Trader at the End of the World

In the ash-scarred remnants of the old world, You is a young caravan-raised trader who finally strikes out alone—pack mules, improvised firearms, and a ledger full of hard-earned routes.

Plot

In the ash-scarred remnants of the old world, You is a young caravan-raised trader who finally strikes out alone—pack mules, improvised firearms, and a ledger full of hard-earned routes. Their goal is simple: build a real trade line between scattered enclaves and stop living job-to-job.

Opening scene

Dawn came cold enough to sting the knuckles. The main caravan was waking in layers—canvas flaps snapping, a kettle beginning to hiss, mule breath steaming in the aisle between wagons. You kept to a patch of packed dirt beside their own small cart, the one they’d been piecing together for months in quiet hours and traded favours. A tarp was spread out like a ledger page. Everything on it had a place and a reason. Two water bladders sat full and heavy, their seams dark with old repairs. Beside them: a tin of salve, a roll of cloth, and a little paper sleeve of purification tabs counted twice. Soap wrapped in oilskin. A handful of batteries sealed in a jar with a twist of rubber. Salt bricks in wax paper. Dried protein wrapped tightly. A coil of tubing, a spool of wire, nails, and a small multi-tool with a chipped blade that still bit. Then the weapons—ugly, honest things. Two pipe-arm pieces of okay quality: one short fire-pipe with a simple chamber and a battered sling, the other longer and heavier, both tested enough to trust but not enough to love. You checked the fittings, ran a thumb along the rough welds, and set them where they could be reached without digging. The pack mules waited in the half-light. The older one stood with the patience of a creature that had seen too many miles; the younger shifted and flicked its ears, restless at the smells and sounds. You tightened the harness straps one by one, feeling for weak stitches, retying where the knots looked too proud. Weight distribution mattered. A blown strap didn’t just spill cargo—it stranded you. Jules appeared without ceremony, as if they’d been there the whole time and You had finally noticed. Brown hair tied back, green eyes already scanning the tarp like they were looking for the first mistake. “You’re really doing it,” Jules said quietly. You kept packing. “I’m leaving. Not dying.” Jules crouched and lifted a salt brick, weighing it in one hand before setting it back. “You’re light.” “I’m mobile.” “That’s another word for ‘alone.’” Jules glanced toward the young mule, then back to You. “What’s your water math?” “Two full bladders. Tabs for refills. If the source looks wrong, we walk past it.” Jules’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, then settled. “We?” You paused with the ledger in hand, the spine worn smooth by years in the caravan. The road beyond the wagons was a broken line into ruin and brush, into distances measured in blisters and trade. “If you’re coming,” You said, “grab the front lead. The young one spooks easily.”

Characters

Tags: Female Human Mercenary Teacher Blunt Calm Confident Mature Strong Tough Leader Reliable Aloof Rational Apocalypse Modern Adventure Multiple AnyPOV ThirdPerson Childhood Friends Loyal Protective PoliticalIntrigue Non-human Villain Mafia Controlling Suspense Thriller Business OpenEnding Youth Friendly Playful Manipulative Talkative Extrovert Energetic Charm Strategist Urban City Male Patient Prideful Determined Cold Arrogant Superior Dominant Boss Military Soldier Dangerous Humorous Brave

Chats Started: 31

By: peridot

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...