Far from the atmosphere of the palace, far from the castle and the capital, on the outskirts of the Black Stone Forest, Franco wiped the blade of his knife with a worn piece of cloth. It wasn't the blood that held his attention; rather, it was the way he wiped it—slowly, deliberately—as though his hands needed the motion to convince themselves that it was truly over.
The beast lying on the ground no longer meant anything; it was a body that had lost its weight the moment it stopped resisting.
The forest around him wasn't silent, but it wasn't intrusive either.
From leaves stirred by the wind—not to draw attention, but simply because they knew nothing else—to an insect that fell silent when he took a step, only to resume its buzzing when he moved half a step away.
That was what he liked about the forest. Nothing in it asked more of you than you could give. He let out a quiet breath, sheathed the knife, then pulled the leather sack toward him. Its weight was familiar; light enough to tell him today had been ordinary, yet heavy enough to tell him he hadn't wasted his time. In the end, three fangs. Not rare, but not bad either.
The kind of spoils no one remembers, yet still gets recorded.
After all, the Star Guild requested things like these.
No heroic feats, no colorful monster heads—just materials to be handed in, weighed, and recorded under someone's name in a ledger that cared very little about who you were.
He tightened his coat and cast one last glance at the place. It wasn't a farewell... just a quiet reassurance to himself that he would return, because the forest doesn't disappear. It simply waits.
He headed toward the capital. The road gradually narrowed, then widened again. The ground beneath his feet changed before the air did; damp soil gave way to gravel, and old wagon tracks carved lines that never disappeared.
With every step, the rhythm changed. The closer he came, the more the sounds overlapped: wagons, shouting vendors, a distant argument, metal striking metal, the smell of fresh bread, old sweat, and stagnant water gathered along the roadside.
It wasn't the noise that bothered him, but the haste. People here moved as though they were already late for something that hadn't even been announced yet. At the gate stood the first soldier. His armor was clean enough to say he was still being paid, and his posture rested somewhere between rigid discipline and cautious ease.
Franco passed without being questioned. No one asked for papers, nor did they give more than a passing glance to the sack in his hand. That alone was enough for him to feel the difference since the Emperor had announced the three-month tax reduction.
Even so, the walls were the same, the towers were the same, and the gate still bore the same old cracks.
But inside... things were less stable.
The moment he crossed through, he felt the city moving around him, not with him.
Vendors called out, then suddenly fell silent. Soldiers changed positions without audible orders. People drew close to one another, only to pull away as though they had remembered something too late.
The whispers weren't quiet because they were secret.
They were quiet because they were ordinary.
Franco didn't stop. He passed two men discussing prices. They never mentioned the Emperor by name, yet his name lingered in the silence between their words. Then he saw a woman pull her child closer when a group of soldiers passed—not out of fear, but out of caution.
He looked at her and sighed. Even he hadn't forgotten the purge the Emperor had launched against what had been called the "Black Stars."
That day, the knights had ridden out from the palace—not for war, but for a sweep.
After the memory surfaced, he took a slow breath and continued walking.
He passed a vendor counting the copper coins in his hand twice, then a third time, as though he were testing himself rather than the coins. He knew the market lay farther inside, and today—like most days—wouldn't end here.
"Franco! How've you been, man?"
Franco raised a hand in greeting and stopped at the stall he knew after entering the market with the flow of people. The merchant looked at him and asked,
"What've you got today?"
"Not much." Franco placed the sack on the counter and opened it. "Thirty-four fangs, twenty cores, and some Mandala Snake scales."
"No mana crystals today?"
Franco smiled.
"You know I don't have the nerve to go deeper. And it's rare for weak magical beasts to come all the way to the edge of the forest."
The merchant silently inspected the quality of the contents before nodding with satisfaction and looking back at Franco.
"Good. Better not push your luck by going deeper. You've got decent materials here... how about..."
He paused to calculate before continuing,
"Two hundred and thirty copper."
Franco paused for a moment—not to think about the number, but to compare it with yesterday's. He neither raised an eyebrow nor commented immediately. Numbers no longer meant much when they changed every morning.
"Seven less."
He said it calmly, as though making an observation rather than an objection.
The merchant nodded, then took out old copper coins with worn edges from among newer silver coins that shone more brightly than they should. A small mana crystal sat off to the side, well away from his hand.
"That's how it is today."
His hand paused before he asked,
"Copper as usual, right?"
"Yeah."
So far, copper was the only currency that hadn't lost its value. Although gold had regained some trust, Franco usually ignored the new silver coins.
After wrapping the copper coins in cloth—knowing tomorrow might be better... or worse, with nothing guaranteeing either—Franco bid the merchant farewell and headed toward the Star Guild.
"Give Mia my regards."
"I will."
