Clarissa Dorne.
In Alchemia Tale, she was considered a minor antagonist, but only a fool would underestimate her.
The daughter of the Dorne Conglomerate, the most powerful merchant family in the kingdom, Clarissa was a financial force.
While others trained with swords or spells, she mastered contracts, connections, and coin.
She didn't need to fight. She could simply buy victory.
A swordmaster? Hire them. A rare weapon? Buy it. An opponent's secrets? One bag of gold.
She was infamous for her appetite to acquire anything of value, regardless of origin, ethics, or price.
And yet, her true role in the game only ignited after the Mock Combat Festival, when she tried to bribe Shin into throwing a match for the sake of her family brand.
Shin, ever the honest hero, exposed her publicly.
That humiliation sparked a personal grudge.
Now, here she was.
She stepped into Jericho's clearing like she owned the soil beneath her boots, her posture relaxed, one hand resting on her hip.
"Well, well," she said with that all-too-familiar smirk. "The Ashenwald prince reduced to hammering sticks in a shed. What happened, did the nobles finally realize you were a joke?"
Jericho didn't flinch. He straightened from his forge, wiping his hands clean on a rag.
"Can we just fast-forward to the part where you either leave or try to buy something? I'm on a thick schedule."
Clarissa's laugh was light and airy.
"Oof. Spicy. I expected grumbling or groveling. Instead, I get a growl."
He frowned.
"I'm getting real tired of people showing up just to poke at me. If you're not here for a reason—"
"Oh, but I am," she said, stepping closer, inspecting one of the drying racks like she might purchase it on a whim. "I've come for business."
That made him pause.
"Business?"
She spun back to him with a theatrical shrug.
"I heard a certain disgraced noble built a magic sword. Not just any sword, but one that impressed a certain loudmouth with a disciplinary armband."
Jericho narrowed his eyes.
"Aiko."
Clarissa grinned.
"You didn't hear it from me. But apparently, she's been showing off. The story made its way around pretty quickly. Magical weapons? In this economy? That's interesting."
Jericho crossed his arms.
"So let me guess, now you want one."
"We have a winner. Yes, for the upcoming Mock Battle, I want something like that," she said, voice sing-song as she stepped uncomfortably close. "Something charming. Stylish. With just enough bite to leave an impression."
This answer came as the best news he needed in. That moment. The Mock Battle.
It confirmed what he suspected, he was in the beginning of the first arc.
Clarissa watched his face and smirked wider.
"Oh? Didn't know? How far you've fallen, Jericho. You used to be the first to hear everything. Now you're the last."
He frowned.
"So Aiko showed off the sword and the news got passed around. How unsurprising."
"Oh? You sound annoyed. Worried, maybe?" Clarissa teased, tapping a finger to her lips. "Don't worry. You're still very exclusive."
Jericho exhaled through his nose.
"Why do you really want it?"
She looked around slowly.
"Because you're making things no one else is. And because I like to buy what other people can't have."
Jericho studied her carefully. Her words, her tone. She wasn't just teasing him for fun.
She was weaving compliments between barbs, leaning in with just enough warmth to soften her sarcasm. A pattern emerged.
"... Hold on, I see what you're doing. You're trying to flirt your way to a discount," he said flatly.
Clarissa blinked. For the first time, her smirk vanished.
Then she scoffed lightly.
"Someone's full of himself. I was just being civil."
But inside, her mind reeled. How did he catch that?
She stepped back slightly, eyes scanning his face. This wasn't the pompous brat she remembered, the one who'd melt under flattery and inflate like a balloon at praise.
No... this version was grounded. Sharper, unpredictable.
And she hated unpredictable variables.
"You're very different from the Jericho I remember," she said slowly.
"Try waking up next to a snake. You won't be the same either," Jericho answered casually.
Clarissa blinked. Her mouth opened for a snide comeback, but nothing came out. She stared at him, caught off guard.
She took a slow stroll around his camp, her eyes skimming over the laid-out weapons, the racks of drying materials, the faint smell of oil still hanging in the air.
"I'm just curious," she said, waving a hand lazily. "Word is you're open to trading these little curiosities of yours for money."
Jericho glanced over his shoulder.
"Trade? You mean sell."
She made a noise with her mouth, somewhere between a click and a scoff.
"Right. Sell."
"Mm-hmm," he said, watching her. "You want a tour or something?"
