You know how most stories start with some majestic narrator booming, “In the beginning there was light”?

Yeah, not here.

Hi. Name’s Ayn. I’m technically a god. Not the important kind who shapes worlds or hurls fireballs from heaven. More like the “background noise” god who never quit the job because… well, quitting requires effort.

Anyway, welcome to Eryndor. A magical land filled with kingdoms, dragons, adventurers, guilds, and, most importantly, markets. Sounds epic, right? Wrong. It’s mostly people arguing about grain prices and whose goat ate whose fence. But hey, if you slap some shiny castles on top, people call it “fantasy.”

Now, the history. Brace yourselves.

Long ago, gods fought dragons. Why? Nobody knows. Some say honor, some say pride, I say boredom. You ever get so bored you start a war? That’s basically the divine condition. They blasted mountains, flooded continents, and reduced the world to rubble — all because one dragon sneezed during a divine banquet. True story.

Mortals? Oh, they suffered. Entire civilizations got squashed like ants at a picnic. But eventually the gods got tired, the dragons got tired, and everyone just sort of… wandered off. That’s the glorious history of this land: a divine pissing contest that ended in mutual disinterest.

And that’s where the world is now. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Farmers farm, merchants cheat farmers, nobles cheat merchants, and everyone pretends it’s a grand story. Honestly, it was getting dull even for me.

Which brings us to… him.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Ah, so this is the destined hero!” Yeah, no. He’s not destined. He’s not noble. He’s not even particularly smart.

He’s just greedy.

That’s all. Pure, unfiltered, wallet-sniffing greed wrapped in a man’s skin. If money had a spirit animal, it would be him. And I, in my infinite laziness, thought: “Hey, let’s see what happens if I drop a greed-obsessed idiot into a fantasy world and give him a system.”

Why? Entertainment. Don’t judge me — you all binge-watch terrible shows when you’re bored. This is my version. Except instead of Netflix, I use reality.

So I reached across dimensions, snagged him right out of his dingy little Earth life, and plopped him here in Eryndor.

His name? Kael.

His dream? Not glory, not adventure, not saving the world. No, this man’s one great ambition is to become the richest merchant alive.

Honestly, the moment I summoned him, I knew I’d struck comedy gold.

Does that sound like the makings of a savior? No. But does it sound like fun to watch? Oh, absolutely.

And before you accuse me of being irresponsible — yes, I could’ve chosen someone better. A brave knight, a wise scholar, a chosen champion. But let me tell you a secret: those types are boring. They swing swords, make speeches, kiss princesses. Seen it a thousand times. Predictable. Snooze-fest.

That’s the thing about gods — we get bored. Which, fun fact, is the exact reason the rest of them abandoned this world in the first place.

You mortals wrote songs about “the gods’ glorious ascension,” but truth? They just… quit. Like employees walking out of a dead-end office job.

The god of war said he was “taking a break,” which meant: I’m tired of smashing mountains, I’m gonna go nap inside one.

The goddess of love announced she wanted to “focus on personal projects,” then immediately started dating herself across three timelines.

And the almighty god of fate — ha! He just shredded the divine script and said, “Figure it out yourselves, I’m done writing sequels.”

That’s the grand divine mystery mortals still pray about: why the heavens went silent. The truth? The gods got bored and left.

Of course, mortals can’t handle the idea their creators just… ghosted them. So they invented prophecies. “The gods will return!” “The chosen hero will rise!” Blah blah blah. You know what destiny really is? A fancy excuse people make when they don’t want to admit they made a dumb decision.

And speaking of dumb decisions…

I summoned Kael.

Now, usually when a god pulls someone from another world, it’s a big dramatic production. Trumpets, beams of holy light, the whole nine yards. Mortals eat that stuff up.

Me? I couldn’t be bothered.

So Kael’s grand entrance into Eryndor began with him face-planting into a cow field. No glowing runes, no angelic chorus — just splat. He lay there, grass stuck in his teeth, smelling like cow, groaning like someone who tripped over their own ambition.

