coat his self-esteem will not allow him to accept it. But if it is only a tiny spool of thread he will happily receive it."
By pitch dark that night returning home, Kaelen pulled out from his chest a soft cotton fabric piece and a durable thread spool, these were the two goods he had specially relied on Dale buying at the one-price store bringing back in the afternoon. He pulled a chair sitting down by the window, busily holding scissors cutting fabric, narrowing his eyes threading needles, meticulously sewing a tiny bag having the size fitting exactly the sound wave messaging machine Ignis had just sent over.
Sane lazily lay sprawling out long on the mattress bed, crossing his arms pillowed behind his head intently looking at Kaelen sewing: "Items bought at the one-price store bringing back?"
"Mhm. This fabric piece ten coins, this thread spool ten coins." Kaelen answered while his eyes still did not look up at Sane: "They are all one-price goods, using them is fine enough."
Kaelen finished sewing knotting the final thread line, leaning his teeth biting breaking the excess thread, carefully tucking the messaging machine inside the bag belly then pulling the string tying it up, proudly hanging it dangling on his belt admiring the result.
Sane lay silently looking for a long time, suddenly resentfully asking: "Where is my bag?"
"You don’t even have a messaging machine yet you also put on airs demanding a bag from people?" Kaelen burst out laughing.
"I don’t have a machine then I just have an empty bag is also fine isn’t it." Sane thick-facedly answered back.
Kaelen: "..."
Kaelen helplessly sighed brain-hurtingly, had to pick the scissors up cutting the rest of the remaining fabric scrap, diligently sewing adding another bag. This bag the size was a bit smaller than the one just now, finishing sewing then straight-handedly throwing it whizzing toward the bed.
Sane reached his hand out catching it neatly inside his palm, gleefully tying it immediately onto his belt even though inside the flat deflated bag held completely nothing, he even proudly stood up spinning a lap around the room for Kaelen to see, his facial expression extremely satisfied.