Elsa handed the girl the yellow pop. Within minutes, the same "Miracle of the Glucose" occurred. The girl's famine-bloated stomach receded, her hair regained its luster, and she stood up on legs that had been too weak to carry her for months.
The murmuring in the hamlet turned from a low grumble to a roar of awe. They weren't just looking at the candy anymore; they were looking at me. In the middle of the heat, the famine, and the stench of death, I had just become the source of the only thing that mattered.
"Art," Elsa whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at the hundreds of people now staggering toward us from the shadows of their huts. "They are coming."
I looked at the bag of lollipops. I looked at the 1,053 VP in my account. I wasn't just a merchant anymore. I was the man with the cure for the world's misery, one strawberry-flavored lick at a time.
The sun was finally beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sickly yellow sky with bruised purples and deep oranges. For the first time in a year, the air in Oakhaven didn't taste like a graveyard; it tasted like ozone, silver magic, and the lingering scent of artificial strawberry and lemon.
"110," I muttered, rubbing my temples. Barnaby had tried to help me count, but after he got past his fingers and toes, he just started pointing at groups of people and saying "many." In the end, I had to do the math myself. 110 souls left out of what used to be a thriving hamlet.
I tapped the screen, the blue light reflecting in my tired eyes.
[Item: Bulk Divine Pop Bundle (4 Units)]
[Price: 20 VP]
[Remaining Balance: 1,033 VP]
Pop. Four massive, crinkly bags appeared in the carriage. Herbert took charge of the line, his massive frame acting like a dam against the tide of desperate people. "One at a time! The Master has decreed it! Don't crowd the Divine Vessel!"
It took hours. One by one, the walking dead became the walking living. It was a conveyor belt of miracles. Each time a child's sores vanished or an old man's clouded eyes cleared, a surge of something—not quite guilt, but a heavy kind of responsibility—settled in my gut. By the time the last person was stabilized by Elsa's magic, the entire village was kneeling in the dust.
"Please," I croaked, waving my hands dismissively. "Don't kneel. I'm just... I'm just the guy with the bag. Get up. Go sit with your families."
The Village Chief, now looking less like a stick and more like a human being, offered us his cabin. I looked at the rickety wooden structure and then at my cushioned, "Ocean Mist" scented carriage. "Thanks, Chief, but I'm a creature of habit. I'll stick to my wheels."
Once the camp was set and the villagers were huddled together, whispering in awe, I sat in the back of the carriage and looked at my phone. They were healed, but they were still starving. You can't live on lollipops forever—trust me, I've tried the "high school diet."
"Alright, let's do this right," I whispered. My thumb danced across the screen, moving through the Industrial Provisions tab. I wasn't just buying snacks anymore; I was stocking a larder for a revolution of the well-fed.
3 Sacks of Flour (The heavy, high-gluten stuff)2 Kilos of Sea Salt10 Kilos of Refined Sugar10 Kilos of Fresh Chicken & 10 Kilos of Pork (Vacuum-sealed and "System-Chilled")5 Boxes of Safeguard Soap3 Crates of Mineral Water
[Total Transaction: 1,050 VP]
[Remaining Balance: 3 VP]
I went from being a VP millionaire back to being a "3 VP" peasant in the blink of an eye. But as the crates and sacks materialized in the clearing, the sound of the village changed.
Barnaby and Herbert began hauling the meat and flour toward the communal fire pit. When the first bottle of water was cracked open—that crisp tssst of a plastic seal breaking—the Village Chief actually wept.
I leaned back against the carriage seat, feeling utterly drained. My balance was nearly zero, I was technically a mass murderer in the eyes of the law, and I had a silver-haired elf staring at me like I was the sun, the moon, and the stars combined.
"Arthur," Elsa whispered, sitting on the step of the carriage. She looked at the feast beginning to take shape in the village square. "Why? You have no tie to these people. You have spent your 'Divine Points' until you have nothing left for yourself."
I looked at my hands, which were still slightly shaking. "I've been hungry, Elsa. And once you've felt that kind of empty, you never really forget it. Besides," I added with a tired smirk, "a merchant needs a healthy customer base. Dead people are terrible at repeat business."
I closed my eyes, the sound of sizzling pork and laughing children finally drowning out the screams of the forest.
A few hours of cooking and talking later…
We feast.
We ate until our stomachs ached. The scent of roasting pork and chicken fat dripping into the fires replaced the smell of decay. People who had been too weak to crawl a day ago were now sprinting through the tall grass. The children were the best part—their laughter was high and sharp, cutting through the night as they played games of tag between the newly sprouted cornstalks. They looked like little forest sprites, their faces smeared with fruit juice and the "divine dust" of ramen seasoning.
The night was a fever dream of neon-colored hope and bass-boosted miracles. As the fires roared, I brought out the small, yellow, "China-made" Bluetooth speaker.
"ZEE BLUE-TOOTH DEE-VICE IZ READY TO PAIR," the robotic voice boomed, echoing off the once-silent hovels.
I hit play on a 1980s Disco medley. "Stayin' Alive" blasted through the dry air, and for the first time in a year, the people of Oakhaven didn't just move—they danced. It was a sight of beautiful, rhythmic absurdity: starving villagers, now fueled by sugar and pork, doing the hustle under a bruised alien sky. Elsa was spinning in circles, her silver hair glowing like a disco ball, while Herbert tried to show Barnaby a "warrior's version" of the moonwalk. We ate until we were breathless, we danced until our legs turned to jelly, and the music carried our defiance into the dark.
It was unlike anything I'd ever seen—a beautiful, chaotic explosion of human relief. As the disco lights of my phone screen flickered against the dark trees and the speaker pumped out the rhythmic heartbeat of the 80s, the village of Oakhaven transformed into a sanctuary. To them, the light just appeared in thin air. They did not ask. They gawked at it then ignored it all together.
But as the night deepened and the firelight flickered against the "relics" the children had gathered, a heavy silence eventually settled over our camp. The disco ended, replaced by the soft crackle of embers.
I sat on the steps of the carriage, watching the villagers sleep on mats of fresh, green hay. They looked peaceful, but I knew the world outside this valley hadn't changed. The Queen was still there. The "Hounds" were still hunting. And I was down to my last 3 VP.