“Ugh—my back! Who the hell threw me?!” he yelled, springing up, eyes darting wildly. His gaze snapped to the horizon where a picturesque medieval town sat gleaming in the afternoon sun. White stone walls, red-roofed houses, banners fluttering. The kind of sight that makes most transmigrated heroes weep with awe.

Kael? He squinted at it, rubbed his hands together, and whispered:

“…That place looks rich.”

That’s when I knew this was going to be good.

“Oh-ho,” I muttered from my divine armchair in the void, “he’s not even gonna ask how he got here. Straight to profits. I like this idiot.”

Of course, the System activated the moment he touched this world. And let me tell you, it’s not your usual “kill ten goblins to gain power” nonsense. No. The very first quest that popped up in glowing golden letters before his eyes was:

[Quest: Pluck one blade of grass.]

Reward: Permanent Immortality. Invincibility. Enhanced Charisma. Unlimited stamina. Basic starter pack.]

I swear, I nearly choked on my ambrosia laughing.

Kael stared at the words. Then at the grass. Then at the words again.

“…You’re telling me I can live forever if I pull out a lawn?!”

He yanked one blade without hesitation.

Light erupted around him, divine power flooding his body, muscles tightening, senses sharpening, skin glowing like he’d been dipped in liquid heroism. Birds scattered from the trees. The earth trembled. Somewhere, an ancient sealed demon lord probably felt a shiver run down his spine.

Kael brushed dirt off his pants, looked at his hands, and grinned.

“…I’m gonna be so rich.”

And just like that, the strongest being in Eryndor was born — because he plucked grass.

Kael brushed off the last shimmering sparks of divine light, still gripping that one lonely blade of grass like it was a crown jewel. His eyes darted around, half-expecting trumpets or angels to descend. Nothing. Just silence, the moo of a distant cow, and the faint smell of manure.

“…That’s it? I just… win?” he muttered. He stomped his boot on the ground, leaving a small crater. “Immortal. Invincible. All because I yanked a weed?”

[Ding! Congratulations. You are now immortal and invincible.]

[Bonus reward: Slightly better posture.]

He straightened automatically. “…Oh. Nice.”

Now, most men would be stunned by this. They’d gape at their newfound strength, vow to use it for justice, or at least test it by punching a tree in half. Kael? His first thought was:

“Invincible… means no medical bills. Immortal… means compound interest forever.”

The grin that spread across his face was so greedy it could’ve curdled milk.

He marched toward the town on the horizon, already scheming. “First step: find some poor saps. Second step: sell them grass. Tell them it’s a divine relic. Limited stock, of course.” He raised the blade between two fingers like a priceless artifact. “I’ll market it as… ‘Holy Hero Herb.’ Ha! That’ll sell.”

Up in the void, I was nearly falling out of my divine chair. Here was a man who just achieved god-slaying power, and his master plan was reselling lawn clippings.

“Oh, this is going to be delicious,” I chuckled. “The villagers won’t know what hit them.”

Kael quickened his pace, muttering under his breath like a man rehearsing a sales pitch. “Yes, yes, step right up, miracle grass, one coin a leaf! No refunds! Limited-time offer!” His eyes gleamed, a dragon hoarding treasure he hadn’t even scammed yet.

By the time he reached the town gates, his future was already mapped out in gold and silver. Not kingdoms, not glory, not love. Just profit.

And thus, the strongest being in Eryndor — invincible, immortal, unstoppable — entered history not as a savior, not as a hero, but as a merchant with grass in his pocket and greed in his soul.

Which, frankly, is much funnier.

I leaned back in my divine chair, watching him march into town, already plotting scams. And I thought to myself:

“…Ah, yes. Finally, some quality entertainment.”

⸻

End of Chapter 1.

Kael strutted down the dirt road toward the village gates, still clutching his lone blade of grass like a priceless stock certificate. His grin hadn’t left his face since immortality kicked in.

