Reborn in the Survival Adventure Game-Chapter 78: Shops and Dreams (3)

The morning bell rang gently across the village. It wasn't loud, but it was enough. It told the people: a new day had begun.

Lirae stood beside the job board, sipping warm tea. Her eyes scanned the names on the wooden planks. Most jobs were claimed already—chicken coops, field work, fish smoking, iron shaping.

She nodded in approval. "They're getting faster," she muttered.

Beside her, Tikka skipped over, notebook in hand.

"Today's busy," Tikka said.

"They all are now," Lirae replied. "But it's a good kind of busy."

Down near the riverbank, Kellen was brushing dust off her tiny shop's sign: Kellen & Co. – Warm Things.

Her brother organized their cloth scraps by color.

"We should start making gloves," he said.

"Good idea," Kellen replied. "Cold days are coming."

As the morning crowd passed, one woman stopped to check the scarves.

"How much for the brown one?" she asked.

"Five coins," Kellen said.

"I'll take two."

Kellen smiled and wrapped them neatly. "Come again anytime."

At the stall beside them, a new face was setting up.

A large goblin named Trog had built a food stand using wood scraps and stone. It was still a little crooked, but it stood tall. A sign hung from the top: "Trog's Bites – Hot & Spicy!"

Trog adjusted his apron and stirred the bubbling stew. Smoke and spice filled the air.

People began to gather quickly.

"Smells amazing," one man said, his mouth already watering.

"First taste free!" Trog announced.

Laughter and surprised gasps followed as villagers tried his fiery recipe.

Someone coughed, then grinned. "You should sell drinks too!"

Trog laughed. "Maybe I will."

Near the school hut, a young goblin girl named Rin watched the crowd. She held a few small carvings made from soft wood—tiny animals and faces.

"Will anyone want these?" she whispered to herself.

She stepped forward and placed them on a flat stone, along with a small sign: "Wood Charms – 2 coins"

For a moment, no one stopped.

Then a dwarf with thick gloves passed by, paused, and picked one up.

"Did you make this?"

Rin nodded, nervous.

He looked at it for a long second. "I'll take five."

Rin blinked. "R-Really?"

The dwarf smiled and handed over ten coins. "They remind me of home."

Later that day, Lirae visited the Trade Circle. The area had changed. Colorful stalls now circled a large open space. Musicians played soft tunes. One group even started selling drawings of people's homes and pets.

She stopped at a general stall where a villager named Benna sold woven baskets.

"Thinking of starting a bigger store?" Lirae asked.

Benna grinned. "I'm saving up. Maybe a small indoor shop, with shelves and glass windows."

Lirae smiled. "Let me know when you do. I'd love to help."

As she turned to leave, she heard Benna whisper to herself, "Maybe one day I'll be known for something."

At the smithy, Dorgrim and Borin were busy as usual. But something new had appeared next to them—a tiny tool shop run by a teenager named Ryn.

He sold simple things: nails, hammers, spare handles. Nothing fancy.

But people came.

"Where'd you get all these?" Borin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I trade leftovers. Sharpen old tools. Sometimes just fix them," Ryn explained.

Dorgrim chuckled. "Smart. You're doing good work, kid."

Ryn looked proud. "Maybe one day I'll build my own forge."

In the evening, as the lanterns lit up one by one, Caelen walked quietly through the marketplace. He didn't say anything. Just smiled and waved.

People greeted him warmly, some calling out thanks.

"Your coin idea worked," Lirae said, falling into step beside him.

Caelen scratched his head. "I just didn't want people to fight over food."

"They're not just working for food anymore," Lirae replied. "They're working for something more."

At her small table, Rin counted her coins.

"Fourteen," she whispered, her eyes shining.

She hugged her little bag of coins close and looked up at the stars.

"Maybe tomorrow... I'll build a roof over my stall."

That night, stories spread across the village. Stories of customers, trades, and ideas. Of a village where even the quietest people had a place.

There were no explosions. No magic monsters.

Just hands shaping dreams, one coin at a time.