Hands of Fate - Survivors of Flight AA214

Chapter 52

Sophie

Day 44, Day 4 on the Road

Kronfeldt

At the night markets, lanterns illuminated the main street, revealing a lively carnival that lit up Kronfeldt every night. Shows featuring animal puppets were being prepared, mummers applied their chalky makeup and wigs, and sitarists and lutenists tuned their instruments. Jugglers practiced with lit torches, their flames dancing in the night.

Elsewhere, hawkers peddled spiced nuts, and crowds gathered to watch a wrestling match between a boar and a badger—boar and a badger—both covered in coarse, dark furs, built like weightlifters but clad only in loincloths—circled each other within a square made of sticks tied by a tight red rope. Bets were eagerly placed by onlookers, their excitement buzzing in the air. Fortune-tellers had set up tables for tarot readings, while a red-skinned frog fire-breather exhaled a massive plume of flames into the night sky, drawing gasps and applause from the crowd.

It was time to start the party.

I joined in by disappearing into my Magical Wagon and returning with several prizes. My two assistants, Orion and James, had rehearsed the routine before arriving in town, and as I was bringing out the prizes, they placed them on display shelves along the wagon’s side. The shelves had basic carved figurines on the bottom, followed by primitive clay mugs and fancier teacups, plate sets, and teapots. At the very top shelf sat our most coveted prize, the Original Bianca C-tier Teapots. We’d made wooden plaques for each prize, marking them with letters: for example, the carved figurines were labeled as F, while the Original Bianca Teapots were marked as S.

I had hustled those women earlier at the bordello. Now, my efforts were paying off as their runners and porters dashed throughout the town to find the boar-masked seller of the exclusive Bianca Teapots.

There was just one problem though. Like certain luxury handbags, customers wouldn’t be able to get the prized teapots without forking out a lot of money first—money they’d be rolling on loaded dice we prepared for them.

The last item I brought out for the event was a tombola. Orion and Molvin, our village’s carpenter, crafted it using their high-level crafting skills and ingenuity. Inside, small ivory balls were etched with letters and painted red, using a precise mix of flower pigments and copper, waiting for their moment to drop out of the funnel at the bottom of the drum.

The runners arrived on schedule, practically shoving each other to get in line first. Each was sent by various members of high society I had networked earlier at the bordello. And like a moth to a flame, whenever people see a line, they want to join it.

“The rules are simple,” I announced to the gathering crowd. My confidence in my Lokan grew as I leveled up to 2 in my Polyglot skill with the day’s social calls. “Only two draws each night. Three Thirds for the first roll. One Second for the second roll. Five Second for the Third roll!”

Gambling—a force of nature that ensnared anyone drawn to the thrill of chance.

Most would only roll once, especially those who were simply passing by to see what the fuss was about, but I knew the runners would roll three times. I could pressure them for infinite rolls, but it was better to keep them coming back.

The tombola was rigged, of course. The low-tier stones were smaller and more numerous, while the S-tier balls, fewer, barely fit through the funnel. We’d tested it again and again, calculating the odds. Getting an S-tier ball was about 1 in 500; an A-tier was 1 in 100.

Up first was the original hare who had spotted me. He fumbled with his coin pouch, saying, “I’ll give you two Seconds for a teapot. The missus will have my tail if I don’t come back with one.”

Now where’s the fun in selling it outright? I can get a lot more money with this little game system.

“NO DRAW FOR YOU! Back of the line!”

“What?!” The hare’s eyes bulged. “That’s outrageous!”

But the other runners were more than happy to solve my problem for me, shoving the indignant hare to the back of the line. One less person in their way to getting their employer that much-needed pot.

Next was the stout, who tipped his cap respectfully before placing three Thirds on the counter, which James scooped up. I spun the tombola’s crank, and after a few turns, out popped a round stone with a large red F on the face.

“F,” I announced, showing the stout and the crowd the ball’s rank.

He looked dejected. “I get more tries, don’t I? One more try, please, milord.”

Orion handed him a tiny wooden horse figurine, carved by the village children as a hobby. The children kept the best figurines for themselves, leaving a pile of discards for us to use as junk prizes. The stout eagerly handed me a Second for his next roll. Another spin, another ball.

“F!” I said again, and Orion passed him a small dog figurine, carved like a Monopoly piece.

“Dealer’s balls! This cursed game is naught but trickery! I demand a refund!”

“OUT! NO DRAW FOR YOU! You’re banned from tomorrow’s game!” I declared.

“B-but! The lady will have me tail if I don’t return with a teapot!”

Orion stepped forward, dagger drawn, staring him down. The stout cowered and scurried away.

We served nineteen people. In total, we handed out twenty-five figurines, seven clay mugs, three plates, and two teacup sets. When the hare finally got his second chance, he rolled a figurine on his first try to, on his second, pulled an A-tier ball. Orion handed him a D-grade teapot, and the hare triumphantly held it up.

Other runners, jealous, immediately offered the hare money for the prize, but he refused.

“Oh, praise be to the Dealer! I’ll get a nice tip for this one, I will!” he exclaimed, running off to his client in the upper part of town.

A few hesitant stragglers remained, unsure whether to try their luck, but I decided it was time to wrap things up. The runners from the wealthier clients had gotten their gacha rolls.

In total, we earned 15 Seconds and 45 Thirds. Not bad for a few hours’ work. Adding that to the 54 Seconds from selling tea at the bordello, today’s revenue came to 75 Seconds and 45 Thirds. After deducting the boarding fee I paid James for our rooms at the inn.

“The Gachapon event is over for now!” I announced.

The three of us packed up the show, stowing everything back in the wagon. I changed out of my flight attendant uniform into my usual leather jacket and jeans, and put away my boar mask for a rabbit one.