The town was nothing special — squat wooden houses, fields of barley, a marketplace that looked about as lively as a graveyard. But to Kael, it shimmered like solid gold.

“Ahh, my future customers,” he whispered, stroking his chin like an emperor surveying his empire. “So gullible. So… coin-filled.”

I could already tell where this was going. Mortals usually enter a new world asking, “Where’s the guild? How do I level up? Where’s the princess?”

Kael entered asking, “Where’s my profit margin?”

Inside the gates, he immediately found a scene that made his greedy little heart skip a beat. A crowd of villagers surrounded the town well. Some were coughing, others arguing. A woman clutched her child, who looked pale as a ghost. The well itself sat half-empty, its bucket dangling pitifully on a frayed rope.

“Drought’s killin’ us,” one man muttered.

“Water’s foul, it makes folk sick!” another snapped.

“If this keeps up, we’ll—”

“—go bankrupt,” Kael finished under his breath, eyes sparkling.

He watched the villagers despair, then cracked the kind of smile that could curdle butter. “Aha. A problem,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “And problems, my dear villagers, are just… opportunities with bad marketing.”

“Really?” I drawled, leaning in from the divine void. “They’re starving, diseased, and dehydrated, and your first thought is—”

“—to monetize it? Of course!” Kael cut me off without even looking up. “Supply and demand, baby. Time to introduce these yokels to… premium hydration.”

I sighed. Mortals prayed for a savior, and I gave them… this.

Kael swaggered to the well, grabbed the rope, and hauled up a bucket of murky, lukewarm water. He sniffed it, gagged, then forced a charming smile. “Perfect. The worse it tastes, the holier it’ll sound.”

He fished around in his pocket, pulled out a few empty glass bottles (don’t ask me how he had them, I think he pickpocketed reality itself on the way here), and began filling them carefully, like they were rare vintage wine.

Then he turned to the desperate villagers, spread his arms wide, and announced in his smoothest, fakest voice:

“People of this humble town… salvation is at hand!”

Kael’s voice rang across the well square like a peddler announcing a circus.

The villagers turned, squinting at him. They saw a stranger with messy black hair, a smug grin, and a bucket of their own disgusting well water. Not exactly inspiring.

“Who’s this idiot?” someone muttered.

“Looks like a con man,” another said.

“Looks like my brother-in-law,” a third coughed.

Kael ignored them all, holding up a bottle like it was crafted from divine crystal. “Behold—Holy Hero Water! Drawn from the sacred depths, purified by destiny, blessed by powers beyond your mortal comprehension!”

I nearly choked on my ambrosia. Sacred depths? It was a cow-tainted well. Destiny? He’d face-planted here by accident. Beyond comprehension? Yeah, I’ll give him that — even I didn’t comprehend how he thought this was working.

The villagers stared. Then one woman barked a laugh. “You want us to buy that? It’s the same filth makin’ my boy sick!”

Kael, unbothered, flashed a dazzling smile. “Madam, madam, please. What you see as filth… I see as divine mystery. For the modest price of one silver coin per bottle, I offer not just water—no, friends—miracles!”

Gasps rippled. One silver coin? For a bottle of water? That was a week’s wages for some of them.

“You’re mad!”

“A thief!”

“A charlatan!”

Kael pressed a hand to his chest, feigning deep offense. “Such harsh words. I assure you, good people, I am but a humble servant of fate. My only wish is to—”

And that’s when it happened.

The pale little boy in the woman’s arms groaned, reaching toward Kael’s bottle. Kael, never missing a mark, bent down smoothly. “Ah, a true believer. Go on, lad, drink.” He popped the cork, tilted the bottle, and let the boy sip.

The crowd held its breath.

The child coughed once, twice… then color flooded back into his cheeks. His eyes brightened. He sat up, clapping his hands. “Mama! I feel better!”

The square exploded.

“It healed him!”

“A miracle!”

“Holy water!”

Kael blinked. Then his grin spread so wide I thought his jaw might snap. He had no idea how it happened, but he didn’t need to.

