Ch 136: My Multiverse Supermarket

Just as Wendisha was preparing to deal with the corrupt elements festering within the Senate, an unexpected visitor came to see her.

“You’re representing the Thorn Independent Consortium… and proposing cooperation with the Senate?” Ariel’s expression was one of utter shock—no less than when she’d first heard the claim that “the supermarket is a divine realm.” She stared fixedly at Luna, searching her face for the slightest hint of deceit.

But Luna didn’t look at Ariel; she kept her eyes on Wendisha instead. After all, Wendisha was the one with real authority.

Wendisha said coldly, “I don’t believe we have any grounds for cooperation.”

Just the fact that the Thorn Independent Consortium had joined forces with the Radiant Consortium to build the telephone network was enough to place them on the opposite side of the Senate.

Allowing Luna into the camp to speak with her at all was already Wendisha’s limit.

Luna herself knew how hopeless this proposal sounded—she was all too familiar with the greedy, two-faced nobles of the Senate.

But this plan had been suggested by the Chairwoman, and the Board had approved it. Luna had no choice but to carry it out.

She forced herself to continue. “Your Grace, are you aware that the ‘God of Commerce’—our ‘Boss,’ as we call her—and her divine realm disappear for more than twenty days every five?”

Wendisha turned toward Ariel, who nodded.

“That’s true,” she said. “But what of it?”

Luna said, “Ordinarily, the divine realm’s schedule wouldn’t affect us much. But since it has now imposed a purchase limit on elemental gems… who do you think will suffer most from this restriction?”

Wendisha’s expression darkened.

Before Ariel could speak, Luna pressed on. “I did some calculations. Before, as long as one had enough membership points, one could buy as many gems as one wished. Now, with the three-per-day limit—if you brought two hundred people here, and the divine realm stays for five days—that’s only three thousand gems in total.”

Ariel didn’t need Luna to finish.

Last time, they’d managed to buy over twenty thousand. This time, they’d be limited to three thousand—six or seven times less.

To purchase more, they’d need to send more people.

But the Emerald Wasteland wasn’t like other places. The more people who entered, the higher the risk of casualties.

Ariel said, “Perhaps the gem supply is simply running low. That’s why she’s limiting purchases.”

Luna gave a small, amused laugh. “If you’re truly that confident, then I’ve nothing more to say. Farewell.”

She turned as if to leave, and only then did Wendisha speak up to stop her. “Tell me about your cooperation plan.”

Luna exhaled in relief.

Facing Wendisha was no small strain. Not only was she a duchess of the Illyas Kingdom, chief elder of the Senate, and head of the Knowledge Sect, she was also one of Mayelia’s few remaining high priestesses. Any one of those titles could shift the entire balance of the Emerald Wasteland.

And that was precisely why the Chairwoman had suggested cooperation with the Senate—in truth, with Wendisha herself.

“We propose joint development of the Emerald Wasteland,” Luna said. “The Thorn Independent Consortium will build the railways; the Senate will establish airship routes—so that more small and mid-sized merchants can reach this region…”

Only when trade routes flourished could the Senate send more buyers for elemental gems, spreading the benefits of Mayelia’s faith and economy alike.

Seeing that Ariel was about to object, Luna cut her off. “If the Senate refuses to join, we’ll partner with the Radiant Consortium instead. In that case, we can’t guarantee that merchants from Atmos won’t buy up the gems for jewelry—or worse, that anti-Mayelian extremists won’t deliberately purchase them all just to prevent your people from obtaining any.”

Ariel fell silent.

Because that was a very real possibility.

That was how the market worked—if you didn’t take part, others would carve up the profits while you stood aside.

Wendisha studied Luna. “Do you have any idea how much it will cost to develop the Emerald Wasteland?”

They weren’t even in the heart of the wasteland yet—and that area’s danger level was far beyond what they faced here.

The Consortium’s ambition to claim the entire Emerald Wasteland for itself was dangerously naïve.

Luna said, “For now, we don’t intend to advance into the inner region. Even so, early-stage development is beyond our means alone. That’s why we’re sincerely inviting the Senate to join us…”

The Thorn Independent Consortium’s demand for elemental gems was nowhere near as high as the Senate’s. By cooperating, the Senate wouldn’t have to worry about hostile factions buying out the supply—and they could jointly control gem distribution.

Wendisha didn’t give her answer immediately.

After Luna left, she turned to Ariel. “Your opinion?”

Ariel said, “The Thorn Consortium wants to use our magic to ensure smooth installation of their telephone network. They’ll be the main beneficiaries.”

“So,” Wendisha asked, “you don’t support cooperation?”

Ariel hesitated.

Logically, she favored the idea—but her position didn’t allow her to admit it openly.

“Not unless we can devise a better strategy.”

Wendisha said nothing.

When she convened the Senate assembly, she first dealt with the count whose actions had disgraced them. Only then did she bring up the Thorn Consortium’s proposal.

Predictably, waves of opposition followed.

“Then tell me,” Wendisha asked, “how do you propose to keep the gems from falling into Atmos hands?”

One noble suggested, “The reason the God of Commerce descended here must be because Mayelia had previously failed to recognize Her. We could build Her a temple—invite Her and Her divine realm to settle within our borders.”

Such a temple would differ from the ones within a divine realm.

Temples in the mortal world served as sacred sites—and as anchors when deities manifested among mortals.

According to ancient scripture, thousands of years ago, each god acknowledged only one temple.

