Chapter 2: Talents and Trades

The sun climbed over Surat like a molten coin, bathing the city in golden heat on October 25, 1608, the day after Jai Vora’s market victory. The streets thrummed with life: oxcarts groaned under sacks of cardamom and indigo, hawkers’ cries sliced through the air like sharp notes, and the distant clang of blacksmiths’ hammers rang from workshops along the Tapti River’s muddy banks. The scent of roasted peanuts and jasmine garlands mingled with the salty tang of the port, where dhows and galleys bobbed like restless beasts. Eight-year-old Jai bounded out of his family’s tiled-roof home, the aroma of his mother Leela’s fresh chapatis still clinging to his cotton kurta. His stats glowed in his mind’s eye, a gift from the Emperor System:

Power=3

Stamina=3

Agility=3

Charm=7

Luck=10

Endurance=10

Health=10

Perception=10

Wisdom=100

The system’s AI-spirit voice crackled with eager mischief, buoyed by Jai’s recent vow not to ignore it. “Morning, Jai! Day one of our Britisher-roasting saga. Task reminder: Recruit 10 followers with a stat above 12 and loyalty above 40%. Progress: 4/10. Suggestion: Scour the city—your Ability Detector’s like a bloodhound for talent. Don’t flake on me again, yeah?”

Jai grinned, stretching on the courtyard’s stone steps. “Chill, system, I’m locked in. Scout’s honor, no ghosting today. Time to hunt some MVPs for Team Vora.” As Vihaan Roy, a 28-year-old trade mogul in 2025 India, he’d burned out chasing profits, his love for history buried under spreadsheets. A car crash had ended that life, his dying wish to live fully now fueling Jai’s every move. Reborn in Surat, he’d spent eight years savoring childhood—racing kites with his best friend Vikram (Agility=13, Loyalty=80), sneaking laddoos from Leela’s kitchen, and dazzling customers at his father Anil’s spice stall. Yesterday’s haggle had earned Anil’s awe and 85 rupees, but the Hector’s arrival—the East India Company’s (EIC) first step—had lit a fire in Jai. Those tea-slurping invaders wouldn’t ruin his second chance.

Over breakfast, Anil beamed at Jai, still glowing from the market win. “Exploring today, genius?” he asked, tossing him three copper coins. Leela added, “Stay out of trouble, beta.” Jai winked. “Trouble? Me? I’m just hunting helpers for the stall, Ma.” Anil chuckled, but his eyes held a flicker of hope—his son was a prodigy, maybe the key to their family’s rise.

Jai hit Surat’s streets, Ability Detector - Level 1 humming like a sixth sense. The city was a mosaic of opportunity: Arab sailors haggled over pearls at the docks, their Endurance=12 glinting under the sun; Gujarati weavers spun cotton in shaded alleys, their Agility=10 nimble but bound to guilds; Mughal guards (Power=20, Loyalty=80 to Emperor Jahangir) patrolled with curved talwars, untouchable for recruitment. The system chimed: “Check that carpenter by the bazar—Endurance=15, but he’s loyal to his shopmaster. Poaching’s a no-go.” Jai sighed, spotting a young scribe at a bookstall, quill dancing over ledgers (Wisdom=14, Loyalty=40 to his mentor). Tempting, but a poach would spark a feud—Surat’s traders were as prickly as porcupines. Next, a street acrobat cartwheeled through a crowd (Agility=16, Loyalty=70 to her troupe), her flips dazzling but her family ties unbreakable. “System,” Jai muttered, kicking a pebble, “this is harder than outsmarting that mustache-walrus yesterday. Talent’s everywhere, but it’s like they’re chained by invisible ropes.”

“Patience, Jai. Talent’s like a rare spice—takes time to find the good stuff. Keep scanning; opportunity’s a sneaky monsoon thunder.”

By mid-afternoon, Jai’s sandals were dusty, his kurta damp with sweat. He wandered to the city’s outskirts, where traveling merchants camped in a riot of color—tents striped like festival kites, camels chewing cud with lazy arrogance. A sharp voice cut through the din: a rich merchant in embroidered robes, his turban heavy with gems, berated two young men unloading spice crates. The boys, 16 and 15, were half-African, half-Indian, their skin like polished teak, muscles rippling under tattered tunics. Their eyes held quiet defiance, but their shoulders sagged under the merchant’s tirade. “Useless dogs!” he snapped to a fellow trader, a wiry man with a sly grin. “Bought these two cheap in Bombay, thinking they’d be sharp aides for my dealings—accounts, errands, you know. But they’re dumber than oxen! Can’t tally a single rupee right. Should’ve left them in the slave market.”

