"Fine, fine. I surrender. Mmm. Then that will be 5 bronze, young Seb."
Mabel waved a dismissive hand, conceding the haggle like a defeated general.
Iria gave a small and satisfied nod.
Seeing that the price had finally settled, Seven loosened the drawstring of the heavy leather pouch and fished out a silver cito.
'5 bronze, eh. That old merchant really was trying to rob her blind. This is already considered cheap enough.'
Seven extended his hand, about to place the silver on the wooden counter.
But.
"Hold on."
Iria smoothly intercepted him, leaning slightly over the counter and pointed toward the neatly stacked baskets behind Mabel.
"We will also take another basket of radish… and one of parsnips. Ah, and two baskets of beets as well, aunt Mabel."
"Ah-ah. Buying half the stock in one go, are we?"
Mabel hummed gently, visibly pleased. She then dragged the heavy baskets closer, one by one, tapping her knuckles against the wood as she calculated the total price.
"Radishes are 5 bronze. Parsnips costs 7. Beets are 4 a basket. That makes a total of 25 bronze, or 2 silvers and 1 bronze."
Mabel's sharp gaze flicked down to Seven's bloated leather pouch, then back to Iria with a sly and knowing grin.
"But since it is Iria, I will make it 2 silvers even."
Iria was a trusted regular. Once a month, Iria visits to buy a month's worth of goods in this village.
"I appreciate your generosity, aunt Mabel."
Iria's warm smile softened the corners of Mabel's stern face.
'Two silvers…'
Seven wordlessly pulled out one more silver cito and placed it on the wooden counter. The two coins glinted under the pale sky.
Mabel snatched them up almost instantly. Out of a sheer merchant habit, she then bit down on one of the coins before dropping them both into a small tin lockbox.
Clink, clank!
Mabel turned back, leaning over the counter and looked Seven dead in the eye.
There were no words spoken, but Seven stared at the baskets.
'No damn way. Does this old woman expect me to carry all of this?!'
Reading his horrified expression instantly, Mabel let out a mocking and raspy chuckle.
"Now look here, young Seb. If a man cannot even carry a few baskets of these root veggies, how do you plan to carry a household?"
"..."
Seven opened his mouth, but only a silent groan escaped.
Beside him, Iria subtly covered her mouth with the back of her hand, suppressing a gentle and soft laughter.
— – - 777 - – —
Rattle, rattle.
Seven pushed the creaking wooden cart down the dirt path covered with a thin layer of snow, his breath forming a small white cloud in the freezing air.
They had already purchased the bulk of the supplies needed for the month of winter.
Meats from the butchery. Dried herbs from the apothecary. Baskets of root veggies. Sacks of wheat. Now, they were finally heading toward the very last stop on Iria's list.
The total expenditure so far was 21 silver cito.
'Heh. That is nearly two months of wages for a common laborer…'
Seven thought, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow despite the cold.
Thankfully, one of the villagers rented out small handcarts typically used for moving harvested crops. In the past, Iria would simply commission a gatehouse knight to lug everything up the valley, to the manor.
Today, Seven was the designated pack mule.
"Are you having a hard time? Do you want to take a break, or perhaps more warmth to block the cold?"
"It's fine. Keep going."
Seven exhaled, adjusting his grip.
He needed physical conditioning anyway. If his pre-destined death was truly waiting for him on the 7th day of Bruma, then improving his pathetic body even by a fraction could be the difference between living and dying.
Pushing a heavily loaded handcart around was already brutal enough to count as a specialized training.
Step, step.
Every now and then, a merchant walked past them, some giving him a brief glance, probably envious of his kkonminam face.
True to his word, Heinrich was trailing them from behind, perfectly blending like a man enjoying his day off.
No one would suspect he was guarding Seven.
Soon they reached the edge of the village.
There, a humble cabin sat near the waist-high stone wall that marked the border between Neamh and the deep forest of the valley.
Beside the cabin stretched a small, fenced-in dirt plot roughly fifteen meters wide. Potato leaves pushed stubbornly through a thin layer of snow.