Back then, those temples were the holiest of places, where prayers most easily reached divine ears.

But seven or eight centuries ago, wars, cataclysms, dwindling faith, and financial collapse had led to their decline.

Various sects began building their own “halls” instead.

These halls were much smaller, more like chapels. Even factions that worshiped the same god—such as the Alchemy Guild and the Knowledge Sect, both devoted to the Goddess of Wisdom—each constructed their own “Temple of Wisdom” in their respective territories.

Thus, this noble believed that if Mayelia allowed the God of Commerce to establish a temple within their domain, She would surely be pleased to be “welcomed” by the old gods.

Several others immediately voiced agreement. “A splendid idea!”

Ariel rolled her eyes.

Did they really think they were offering charity to the God of Commerce? Did they think She would gratefully accept their so-called olive branch?

Even if She weren’t divine, a mortal of Her power would have no need to grovel before them.

Wendisha didn’t bother crushing their misplaced confidence. Some lessons were best learned by experience.

…

The next day, the third elder, Chirog, arrived at the supermarket and declared, “After discussion, the Senate has decided to grant you a plot of land for the construction of a temple—to welcome your descent.”

Zhou Li: “?”

Had she misheard?

Why on earth were they suddenly trying to build her a temple?

An Fengxuan whispered, “Boss, I think they’ve mistaken you for some sort of deity… right, haven’t people been calling you the ‘God of Commerce’ lately? Maybe in their eyes, that’s who you are.”

Zhou Li: …

She wanted to deny it, but after noticing how more and more people had started using “My God of Commerce” as a verbal tic these days, she reluctantly admitted that An Fengxuan might actually be right.

Zhou Li turned to Chirog and said calmly, “I’m doing just fine here.”

What a joke—if she went to Mayelia, how would she continue doing business with Atmos? The Mayelian people only ever bought elemental gems; she wasn’t here to make her living off gems.

Apparently not expecting such a flat rejection, Chirog asked, “Why? You call yourself the God of Commerce—shouldn’t a larger population help you gain more followers?”

An Fengxuan gave a short laugh. “Since when have you ever seen a god bend over backward to please humans?”

Chirog snorted, glaring at the shelves full of technology. “So after all that talk, you’re just biased toward Atmos.”

“And what’s it to you?” An Fengxuan shot back.

Chirog flushed with anger. “We even— we even got memberships here!”

“If you’re that unhappy, you can cancel your card. Once canceled, you won’t be able to reapply,” An Fengxuan replied smoothly, already so familiar with the supermarket’s rules that she didn’t even need Zhou Li to speak.

Under the amused stares of those inside and outside the store, Chirog straightened his back and declared with false dignity, “Fine! I don’t care to be one of your members anyway!”

Zhou Li said nothing. She simply took back his card and neatly converted the remaining points into this world’s currency, refunding the gold coins to him.

Chirog, now thinking himself fearless since he was no longer a member, snapped, “Then return the magic scroll I exchanged for those points!”

“You can have it back once you return the elemental gems you bought here. Don’t try to replace them with fakes—every item we sell has a code, and we can tell a counterfeit at a glance.”

Chirog’s face went red.

The gems he’d bought here had been of exceptional quality, and he’d already used them. Where was he supposed to find identical ones now?

Suddenly struck by an idea, he ran off and came back with a few gems borrowed from a baron.

Zhou Li gave him a look that said are you serious? “Sorry, those gems belong to Feltost. If he wants to exchange them for membership points, he can come here himself.”

Chirog’s heart gave a jolt—how could she possibly know who those gems came from?

“They were all bought from you, so why can’t I return them?” he demanded.

“I told you already,” Zhou Li said evenly. “If you want your magic scroll back, bring back the exact same gems I sold you. Otherwise, all you get are the coins I refunded.”

“You—this is robbery logic!” Chirog shouted, losing his composure.

Zhou Li’s eyes chilled. “Anyone making a scene—throw them out.”

At that moment, Wendisha walked in and silenced Chirog with a muting spell.

“How disgraceful, Chirog,” she said coldly. “How long do you intend to keep embarrassing the Senate?”

Chirog glared, furious and humiliated, but under the weight of so many silent, judging eyes from his peers, he knew there was nothing more he could do.

He didn’t even take the refunded coins—just stormed off in rage.

A second later, the supermarket’s system ejected both the gold coins and the gems, which landed right at his feet.

Chirog: Unbearable humiliation!

Zhou Li, however, didn’t give the incident a second thought. She turned to Wendisha. “Anyone else planning to cancel their card? I’ll be leaving temporarily tomorrow. If you want to quit, do it now.”

Wendisha sighed. “We meant no disrespect.”

Zhou Li waved a hand dismissively. She had no interest in meaningless pleasantries.

After a moment’s silence, Wendisha walked over to the ice-cream freezer, took out a cone, paid for it, and began eating as she exited the store.

Everyone—including members of the Senate, the Thorn Consortium, and the Radiant Consortium—was stunned by the sight.

They couldn’t possibly be seeing this right, could they?

The Chief Elder of the Senate, a duchess, and high priestess of the Knowledge Sect—eating ice cream in public?

“Your Grace?” Ariel hurried to her side.

Wendisha lifted the ice cream slightly and said, “This… this is the power of technology. To create cold without winter, to preserve something that would melt under sunlight or rot in the heat—without a single spell of ice magic.”

Her words made the nobles of the Senate pale in alarm.

Was Wendisha… turning her back on the magic faction?

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