Levi stood beside the dirt path leading into the village, a wicker basket full to the brim with swampberries tucked under his arm. He adjusted the frayed collar of his borrowed tunic and eyed the wooden stalls nearby like a man preparing for battle.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "time to see what these little sour grenades are worth."
Mae had gone off to the smokehouse, and he had slipped out quietly—not to escape chores (though that was a bonus), but to test the true value of his only known skill in this world:
Making berries appear out of thin air.
Of course, not in front of anyone. He wasn't daft.
He'd risen at dawn, sat cross-legged on the mossy floor while the old woman snored, and summoned them one by one. One swampberry. Then another. Then five. Then ten.
He stopped when he reached around a hundred and twenty-three, sweat on his brow, fingers slightly stained purple. The cheat engine seemed to slow around that number—not break, just… hesitate. Like something was pressing against it.
"Too much at once?" he'd whispered. "Greedy, maybe."
So he kept twenty for himself—stored in a small pouch Mae had given him—and stuffed the rest into two full baskets.
Now came the hard part: selling them.
Bogwater's "market" was little more than a triangle of rickety stalls, shaded by hanging tarps, with half-rotten goods and a few stubborn traders. Most folk here bartered—coin didn't flow often in the Neck.
Still, Levi spotted a few familiar faces. A fishmonger swatting flies. A woman selling pickled roots. A man with smoked frogs tied together on a string.
He approached the root-seller first, an older woman with a face like cracked bark and a single tooth.
"Morning," Levi said, offering a practiced smile. "Fresh swampberries?"
She looked at the overflowing basket and narrowed her eyes.
"You pick all that just this mornin'?"
"I… started early."
"Hmph."
She picked one up, turned it over, sniffed. "Fresh. Good color. Not squashed." She eyed him suspiciously. "Where's the worms?"
"What?"
"Swampberries always have worms. Or spots. These look too clean."
"Luck?" he tried.
"Hrmph."
Still, she took a handful and dropped two pickled turnips into a jar for him.
"Next time, don't bring so much. Makes folk wonder."
Levi moved on, stall to stall, trading handfuls for salted meat, thin cheese, a chipped wooden spoon, and even a whetstone. No one offered coin—just goods. Useful, sure, but not what he wanted.
He needed silver. Something that clinked. Something he could stash.
Eventually, he found a tanner named Roeg who was sitting behind a table of belts and boots made of stitched frogskin.
Levi cleared his throat.
"Any interest in swampberries?"
Roeg glanced at the basket. "We're neck-deep in berries this season. Everyone's got 'em."
"These are different. Fresh. No rot. Picked at dawn."
"You say that," Roeg said slowly, "but no one brings a full harvest without bruised ones. Not unless they've got servants."
Levi fumbled. "I—uh, cleaned them. Carefully."
Roeg leaned back, scratching his beard. "I'll give you a chipped buckle and a copper groat for the whole lot."
"A copper?"
"Boy," Roeg said, grinning, "you got more berries than folk want to eat in a week. They rot fast. And if they don't… well, that's suspicious too."
Levi clenched his jaw. "What about… silver?"
Roeg laughed, deep and amused. "Silver? You'd need to sell a cartload to the next village, maybe to a merchant heading south. But even then, only if he's hungry."
Levi lowered his head and muttered, "Figures."
By midmorning, he'd sold nearly all—bartered, really. The pouch at his side was heavier with odd goods, but lighter than he hoped.
He did, at last, find a traveling cloth seller with a taste for berries who agreed to part with a single silver stag—in exchange for every last swampberry Levi had left, and a bit of cheese on top.
"Just to make it fair," the man said with a smirk, already stuffing the berries into a pouch of his own.
Levi handed over the goods, hiding his grin.
A silver stag. Cold. Real. The first coin he'd earned in this world.
He stared at it for a long time before tucking it away into his boot.
Back at Mae's, she raised an eyebrow as he returned with an empty basket, a whetstone, a spoon, and a smug expression.
"You went out with berries, came back with scraps," she said. "That what you call trade?"
He held up the silver stag.
Mae blinked, stepped forward, took it from his fingers, and bit into it.
Then she grunted and handed it back. "Don't get robbed, lad. Folk get murdered for less."
Levi smirked. "Noted."
He stashed the coin away and sighed.
It wasn't much. But it was proof.
His power worked. And it had value.
He just had to be clever. Careful.
And maybe… not so greedy next time.