"This portable hand heater is the best! With this, you can cook wherever you want without creating any fires! Long live Simon's Snippets!"
"Yeah, that portable backpack is so much cheaper than those space rings. Plus, you don't have to deal with those snobbish wizards as well..."
"Man, I wish they'd build something that could help us locate the safe points in dungeons soon..."
Hearing these words of appreciation, Lewis smiled. I'm so glad these people are enjoying our devices. But still, we haven't earned that much money. How will Simon earn them quick...
Hoisting the bag filled with imp canines, Lewis pulled the trolly bag along into the gold, eager to know how much money he had earned.
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Shit, what do I do here...
Hands clutching his head, Simon knelt in defeat, a bottle of Dragonfire whisky on the counter. He was still ruminating over what Lewis had explained to him before he set off to the Guild to update his rank.
"Simon, I've done the calculations, and by what I've calculated so far, we'll never reach the Moon in our lifetime. We need nearly a billion coins, gold at that, to be able to build the rocket ship necessary to escape this planet's gravity. Look, we may be raking cash now, but at this rate, we'll only be able buodnafyer, oh let's see, 345 years, and humans only live for 100! Face it, we need an investor, and a fucking rich one at that!"
"Well, fuck this shit, let's do it! Hmm, how did Lewis say to present my idea again..."
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Going across busy streets, Simon, carrying a huge board and sheets of paper, approached the Central Bank of Strisk. Gulping in anxiety, he breathed deeply in and out, trying to calm his agitated nerves. It's gonna be okay, you know you'll do it...
With a final deep breath, he entered the bank.
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The Lysard guard, covering his mouth, yawned in boredom. Today was boring as usual, with customers going in and out, taking and depositing money into the bank. Loans were also being issued for struggling business owners, or those starting their own.
Man I wish something interesting happens...
Just as he finished thinking about it, a small red child was thrown out onto the streets. Rubbing his head, the dwarf cusses in front of the bank. "I'll show it, you assholes! I'll reach the Moon, and when I do, I won't put your names on it, you greedy, decrepit balls of–"
Cussing to the point of having guards take him out, the dwarf trudged his way on, board broken and all.
This is the best entertainment I've had in weeks!
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After going through many merchants, Simon lay depressed beside the fountain, drinking mulled beer in silence. What should I do...
Every single merchant had kicked him out, from the famous Red Fang Consortium, all the way to the Goblin Alliance for Trading, the worst and least reliable merchant guild.
Finishing the last drop of ale, he slapped both cheeks, unwilling to give up. I will fulfil my wish...
Carrying the board one last time, he went to the last merchant guild on his list:
The Silvertree Corporation
Going in, he met with the receptionist, who, once hearing he owns Simon's Snippets, raised an eye and ushered him to see the 'CEO'.
Gulping in anxiety, Simon adjusted his scraggly shirt and oily coverall. Then, he knocked on the door.
"Come in..."
A familiar voice called him in. Although he was confused he still entered. Upon seeing who it was though, his eyes widened in surprise.
"It's you!?"