The caravan guards eyed Konrad with suspicion.
"Are they gone?" the merchant paled.
His fear—a rancid smell—reminded him of the beastfolk girl's sniffing. A cold shiver, and a much warmer feeling crept up, thinking of her sweet—
Focus, damn it.
Were those monsters scary enough that a nomad trader shook like a leaf?
If so, he'd better take advantage. Money, fame, whatever could convince Aset's mage to teach him. Anything could've 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, you're the Maou Midori?"
Sure, he didn't kill them, but they were dead, and he even had proof.
"There were six of 'em." Konrad held out his crystal. Hungry eyes locked on the purple haze, the peddler almost salivating. Now, they must have believed—
"Where's your sword, though?"
Nope, they didn't believe him at all.
"I, uh—it got stuck, and one ran off with it," Konrad improvised, cheeks flushed.
The oldest mercenary raised his voice.
"I don't know how you survived," he admitted, "but this tunic tells me you fought."
Konrad had already forgotten. The same talons raked his chest that cleaved their horse in half.
He survived because of the ginger's healing magic, or, at least, that's what she said.
He saw no spell cast, but felt no pain, either.
There was something else he felt, though, his face contorting into a grin.
"Ah, 'tis but a scratch," he pocketed the crystal, adjusting his pants, "they weren't that tough."
And if they were to believe him, this made them question everything. Again.
"The food must've distracted 'em," the guards concluded. All because that girl ate like a starving animal. "Not sure if you're lucky, crazy, or good, but you sure have balls, kid."
Those he did, aching from that encounter. And the worst was yet to come.
They pushed 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 rooms for everyone.
Konrad fell asleep as soon as he hit the straw, clutching the crystal all night.
Thanks to their earlier meeting, he dreamt of ginger angels, and it was dirtier than he would admit. But at one point, Lu's familiar porcelain face flashed by, ruining the mood.
"You're on the right path, Konrad," his voice echoed. "But beware of Gabrielle in Aset."
Well, bummer. But he wasn't surprised. Whether it was real or a dream, Lu often visited him, whispering senseless prophecies. He never heard of that name, for example.
But somehow, he always remembered the words, even if they were meaningless.
As the sun stabbed him in the eyes, he woke with aching muscles, and something else—
His sword—recognized from the pommel, as everything else was different—lay by his side.
"How the—" he mumbled, still stiff, and half in a coma.
It became an inch shorter but looked more robust, tapering from the base. If he were to question where it came from, a 'W' rune near the hilt hinted at the tribesman.
Not only did Welf reforged it from scratch, but he did it in a single night. And even found him.
Well, they had to be someone special, taking out those Griphlets with ease. He hoped, claiming their kills wouldn't come back to haunt him. But nobody would've believed the truth anyway.
Now, he only had to deal with—
***
They reached Aset by noon.
While it was the same size as Halaima, this town was full of life. Spearmen posted at every crossroads, clean, cobblestone streets, and merchants hawking their wares.
Konrad saw elves, dwarves, even beastmen—but none as heart-throbbing as that catgirl.
"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. Finally, he was on his own. Free—
And completely lost.
Wasn't this his dream? To be in control?
Ugh, and what about that other dream? He had to avoid someone.
Well, he still had no idea where to find the mage, or what his name was—but he hoped it wasn't Gabrielle. Was it? And how would he make enough money to hire him? Her?
"Five hundred gold," he mumbled at the crowd.
He had three. And a crystal that should be worth one, according to the blacksmith.
But where does he sell it?
"Enchanted tools! Magic items appraised by the famous Green Mage," the yelling shook him up. "They're all unique: if they're gone, they're gone for good."
Well, that answered at least one of his questions.
The peddler's hair was a tangled mess, and the cloak he wore had more patches than original fabric. Konrad gave merchants profitable tips all the time and met many of them.
Smart ones, diligent ones. Traders who'd sell their mothers for a coin.
And scammers, who'd never even consider a legitimate business. The one yelling his heart out seemed like a textbook example of the last category.
He didn't seem rich or trustworthy, but now he had a 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 each of them.
"Hey, kid, don't block the view. You can't afford anything from here."
Kid? Ouch. He must have been only a few years older. And he wasn't there to buy, anyway.
"I want to sell this— And meet this Green Mage of yours." Konrad flashed the crystal, and the peddler's eyes widened. The pulse of it reflected from his iris, hungry, and mesmerised.
A good sign, if he ever saw one.
"Oh, a nice find," he schooled in his tone, but the gulp gave him away. Grubby hands reached out. "The mage doesn't accept visitors, but I can buy that from you for two silver."
An obvious lowball. Welf must have known what he was talking about when he said one gold.
"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.
"Ah, sorry, it was a slip of my tongue, I meant to say two gold, not silver."
Or, the blacksmith had no clue of the real value, after all.
Konrad froze. It came too fast, desperate. He smelled an opportunity and didn't want to let go.
"I know what it's worth." He had no idea, but he faked the confidence. Playing the calm, his heart was about to explode. "And I want to meet with that mage, too. It's non-negotiable."
"Ugh, fine, fine. Four gold then, but I need to see if the core still has its charge," he bowed, hands raised like a beggar's. "If it's depleted, the Green Mage would burn us both alive."
Charged? Depleted? Konrad had no idea what it meant, but he had a hunch he could get an even higher price. Still, stretching his luck at this point would've been reckless.
Meeting that wizard was worth more than a little extra profit, after all.
He handed over the crystal to play it safe—
And the peddler bolted.