The smell of blood still clung to the hall’s timber walls.
Morning broke grey and cold over Greywater Hollow. Smoke rose lazily from torches long since spent. The wooden floor of the meeting hall was slick with half-dried crimson. Someone had thrown open the shutters, letting pale mountain light fall across the wounded and the dead.
Karl stood in silence.
They had won.
But the cost was still bleeding.
Of the players, four could stand. The fifth—brave or stupid, it no longer mattered—lay sprawled on a cot made of benches and jackets. A deep gash had torn through his lower back. He couldn’t feel his legs. His hands kept trembling.
The others looked helpless. Even the old soldier.
Karl turned away from them, clenched his fists, and triggered the Star Key.
> [Star Key Interface – Accessing...]
> [New Feature Unlocked: Star Key Market]
> [Trade Currency: Gold / Silver / Copper]
A flickering screen of deep blue opened in the corner of his vision. No frills. No graphics. Just options:
- [Regeneration Draft (Low)] – 1.5g Gold
- [Crude Medical Kit] – 2g Silver
- [Nutrient Gel] – 5g Copper
- [Antiseptic Powder] – 1g Silver
He stared at the first one. The injured player wheezed on the cot behind him.
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Karl reached for the draft—but stopped. The system hovered a faint warning:
> [Insufficient Materials]
> [Manual Override: Requires Transaction Trigger]
Of course.
He couldn’t just summon it. Not for free. It had to come from somewhere. From value. From the world.
Karl turned slowly back toward the group of players, who were now checking on their wounded comrade.
He cleared his throat.
“I’ve got… access,” he said carefully, slipping into an NPC-like cadence. “A way to get healing supplies. It’s… expensive. Needs trade. Gold. Silver. Copper. Precious metals.”
That got their attention.
“Like—actual loot?” the researcher asked, eyes lighting up.
“You’re telling me we can buy potions?” said the pervert, already half-grinning. “Dude. Where’s the store?”
Karl shrugged. “Don’t ask too many questions. Just bring me what you find.”
The players exchanged glances. No further convincing needed.
Moments later, they fanned out into the village square and the battlefield just beyond. They searched pockets, saddlebags, boots. Corpses gave up what they had: rings, earrings, engraved buckles. The old soldier brought in a dented silver brooch. Another player found a tiny pouch with three imperial silver coins.
Within ten minutes, they had a small pile of mismatched treasure stacked in front of Karl.
“Take it,” the adrenaline junkie said, nodding toward their fallen comrade. “He needs it.”
Karl nodded.
He turned away from view, flicked open the Star Key again, and selected the draft.
Blue light pulsed. A glass vial shimmered into his hand—cold, glowing faintly from within.
He returned to the cot, knelt, and tipped the injured player’s head up.
“Drink this.”
The man did, shakily. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his eyes widened.
“I can feel my fingers,” he whispered.
A few seconds more, and he flexed his toes.
> [Regeneration Draft (Low) – Consumed]
> [Damage Stabilized – Link Sustained]
> [Pain Suppression: Partial]
The group let out a collective breath. The pervert fist-pumped. “It works!”
“Holy shit,” said the student. “We’ve got a real shopkeeper.”
---
Tanir stood watching them from across the square, near the stables. His crew had just finished corralling the eleven captured mountain horses. Short, thick-legged, sure-footed beasts built for rough terrain. They pawed nervously at the ground, but didn’t bolt.
He caught Karl’s eye. “Your people are strange,” he said.
Karl didn’t answer.
Tanir pointed at the wounded player now sitting upright. “But useful.”
Then he added, more quietly, “Don’t let them flash those tricks around me or mine. Not yet.”
Karl nodded once. Understood.
For now, the secret stayed between them and the stars.