The System had, of course, quietly added a note only he could see:

[Passive Buff: Any product sold by user is imbued with healing properties.]

He glanced at the glowing words, then at the frantic villagers now rushing toward him with desperate, pleading eyes.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Kael purred, straightening his shirt. “Line up, friends. One bottle at a time. And please—no pushing. Miracles aren’t free.

The moment the boy jumped to his feet, the square transformed into chaos.

“Give me one!”

“My daughter’s coughing blood!”

“My husband’s got the runs!”

“My goat has the runs!”

Villagers surged forward, waving coins, trinkets, anything that could pass as payment. Kael found himself at the center of a mob that looked ready to riot, except instead of torches and pitchforks, they were brandishing empty mugs and desperate hope.

He raised his hands dramatically. “Please, please! One at a time! Miracles require order, not chaos!”

The crowd actually froze, hanging on his every word. I swear, mortals are unbelievable. Show them a glowing sword, they question it. Show them slightly less disgusting water, they form a cult.

Kael lowered his voice, deep and solemn. “I hear your cries, I see your suffering… and I weep with you.” (He didn’t. His eyes were on their coin purses.) “But alas, the divine asks for balance. A modest donation is required to maintain this sacred flow.”

“Donation?” a man repeated.

“Yes,” Kael said smoothly. “One silver coin.”

The villagers looked at each other nervously. Then one man stepped forward, trembling, and dropped a silver into Kael’s waiting hand. Kael passed him a bottle. The man drank, then gasped as his skin rash faded before everyone’s eyes.

The mob erupted. Coins flew. People shoved. Kael’s hands blurred as he filled bottles, pocketed money, and flashed his most generous, saintly smile.

But here’s the best part:

Every time someone called him “blessed” or “holy,” Kael nodded like he was reluctantly accepting the burden of sainthood. The performance was Oscar-worthy.

“Oh, please, don’t call me a saint,” he said while raking in coin. “I am but a humble merchant, guided by fate.”

Another coin landed in his palm.

“Your gratitude embarrasses me.”

Another.

“Stop, stop, you’ll make me blush.”

Ching, ching, ching.

And of course, he didn’t keep the price at one silver for long.

“Ah, I see demand is high,” he announced gravely. “To preserve the sanctity of this miracle, I must… regulate it.” His eyes gleamed. “New price: three silver.”

Did they complain? No. They fought each other to pay more. One man even tried to sell his boots on the spot.

I laughed so hard I nearly fell into the void. “Unbelievable. They think this clown is a prophet because he can sell mud water in a bottle!”

Kael, overhearing me (don’t ask how, mortals aren’t supposed to), whispered back under his breath: “Don’t be jealous, old man. This is called business.

By the time the sun dipped low over the rooftops, the village square looked less like a place of misery and more like a festival — if the festival were hosted by one very smug conman.

Kael stood proudly atop the well, hands clasped behind his back, as villagers bowed and cheered. His pockets bulged with silver, bottles clinked at his belt, and he had the audacity to look solemn, like he was bearing some holy burden.

“My friends,” he said gravely, “I thank you for your faith. Today was but a glimpse of the miracles to come. May your homes be warm, your fields bountiful, and your… stomachs stable.”

The villagers roared in gratitude.

Someone thrust a loaf of bread at him. Another shoved a basket of eggs. A baker begged him to stay in their finest guesthouse, “free of charge, of course, Saint Kael!”

Kael waved them off with mock humility. “Please, please. I am no saint. Merely a humble—” he paused, savoring it, “—merchant.”

That night, he lounged on a feather-stuffed bed in the biggest house in town, counting his coins by candlelight, grinning like a wolf fattened on sheep.

“Easy,” he chuckled to himself. “Too easy. If selling well water makes me this rich, imagine what I can do with rocks.”

I watched from the divine void, chin in hand, and couldn’t help but smirk.

And so, dear reader, the greatest miracle of Eryndor was not the healing of the sick… but that an entire village managed to mistake a greedy, shameless huckster for a holy man.