The village trade funds were tallied so far, excluding personal earnings from selling Orion’s gems:

8 First Mints

94 Second Mints

75 Third Mints

Total Value: 1815 Third Mints (Fair Market Value)

My Barter skill had reached level 4, and my Merchant level had climbed to level 6.

Oh goodie, do I love watching numbers go up.

It was time to wind down and get some rest at the inn. Our party made its way through the entertainment district, with James guiding us. The inn, with weathered gray bricks and a thatched roof, had a sign bearing an antler symbol. James read the sign for us, able to decipher the Latin script and it read: Buck’s Bounty Inn.

Inside, the candleholders rested on the wooden casks that served as tables, surrounded by high stools. A large fireplace took center stage, flames dancing behind an iron grill. The light from the fire scattered in fragmented patterns across the room, broken by the crisscrossing metal, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Though a few regulars sat around, the inn was surprisingly empty for the time of day.

An antlered deer sat at the bar, pouring drinks for his regulars, while a doe served a rowdy group of miners, their clothes caked in soot from the day's work.

We approached the buck at the counter, who gave us a nod, his eyes briefly scanning me and Orion’s mask with mild curiosity. James stepped up to greet the buck, and the elk handed him two pairs of keys. We followed James upstairs to our rooms—James and Orion shared a family-sized room, while I had a small one all to myself.

We were all exhausted from the day’s journey, and my feet were killing me. I headed downstairs to the bathroom, paying a Third to the doe barmaid, who handed me a small bar of soap, a pot of hot water, and a rag to wash with.

The bathroom was a cozy nook tucked away in the inn, its wooden walls darkened with age and steam. The air was thick with the warm scent of pine. A sturdy wooden tub, crafted from thick planks bound with iron bands, sat in the corner. I lit the single candle near the tub and poured the pot of boiling water into the tub, along with some more room temperature water to even it out. After undressing and extinguishing the lone candle with my fingers, I removed my mask and sank into the warm water. The only light came from a small window grate, letting in soft sounds from the entertainment district and the lit streets outside.

It was amazing how much grime came off my body—and honestly, it was pretty disgusting. I needed antiperspirant, shampoo, and body lotion, not to mention a whole host of other things like makeup and beauty products.

One step at a time. I’ll need to work hard so I can take a good hot bath every single day in a mansion.

Afterward, I returned to check on Orion and James, who were already knocked out, back-to-back on their feather mattress. Leaving them in their room, I checked into mine. A small jail-sized room with a tiny window but it was still all mine.

My bed felt like heaven. It was the first time I had my own private room and finally slept without smelling like a barn. I hugged my warm blankets tightly. A girl could get used to this.

The next morning, I woke up and checked on Orion and James, but they were already gone. It felt like it was around 10 am, just a fuzzy instinct. I wandered the streets alone and eventually came across an empty storefront. A sign with a fox logo directed inquiries.

Further down the street, Orion was busy setting up his stall, with two impossibly cute kittens helping him. A large yellow "M" was displayed at the front of his stall, and he was whisking egg yolks into mayonnaise. Meanwhile, from the bakery next door, a rabbit arrived, carrying a stack of freshly baked burger buns.

“My, my…” I murmured as I approached. Orion didn’t look up from his work. “Fast food and child labor? We’ll make a capitalist out of you yet.”

“Don’t you have drugs to push?” Orion quipped, setting aside his mayonnaise to prep some tomatoes.

“You know there are two problems with this business, right?” I popped a cherry tomato into my mouth.

“I suppose you’ll tell me whether I ask or not.”

"First, restaurants have notoriously low profit margins. Second, once people see your menu and what you're serving, imitators will pop up, offering lower prices and more value. You'll see McRatty’s on every corner, and there's no way to protect your brand."

“First, they don’t have me and my class. Second,” Orion finally looked up, his eyes challenging, “there’s more to life than making money.”

“Oh?” I tapped my fingers on my chin. “You don’t think money will bring happiness? Think of how much better life would be in Thornhill with imported silk mattresses.”

Orion slapped a patty onto the griddle and handed me a finished burger. “You probably didn’t have breakfast. Try it.”

I smiled and took the offering. While back on Earth I generally gravitated towards pho, sushi, and Korean barbecue, you can't beat a good burger sometimes. And this burger was nearly perfect. The sugar-loaded bun, the salty cheese, the juicy, crispy meat, and the tangy sauce all blended just right. I chewed slowly, savoring each bite.

“What do you think?” Orion asked, his smugness plain on his face, already knowing my answer.

“My my my. I never thought I’d be so turned on by a fast food worker,” I teased, handing him two Thirds.

No response. How annoying. He was getting better at handling me.

“You’ve got a Contract ability, right? Do me a favor—buy up all the potatoes and tomatoes. And see if you can get tomato seeds. I want to get Samar to plant them in Thornhill.”

“Will do. But do me a favor in return: try to pay in Thirds or Firsts when possible. Hold onto as many of your Seconds as you can,” I replied.

He nodded, then asked, “What are you doing today?”

“Setting up a bank,” I said.

“Mind giving me a lock of your hair?” Orion asked casually, without pausing his work as he stewed green tomatoes and added honey to the pot, carrying on his business as if he didn’t ask something incredibly creepy and ridiculous.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were into that,” I smirked, leaning over. He casually snipped a lock with his knife and pocketed it, not even breaking from his work.

“Enjoy your day,” he said, returning to his cooking.

What an odd request.

Bidding farewell to the food market, I headed toward the center of Kronfeldt and the Guild districts. It was a new day with lots to do—businesses to buy and currencies to inflate.