"What do you mean…?"
What was this man saying?
Even Ayla, the Daughter of the Sands, the very person who had played a pivotal role in elevating the Sandstorm Caravan to its current standing, couldn't hide her shock.
"Didn't you hear me? I said no."
She hadn't misheard.
And that made it even worse.
"W-Wait a moment!"
It made no sense.
In Ayla's mind, there was only one possible response Pawn should have given—"Yes."
This answer simply should not exist.
Perhaps that was why, without realizing it, she blurted out the dumbest question she had ever asked.
"Why…?"
"Do I need a reason?"
"That's… not exactly… wrong… but…"
Ayla's normally bronzed skin turned red with embarrassment.
Her face felt like it was going to explode from the humiliation and frustration.
For someone who had always controlled the flow of negotiations, this was an entirely foreign experience.
This can't be happening… she couldn't have misread it…
The Golden Eyes.
Since birth, Ayla had possessed this unique ability—an eye that could literally read the flow of wealth.
It told her where to go, what to do, and which path to take.
And that was why she had left the camp alone, despite the risks.
For the first time, she had seen a golden path more radiant than anything she had ever witnessed.
As if entranced, she had followed it.
And there, she had met him.
A man who literally fell from the sky.
But now—
For the first time in her entire life, Ayla found herself doubting the guidance of her own eyes.
I need to check again.
Her Golden Eyes locked onto the man who called himself Pawn.
And then, she saw.
"Ah…"
A radiance beyond words.
No—this wasn't just radiance.
It was brilliance, an aura—a glow that could only be compared to a halo.
It meant one thing.
This man would bring unparalleled wealth to the Sandstorm Caravan.
'I wasn't wrong.'
As proof, Pawn himself radiated with an immeasurable golden light, one that defied description.
It wasn't just him—countless golden threads extended toward him, converging at his feet.
'I have to convince him.'
Even she had never seen something like this before.
Not even when she had stood before an Ark officer, during the most profitable trade in the Sandstorm Caravan's history.
There was only one explanation.
'This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.'
No—this was the moment that could determine the future of the Sandstorm Caravan itself.
"…Do you have any specific conditions in mind? We're more than willing to accommodate."
"Did you not understand me? I said no."
"M-Maybe if you hear us out, you might change your mind?"
Had Ayla ever lowered herself this much before?
And yet, the lifesaver who called himself Pawn remained completely unmoved.
'Does he not realize what kind of opportunity this is?'
Fine. That was understandable.
If he doesn't know, I'll just have to show him.
A strange sense of duty welled up inside Ayla.
A merchant's obligation—to make sure a potential client understood the value of what they were being offered.
"It seems you don't fully understand yet. Our Sandstorm Caravan is a prestigious merchant group that even trades with the Ark, so—"
"And how exactly is that a reason for me to trade with you?"
"That's… not the point, but…"
Ayla had never felt cornered in a conversation before.
But Pawn—he cut through her words like a blade.
The most difficult type of customer?
That was easy to answer.
It was someone who never intended to buy anything in the first place.
No amount of persuasion or enticement would move such a person.
"You said you wanted to repay a debt, but this feels more like coercion. I'm leaving."
"W-Wait!"
Ayla knew.
To convince a person like him, mere trade was not enough.
She had to offer something beyond a simple transaction.
"Do you have anything else to say?"
His cold response made her bite her lip.
The rudeness didn't bother her as much as the fear.
Because if she let him go now—
She might never recover from this as a merchant.
"Double."
"…What?"
"I'll pay you double."
"Double what?"
"The market price of any goods you bring to our caravan."
In a world where standardized currency no longer existed—
The Sandstorm Caravan's primary role was to assess the value of goods and offer a fair exchange.
But doubling the price?
That meant the Sandstorm Caravan itself would take zero profit.
"Ayla! That's—!"
Even Orgo Nasser, who always trusted Ayla's decisions, couldn't hide his shock.
It was too sudden.
Too reckless.
And completely unapproved.
"Father, leave this one to me."
"…I trust you, but… fine."
It wasn't that surprising.
While Orgo was technically the leader of the Sandstorm Caravan—
Ayla was the real reason for its success.
Maybe that was why—
"Hmmm."
For the first time, Pawn didn't immediately refuse.
It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either.
And that was enough.
Ayla regained her footing.
She felt it—he was close to accepting.
"Well? This way, you won't lose anything."
"That's true."
Ayla's heart leapt.
Finally—finally—a reasonable response.
"Then—"
"But that only matters if I intended to trade with you in the first place."
…Unfortunately for her, it was an illusion.
"…What?"
Hope is cruel.
If she had never been given hope, she might have accepted defeat and moved on.
But hope traps you.
It makes you fight, cling, and struggle—only to leave you devastated in the end.
And now, Ayla was experiencing that firsthand.
"W-What do you mean…?"
"Didn't you hear me? I refuse."
Ayla wanted to scream.
She wanted to throw him out of the camp herself.
But she couldn't.
Because the man before her—
Was the first, and perhaps the last, true God of Wealth she would ever meet.
What is a merchant?
A merchant is someone who seeks profit through trade.
And as a merchant herself, even Ayla, the Daughter of the Sands, would never let something as trivial as pride ruin a deal.
At least… not yet.
"Are you sure… there's nothing you want?"
Ayla squeezed the words out.
Her flushed face had turned as red as a beet, and her clenched fists trembled.