I stretched, yawned, and said aloud, “Saint Kael… ah, yes. Truly, I have blessed this world with comedy gold.

⸻

End of Chapter 2.

The morning after his glorious “saintly” debut, Kael strolled through the village marketplace whistling off-key, his pockets jingling like a miniature orchestra. Every step he took radiated smugness.

“Coins, free food, respect,” he muttered. “Truly, money is the language of the gods.”

“Incorrect,” I said, hovering nearby. “The language of the gods is boredom and bad decisions. Which, come to think of it, you’re fluent in.”

Kael ignored me — as usual. His eyes darted between stalls, scanning not for food or supplies, but for margins. Rotten fruit? Discount cider? Goat wool? If it could be flipped for profit, he wanted it.

That’s when he overheard them.

Two cloaked men stood in a shadowy corner near the butcher’s stall, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.

“…rare, priceless… only fools would pass this up.”

“…dangerous to carry… we must unload it quickly.”

“…dragon egg.”

Kael froze mid-step. His grin widened. Slowly, like a predator sniffing blood, he slinked closer.

“Dragon egg,” he whispered, savoring the words. “Oh-ho-ho… jackpot.”

I groaned. “No. Absolutely not. Kael, listen to me: dragons are not cabbages. You don’t buy one, toss it in a cart, and sell it at a markup.”

But he was already fantasizing. “Dragon omelets. Dragon leather boots. Dragon taxi service. Oh, the margins…”

The cloaked men stiffened when he approached. “What do you want?” one growled.

Kael pressed a hand to his chest, all innocence. “Me? Nothing. Just happened to overhear that you fine gentlemen are in possession of… an opportunity.”

The taller one narrowed his eyes. “You mean a curse.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Kael said breezily. “Why don’t we sit down and discuss a fair price? Fair for me, I mean.”

I buried my face in my hands. Mortals beg me for strength, wisdom, love. This one? He begs for bulk discounts on doomsday reptiles.

The cloaked men led Kael into a back alley, glancing around nervously. From beneath their ragged cloaks, they produced a large, leathery, mottled egg, pulsing faintly with heat.

It was the size of a barrel, etched with faint glowing veins. Even I, who once watched dragons flatten cities, felt a shiver at the sight.

Kael? He licked his lips like he was looking at a roast chicken.

“Magnificent,” he whispered. “How many omelets could this make? Fifty? Sixty? If I charge per slice…”

“Sir,” one of the men snapped. “Do you know what this is? This egg is cursed! Guarded by death! A burden that—”

“—sounds like a liability,” Kael cut in smoothly. “But I’m feeling generous. I’ll take it off your hands for… five copper.”

The men stared. “Five… copper?”

Kael jingled his pocket. The sound of heavy silver and even a gold or two rang out. His smile didn’t budge. “I’m practically robbing myself here, lads.”

That’s when the glowing blue box appeared in his vision.

[System Quest: Kick a pebble.]

Reward: Negotiation Mastery Lv. MAX]

Kael blinked. “Huh?”

He casually nudged a pebble with his boot.

[Quest Complete. Reward Granted.]

[New Passive: Any negotiation attempt will result in the user always gaining maximum advantage.]

Kael’s grin spread like wildfire. He turned back to the traders, eyes gleaming. “On second thought, gentlemen, perhaps five copper is too generous. Why don’t we make it… one copper.”

The taller man’s mouth worked soundlessly. His partner, sweating, whispered, “For some reason… I feel like that’s… fair?”

“Fair,” the tall one echoed numbly.

And just like that, Kael handed over a single battered coin and cradled a dragon egg worth entire kingdoms in his arms.

I rubbed my temples. “Congratulations, Kael. You’ve officially broken capitalism. And possibly the laws of common sense.”

He kissed the egg like it was a newborn. “Shh, daddy’s little investment. Soon you’ll be making papa so much money.

