"Fine, fine. That'll be 5 bronze, Iria."
Mabel waved a dismissive hand like conceding a great argument.
Iria gave a small nod, satisfied.
Seeing the price had finally settled, Seven then loosened the drawstring of the leather pouch and fished out a silver cito into his fingers.
'5 bronze, eh. It's already cheap enough compared to the usual market prices, so that old man must've tried to drag the price even lower.'
He extended his hand, about to place the silver on the counter but—
"Wait."
Iria interrupted him, leaning slightly over the counter and pointed toward the other baskets beside the turnips.
"We will also take a basket of radishes… and parsnips. Ah. Two baskets of beets as well, aunt Mabel."
"Oh—oh. Buying half the stock now, are we?"
Mabel began to hum, clearly pleased. She then dragged the baskets closer one by one. Tapping each of the two beet baskets with a knuckle, she muttered under her breath as she counted.
"Radishes are priced for 5 bronze… parsnips 7… and beets are 4 with each basket. That makes it a total of… 25 bronze— or 2 silvers and 1 bronze."
Mabel's gaze flicked to Seven's pouch, then back to Iria and gave her a sly look.
"But since it's you, Iria, I'll make it 2 silvers even."
After a moment, Mabel snorted and waved her hand. Iria is a regular, coming to the village once a month to shop for a month's worth of supplies.
"I appreciate the kindness, aunt Mabel."
Iria's warm smile softened the corners of Mabel's stern face.
'Two silvers…'
Seven fished out one more silver cito from the leather pouch and placed it on the wooden counter.
Displayed there were now two silver cito, glinting under the faint light of the pale sky. Mabel snatched them up immediately, biting one out of habit before dropping them into a small tin box with a metallic clink.
Clink, clank!
Mabel turned to face Seven.
"Go on then. Take them before I remember I should've charged more for those parsnips."
"..."
Seven glanced at Iria, dumbfounded.
'Do you expect me to carry all of this?!'
Mabel seemed to read his thoughts and gave him a mocking giggle.
"Now look here, young Seb. If you can't carry vegetables, how do you plan to carry a household?"
"..."
Seven opened his mouth, but only a silent groan escaped.
Iria suppressed a small laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
- – – 777 – – -
Seven pushed the wooden cart along the road.
Rattle, rattle.
They had already purchased most of the supplies needed for the coming fifty-two days of winter. Meat. Preserved goods. Herbs. Grain and other essentials. Now they were heading toward the last place Iria had in mind.
So far, they have spent 21 silver cito.
'That's nearly half a year of wages for a laborer…'
Thankfully, one of the houses rented out small wooden carts, commonly used to carry harvest from the farmlands to the village.
Back then, she used to commission a knight to collect her purchases and deliver them to the manor.
Today, Seven was the one pushing it.
"Should we take a break?"
"It's fine."
Seven exhaled.
He had planned to train his body anyway. If his written death was truly waiting for him in the 7th day of Bruma then improving his stamina even a little might mean the difference between surviving and dying.
Pushing this cart through the village felt like training on its own.
Step, step.
Knights passed them from time to time, along with locals and traveling merchants. It seemed Heinrich had truly relayed the order to watch over them.
Heinrich himself followed at a distance, greeting villagers and chatting casually as if he were simply enjoying a walk through town on his duty break. No one would suspect he was guarding Seven.
Soon they reached the furthest house in the village, standing near the waist-high wall that marked the border before the deep forest of the valley.
The house was smaller and simple than the others.
Beside it stretched a small humble backyard plot, roughly fifteen meters wide and long, planted neatly with rows of potatoes pushing through the winter soil.
"We have arrived. This should be the last one. Please bear with it, my lo… fiancé."
"R-right."
Iria rang the small bell beside the door.
Ding!
There was no response. Iria rang it again, but still nothing.
"It seems Mister Aizen is not home right now. Too bad, but I think there would be potato meals for the meantime—"
"Looking for me?"
A voice spoke behind them.
Seven spun around immediately.
'When did he—? I didn't hear a single step.'
Standing behind them was an old man with white hair and a slightly hunched back. His clothes were simple, but his frame still held solid muscle beneath the worn fabric.
The old man held a bucket of fish and a fishing rod. The fish had small antenna-like whiskers near their cheeks.
The old man then chuckled.
"If it isn't the lovely Iria. Here for potatoes again?"
Iria gave a polite smile.
"You are right, mister Aizen. These potatoes make a wonderful stew for my fiancé, especially during this winter."
"Fiancé?"
Aizen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Oh? You mean this handsome young lad over here? Hm. Good taste. I looked just as attractive in my youth. Ahahaha…"
Aizen laughed to himself and walked past them, entering his small cabin. After placing the bucket and fishing rod inside, he grabbed a garden fork and stepped into the potato field beside the house.
After that, Aizen examined the crops.
"How much do you need? Most of these are still unripe. I won't sell poor quality to such a lovely lady and her handsome significant other."
"You're flattering us, mister Aizen. But just enough for 2 silvers."
"...Let's see if I have that much."
Aizen carefully dug up one potato after another, checking each one before tossing it onto a woven billow.
As he worked, he casually chatted with Iria, mainly asking how she met this young lad beside her, how long they had been together, and whether he was treating her well.
Seven mostly nodded upon overhearing their conversation.
"Say, mister Aizen. Were you able to catch a flying shark today?"
Aizen paused, then sighed.
"Flying shark? I told you before, it doesn't even look like a shark, but more like a worm."
Aizen lifted another potato, inspecting it.
"It's called a Kilbis. And no. I have no luck today either. I've hoped to catch one for ten years now. But this river… Perhaps it's hopeless."
Aizen placed the last decent potato onto the pile.
"Don't give up hope, mister Aizen. I'm sure you will catch one someday."
"Perhaps."
Aizen smirked, before he walked over towards Seven and patted his shoulder. He then leaned closer and whispered.
"To stay beside such beauty for life… a man should at least know how to fish. If it doesn't trouble you, you're welcome to come back here sometime. I can teach you."
Seven blinked.
The old man's tone had suddenly become serious. His hand rested lightly on his shoulder, yet it felt impossible to move as if invisible weight held him still.
"What do you think?"
"I..."
Seven glanced toward Iria who was smiling calmly to 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.