Ash's expression darkened instantly.
"Authority dogs don't visit without a reason. ACHA only bullies two kinds of people—successful merchants and quiet ones."
"I'm hardly successful."
"You're both."
The old smith glared half-heartedly.
"And you're too polite. That makes you look weak. Carnivores love sheep."
Atem frowned slightly. "I'm not trying to look like anything. I just want the shop to run cleanly."
"A clean shop," Ash grumbled. "In Azure Harbor? Might as well wish the sea to stop being salty."
He coughed again, longer this time.
Atem set the tonic on the bench. "Uncle Ash… have you eaten today?"
"Bah." The smith waved him off. "Don't mother me. I've been working on something important."
His rough fingers rummaged through a drawer until he drew out… a thin strip of metal, looking more like the spear he sold this morning.
Atem's eyes flickered. "…This isn't one of mine or yours."
"Some idiot out there is copying our design," Ash growled. "Interior's different, weight balance is trash, but from a glance? Looks close enough to fool half the fishermen on the Tide Line."
Atem's face changed. "…Who is doing this?"
Ash shook his head. "No idea—and that's the worst part. Could be anyone: scrap forgers, a small workshop hungry for coin, maybe even some merchant testing the market. The Harbor's full of scavengers. You put out something good, and ten hands will reach to steal it."
Atem's eyes flickered with annoyance. "I'll look into it. See who's behind this and deal with it before it becomes a problem."
Ash lowered the metal strip and wiped his hands on his apron. "There's another piece of bad news."
Atem stiffened. "What now?"
"The metal prices surged again this morning." Ash leaned back with a grimace. "And not the normal day-to-day dance. This time, it jumped nearly thirty percent."
Atem frowned. "Thirty? That's too much for a single morning."
"That's exactly the problem," Ash muttered. "I talked to three smiths before noon. Every one of them said the same thing: the Craftsmen Guild is tightening its grip on the supply lines. They're claiming shortages, but we all know their warehouses are full."
Atem felt frustration creeping in. "Why now? There hasn't been a storm or sea beast attack…"
Ash nodded. "That's why we're suspicious. It isn't a natural rise. It's pressure. Deliberate pressure."
Atem leaned against the workbench, thinking through the implications. "If the Guild wants higher prices, it affects everyone at the low end first. Folks around here are already struggling to afford ingots, and with that whole Sone Street incident, things are just getting tougher…"
Ash's gaze sharpened. "That's exactly why it worries me. Someone is trying to squeeze the Tide Line from the bottom up."
Atem contemplated for a moment, then stated, "We should cease the production of any new spears. I will declare my inventory empty, asserting that any other items are not mine."
"That's a strategic move." Ash nodded in agreement.
"I will also discontinue the sale of the Cold Restoration Pills."
"What?" Ash's eyes widened in surprise. "Isn't that akin to severing your own limbs?"
Atem shook his head. "You don't understand, do you? Someone is specifically targeting me. Even if I am not the primary target, I am certainly one among many."
Ash pondered this for a while before nodding. "Indeed, it seems so. You must make a choice then; without backing, you won't succeed. In fact, it's uncertain if you will even survive."
"I am considering the Dock-Masters Union." He sighed. "They may not be the most powerful, but they have consistently held their ground."
Ash nodded. "They extended an invitation to you a year ago. The old man there holds you in high regard."
"Excellent, then I shall depart," Atem chuckled as he moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Ash inquired.
"To Old Man Yi's Tavern."
"Courting death!"
Atem stepped out of the workshop without looking back. If information was poison, then Old Man Yi's Tavern was where people drank it willingly. Dock runners, guild errand boys, ruined merchants, and quiet schemers all drifted through that place sooner or later.
Right now, Atem needed answers more than he needed caution.
A carriage was already waiting along the Iron Yards' outer road.
Ten minutes later, it slowed as Merchant Square came into view.
Atem stepped down from the carriage and handed over the fare. The driver glanced back, momentarily surprised when a few extra coins landed in his palm.
"Keep the change," Atem said with an easy chuckle, already turning toward the street.
It's a cool sentence. I always wanted to say it.
Feels strange, though… I'm still not used to giving anyone extra money.
He rubbed his fingers lightly, almost regretting it, then shook the thought aside and headed into Merchant Square.
The square was already alive, despite the sun still hanging low over the harbor rooftops.
The street was bustling with merchant stalls on both sides. They had all sorts of stuff: wooden racks overflowing with dried fish, bunches of sea herbs, affordable tools, cool woven baskets, little trinkets, shiny polished shells, and every now and then, some weird thing pulled out of a reef creature's belly.
It was a pretty lively scene, with vendors hawking their wares and folks checking out all the unique items. You could find just about anything there, from everyday necessities to some truly bizarre finds.
The air smelled like a mix of dried fish and salty sea air, with a hint of something exotic from those herbs. It was definitely a place where you could spend some time just browsing and seeing what treasures you might stumble upon.
"Fresh tide shrimp! Still twitching!"
"Lantern oil—last batch before the storms!"
"Only two coppers! One if you buy three!"
Atem just strolled right through everything, casually weaving past workers lugging crates and fishermen pulling in their nets.
No one paid him special attention; he preferred it that way.
At the far end of the square, a massive structure dominated the street like a quiet titan.
Four floors tall, its frame built with the same dark-brown timber used in the harbor's main piers, the pavilion looked less like an inn and more like a miniature fortress.
If Tide Line had a heart, this was it.
The first floor held the inn—smells of broth, steamed buns, and fried root vegetables drifted through the open doors.
The second was a marketplace of its own: rows of stalls, counters, and shelves rented out to merchants. The upper floors were apartments, always full, always expensive.
Atem stopped at the entrance, watching workers unload crates stamped with shipping marks from all across Azure Harbor.
"Haven't seen you around in a while, Shopkeeper Atem."