Kael strutted out of the alley with the egg tucked under his arms like it was a loaf of bread. He beamed at every villager he passed, waiting for them to notice his brilliance.

And then, of course, the System chimed in again.

[Passive Buff: Any item acquired by user activates at 500% normal speed.]

The egg shuddered.

Kael froze. “…Wait.”

Cracks spiderwebbed across the leathery shell. A faint peep echoed from inside.

“No, no, no, not yet!” Kael hissed, clutching it tighter. “I haven’t drawn up the business plan! I haven’t trademarked the brand!”

With a wet crunch, the egg split apart. A puff of smoke and heat burst out, villagers screamed, and Kael fell on his back, clutching the squirming thing that crawled free.

What emerged was… not exactly a majestic wyrm.

It was round. Fluffy. Its scales looked more like soft down feathers. It had stubby wings, oversized eyes, and when it opened its tiny mouth, the noise it made was—

“Bok.”

The crowd blinked.

Kael blinked.

I howled with laughter. “Oh, this is rich. The mighty dragon of legend, scourge of gods, born anew as… poultry.”

The creature wobbled forward, tripped over its own claws, then promptly climbed into Kael’s lap. Its huge eyes sparkled as it let out another proud, squeaky:

“Bok.”

A golden glow appeared above it:

[System Notification: Congratulations! The Dragon Hatchling has imprinted on you. It now considers you its parent.]

Kael’s face went through about eight expressions in five seconds — shock, horror, greed, and finally, unholy joy.

“My child,” he whispered, hugging it tightly. “My beautiful, marketable child.”

The villagers fell to their knees, gasping.

“A dragon!”

“It chose him!”

“Saint Kael commands beasts of legend!”

Kael lifted the hatchling high into the air, grinning ear to ear. “Yes, yes! Witness this miracle! And soon—” he whispered only to himself, “—witness the merchandising.

Kael set the hatchling on the ground—but not too far. It waddled back immediately, bumping into his shin, chirping “Bok!” with uncontainable enthusiasm.

“Ah, yes,” Kael whispered, eyes gleaming. “You’re perfect. Perfectly… profitable.”

He knelt, circling the creature like a general inspecting a new recruit. “We’ll start small. Dragon eggs, dragon rides, dragon-powered plows… oh! Dragon insurance! Every hatchling guaranteed to… uh… not burn your house down. Premium rates apply.”

The villagers stared, some awestruck, some utterly confused. One brave man raised a hand. “Um… that’s… a chicken?”

Kael waved him off with a dramatic flourish. “Do not be fooled! This is the progeny of legends! Witness the scales, the… uh… fluff! The aura of imminent… ferocity!”

The hatchling tripped over its own stubby legs and faceplanted. It let out a triumphant, high-pitched: “Bok!”

Kael leaned close, whispering, “Fear not, little one. In time, you’ll be terrifying. But first… merchandising.” He pulled out a small pouch and scribbled a quick list:

• Dragon Hat Sale

• Baby Dragon Pet Rental

• Dragon Egg Lottery (limited supply!)

• Miracle Hatchling Water (optional add-on)

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my divine goblet. “Eryndor, rejoice! Your legendary dragon terror is now… a walking, squeaky cash machine. Mortals will worship him. Merchants will envy him. And Kael… well, he’s officially turned godhood into a business plan.”

Kael looked up, grinning like a wolf who’d just found a flock of sheep with wallets. “Yes. Soon, every village, every town, every kingdom will know the glory of… Kael’s Dragon Emporium!”

The hatchling flopped over, landing on its back, wings flailing. “Bok!”

Kael picked it up, hugging it like a furry, feathered stock certificate. “Exactly. Enthusiasm! You understand, my child. We are… destined for profit.”

I leaned back, shaking my head. “Destined for profit, indeed. Eryndor’s mightiest dragon, chosen by fate… and all it does is squeak. Congratulations, Kael. You’ve made history—absurd, hilarious, and mercilessly greedy history.”

⸻

End of Chapter 3.