“No, widening the circle that far would all but guarantee the information getting leaked. It wouldn’t be long before it spread to every citizen, then to other nations. And those with nothing to lose are unpredictable. Don’t forget the last beloved child of the Goddess lost her life being attacked twice by Rueda’s former priests! And if it wasn’t for the guardian of the continent, Fearsome Fran, repeatedly slapping the Goddess Celestine, this landmass wouldn’t even exist today,” he said. “Fearsome Fran is old now and stuck in her homeland. If catastrophe struck again, who could possibly stop the Goddess Celestine?!”
The chancellor fell silent, unable to argue.
The part about Fran repeatedly slapping Celestine was a theatrical myth, but the people believed it was something Fran would’ve actually done, so it had been widely accepted as fact.
“Those with something to lose, like their family or status, can’t be trusted either,” the king went on. “What if their beloved wife or child was dying? Watching them suffer as their life faded away, do you think they could resist rushing to the priestess for help when they knew she could heal them instantly? Could every noble, merchant, and commoner who caught wind of the news hold back?”
“It would likely be impossible...” the chancellor answered.
“I’m not sure I would be able to resist either,” the king nodded. “Actually, I’ve already built ties with her... I would try to talk my way into having her help. Yes, that’s it! If my family is ever in dire straits, I’ll beg for her mercy. Surely, she wouldn’t brush off a king’s plea...”
“Your Majesty, that’s unfair! Then please help my wife and kids as well—ah...”
“See? Even you would crack,” the king said. “Do you think the lower nobles, merchants, and average commoners could resist?”
“No, they couldn’t...”
“Exactly. If salvation was there, they would grab it. Those who were saved would be grateful, but the others would wonder, ‘Why not my family?’ They wouldn’t simply lack gratitude, but anger and hatred would fester within them.”
“I fear you’re absolutely right, Your Majesty...”
And so, the priestess’s secret stayed locked away, known only to a select few...
It was time for the grand opening! “Of what?” one might wonder. Kyoko—er, Salette the merchant’s Trader Shop main capital branch!
Everyone was hyped thanks to yesterday’s wyvern-butchering show, and the displays were well stocked. There were goods Kyoko had collected solo while flying around the world in her dinghy before reuniting with us, stuff we’d found on our first group trip in ages, items crafted in Kyoko’s mothership workshop, and my potion containers. We had a perfectly varied lineup of products that were super rare but not too outlandish for this world. The prices were sky-high too. We didn’t want to get swamped with low-margin, high-volume sales, and rare items that would draw influential folks weren’t gonna come cheap. If we set our prices too low, those goods would be snatched up by scalpers and wouldn’t reach the people they were intended for. Plus, ultra-pricey goods would deter thugs and shady merchants...probably.
I mean, it was natural to assume that shops handling such high-end items would have some powerful backing, like high-status nobles and royals. And presumably, causing trouble with such a business would draw attention from all around the capital, right? So, crooks who wanted to keep a low profile wouldn’t try any funny business unless they were willing to risk trouble with some bigwigs. That was our assumption, anyway. We three were raised in peaceful Japan, so we didn’t really understand how thugs, criminals, shady merchants, and corrupt aristocrats thought.
There was a massive line snaking around outside even before opening. They probably saw yesterday’s show and figured we were selling rare goods for cheap, so they wanted to scoop them up to resell at a profit.
Too bad!
I mean, sure, we sold rare goods, but at fair prices. We weren’t dumb enough to have a fire sale for scalpers. That’d be a ton of work for us just to enrich vultures. The high-profile buyers we were targeting would pay any amount for the things they wanted, so setting high prices was no problem. In fact, it was better to set our prices slightly above market value to weed out randos and hit our marks. Unlike our branch store (the former main shop), the capital shop wasn’t for selling to the general public.
Besides, there wasn’t really a “market price” for ultra-rare goods that no one could get their hands on. If we auctioned them off, the sky was the limit, so we didn’t just put them on our shelves for a fixed price. If we did, we’d have to set the price at around eighty percent of the expected max bid. That was why those goods were priced as they were.
The shop opened, and customers came stampeding in—or they were about to before glares from me and Falsetto stopped them in their tracks. As they filed in in an orderly fashion, they glanced at the price tags and shouted in unison.
“So expensive!!!”
No, we weren’t ripping anyone off. We kept prices at about eighty percent of what they’d fetch if we auctioned them off. The items were just that valuable.
Stocking things this pricey took guts. Auctions were a gamble. Sometimes they heated up and prices went crazy high, but other times, if there was only one person who wanted an item by any means possible, they could close dirt cheap. Of course, setting the initial price too high could end up with no bidders at all. That kind of thing escalated with the vibe of the room as bidding wars heated up, so kicking things off with a high price could ruin it before it even started.
Say a painting sold for a billion yen after an epic auction battle—if the starting bid was eight hundred million, would anyone jump in without hesitation? Knowing rivals saw value in the item was key to getting people caught up in the race. If the seller started it at eight hundred million and there weren’t any bids, it would make people question whether they should buy it at all. This was especially true if one didn’t know its true worth, didn’t need it, or just wanted to flip it for profit. If they bought something from us and tried to resell it to someone else, they might haggle or push demands that couldn’t be refused due to their status. These items didn’t guarantee big profits; in fact, one bad move could mean huge losses. Plus, everyone knew these items came from us, so the original price was obvious. If we had more of the same item or subsequently restocked our shelves, folks knew they could just buy cheaper from us.
After yesterday’s auction, any rare goods hitting the market would be assumed to be from our shop. Our shop was famous after that stunt, so they’d definitely check if the rare item in question was sourced from us.
So, no one would be able to resell our goods for much higher than our prices. There wasn’t any incentive for buyers to go into a frenzy over our wares. Yup, that would be a big letdown for middleman buyers, but anyone who had to have a legendary item to save a sick kid, for example, would be able to buy it without any issues. Folks who didn’t care about cost—like top nobles, royals, big merchant bosses, or show-offs who wanted to spend big for clout—would also have access if they wanted. A few bold resellers might try at first, but they’d vanish if we kept restocking the same items days later at lower prices a few times.
Looks like the reseller crowd is pretty disappointed.
They probably thought yesterday’s generous auction meant there’d be deals today too. Meanwhile, the folks who came just to gawk at rare stuff seemed to get their fill and chatted happily with their friends. We weren’t here to steal customers from other shops or get swamped, so we didn’t stock much of what regular stores carried. I mean, we carried some, but not much. Those were priced a bit higher than other shops, so it was unlikely that there’d be buyers.
We also sold handy little tools and gadgets made on Kyoko’s mothership, and those were priced pretty reasonably. They were decent products for decent prices, not amazing enough that we’d get crowds fighting over them. Things like hand mixers and precision tweezers for splinters. Fish scalers...wouldn’t be much use here with the sea so far away, so we skipped those. Basically, the kind of stuff you’d find at a hundred-yen shop. I expected them to move a bit.