SSS Ranked Merchant: Rebuilding a Broken Kingdom With Unlimited Wealth-Chapter 18: Magic Crafting

Every now and then, Lyrasia found herself meandering back to the same fruit stall, like a moth to a particularly overpriced flame.

"Back again, little miss?" the fruit vendor asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"No, I'm just... passing by." She totally wasn't. She had done this so many times she was practically a decoration in the marketplace.

As usual, the stall was stocked with apples and pears, but only twice a week. Not once had she seen it open outside those two days. And strangely, she noticed that while grains and vegetables practically flooded the village, fruits were as rare as a well-behaved chicken.

"Ten apples for a sack of potatoes?!" an old man barked at the vendor.

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"Sir, these are luxury apples. Grown with love, harvested with care, and—"

"Rotting at the edges."

"That just means they're vintage."

From afar, she had started observing patterns how certain items were always scarce, while others piled up like no one wanted them. It felt controlled.

Someone was intentionally managing the supply in this village.

But who? And more importantly—why?

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[NINTH MISSION: Market Mystery]

[Objective: Something's fishy in the village market—fruits are rare, grains are piling up, and prices are acting like they have a mind of their own. Someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes. Investigate and find out. Failure will result in penalties...]

[Reward: +500 Experience Points]

[Time Limit: 5 days]

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'Experience points, huh? So it seems the real stuff is about to begin.'

Lyrasia sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of her family's small home, her tiny hands hovering over an assortment of materials - her latest attempt at Magic Crafting.

A small wisp of mana fizzled in the air, flickering uncertainly like a candle in the wind.

She squinted. "Alright, round three. Let's not explode this time."

Unlike other games where spells were just fancy animations and cooldown timers, Merlysian Realms gave players the ability to shape magic however they wanted.

But that freedom came with the unforgiving complexity of Magic Crafting—the game's core gameplay magic mechanic.

It wasn't just about throwing fireballs or summoning storms; it was about designing how those fireballs formed, what fuel they used, and how they interacted with the world.

Magic wasn't cast, it was built.

Lyrasia waved her hand, shaping a simple energy sphere.

She willed it to harden like glass, molding its structure in her mind. "Alright, if I get this right, I should have a stable mana orb. If I get it wrong, I should have a smoking crater where my face used to be."

She gently tapped the floating orb. It wobbled but held.

"Ha! Who's the genius? Me! Who's the greatest magic engineer in this world? Also me!"

Then, it popped like a soap bubble.

A slight poof of harmless smoke puffed into her face.

She coughed. "Okay, minor setback. A mere stumble on the grand staircase of magical innovation."

She rechecked the imaginary blueprints in her mind. The issue? Mana density. She'd compressed too much, too fast, without stabilizing the structure.

"Alright, new plan: Slow and steady. Like baking bread, but instead of a loaf, it's raw energy."

The next attempt resulted in a floating, glowing mana core. This was just step one, soon, she'd shape it into something useful for her upcoming investigation.

If the village had mysterious market manipulations, she needed magical market solutions.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

She froze. The sigil fizzled out in a small puff of golden light.

"Who in the—"

Before she could even finish, the door swung open with all the grace of an invading army. There, standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, was Meila.

"Checking on you, kid," she said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. Her sharp eyes scanned the room like she was expecting to find Lyrasia lying half-dead on the floor.

"I'm fine," Lyrasia muttered, dusting off the soot from her last failed experiment. "Not that I needed a babysitter."

"Right. Because I totally believe you won't blow yourself up one day," Meila shot back, arms crossed.

She wandered around the small house, picking up objects, inspecting them, and making herself at home—because of course, she would.

Then, her gaze landed on something.

Her expression darkened.

Lyrasia followed her gaze and blinked. Oh.

Right.

On the table sat a small, neatly wrapped package—a bundle of fruit that had been gifted to her earlier that day by a certain nice young man who had helped her carry apples home.

"Who gave you this?" Meila asked, her voice unnaturally calm.

"Just some guy—"

BAM.

The package was slammed onto the table.

"Some guy?" Meila echoed, her voice dangerously smooth.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I don't like the idea of some random guy bringing you gifts."

"Why?"

"I just think it's suspicious. What if he poisoned these?" She picked up a fruit and turned it over in her hand. "Maybe I should eat one just to test it—"

Lyrasia yanked it back. "Nice try."

"Fine, fine. I'll let you keep your stupid apples. But I'm watching you, kid." She tilted her head, shooting a glance at Lyrasia. "And if another guy sends you gifts, I better be the first to know. Got it?"

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Her head turned to the door. And in walked Ruan.

Smug. Elegant. With that annoyingly cool and collected aura that made her look like she owned the place—even when she clearly didn't.

"Lyrasia," Ruan greeted, her voice as smooth as silk. "I came to check on you."

She took another step forward. Then another. Then she stopped.

Her sharp gaze landed on Meila, who was now lounging on the bed like a spoiled cat, golden eyes lazily meeting her own.

Meila stretched, her smirk widening just a little. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes. It's me."

Oh. Oh no.

The air in the room shifted. It was subtle at first, like a light drizzle before a full-blown storm. But it got worse. The temperature drop—not literally, but metaphorically.

"So, Ruan," she drawled, voice dripping with sweet venom, "what exactly brings you here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing? Why are you in my little sister's room?"

"Well, unlike some people, I actually care if this kid sets herself on fire."

"Excuse me?"

"I care," Ruan said smoothly, gaze locked on Meila. "More than you, apparently."

Meila's eye twitched. The audacity.

"You're just mad because I got here first."

"And you're jealous of me."

"Of you? Please."

Lyrasia, meanwhile, sat there, her soul slowly leaving her body. 'Why is my life like this?'

The two continued their silent battle of the eyes, a war of smirks and raised eyebrows. It was a duel without weapons, but the casual destruction in the air was just as dangerous.

Finally—

"Okay, both of you, shut up."

Silence.

They both turned to Lyrasia.

"Rude," Meila huffed.

"Unnecessary," Ruan added.

The young girl ignored them and got to the point. She explained everything, how the market was suspicious, how fruit vendors only sold twice a week, how village's supplies seemed controlled.

When she finished, Meila rubbed her chin. "So, basically... there's someone pulling the strings?"

Ruan nodded thoughtfully. "And you plan to investigate?"

"Of course."

"I'm coming with you," Meila declared.

Ruan immediately straightened. "So am I."

They turned to glare at each other.

'Here we go again.'

"Why are you coming?"

"Why are you coming?"

"I asked first."

"And I answered with another question. That's how power works."

"That's how annoying people work."

The young girl pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, fine, both of you can come. Just stop flirting in my house."

Silence.

"Flirting?! As if!"