...
Irene had never felt so speechless.
She had a sudden urge to beat this unscrupulous merchant to death.
If these guys hadn't been even greedier than she had anticipated, she wouldn't have shown herself at all.
However, considering that other traveling merchants were highly unlikely to be any easier to deal with, the little dragon girl, who detested trouble, slowly unclenched her slightly tightened fists.
Completely unaware that he had just taken a step into the jaws of death, Magricius saw that the girl remained unmoved and assumed his sincerity was simply lacking.
After all, this was the daughter of a mixologist; how could she possibly be bought off by a mere sugar cube?
Knocking his own head in frustration, Magricius quickly withdrew his hand.
He then fished out a palm-sized model of a steam train from his storage ring.
This was a little toy recently developed in the Dwarven Empire, which had taken the Human Empire by storm in no time.
He refused to believe the girl wouldn't be tempted by this.
But just as Magricius held the little train out in front of him, his neck suddenly tightened.
It felt as if the surrounding air had transformed into a pair of invisible, massive hands.
It clamped down on him in a tight grip.
Then, these massive hands began to lift him up, hoisting him rawly into midair.
A wave of intense suffocation instantly flooded his brain.
Magricius thrashed about in the air, kicking his legs and clawing wildly with his hands.
But no matter how much he struggled, it was entirely futile.
Seeing their employer in danger, the mercenaries quickly rushed forward, drawing their weapons and surrounding Irene.
They certainly had no habit of respecting the old or cherishing the young.
Besides, this was a magical world.
These men assumed the girl before them was likely some ancient, scheming monster disguised as a little girl.
Irene looked coldly at the three men closing in.
“Want to make a move?”
The moment she spoke, Magricius, who was suspended in the air by the Mage Hand, began to thrash even more violently.
His face turned the color of a bruised plum.
The spectating kobolds also drew their weapons at this moment.
Some held wooden spears.
Others held wooden clubs.
Some had simply picked up a rock.
Compared to the well-equipped mercenaries, they looked like a ragtag mob.
Yet, it was precisely this ragtag mob that put immense pressure on the three mercenaries.
To be precise, the primary pressure came from the girl before them.
These kobolds merely served to block their escape routes.
Surrounded by this crowd of kobolds, escaping would require hacking a blood-soaked path through them.
Even if they were just a herd of pigs, it would take quite some time to slaughter them all.
Let alone these kobolds.
“Damn it.”
The burliest man among the three mercenaries cursed inwardly before speaking up:
“We have no grudge against you, milady. Please release our employer.”
He was a Bronze Rank mercenary and considered himself no weakling.
Yet, facing the girl before him, a prickle of sheer danger made his hair stand on end.
This sixth-sense-like ability had saved his life countless times during his adventures.
He was absolutely certain that if the person before him struck, he would die.
And it would be a miserable death.
“If I let him go just because you asked, wouldn't that make me look very weak?”
Irene blinked, looking completely harmless.
Her voice was soft and sweet, yet it sent a shiver down the spines of the three mercenaries.
A lean mercenary mage felt that being threatened by such a small girl was a blow to his pride.
He took a step forward, a surge of energy erupting from his staff.
But before he could make a move, the burly mercenary reached out a hand to stop him and said to Irene:
“What do you want? As long as you let our boss go, we'll agree to anything.”
“What do I want?”
“Aren't you the ones who were looking for me?”
Irene timely loosened her grip on Magricius slightly, allowing him to barely breathe.
She had to prevent accidentally choking him to death.
“Cough, cough, cough...”
Magricius felt as if he had almost seen the divine kingdom of the Goddess of Wealth.
After taking two deep breaths, the purple hue on his face faded slightly, and he stared down at the girl below in utter terror.
“You... you are...”
“I am the mixologist you were looking for,” Irene finished his sentence for him, looking up as she spoke. “How about we make a deal?”
“W-what kind of deal?” Magricius asked.
“Help me sell a batch of goods.”
Irene shot a warning glare at the mercenaries who were looking for an opportunity to strike, before continuing:
“A ninety-ten split. I get ninety percent, you get ten.”
“No way! That's far too little!”
Magricius blurted out instinctively.
As a merchant, he valued profit above all else.
But he paid the price for it in the very next second.
The Mage Hand began to tighten once more. Magricius's brain was plunged back into oxygen deprivation, and darkness began to creep into his vision.