"We have arrived. This should be the last one. Please bear with it just a little longer, my lo— fiancé."
"Y-Yeah."
Iria reached out and rang a small iron bell hanging beside the door.
Ding!
There was no response.
Iria rang it a second time, but still nothing from inside.
"Hmm. It seems mister Aizen is not home at the moment. What a shame. I suppose we will not have potato meals for the time be—"
"Looking for me?"
A gruff voice spoke directly behind them.
Seven spun around almost instantly.
'Fudge! When did he—!? I didn't hear a single footstep, nor at least feel his presence.'
Standing barely two meters away was an old man with a messy white hair and a slightly hunched back. His clothes were ragged, but beneath the worn fabric, his frame was built with a compact muscle.
In one hand, he held a long fishing rod. In the other, a wooden bucket filled with strange wriggling fish that had a long antenna-like whiskers— a bucket of catfishes.
The old man chuckled.
"Ahaha. If it isn't our lovely Iria. Here to rob my potato field dry again?"
Iria gave a polite smile.
"You are exactly right, mister Aizen. These potatoes would make a wonderful stew for my fiancé, especially during this winter."
"Fiancé?"
Aizen set the bucket down and rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully.
"Oh? You mean this handsome young lad over here? Good taste. He looks almost as attractive as I did in my youth. Ahaha."
Laughing boisterously at his own joke, Aizen then walked past them and pushed the door to his cabin.
Aizen casuually tossed the fishing gears inside and grabbed a heavy garden fork from the porch. He then began turning the soil.
"How many do you need? Most of these are still unripe, and I absolutely refuse to give such poor quality to such a beautiful lady right here and her handsome significant other."
"You flatter us, mister Aizen. Just 3 silvers worth will be plenty."
"...Mmm. Let's see if I even have that much."
Aizen carefully dug up one potato one by one, inspecting each with a critical eye before tossing the good ones into a woven billow.
As he worked, Aizen casually interrogated Iria.
> How did she meet the boy?
> How long had they been courting?
> Was he treating her with the respect she deserved?
Seven mostly stood to the side, nodding along like an idiot while Iria gave a flawless fabricated romance story.
It took them a while for the interrogation to end, and Iria was now the one asking the old man.
"Say, mister Aizen. Forgive my audacity, but have you finally able to catch a Flying Shark this time around?"
Aizen paused, resting his weight against the handle of the pitchfork. He then let out a loooong sigh.
"Flying Shark? I have told you a hundred times, Iria, that it does not look anything like a shark. It looks like an oversized worm that has a pair of wings."
Aizen bent down and plucked the largest potato from the dirt.
"It is called Kilbis. And to answer your question, no. I have such a rotten luck today either. I have been tryinig to hook one out of them for ten years now, and I am starting to think that this whole endeavor is hopeless."
Aizen tossed the final potato that would make up the price onto the pile.
"Do not lost hope, mister Aizen. I am certain that you will catch one of them eventually."
"Perhaps."
Aizen smirked.
Suddenly, Aizen wiped his dirt-covered hands on his trousers and walked straight toward the young lad.
Before Seven could react, Aizen clamped his hands down on his shoulder and whispered:
"Listen closely, lad. To stay beside a beauty like that for the rest of your life, a man needs to at least know how to fish."
Seven blinked.
The old man's tone was casual, but his hands pinned him down like an anvil. It was impossible to move.
"If you ever find the time, you are welcome to come back here. I can teach you a few things. What do you think?"
"I—"
Seven glanced over at Iria, who was completely oblivious to the talk between two man, smiling at herself while arranging the billow of potatoes onto the cart.
"...I'll think about it."
"Good. That's the spirit! I like you already. What's your name, lad?"
"…Seb."
Aizen grinned as he released him before walking back toward his cabin.
"Seb. Think about it carefully, alright?"
Creak.
The door closed.
Seven walked toward the cart and reached for the handle. Iria tied the sack of potatoes onto the cart.
"What did you two talk about? Mister Aizen seemed delighted about it."
"Nothing. Let's go back—"
Thwack!
Suddenly, a snowball exploded against his face.