Chapter 4: Copper Calculations

The morning air was cool enough to sting his lungs, each breath a misty cloud in the pale half-light. Arjun tightened the straps on his battered delivery cart, checking the worn wheels and patched planks with the care of a man who could not afford another repair. His fingers were stiff with cold, but his mind was already working. Numbers flickered in the Dominic System’s business module, yesterday’s income tallied neatly: 120 copper coins earned, 98 spent. Food, cart grease, Anaya’s medicine—always more going out than coming in.

He closed his eyes, steadying himself. Every coin mattered. Every delivery counted.

By the time he reached the market, the day had already ignited. The smell of frying oil and spiced bread clung to the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh-forged tools. Merchants shouted over one another, their voices sharp with competition. Banners snapped in the breeze above colorful stalls, while porters wove through the crowd, carts groaning under heavy loads.

And then came Vikram.

Burly, thick-necked, and loud as a forge hammer, he barreled down the lane, scattering customers like pigeons. His cart gleamed with fresh paint, the wheels smooth, the planks reinforced with iron.

“Make way!” Vikram bellowed, his voice booming over the din. He hefted a sack of grain with one hand, tossing it onto his cart as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. Two merchants clapped him on the back, laughter echoing at his boasts.

Arjun watched, jaw tight. Vikram’s routes earned him nearly 180 copper coins a day, brute strength and bravado clearing obstacles Arjun could only maneuver around.

And then there was Dinesh.

Sleek as a fox, always grinning, his silver tongue danced like a blade. He leaned over a stall, coaxing a baker into shaving off her delivery fee, then winked at a cloth merchant until she offered him extra bread for the road. His cart rattled away piled with goods, the merchant’s smile betraying the fact she’d given away more than she’d earned.

“Can’t blame me for being charming, eh?” Dinesh called out as he passed Arjun, tossing a coin in the air before catching it with a flourish. His daily haul hovered around 150 copper coins, and he made sure everyone knew it.

Arjun gripped his cart handle tighter and pushed into the throng. His own contracts were the scraps—small deliveries from back-alley vendors, overlooked jobs others thought beneath them. A sack of kindling. A basket of salted fish. A bundle of cloth tied with fraying string.

He earned his copper the hard way, coin by coin, while merchants haggled him down until his profit was a whisper, or handed over false promises of payment “tomorrow.” Once, a boy had run off mid-transaction, leaving him a copper short. Another time, a drunken customer insisted he’d already paid. Each loss stung like a cut, small but unrelenting.

By noon, sweat soaked Arjun’s tunic. His arms ached from pushing the cart through the crowd, his throat dry from shouting above the noise. But when he ducked into a shaded corner, he pulled out the Dominic System’s pendant and logged every coin. The numbers aligned neatly in rows, margins shrinking and expanding under his gaze. Whatever chaos the market threw at him, the System brought order.

Slowly, across weeks, that order grew. His savings nudged up, copper by copper, until today the number glowed back at him: 1,500 copper coins. A fragile life raft in a sea that constantly tried to drown him.

The orb pulsed. A new message unfolded before his eyes:

New Feature Unlocked – Advanced Budget Planner.

The columns in his ledger shifted, sprouting formulas and projections. Now he could test routes, model supply costs, and even set savings goals. Arjun’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Every tool mattered. Every edge counted.

And then, another notification slid across his vision, its glow sharper, its words heavier:

Rare Technique Available – Fundamental Heart Pulse Method.

Cost: 1,200 Copper Coins.

Arjun’s pulse quickened. A rare technique—his chance to step beyond Fighter Level 2. Not raw strength, but something subtler, deeper: a method to anchor cultivation in the rhythm of the body itself.

He ran the numbers with trembling fingers. If he bought it, he would have 300 copper left. Enough for bread, oil, and medicine for a week—no more. If work slowed, if thieves struck again, if a merchant refused to pay—he and Anaya could be ruined.

His vision swam between two columns: the numbers that promised survival, and the glowing words that promised power. His heart thudded in his chest, heavy as a drumbeat.

You cannot protect her with copper alone, a voice in him whispered. Strength is also security.

His finger hovered over the confirmation. He drew one long breath, steady and deliberate, then pressed.

The coins vanished from his ledger.

And then the knowledge struck.

A thousand threads of sensation exploded in his chest, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. The pulse echoed through his veins, each beat sending a tremor of energy down his arms, into his fingers, back into his lungs. For a moment he thought his body might tear apart from within—but then, the rhythm steadied. His heart synced with something deeper, an ancient cadence of energy moving with breath, blood, and will.

Arjun gasped, chest rising and falling, sweat rolling down his temples. But beneath the exhaustion, clarity burned bright. His body was no longer resisting the energy—it was listening to it.

When he returned to the market that afternoon, Vikram was still shouting, Dinesh still smiling. But Arjun’s gaze no longer lingered on their profits. His cart might still creak, his earnings might still pale, but within him, something had shifted. Where their strength and charm carried them forward, his patience was weaving a foundation none of them could see.

That evening, under the glow of a flickering candle, he studied the Heart Pulse Method. Each breath he drew aligned with the subtle thrum in his chest, each beat a reminder of what discipline could achieve. His copper was nearly gone, but his path was richer than ever.

He glanced at Anaya, curled beneath her blanket, and tightened his resolve. Copper bought bread. Calculations bought time. But what he had purchased tonight—patience, rhythm, control—would buy a future.

And one day, even Vikram’s strength and Dinesh’s silver tongue would falter before the quiet weight of discipline.

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