Chapter 4: The Saint Opens a Shop

The next morning, Kael stood in the village square, arms crossed, chest puffed out, hatchling perched proudly on his shoulder. Villagers gathered nervously, still whispering “Saint Kael” like he was a walking hymn.

He clapped his hands. “Attention, loyal flock! Today marks the grand opening of history’s first miracle merchant shop: Kael’s Dragon Emporium!”

“Er… what’s an emporium?” one farmer whispered.

“A temple of commerce,” Kael declared, gesturing as if unveiling a sacred altar. “And as your saintly provider of miracles, I will graciously allow you to build it for me. Materials, labor, snacks—donations, of course.”

The villagers blinked. One finally stammered, “You… want us to build you a stall?”

“A stall?!” Kael gasped, horrified. “My friends, this is not a stall. This is a divine sanctuary of trade! A monument to the sacred bond between buyer and seller!” He paused, lowering his voice. “Also, yes. Build me a stall.”

To my eternal amusement, they actually did it. By noon, half the town was hauling planks, hammering nails, and stringing banners. Some painted little dragon doodles because Kael insisted “branding matters.”

I floated above, sipping my drink, chuckling. “Ah, yes. Mortals once raised temples for gods, monuments for heroes, fortresses for kings. And now? They’re hammering together a lemonade stand for a scam artist with poultry.”

Kael stood in the middle of the chaos, arms spread like a benevolent ruler. “Faster, my children! Every moment we delay is a coin not spent, a miracle not purchased!”

The hatchling puffed up proudly on his shoulder, chirping: “Bok!”

“See?” Kael said, pointing at it. “Even my heir agrees. Chop chop!”

And to my utter disbelief, they chopped.

By sunset, the “emporium” was ready. Well… it was a glorified wooden stall with a crooked roof, but Kael beamed at it like it was a palace.

A big hand-painted sign hung over the front:

Saint Kael’s Miracle & Dragon Goods

(No Refunds. Ever.)

The villagers gathered as Kael strutted out with a basket tucked under his arm. The hatchling sat on the counter like an adorable mascot, squeaking “Bok!” every few seconds, which only made the crowd swoon harder.

“Welcome, welcome!” Kael spread his arms. “Today, you are blessed to witness the dawn of a new age in commerce! Behold—my exclusive line of miracle products!”

He reached into the basket and pulled out… a strip of dirty cloth.

“Kael-Brand Healing Bandages!” he announced proudly. “Guaranteed to heal wounds instantly. Only two silver each!”

The crowd murmured skeptically—until Kael dramatically cut his own finger with a knife, wrapped the bandage around it, and pulled it off to reveal smooth, unbroken skin. The System had already popped up in his vision:

[Passive Buff: Any product sold by user gains minor healing properties.]

The villagers gasped, falling over themselves to shove coins at him.

Kael smirked, pocketing silver. “Ah, but that’s not all!” He yanked out a half-burnt candle.

“Dragon’s Breath Candles! Infused with legendary flame, they’ll warm your homes, cure colds, and drive away evil spirits. Three silver!”

He lit one. It sputtered weakly, filling the air with smoke. A coughing farmer muttered, “Smells like… wet hay.” But then his nose stopped running.

Another cheer, more coins.

Kael slammed a teacup on the counter next. Inside floated a single blade of grass.

“And finally, the pinnacle of my craft—Miracle Grass Tea! A sip will restore energy, soothe pain, and maybe extend your lifespan. Five silver a cup, bulk discount not available.”

The villagers stared at the steaming cup, mesmerized, as if Kael had just conjured elixirs of immortality. When the blacksmith drank it and suddenly stopped complaining about his back pain, the crowd roared with applause.

Kael raised both arms high. “Yes! Miracles! Brought to you by yours truly, humble servant of fate—and modest merchant extraordinaire!”

The hatchling puffed up proudly beside him, squeaking again. “Bok!”

