What is the essence of trade?

The answer was once carved by the Visaji people of the Wandering Continent onto the scales in Dennis, the most prosperous city of the White Horse Kingdom—value arises from scarcity, exchange ceases with satisfaction.

These merchants, renowned for their shrewdness as they traversed the mountains and deserts of Zeyarila, firmly believed that stripping away all the ornate rituals and hollow promises, trade boiled down to one naked truth—give and take, exchanging items that both sides need.

An old Visaji broker would squint his cloudy yet sharp eyes and tell you that the most successful transaction is when both parties feel they got the better deal—you obtained what you lacked, I obtained what I desired, and the scales of desire achieved a brief, delicate balance in that moment.

This principle holds true in human marketplaces, dwarven mines, and even the ethereal treetop halls of the elves.

Gold coins, grain, mithril, magic scrolls... needs may be diverse and strange, but ultimately they have form and substance, capable of being measured, valued, and placed on the trays of the scales.

So the question arises, when the trading partners are the elves of the dryad territory and the Glimmerlings, what could they possibly need?

This was the problem Chen Yu was pondering.

"Your Majesty, what do you think about those Moss Monsters?"

Just mentioning bugs made Minister Bran's saliva flow uncontrollably, dripping onto the red-hot slime's head with a sizzling evaporation sound.

"In this humble Count's opinion, these fragrant, soft bugs are the most precious goods in this world. Feeding Moss Monsters with mushrooms grown by Glimmerlings, then using them for trade, would absolutely be a guaranteed profitable venture," he declared with considerable certainty.

"Ahem..."

Chen Yu didn't want to shatter Minister Bran's beautiful dream, but he was quite certain the elves of the dryad territory wouldn't be interested in these weird-looking, wriggling bugs.

"Let's leave this question for Arthur to answer. He happens to be in the dryad territory and should know better than us what those elves and Glimmerlings need."

...

Backyard of Bloom's Farmhouse.

At this moment, Arthur was standing in a small, neatly cultivated forest plot behind the house, clumsily imitating Old Bloom's movements as he used a small wooden hoe to turn the moist black soil.

His movements were stiff, resembling using a knight's lance to plow the earth more than loosening soil, yet each downward stroke carried meticulous force, as if performing some sacred ritual.

Old Bloom watched from the side, the soulfire in his eye sockets carrying a hint of helpless amusement as he bent over to bury several glowing orange tubers into the soil.

Suddenly, Arthur's movements halted.

The small slime on his shoulder squirmed slightly, as if awakening from slumber, then quietly spoke some words.

Arthur immediately stopped his work.

"Your Majesty... Your meaning is for me to observe their lives?"

The little slime bounced gently on his shoulder armor, a tiny movement yet filled with affirmation.

"Exactly, Arthur. Look at these Glimmerlings, look at the elves, look at Bloom, even look at those trees... what do they need in their daily lives, what do they pursue."

"Only by understanding these things can we know what might move that Lady Viola to exchange for the grain our territory urgently needs now."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

Arthur's internal voice was solemn, as if receiving a military order concerning the kingdom's survival.

Old Bloom straightened his back, using his palm to pound his nonexistent lower back, emitting a sigh.

"Oof, these old bones of mine, time truly waits for no one..."

He lifted his gaze to Arthur, noticing the subtle movements of the slime on his shoulder, and asked curiously, "Mr. Arthur, is this... your lord has awakened?"

Arthur remained silent for several seconds.

He was never skilled with words, let alone lying or making excuses.

With His Majesty's silent permission of "you figure something out," he organized his thoughts and answered in his hoarse, earnest tone, "...Yes, His Majesty just had a nightmare."

"Pfft..."

From the nearby field ridge, a Glimmerling weaving a grass basket couldn't hold back, covering her small mouth as she chuckled secretly.

Old Bloom simply chuckled softly and didn't inquire further.

He looked up at the sky, where large patches of dark gray clouds had gathered from who knows when, and the forest light rapidly dimmed.

"Looking at this sky, I'm afraid we're in for quite a downpour. Forget it, forget it, let's stop here for today, finish early to avoid getting drenched... er, drenched bones."

The two gathered their simple farming tools and walked along the field ridge toward the farmhouse.

The pre-rain air carried the moist scent of earth, and the forest wind grew stronger.

