Three weeks after the Moonrise Faire, the first proper trade caravan in nearly two years rolled into Willowbrook under a sky the color of washed tin.
No fanfare announced it—no bells, no heralds. Just the low creak of axles, the jingle of harness brass, and the sudden excited barking of every dog in the village.
Four wagons this time, not the lone green one from Aiden's fifth birthday. High-sided, canvas-covered, pulled by sturdy dray horses with braided manes. The lead wagon flew a small banner: crossed quill and sword over a silver coin, the mark of the Travelling Guild.
The driver who swung down first was not Toren Blackwood.
This man was younger—mid-twenties, clean-shaven, sandy hair tied back under a wide-brimmed hat. Leather vest over a linen shirt, shortsword at his hip, but the blade looked more for show than use. His eyes were bright, curious, the eyes of someone who still believed every new village might hold a story worth telling.
"Greetings, folk of Willowbrook!" he called, voice carrying without strain. "Elliot Marsh, licensed trader out of Redholt. Textiles, ironmongery, spices, glass, books, minor alchemicals, news from three counties—and fair prices for anything unusual you've got to sell!"
Children swarmed the wheels before the last wagon even stopped. Adults gathered more slowly, murmuring. Willowbrook had grown used to scarcity; abundance felt like a guest who might not stay.
Aiden watched from the edge of the green, arms folded, one foot tapping idly against a fence post.
He had spent the morning in quiet preparation.
Inventory check:
• Radish ×142 (still perfect, no spoilage thanks to Bountiful Stores)
• Moon-Touched Beans ×317
• Moonrise Rhubarb-Blackberry Saffron Pies ×7 (preserved flawlessly; one bite still tasted like fresh summer)
• Minor Stamina Salves ×68
• A small stack of perfectly sanded oak planks (Carpenter passive + Homesteader's Hand synergy)
• Three skeins of yarn dyed with experimental berry-ink (Tailor + Herbalist mash-up; color shifted subtly in sunlight)
He carried nothing visible. Everything stayed in inventory until the moment felt right.
Elliot noticed him almost immediately—probably because Aiden was the only child not running in circles screaming.
"You're the lad with the hoe, aren't you?" Elliot asked, grinning as he hopped down from the driver's bench. "Toren still talks about the bar brawl that wasn't. Said you disarmed three bigger boys with garden tools and then apologized."
Aiden shrugged one shoulder. "I like leverage."
Elliot laughed—genuine, surprised. "Fair enough. Name's Elliot. You got a name, Lever Boy?"
"Aiden Voss."
Elliot's grin widened. "Voss. The herbalist's boy. Heard good things about your mother's salves last circuit. We've got empty shelves in Redholt for anything that works half as well as the rumors say."
Aiden nodded politely. Inside, the system was already pinging tiny pre-rewards.
[Social Encounter: Travelling Guild Trader – First Contact]
[+120 EXP → 12,000 after multiplier]
The trading began in earnest after the initial greetings.
Villagers brought what they had: wool fleeces (poor clip this year), a few barrels of last autumn's cider, smoked trout from Old Joren, Widow Marla's lavender sachets, Baker Tomas's plain loaves (still excellent, just not saffron-level miracles).
Elliot and his three assistants moved efficiently—measuring, weighing, offering coin or barter goods. Prices were fair, sometimes generous. Willowbrook wasn't rich, but it wasn't desperate either.
Aiden waited.
He waited until mid-afternoon, when the initial rush had died and people were drifting back to chores or gossip.
Then he stepped forward with nothing in his hands.
Elliot looked up from counting coppers. "Back again, Aiden Voss?"
"I'd like to trade," Aiden said simply. "For the village."
Elliot raised an eyebrow. "You're six. You got coin?"
"No. But I've got goods."
He focused.
First came the planks—six of them, each four feet long, perfectly planed, edges straight as arrows, grain glowing warm amber in the sun.
They appeared on the grass between them with a soft thump.
Elliot stared.
Then crouched. Ran a hand along the surface.
"No tool marks. No warping. This is masterwork joinery."
"Father taught me," Aiden said. (Technically true. Garrick had taught him how to hold a plane. The rest was system-assisted obsession.)
Elliot whistled low. "I'll give you eight silver a plank. That's high, but they're worth it."
Aiden shook his head. "Not selling. Trading. For things the village needs."
Elliot studied him—longer this time.
"Name your wants."
Aiden listed them calmly:
• Iron nails (two kegs, mixed sizes)
• Sewing needles and thread (assorted weights and colors)
• Cinnamon, cloves, black pepper (small quantities—spices were ruinously expensive)
• Two bolts of sturdy wool cloth (undyed, for winter cloaks)
• A small hand mirror for his mother (she'd never asked, but he'd seen her reflection in polished buckets and decided she deserved better)
• A beginner's bestiary book (the same series Toren had shown him once)
Elliot listened without interrupting.