Jai’s Ability Detector flared, stats glowing like lanterns:

First boy (16):

Power=25

Stamina=17

Endurance=13

Health=10

Agility=6

Wisdom=1

Blacksmithing=14

Loyalty=-15

to merchant.

Second boy (15):

Power=24

Stamina=15

Endurance=11

Health=19

Wisdom=2

Agility=5

Bladework=16

Loyalty=-10

to merchant.

Jai’s heart raced. Jackpot! Low Wisdom, sure, but those power stats? Absolute beasts. And Blacksmithing=14? Bladework=16? These guys could forge swords or guard caravans like legends. “System, we’ve struck gold. Train their Wisdom a bit, and they’re perfect for Team Vora.”

“Gold indeed, but they’re enslaved. Tricky terrain. Your Charm=7 and Wisdom=100 can work magic, but don’t botch this—merchant’s got a sharp nose.”

Jai scanned the merchant:

Wisdom=12

Smart Trader ability=18

Ambition=15

Loyalty=0

A shrewd operator, not some dimwit to be fleeced. Jai adjusted his stance, shrinking his eight-year-old frame to seem harmless, eyes wide with feigned curiosity. “Uncle,” he called, voice dripping with Charm, “those boys causing you grief? If they’re such a burden, why not sell them? Lighten your caravan—more room for profits.”

The merchant turned, his mustache twitching like a wary cat’s whiskers. “What’s a runt like you know about trade? These two are mine to do with as I please. I’m gifting them to the local Mughal official—get me trade permits, maybe a tax break. Smart, eh?”

Jai tilted his head, Wisdom=100 spinning a web of logic. “Smart, sure, but risky. Gift them to an official, and what happens when they fumble? Drop a silver tray during a banquet, misplace a ledger? That official’s wrath lands on you. Sell them to someone who needs muscle—like for a shop or farm. Clean deal, no headaches.” His Charm made the words glide like honey, and nearby traders nodded, drawn to the kid’s audacity.

The merchant stroked his beard, eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a point, boy. But they’re strong—worth 10 silver each, minimum. Good for labor, even if their heads are empty.”

Jai’s pulse quickened, but he feigned a scoff, turning to walk away. “Ten? That’s robbery with extra masala. Five a piece—five times their worth for slow brains. Think it over, uncle.” He took three deliberate steps, heart thumping, Wisdom=100 betting on the merchant’s greed. The system whispered: “Bold move. He’s hooked—don’t flinch.”

“Wait!” the merchant barked, voice tinged with reluctant defeat. “Five each. But hurry—I leave at dusk.”

Jai spun, hiding a triumphant grin. “Deal.” He sprinted home, dodging carts and kids, his kurta flapping like a kite. Anil was at the stall, counting rupees. “Papa, I need 10 silver—found two strong helpers, enslaved, but I’ll treat them right.” Anil’s brow furrowed, his hands pausing over the coins. “Slaves, Jai? We don’t own people. Our servants—Ravi, Meera, old Gopal—they’re family, paid fair, not bound.”

Jai met his father’s gaze, soft but firm. “Trust me, Papa. They’re suffering with that merchant. I’ll make them family, too—paid, fed, free in all but name. They’ll help us soar.” Anil sighed, pride warring with unease, and handed over the silver. “You’re too clever, son. But they’re people, not tools.”

Jai returned to the camp, coins clinking in his pouch. The merchant counted them twice, smirking as if he’d won, then handed over Kofi (16, Strength=25, Blacksmithing=14) and Amir (15, Strength=24, Bladework=16). The boys followed Jai, heads bowed, their tattered clothes stark against the merchant’s silk. At a quiet alley near the river, Jai stopped, his small frame radiating warmth. “Listen up, Kofi, Amir. You’re not slaves anymore. You’ll work for my family—paid wages, good food, a bed in our home. Help us, and we’re square. Deal?”

Kofi’s eyes, dark and wary, widened. “No master’s ever spoken like this,” he said, voice rough. Amir nodded, throat tight. “We’ll serve you true, young lord.” Tears glistened, and the system chimed: Loyalty shot to 50% for both. Progress: 6/10. Their skills—Blacksmithing and Bladework—will shine with training. Suggestion: Assign them tasks to boost Wisdom. Jai grinned, his modern slang bubbling internally: Team Vora just got two tanks. Britishers, you’re toast.

As they walked home, the Hector’s sails loomed at the docks, a reminder of Jai’s ultimate task: sabotage the EIC within 40 years. “Kofi, Amir,” he said, “stick with me, and we’ll make those invaders wish they’d stayed across the sea.”

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