“Fine, fine. If you won't do it, there are plenty of others who will.”
Irene snapped her fingers and walked away without looking back, the kobolds voluntarily parting to make way for her.
The mercenaries looked at each other.
Seeing that Irene had no intention of attacking them, they tacitly pretended nothing was happening.
Compared to their employer's life, their own lives were obviously far more important.
“I... I'll do it... I'll do it...”
A faint voice drifted down from above.
Clutching his neck tightly with both hands, Magricius finally faced reality as he saw himself on the verge of actually meeting the Goddess of Wealth.
“Oh?”
Irene, who had almost walked out of the kobold encirclement, turned around and hooked her finger.
Magricius was instantly dragged forward like a pile of wet mud and slammed heavily onto the ground.
“Cough, cough, cough...”
Spitting out a mouthful of dirt, Magricius trembled as he barely managed to lift his head, his gaze meeting a pair of golden eyes.
A chill ran deep into his heart, as if he were looking not at a human, but at a dragon.
A Bronze Rank spell: Mental Intimidation.
Combined with the natural aura of a dragon.
This poor traveling merchant's final line of mental defense was completely shattered.
Abandoning all wishful thinking, he said in a tone of resignation:
“What... what do you want me to sell?”
“Clap, clap.”
Irene clapped her hands.
The kobolds immediately dispersed, bringing over wooden barrels one by one and placing them in the square.
Irene squatted down, a pure, innocent smile on her face as she looked at the pitiful merchant sprawled on the ground.
Only when Magricius swallowed hard did Irene part her lips. Her tone was incredibly smooth, like a demon from hell whispering temptations, guiding him step-by-step.
“Help me sell some liquor. If you perform well, we can establish a long-term partnership.”
Although these words were exactly what he had desired most just moments ago, Magricius couldn't find it in himself to be happy.
“Don't look so miserable.”
Irene furrowed her pretty little brow, reaching out her small hand to force the man's mouth into a grotesque, mock smile.
“This is a huge business deal, my dear partner.”
“Come on, let me hear you laugh.”
“Hehe... hehe...”
Magricius's face crumpled as he forced out two dry chuckles that sounded worse than crying.
“Mm... a smile makes you ten years younger, after all.”
Irene conjured a piece of parchment and a quill from somewhere, placing them on the ground and making a welcoming gesture with her hand.
“Come, let the God of Truth witness our first partnership.”
Upon seeing this contract, which had clearly been drafted in advance, Magricius knew he was completely trapped.
A merchant's caution compelled him to read every single word of the contract meticulously.
But the more he read, the deeper his brow furrowed.
The general content of the contract was:
From the moment the contract is signed, Party A shall provide the alcohol, and Party B shall be responsible for selling it.
During the period of cooperation, Party B shall not damage Party A's interests, and the selling price must not be lower than the average market price.
Profits shall be split ninety-ten.
Party A shall take ninety percent, and Party B shall take ten percent.
The right to interpret the termination date of the cooperation belongs solely to Party A.
This was a blatantly unequal treaty!
Under the witness of the God of Truth, no one dared to play word games, or they would face endless divine punishment.
In other words, once signed, it had to be strictly adhered to.
Even though he cursed incessantly in his heart, Magricius still picked up the pen and, under the watchful gaze of the God of Truth, helplessly signed his name.
As meat on a chopping block, he had no choice.
The oath was established.
Magricius could only follow the agreement, unloading the supplies from his carriage and, together with the three mercenaries, loading the barrels of liquor onto the packhorses.
Casting one final, complicated look at the girl with the pure, innocent smile, the traveling merchant and his party mounted their horses and squeezed their flanks hard.
They galloped away as if fleeing for their lives.
Their figures vanished completely into the yellow sands.
The water of the oasis lake suddenly rippled violently, and Daviel, who had been hiding in the water with his aura concealed for a long time, leaped out.
With a loud crash, he landed right beside Irene.
“Sis, why did you leave them ten percent?” Daviel asked, rather puzzled.
Gazing at the desert where the figures had long disappeared, Irene slowly spoke after a moment:
“You need both a stick and a carrot. You have to give him a little sweetness.”
“Otherwise, how would he work for me so obediently?”
Saying this, she turned her head to look at Fido, who had become even more respectful.
“Prepare some more fruit for me. I want to run an experiment.”
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