The caravan guards eyed Konrad with suspicion.
"Are they gone?" the merchant asked, pale.
His fear was a rancid smell, reminding him of the beastfolk girl's sniffing. First, a cold shiver, then a much warmer feeling crept up on him, thinking of her sweet—
Focus, damn it.
Were those monsters scary enough to make a nomadic trader shake like a leaf?
If so, he'd better take advantage of it, money, fame, or anything to convince that mage in Aset to teach him. Every little bit could have helped—except biting his tongue.
"I dealt with the—MN."
His face burned, spinning around as if hearing noises.
"You?" mercenaries scoffed, "fought five Griphlets? What, like you're Maou Midori?"
Well, even if he didn't kill them, they were dead, and he had proof.
"There were six of 'em." Konrad held up his crystal.
Hungry eyes locked on the purple haze. That must have convinced them now.
"Where's your sword, though?"
Nope, not even a little.
"I, uh—it got stuck in one, and it ran off," Konrad improvised, cheeks flushed.
A veteran raised his voice.
"Don't know how you survived, but you're here, and they're not. Your tunic tells me you fought."
Konrad already forgot. The same talons that'd cleave their horse in half raked his chest, too.
The ginger's healing magic saved him—according to her—but he never saw the spell itself.
"Ah, 'tis but a scratch," he pocketed the crystal, adjusting his pants, "they weren't that tough."
And if they were about to believe him, this must have made them question everything again.
"You're lucky the food distracted 'em," the guards concluded. All because that girl ate like a starving animal. "Not sure if you're crazy for staying behind or good, but you've balls, kid."
That he did, still aching from that encounter.
And the worst was yet to come. They had to push the damned wagon until the horizon turned purple and orange. By the time the next village came into view, sweat stung his eyes.
Isbra, as the locals called it, had enough room for everyone.
Konrad fell asleep as soon as he hit the straw, clutching that crystal to his chest.
He dreamt of a ginger angel—doing dirtier things than he would care to admit. But at one point, Lu's familiar porcelain face flashed by, ruining his entire mood.
"You're on the right path, Konrad," his voice echoed. "But beware of Gabrielle in Aset."
Well, shit.
Lu sometimes visited him in his dreams to whisper senseless prophecies. But now?! Why?
As the sun stabbed him in the eyes, he woke with aching muscles, and something else—
His sword lay by his side, but other than the pommel, everything looked different.
"How?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes half in a coma, and still stiff everywhere.
The blade became an inch shorter but looked more robust, tapering from the base. A 'W' rune near the hilt hinted at the tribesman who fixed it for him. It felt warm against his fingers.
So Welf not only had to reforge it from scratch in a single night, but even find him somehow?
They had to be someone special, taking out those Griphlets with ease, too. He started to worry that claiming their kills might come back to haunt him. But nobody believed him anyway.
And they reached Aset by noon.
While it was the same size as Halaima, this town was full of life. Spearmen posted at every crossroads of the clean, cobblestone streets. Merchants hawked their wares, crowds gathering.
Konrad saw a dwarf and two beastmen—but none as heart-throbbing as that catgirl before.
"Take care, boy," the peddler said. "Let's make business again sometime."
When they shook hands, a few coppers remained in his palm. It wasn't much, but Father Alastair wasn't there to take his share, either. Finally, he was on his own. Free—
And completely lost.
Wasn't this his dream? To take control over his life?
Ugh, and what about that other dream? He had to avoid someone, right?
Well, he needed to find someone else first, having no idea where that mage would be.
Or what even his name was. If it were Gabrielle, he'd lose his mind.
And how would he make enough money to hire him? Her?
"Five hundred gold," he mumbled, trying to navigate the crowd.
He had three. And a crystal worth another according to the blacksmith. If he could sell it.
"Enchanted tools! Magic items appraised by the Green Mage," a yell shook him up. "They're all unique: once they're gone, they're gone for good."
That answered at least one of his questions.
The peddler's hair was a tangled mess, his cloak having more patches than original fabric. He smelled like vinegar—and it was so strong, he had to keep his distance, or he'd gag.
Konrad had given profitable tips to merchants daily, meeting all kinds of them until now.
Smart and diligent ones. Traders who'd sell their mothers for a coin.
Honest ones—and scammers, who were too short-sighted to consider legitimate business.
The one yelling his heart out seemed like the latter, but he was his only lead.
Fighting through the crowd, he noticed the cart he had pushed. No stall, like the rest of the merchants. His wares were a random collection of household items and cheap jewelry.
The only common theme was the faint glow of runes etched into everything.
"Hey, kid, don't block the view. You can't afford anything here."
Kid? Ouch. He must have been only a few years older than his current body.
And much less than what Konrad could remember. Plus, he wasn't there to buy, anyway.
"I want to sell this—and meet this Green Mage of yours." Konrad flashed the crystal, and that was all the peddler needed to change his tone. The pulse of it reflected from his hungry eyes.
A good sign, if he ever saw one.
"Hmm, nice find," he'd school his voice, but a gulp gave him away. "The mage won't accept visitors, but I can buy it for two silver."
What an obvious lowball. He trusted Welf with his estimate and refused.
"Then tell me where that mage is for one silver, and I'll sell it to him myself." Konrad yanked his treasure back, ready to walk away. The trader grabbed his arm.
"Sorry, sorry, a slip of my tongue—I meant to say two gold, not silver."
Or, the blacksmith had no clue of its real value, after all.
The new offer came too fast. Konrad smelled an opportunity and didn't want to let go.
"I know what it's worth," he lied with fake confidence. His heart was about to explode. "And meeting with that mage is non-negotiable. I won't sell if that's off the table."
"Ugh. Four gold if the core has its charge. If not, the Green Mage would burn us both alive."
Charge? Konrad had no idea what it meant, but he had a hunch he could get an even higher price. Still, with the merchant reaching out like a beggar, he didn't want to stretch his luck.
Finding that wizard was worth more than a little extra profit, after all.
"See it for yourself," he said, handing the crystal over, still trying to play hard-to-get. "We'll negotiate for the final price once you have seen its worth."
The meeting was the priority. He could gather money later, too. Somehow.
But he had to focus on the present now. On a present, where the peddler grabbed his treasure—
And immediately bolted.