Timberland Market

Knocks echo at the door.Roka blinks awake, groggy and warm under a rough wool blanket. The room is small, barely enough space for the tiny bed he's squeezed into.

Sam pushes the door open."Get up. We need to go."

Roka groans, his body still heavy with sleep. He swings his legs off the bed, tries to stand.

His foot catches the edge of the frame, and he crashes to the wooden floor.

"Careful," mutters Sam, already turning away.

Roka rubs his shoulder, pushes himself up, and follows. They descend the creaking wooden stairs

Sam's house is built entirely from wood, but not like the others. The planks are smoother, darker, and stronger, cut from a better kind of tree. In the center of the house, there's a wide open space filled with woodcutting tools, measuring rods, and scraps scattered across the floor. Around this central area, small rooms line the edges, each one with a narrow doorway and not much else.

They pass through a short corridor, the wood creaking under their steps, and push open the door to the outside.

The sun isn't visible yet. Its light only touches the tops of the tallest rooftops, leaving the streets below in a cold, gray silence.

"Why so early?" asks Roka, his eyes barely open, dragging his feet across the cold ground.

"It's market time. This way, it's not far."

But Roka suddenly stops, folds his arms, and sits down right there in the middle of the path.

"What happened to your revenge?"

His eyes snap open wide.

"We're going to the place that sells weapons..."

But before Sam can finish, Roka is already up and walking ahead with new energy.

"Move it! The market's not gonna wait for us," he says, voice sharp with authority.

They don't walk far, just two corners, and the market opens up before them.

The Timberland Market is a long, wide road, packed on both sides with wooden stalls. Weapons of all shapes and sizes, glowing crystals, dried herbs, fresh meat, strange powders, and colorful fruit, everything is out on display.

The whole place is alive. People move in every direction, some bartering, some just staring, but most flowing through like an endless stream of ants. The air is thick with noise, shouting, laughing, the clinking of coins, and the low murmur of deals being made.

Most of the crowd wears rough, torn clothes. Faces are tired, hands are stained, and the smell of sweat mixes with spices and smoke.

Sam grabs Roka by the back of his clothes and lifts him effortlessly, placing him on his shoulders, face forward. Roka holds on, his small hands gripping Sam's head for balance.

They push through the crowd.

"You lived in a forest, right?" asks Sam, his voice steady as always.

"Yes. Why?" 

"And you ate raw meat back then?"

"Most of the time."

"Do you know how to hunt?"

"Of course I know," says Roka, suddenly alert.

Sam grins slightly.

"It's perfect."

"What is perfect?"

"You'll see."

They continue forward, passing stalls filled with blades and spears, coils of rope, hanging meat still dripping with blood, and crates of glimmering stones. Somewhere nearby, a merchant yells about his healing powders, promising strength, youth, and power. Another man argues with a customer over the price of a barely-intact sword.

After searching through rows of shouting merchants and half-hidden treasures, Sam finally stops in front of a less crowded stall. He spots them, small, deep red stones, each one is irregular in shape.

He leans forward, eyes narrowing.

"Are these physical growth stones?" he asks, his voice low but sharp.

The merchant nods slowly.

"Yes… they are."

"How many do you have?"

"Six."

Sam wastes no time.

"And the price?" 

"Five big silvers each."

"I'll take all six," Sam says without hesitation, his voice firm and quick. He knows a good price when he hears one, and this is better than expected.

Without giving the merchant time to reconsider, Sam digs into his coat pocket. His fingers close around three small golden coins. He places them on the stall's surface.

***

Info: Silver and gold form the foundation of most trade. Three small silver coins make up one big silver coin, and ten big silvers equal a small gold coin. From there, three small gold coins match the value of one big gold coin.

But above all sit the mana coins. Rare and highly sought after, a single charged mana coin can hold an immense amount of mana energy, making it worth two hundred big gold coins. Even when discharged, the coin retains value, fifty big gold coins, just for its capacity alone.

***

They move from stall to stall, weaving through the crowd, picking up small tools, some dried meat, and cloth. A murmur floats through the market like wind through trees, everyone is talking about it. A massive dungeon has been discovered nearby. No one knows what's inside, but the excitement is thick in the air.

Eventually, a wide wooden stall catches Sam's eye. Behind it stands a large man, thick-bodied with a round, weathered face and a heavy mustache that twitches as he talks to a customer. Behind him are two doors leading to deeper chambers.

When he spots Sam, his mustache perks up.