After walking in silence for a while, Arthur suddenly spoke, "Mr. Bloom, normally... do humans enter Rootwhisper Forest?"

"Humans?" Old Bloom carried his hayfork with steady steps.

"How could there not be? Those adventure-loving folks and merchants sniffing out money trails everywhere are like groundhogs in the forest, burrowing into every corner."

"Especially some bold ones, setting out from that outpost ruins to the southeast, crossing that narrow, dangerous 'Rift Throat Canyon' on the outskirts of the Dark Realm, just to come running here."

"What do they come for?" Arthur pressed.

"Trade, of course."

Old Bloom's tone was relaxed, "The elves have excellent craftsmanship. The 'Elven Scrolls' they make using the forest's unique Starlight Grass and ancient tree sap are much more expensive than regular scrolls, but their enchantment effects are gentle and long-lasting. They're quite popular among human mages and noble circles, fetching high prices."

"Some merchants specifically come to purchase the grass baskets and vineware woven by Glimmerlings, calling it 'natural art' that can be sold as luxury goods in the cities."

"As for us, we use these things to exchange for what the forest lacks, like fine iron tools, long-lasting salt, durable fabrics, and sometimes we even get rare seeds or little trinkets."

Arthur's soulfire flickered slightly.

Salt... fabrics... this seemed like a direction.

Just as he wanted to ask what specific supplies the territory still lacked, or what foreign items the elves might be more interested in, sudden panicked voices came from ahead.

"Waaah—!"

"Uncle Bloom! Lady Eserin!"

"Up ahead... fighting up ahead! Lots of bones, and green skins!"

Several Glimmerlings ran over in panic from the direction of the forest edge, their amber eyes wide with fear, one even dropping her small basket.

Behind them, a squad of well-equipped elven rangers followed Eserin, who wore a grave expression, hurrying toward the same direction.

The elves moved swiftly and silently, but the tense atmosphere was obvious.

Old Bloom's expression instantly turned serious.

"Here we go again, Mr. Arthur. Want to know what we lack most here, what annoys us most? Come see for yourself and you'll understand."

Arthur immediately nodded, one hand protecting the small slime on his shoulder as he strode to follow Old Bloom.

Eserin seemed to sense their approach, glancing back with her eyes lingering on Arthur for a moment, but she didn't voice any objection.

The group quickly passed through the forest, arriving at the edge of Rootwhisper Forest near the direction of the Dark Realm.

The scene before them made Arthur halt his steps.

This area had clearly just experienced a brutal encounter. The ground was littered with numerous shattered, decaying bones, apparently left by some low-level skeleton warriors.

Mixed among them were numerous goblin corpses torn apart by sharp blades.

Broken weapons, shattered shields, and trampled poison grass traps were visible everywhere.

The elven rangers were cautiously clearing the battlefield, checking for any stragglers or residual magic.

Meanwhile, Eserin quickly walked toward several massive oak trees at the battlefield's edge that appeared particularly withered.

Their trunks were covered with deep gashes and charred burn marks, with several thick branches hanging limply.

Eserin gently placed her hand on the trunk of the most severely injured oak tree, chanting a melodious, soothing elven spell filled with calming power.

Soft emerald green light flowed from her palm like a warm stream, slowly seeping into the tree's wounds.

The tree emitted a low, painful groaning hum as the charred parts of the wounds began to flake off, fresh bark visibly growing and healing at a slow pace.

Old Bloom, carrying his hayfork, stood beside Arthur watching this scene and released a heavy sigh, his tone filled with helplessness and heartache:

"Ah... see, Mr. Arthur? Our forest may look like a paradise, but our location is stuck right between the muck pits of the Western Swamp and the bone piles of the Dark Realm, with the Goblin Army's green-skinned shorties coming and going through Riftrock Pass right next to us."

"Low-level undead and goblin squads frequently wander around causing damage. It's impossible to fully prevent. These little ones get injured every time, quite the headache."

"Can't you use elven scrolls for protection?"

Old Bloom clicked his tongue, "I don't think you understand. Elven scrolls are expensive and rare. Even Lady Eserin is reluctant to use them, trading them all with those humans. Where would we have any extras?"

Arthur listened quietly, his gaze sweeping over the groaning treants as understanding dawned within him.

He seemed to understand what the dryad territory needed most.