Clarissa gave a theatrical shrug.
"Why not? Let me see if anything fits my taste."
Jericho raised an eyebrow.
Clarissa Dorne, the girl who used to treat coin like air and people like price tags. The kind of person who would drop a thousand gold on a fancy belt just to outshine the girl next to her.
In short, the perfect client.
He folded his arms, dead serious.
"I give you everything... for one million gold coins."
Clarissa blinked.
"For what? Breathing near your fire pit? I haven't even seen your work!"
Jericho smirked.
"Nothing wrong, I took my shoot."
"Unbelievable," she muttered.
"Lucky for you," he said, turning toward a rack, "I just made some interesting stuff. Especially for someone about to join the Mock Battle and fearing an humiliating defeat that would send her on a vilain arc."
What followed was a strange roleplay of artisan and noble. Jericho acted the part of a dry, no-nonsense craftsman.
Clarissa played curious and sarcastic shopper.
He showed her:
Driftwood Saber: light, sleek, enchanted with +2x attack for the first strike.
Moonstrike Baton: ideal for defensive clashes, control enchantment for better grip.
Trueshot Branch: a wooden training bow that subtly corrected aim.
Clarissa picked up each weapon carefully, testing the balance, swiping them through the air with playful precision.
But behind the graceful movements, she was watching him.
"This balance is... surprisingly perfect," she murmured.
"Of course it is," Jericho replied. "I made it."
She batted her lashes.
"So modest."
He didn't even look up.
"That line doesn't come with a discount but keep going and you'll see an augmentation."
Clarissa bit her lip in frustration.
She was trying to worm her way into his rhythm, and he wasn't playing along. Which, of course, only intrigued her more.
She lifted the sword again.
"Two times attack? You're joking. That's not how physics works."
Jericho pointed to the stream.
"Watch."
He took the blade, walked to the water, and swung.
One movement. Two splashes.
Clarissa's eyes widened, her expression still.
Outside, calm. Inside, chaos.
What the hell is that? That's not just good craftsmanship... that's bordering on forbidden. That's something that could change the world! And he just made it casually?!
She forced a relaxed expression.
"Impressive."
"Ultimate creations," Jericho said dryly.
She frowned slightly.
"You're just saying that to push the price."
"Maybe. Or maybe I just hit my creative peak. Who knows if I'll ever do something as good?"
Clarissa stared a moment longer, then flinched at a realization.
If this is his creation... what if he keeps getting better? What if he's not even close to his full potential?
"Alright," she said suddenly. "No itemized pricing. Just give me a number for all of them."
Jericho tilted his head.
"All?"
"Yes. Everything on this rack. I want them."
He scratched his chin.
"One mill... ."
Clarissa nearly choked.
"You're insane!"
"That's the bulk discount. I could just double it."
"These are training weapons!"
"They're revolutionized training weapons."
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to look cool. Internally, she was melting.
I can't let these go. If someone else buys them... if someone else wins with them...
"Eighty," she said.
"One hundred and twenty."
"Ninety."
"One hundred. Final offer."
"Do you always swindle people from your moss-covered shack?"
"Only the dumb ones."
Clarissa sighed, reached into her coat, and produced a thick pouch.
"You better not make anything better in the next three days or I will scream."
Jericho smirked.
"Ok, see you in four days."
Clarissa blinked at him, mouth parting slightly in disbelief. Then her eyes narrowed.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, clearly trying to sound annoyed. But her lips twitched before she turned away, as if fighting back a smile.
She hated how amused she was. And she hated even more that he knew it.
She handed over the coin.
"You know... you're scarily good at this."
He shrugged.
"When you have things no one else can make, the market moves to you."
"Still... you're not the same idiot noble I used to ignore."
Jericho counted the coins.
"Oh, give me some time... I'll be back... With weapons."
She rolled her eyes.
"You're unbearable."
He added casually.
"I could knock off ten percent next time if you spread the word."
Clarissa paused. Then smiled.
"No. I like being the only buyer."
And just like that, she turned and vanished into the woods.
Jericho watched her go, the smile lingering on his face.
"As expected."
In the game, Clarissa Dorne would never share an advantage. She thrived by cornering markets and removing competition.
He opened the pouch and let the gold glint in the sun.
It was real.
This plan... this path was real.
He looked toward the forest edge, then turned to grab his pickaxe.
"Time to be creative."