"Ah."
What was even more infuriating—every time Pawn hesitated, as if he might consider something, she flinched.
"Did you think of something? Just say the word. I'll make it happen."
"Hmm."
'Stop humming and just say it! SAY IT!'
Ayla swallowed the words rising to her throat.
If this went on, she was going to die from sheer frustration.
"Then let's do this."
"…What?"
"A trade."
Ayla blinked.
Pawn—who had done nothing but reject every offer—was finally entertaining the idea of a deal.
She couldn't let this opportunity slip away.
"J-Just tell me what you want!"
"Are you sure?"
"…Huh?"
"You said anything."
Ayla hesitated.
She had practically handed him a blank check, but she didn't have time to second-guess herself.
Pawn could change his mind at any moment.
"Of course!"
Even as she answered, countless scenarios flashed through her mind.
But no matter what Pawn asked for, as long as she secured a business relationship, the Sandstorm Caravan would profit.
Someone who radiated that much golden light… there was no way he wouldn't bring immense wealth.
No matter what he demands, it'll be worth it.
Ayla's mental calculator reached its conclusion.
And then—
"Good."
What she didn't know—
Was that, beneath that bone-white mask, Pawn was smiling.
"Then I want you to purchase every single item I bring here. And of course, that includes the double-price guarantee."
Ayla's eyes widened.
"…What?"
The Sandstorm Caravan didn't buy just anything, even if it had value.
If an item was too difficult to resell, or too expensive, they simply refused to deal with it.
But Pawn's request was effectively stripping them of that right.
Under his terms, if Pawn decided to bring back something uselessly expensive—like Ark-made art pieces—the caravan would be forced to buy them at double their worth.
"That's…"
"Why are you hesitating? Didn't you say anything?"
"Well… I did say that…"
Ayla's gaze flickered toward Orgo.
For the first time in ages, Orgo saw uncertainty in his daughter's expression.
He stepped in.
"Haha… Sir Pawn. It seems my daughter spoke hastily, unaware of the caravan's circumstances. Please, forgive her."
"Then there's no deal, is there?"
"T-That's not an option!"
She couldn't let this slip away.
Pawn was going to bring immense wealth to the Sandstorm Caravan.
That was absolute.
"Ayla."
"…I'm sorry. But please trust me just this once."
Ignoring Orgo's attempts to intervene, Ayla pressed forward.
There was no room for hesitation.
This was a gamble—but in reality, it wasn't.
Because Ayla was certain she had already won.
"Fine. We'll do it your way, sir."
"Good."
Ayla turned to Orgo.
"Father."
"…Alright."
Orgo sighed and faced Pawn.
While Ayla had led the negotiation, he was still the Caravan Master.
"The Sandstorm Caravan will henceforth recognize you as a special client and maintain a close business relationship."
"So, the deal is sealed?"
"Yes. Shall we draft the contract?"
"Let's."
In a world like this, a contract was just a scrap piece of paper.
But for the Sandstorm Caravan, it still held weight.
A merchant's credibility was built on trust.
Breaking a contract meant shattering that trust.
"A wise choice. I look forward to doing business with you."
"Same here."
As Pawn and Orgo exchanged documents, Orgo also explained the designated contact points where Pawn could summon the Sandstorm Caravan.
Only after all the formalities were completed did Orgo step back, approaching Ayla with a hushed whisper.
"Ayla… I don't know. Did we really just make the right choice…?"
"…Don't worry. It's not like he's going to sell us anything right away, is he?"
Ayla had her own reasons for agreeing to such an absurd deal.
One of them being Pawn's current state.
From what she could see, Pawn barely had anything—maybe some weapons and protective gear.
It wasn't like he was about to strip and sell the clothes on his back.
'Besides, transporting large quantities of goods to a Sandstorm Caravan contact point isn't easy. He won't be able to bring that much.'
But there was one thing Ayla had failed to consider.
She had never stopped to ask—
Where had Pawn fallen from?
"Are you leaving?"
"I'll be back. I just need to retrieve some goods."
"…What?"
At first, Ayla thought he was just spewing nonsense.
'What goods? There's nothing out here.'
But then—
When Pawn returned—
Ayla's jaw dropped.
"W-What is this…?"
Piled outside the camp was an overwhelming stockpile of supplies.
At first glance, she spotted at least ten crates of Ark-15 automatic conversion rifles.
Scattered among them were various levels of Ark-made protective gear, ranging from Level 1 to Level 3.
And that wasn't all.
There were other Ark-made equipment, along with a massive amount of what looked like Heshbon-manufactured supplies.
'…I've been played.'
She hadn't misread it.
Pawn was going to bring enormous profits to the Sandstorm Caravan.
And more than that—
He had been preparing for this deal from the very beginning.
But even so—
She couldn't just back out.
That would be tantamount to throwing away everything she and the Sandstorm Caravan had built.
"At least… these are all high-demand goods."
That was her only consolation.
And in that moment, Ayla was certain of one thing.
"This man… is the real deal."
Unfortunately—
Her relief didn't last long.
Because Pawn had already approached her.
"We still have unfinished business, don't we?"
"…Yeah. A lot of it."
As she stared at the mountain of supplies, Ayla didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
* * *
Esther clicked her tongue.
["…There's someone here even more cunning than a ghost."]
"Not something to be impressed by."
["Who said I was impressed?"]