When Aiden finished, the trader rubbed his jaw.
"That's a tall order for six oak planks. Even masterwork ones."
Aiden didn't flinch.
He focused again.
A small burlap sack appeared beside the planks.
Inside: thirty moon-touched beans, still faintly glowing.
Then another sack: forty perfect radishes.
Then a small wooden box: six minor stamina salves, stoppered in clear glass vials.
Then—last—a single Moonrise Rhubarb-Blackberry Saffron Pie, still warm, wrapped in clean cloth.
The scent drifted up immediately.
Elliot inhaled sharply.
Opened the pie cloth a fraction.
His eyes closed for two full seconds.
When they opened again, they were bright with something very close to greed—but the honest, merchant kind.
"…You're not just the herbalist's boy," he said quietly.
"I help in the garden," Aiden replied.
Elliot laughed—soft, disbelieving.
He straightened.
"Done. All of it. Nails, needles, spices, cloth, mirror, book. And I'll throw in a half-dozen glass ink bottles and a small sack of pumice for polishing—no extra charge."
The assistants began loading the requested goods onto a hand-cart.
Villagers who had lingered nearby drifted closer, murmuring.
Elara appeared at the edge of the crowd, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Garrick stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder.
Neither spoke.
They just watched their son conclude the largest single trade Willowbrook had seen in years.
When the cart was full, Elliot counted out the difference in silver—twenty-seven pieces, more coin than most families saw in half a year.
Aiden accepted it in a small leather pouch.
Then he did something unexpected.
He turned to the gathered villagers.
"The nails and cloth are for everyone," he said clearly. "Winter cloaks for the children first. The spices—Tomas can have most for the bakery. The mirror is for Mother. The book is mine. The rest… divide it as you see fair."
Silence for a heartbeat.
Then Marta started clapping—slow, deliberate.
Others joined.
Not wild cheering. Just quiet, warm approval.
Elliot watched it all with a strange expression.
When the crowd began to disperse, he leaned close to Aiden.
"You could have kept the coin," he murmured. "Could have bought yourself anything."
Aiden looked up at him.
"I have everything I want already," he said. "This just makes tomorrow easier for the people I love."
Elliot stared for a long moment.
Then he reached into his vest and pulled out a small bronze token—identical to the one Toren had given Aiden years earlier.
"Travelling Guild Token. Bronze rank. Shows you're a friend of the road. Any wagon, any circuit—show it, you get fair dealing and a fast horse if you ever need to run."
Aiden accepted it.
[Keepsake Acquired: Travelling Guild Token (Bronze) – Second Copy]
[Passive Bonus Stacks: +8% to all trade & negotiation rolls while carried]
Elliot tipped his hat.
"See you next circuit, Lever Boy. Try not to upend the entire economy before then."
He climbed back onto the wagon.
The caravan rolled out as the sun dipped behind the birches.
That evening the Voss cottage was quiet.
The new mirror sat on the mantel—small, oval, silver-backed. Elara kept glancing at it, touching the frame like she couldn't quite believe it was real.
The pouch of silver rested on the table between them.
Garrick broke the silence first.
"Aiden."
Aiden looked up from the bestiary book already open in his lap.
Garrick leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"You didn't have to give it all away."
"I know."
Elara set a hand on Garrick's arm.
"But you did," she said softly. "And you did it without making anyone feel small."
Garrick rubbed the back of his neck.
"I was going to say something about being careful. About not drawing too much attention. About remembering you're still a boy."
He paused.
"But watching you today… I realized you already know all that. Better than I do, maybe."
Aiden closed the book.
"I just want tomorrow to be like today," he said. "Only warmer. And with more bread."
Elara laughed—soft, startled.
Garrick reached over and ruffled Aiden's hair.
"Then we'll make sure of it. Together."
Later, after candles were snuffed and parents were asleep, Aiden climbed to the hayloft again.
Opened status.
Name: Aiden Voss
Age: 6
Level: 71
Classes (Active / Notable):
• Jack of All Trades (Epic) Lv.24
• Farmer Lv.17
• Herbalist Lv.11
• Baker Lv.11
• Merchant Initiate (Common) Lv.3 ← new, unlocked mid-haggle
• … (others ticking upward) Synergy Meter: Overflowing gently Next Hidden Class Tease: "Village Weaver" (Advanced) – 42%
He leaned back on the hay, smelling summer even though it was barely spring.
The bestiary book lay open beside him—ink illustrations of dire-weasels, horned boars, shadow-cats.
He traced one drawing with a finger.
Somewhere beyond the hills, bigger stories were waiting.
But right now, Willowbrook had nails for winter shutters, spices for winter pies, and a boy who still hugged his parents goodnight like nothing in the world mattered more.
That was enough.
For now.
[End of Chapter 5 – Book 1]