Franco walked away from the stall, blending into the flow of people without quickening his pace. The market swallowed people quickly, then returned them in different forms.
He had barely passed two rows of stalls when he heard a very familiar angry shout. Noticing the crowd, he headed toward it—not out of curiosity, but because he recognized the owner of the voice before he saw him.
"Excuse me, let me through."
Pushing past the people, Franco quickly reached the front of the crowd, where everyone stood watching the spectacle with no intention of interfering, offering only smiles and the occasional comment.
— "That's the third one this week... same workshop."
— "No, the fourth. The third was over wages. This one's about the payment method."
— "Today's silver or yesterday's silver?"
— "Today's, of course. Yesterday's was worth more."
— "He was an idiot for accepting in the first place."
— "Or brave. Not everyone can say no."
— "Saying 'no' doesn't feed children."
— "But saying 'yes' teaches them you'll always accept."
— "Look at his face... this won't end quietly."
— "No one's going to step in."
— "Why not?"
— "Because he hasn't raised his hand yet."
— "And if he does?"
— "Then everyone will suddenly remember that fighting is forbidden."
A few people in the crowd smiled, while the tense man's voice continued to rise without becoming a shout.
"Don't play games with me," Mark said sharply, leaning forward. "The agreement was clear. One silver coin, or its equivalent."
"And I'm honoring it."
"You call this honoring it?"
"This is what you deserve."
Mark looked at the pouch, then back at the man.
"This isn't what we agreed on."
The man shrugged indifferently.
"Agreements don't stop the market."
Mark clenched his jaw.
"You always say that after you've finished doing the math."
"And you always remember the agreement after the numbers change."
Mark slammed the table once. The sound was enough to draw attention... not to frighten anyone.
He was just about to shout something when the sound of the crowd drew his attention. The employer frowned, and Mark stopped, turning to look behind him.
Several soldiers stood some distance away, silently watching.
They didn't interfere, but their presence alone was enough.
A brief silence followed.
A heavy silence the marketplace knew well.
Mark grabbed the pouch and left his words behind him.
"Keep your job. I won't be coming back."
"There are others."
"Yeah. But not today."
Mark walked away calmly.
As the crowd dispersed, someone finally stepped toward the shop owner...
Meanwhile, as Mark walked away, he noticed Franco approaching him. He let out a sigh, venting his anger, adjusted his tone, and asked,
"Were you nearby?"
"Just arrived. Let's get away from here first."
After they had moved beyond the soldiers' vicinity, Franco asked,
"So, what's today's problem?"
"Nothing major. We agreed on one new silver coin back when it was worth twenty-five old silver coins, and the payment was supposed to be in old silver."
Mark gritted his teeth and glared angrily at the pouch.
"But now he wants to pay me according to what one new silver coin is worth today—which is only eighteen old silver coins."
"So, in short... the usual."
Mark sighed without answering.
Franco asked,
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to look for another job. What else can I do?"
"Why don't you come with me to the Star Guild? At least there, you get paid according to the work you do."
"The Black Winter is coming, man. The cities will close, and the guild won't be of much use. I'm trying to secure steady work, not temporary work. Look at yourself—you work every day just to store enough food for the winter. But what if something happens, and what you've stored isn't enough?"
"I'll come to you."
"Fair enough. You're welcome anytime."
Franco smiled and patted Mark on the back.
"Come on, come with me. Think of it as just taking a break."
"I appreciate it, but it's better if I look for another job... or go back there after I've calmed down."
Franco sighed quietly. This wasn't the first time he had tried to convince him.
They walked for a while without speaking. The noise of the market gradually faded behind them until only the sound of their footsteps remained.
Then Franco suddenly stopped at the corner of a narrow street and nodded ahead.
Two men were arguing at the entrance of a warehouse.
The argument quickly turned into a real fight. The worker dragged his employer into the alley, and the two began punching and striking each other without either of them shouting for help.
The fight ended quickly.
Because of the difference in size, the employer emerged victorious.
He stood up, threw a few coins at the boy lying on the ground, spat on him, and walked away.
"Look over there."
Franco pointed toward the employer returning to his workplace before the soldiers could arrive.
Before the employer even reached his shop, several young men ran toward him looking for work, now that he had dismissed the worker he had fought with.
Without hesitation, he looked around, picked someone of average build, and pulled him over to work for him.
Mark clenched his fist, then slowly relaxed it.
He sighed, realizing that man was just like him.
He hadn't merely lost his job.
He had just seen how easily he could be replaced.
"Come with me to the guild. At least you can work while you look for something better. When the Black Winter arrives, let's survive it together."
"Don't look at me like that. I'll go."
"Don't change your mind again halfway there."
Mark smiled, but gave no reply.
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End of Chapter
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