And I, watching from above, just laughed. “Miracles, huh? He’s selling garbage, and it works. Truly, Kael, you’re the only man alive who could look at divinity and say: ‘Can I put a price tag on this?’

The square erupted into madness. Villagers shoved and jostled each other, silver coins flashing in the firelight as they fought to throw money at Kael’s counter.

“I’ll take three candles!”

“Five bandages!”

“Give me two cups of that tea—my mother-in-law is visiting!”

Kael’s smile widened with every transaction. His pouch was already sagging with silver, yet his eyes glittered like twin gold coins.

“Ah, my friends, please—patience, patience!” he called, holding up a calming hand like a benevolent saint. “There is enough miracle for everyone. But of course, demand has exceeded supply, so… modest price adjustment!”

He raised his finger like a priest delivering gospel. “Bandages: now four silver. Candles: six. Tea… fifteen. It’s the will of the market.”

The villagers gasped. One farmer stammered, “But, Saint Kael, you said five—”

“Would you deny your sickly grandmother her cure for one tiny silver coin?” Kael asked, eyes wide with innocent outrage. “Would you place wealth above her health? Truly, my friend, you break my heart.”

The farmer immediately caved, fumbling for coins. “No, no! Here! Take it!”

Kael clapped him on the shoulder, smile radiant. “A wise and generous man. Truly, Eryndor prospers because of such noble souls.”

More hands reached forward, more coins clinked, more silver vanished into Kael’s pouch. The hatchling, inspired by the frenzy, puffed its tiny chest, spreading stubby wings and squeaking: “Bok! Bok!”

The crowd swooned. “Even the holy dragon approves!”

“Bok be praised!”

Kael nearly doubled over from laughter, but he caught himself, straightened, and declared solemnly, “Yes, indeed. Bok be praised.”

From above, I could barely breathe from laughing. “Bok be praised?! They’ve turned poultry noises into scripture. Kael, you’ve created a cult by accident. And somehow… you’re going to sell them tithes next, aren’t you?”

Kael didn’t answer. He was too busy scribbling ‘Dragon Blessing Donations – Suggested Minimum: 20 silver’ onto a fresh sign.

By nightfall, the village square looked less like a market and more like a holy festival. Candles flickered in windows, villagers clutched bandages like sacred relics, and steaming cups of Miracle Grass Tea passed from hand to trembling hand.

At the center stood Kael, one boot on his stall like a conquering hero, pouch heavy with silver, hatchling perched on his arm. The crowd chanted around him:

“Saint Kael! Saint Kael!”

The hatchling flapped its stubby wings, squeaking proudly: “Bok!”

“Bok be praised!” the villagers cried in unison.

Kael raised his arms, smiling like a prophet. “Yes, my children! Through commerce we shall achieve salvation! Through trade we shall find unity! And through… reasonable price adjustments, prosperity for all!”

The villagers cheered as if he’d just parted the sea.

I leaned back in the heavens, rubbing my temples. “Unbelievable. He’s turned capitalism into a religion.”

Kael’s eyes glittered as he whispered to himself, “This… this is only the beginning.”

And that’s when I decided to cut in.

“People fight wars over power, Kael. They kill for land, crowns, and revenge. But you… you’ve made them line up to hand you their wallets voluntarily.”

He smirked, never looking up. “Why fight for power when you can sell it by the ounce?”

I sighed, chuckling. “Lesson one, my greedy little merchant: desire is endless. Give mortals one miracle, and they’ll beg for ten more. Feed desire, and it only grows hungrier.”

Kael grinned wider. “Exactly. Which is why I’ll never run out of customers.”

The hatchling squeaked again, flailing on his arm.

I drained my goblet, muttering, “Great. Eryndor’s future rests in the hands of a man who thinks enlightenment comes with a receipt.”

And so ended the birth of Saint Kael’s Dragon Emporium.

⸻

End of Chapter 4.

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