"Sam, are you looking for something?" the merchant calls out, his voice gruff but familiar.

Sam doesn't smile, doesn't blink, just nods once.

The merchant's eyes narrow knowingly.

"Come in the back."

Sam takes a step toward the back, but the merchant's hand shoots out, grabbing his arm.

"The kid stays here," the merchant says, his voice low and commanding.

The merchant gestures to another man standing nearby, a clear sign for him to keep an eye on Roka as he leads Sam to the back.

"Stay here," the merchant repeats, his tone final as he motions for Sam to follow him through one of the back doors.

Reluctantly, Sam follows, his expression unchanged as he disappears trough one of the back doors.

Roka lays on the stall, surrounded by various types of wood, his gaze lost in the chaos of the crowd. The scene is so different from his home. The wood here is smooth and straight, carefully cut into uniform shapes, unlike the rugged, natural forms he's used to. The people move in a whirlwind of energy, running in all directions, seemingly without purpose. It's a far cry from his village in the forest, where everyone's role was clear, and there was always a sense of harmony in their actions.

Suddenly, Sam emerges from the back, he places Roka back on his shoulders.

"So?" Roka asks, his voice filled with curiosity, eager to know what happened inside.

"It's for the job. Remember?" Sam speaks in a low voice, his tone calm but serious.

Roka looks up, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, but why the hiding?" he asks, matching Sam's quiet tone.

Sam pauses, his eyes scanning the busy market before responding.

"I don't have a contract. It's forbidden by the Guild Regulation Association, especially now that I'm in a guild."

Roka's gaze drifts toward the distance, where he spots a massive arch towering above the market. Its pillars stand strong on either side, flanked by well-equipped guards. The people beyond the arch are dressed much better than those in the earlier parts of the market, their clothing cleaner and more refined.

Sam notices Roka's lingering stare and follows his line of sight.

"It's the Guild Timberland Market," Sam explains, his tone casual but firm. "We could enter now, but we have everything we need here."

Without another word, they continue walking.

They finally reach a wide area filled with horse carriages. Sam gently takes Roka off his shoulders and sets him down on the ground, his expression serious.

"You need to get stronger, and fast…" Sam says, his voice low, the weight of his words sinking in. "There's a way."

From the pouch at his side, Sam pulls out one of the small red stones they had just bought, along with a unique belt, it is designed to hold something in the center.

He holds the items up in front of Roka.

"If you wear this belt, and insert one of these physical growth stones into its socket, you can become stronger quickly. Not only that, you'll grow."

Roka stands still, his eyes wide, his senses alert, something about this feels important. He feels the weight of Sam's words, but he also senses there's more to the story, more information yet to come.

"I need you to go with a carriage outside of the city and hunt rabbits, you will have them as food and lakes around as water, you will wear one of these stones every day, one per day for six days. After that, return with another carriage. It's a well-traveled road. It's safe, owned by a guild that focuses on agriculture. Nothing to worry about out there, but you'll be alone.

Roka nods, his expression determined.

"I can do that."

"It's possible some of the rabbits will have crystals on their foreheads, you should keep them. Those are valuable."

The air around them shifts. A subtle tension fills the space as Sam's eyes narrow, his words now weighted with an unspoken threat.

"And one more thing..."

The change is immediate, a dark edge creeping into his tone.

"...If the thought of running crosses your mind, just remember this: I'm your guild master, and I can find you... anywhere."

The air feels thicker now, pressing down on Roka. Sam's gaze is sharp, looking down at him with quiet intensity. Roka says nothing.

Sam's voice lowers, a finality in his words.

"And you don't have the knowledge to escape from my guild."

Roka swallows, his expression hardening with resolve.

"I get it. I'm not gonna run."

Sam steps over to the carriage. The carriage driver is leaning casually against a panel, the words SeedBurn Guild are written on it, this guild is known for its expertise in agriculture and long-distance transportation.

"This half-beast can hunt rabbits for your guild," Sam says with a cold efficiency. "What I ask in return is free transportation. He'll head out now and return in six days."

The carriage driver eyes Roka, then nods slowly, calculating.

"We want to keep the furs, if possible," the driver responds.

Sam doesn't flinch.

"We keep all crystals, if any."

"Deal."

Roka climbs into the carriage, clutching the bag that contains the belt and the red stones. He gives Sam a brief glance.

"Come straight to my house when you return," Sam says, his tone serious. "I expect you to be much older when you do."

Without waiting for a response, Sam walks away.