My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 252: The Merchant’s Invitation

Chapter 252: The Merchant’s Invitation
[Four Months Later - Autumn, Coastal Village of Harrow’s Bay]
The letter arrived on a grey morning, delivered by a courier in expensive clothing that marked him as someone from Lumeria’s merchant district.
Marron was setting up her cart for the morning market when he approached, his boots too fine for the muddy streets of Harrow’s Bay.
"Marron Louvel?" he asked, consulting a small notebook.
"That’s me."
"I have a letter for you. From Marcus Vell of Lumeria. He requests a reply at your earliest convenience." The courier handed over a sealed envelope—thick paper, expensive wax seal bearing an ornate "V."
Marron took it with flour-dusted hands. "Who is Marcus Vell?"
"A prominent merchant and collector. If that’s all, Miss Louvel, I’ll be returning to the city." He tipped his hat and left before she could ask more questions.
Aldric appeared from the bakery across the street, carrying the morning’s bread delivery. "Who was that?"
"Courier from Lumeria." Marron turned the envelope over, studying the seal. "From someone named Marcus Vell."
Aldric froze. "Marcus Vell? The Marcus Vell?"
"You know him?"
"Everyone in Lumeria knows him. He’s one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. Collects art, antiquities, rare books." Aldric set down the bread. "Why would he be writing to you?"
"Only one way to find out."
Marron broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was precise, elegant:
Dear Miss Louvel,
I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Marcus Vell, a merchant and collector based in Lumeria. I have recently come into possession of what I believe to be a pre-Cataclysm cooking vessel of significant historical value.
After consulting with several scholars at the Historical Preservation Society (discreetly, I assure you), I have been led to understand that you may be uniquely qualified to assess this item. The scholars were... reluctant to discuss you openly, but I gathered that you have experience with artifacts of this nature.
The vessel in question is a large ceramic crock with unusual properties. I acquired it three years ago from an estate sale, thinking it merely an antique. However, I have recently observed that food placed within it ferments at an accelerated rate and develops extraordinary flavor complexity. Additionally, the crock appears to maintain perfect temperature without any external heat source, and occasionally glows with a faint amber light when in use.
I suspect this may be one of the legendary cooking implements from the First Kitchen, but I lack the expertise to confirm this assessment or understand how to properly care for such an artifact.
Miss Louvel, I would be deeply grateful if you would visit my estate to examine this vessel. I am not interested in selling it to the Society or any other institution. Rather, I wish to understand what I have and ensure it is being properly maintained and utilized.
I understand you may have... reservations about returning to Lumeria. Please be assured that this invitation is entirely private. I have informed no one of my intent to contact you, and I would be happy to arrange our meeting with complete discretion.
If you are willing, please respond via the courier who delivered this letter. He will return weekly until he receives your reply.
With great respect,
Marcus Vell
Marron read the letter twice, her heart hammering.
The Fermentation Crock. The sixth tool. The one the Champion’s vision had shown her, sitting unknown in a merchant’s collection.
It was reaching out to her.
No—Marcus Vell was reaching out to her. The tool couldn’t send letters. Couldn’t arrange meetings. But somehow, the man who owned it had figured out what he had and decided she was the person to consult.
Coincidence? Or something else?
Aldric read over her shoulder. When he finished, he let out a low whistle. "That’s one of the tools you’ve been looking for."
"Yes."
"The one you’re prohibited from seeking."
"Yes."
"But you didn’t seek it." Aldric’s tone was carefully neutral. "It—or rather, its owner—came to you."
Marron looked at him sharply. "You think that matters? You think the Council will see a difference between me pursuing a tool and accepting an invitation to examine one?"
"I think the exact wording of your prohibition was ’seeking, acquiring, or accepting any additional Legendary artifacts without explicit written permission.’" Aldric’s expression was thoughtful. "You’re not acquiring it. He’s not offering to give it to you. He just wants you to examine it."
"That’s semantics."
"Law is built on semantics." Aldric met her eyes. "But you’re right that the Council might not see it that way. Edmund certainly wouldn’t."
In Marron’s pack, the tools had gone very, very still.
Not silent. Listening. Waiting.
Hoping.
She could feel their desperate want radiating through the leather—four siblings sensing that their fifth might be within reach. Not to travel with them, not to join their partnership, but to at least be seen. Acknowledged. Confirmed as real and alive and still existing after centuries of separation.
Please,
the Copper Pot whispered.
Please let us see our sibling.
Just once,
the Generous Ladle added.
Even if we can’t stay together.
We need to know it’s all right,
the Precision Blade said.
That it hasn’t been damaged or corrupted or broken by neglect.
The Food Cart, outside in the market square, pulsed so hard Marron felt it from twenty feet away.
"I can’t," Marron said aloud. "I promised the Council—"
You promised not to seek,
the Copper Pot interrupted.
Not to refuse help when asked.
"That’s not—that’s a loophole. That’s exactly the kind of word game the Champion warned me against."
Is it a game if someone genuinely needs your expertise?
the pot asked.
If a tool needs assessment and care? If refusing would be abandoning your responsibility as someone who understands these artifacts?
Marron closed her eyes. The tools were right—technically. Marcus Vell had a pre-Cataclysm artifact and didn’t know how to care for it. She had expertise. Refusing would be... what? Cautious? Obedient?
Or would it be neglect? Allowing a valuable, conscious artifact to potentially suffer damage because she was afraid of political consequences?