Chapter 16: Selling Meat
"I will. But children outside are scarce now. Must target townsfolk… yet Berlin's here. Hard to move."
Glas sighed.
"Those damned Knights…"
The voice hissed like embers.
"A plague last Era too. Harassed the Great Ones… even me. But fate's jest—those titans vanished. While I… endured."
"What's our move?"
"Wait. Knights always ride off eventually. Then… we feast."
"Can't be reckless. Those constables bite."
Glas nodded. Then recalled his men's report.
"Byrek… strange place. Send scouts?"
"No. That land thrums with wild power. My senses scream danger."
"As you say."
Dude Town, Central Street.
Emm unfolded his stall as noon baked the cobblestones. He hung slabs of meat—yesterday's kill—on hooks beneath the awning.
Fruit sellers and bakers had dawn's advantage. Emm didn't care.
Only butcher in town. They'll beg.
Right on cue, townsfolk swarmed his stall.
"Two bella of chicken! Please!"
"Three bella here! Hurry!"
(Bella: Zane Kingdom's weight unit. ≈1 pound)
"SHUT IT! Line up or NO MEAT!"
Emm shoved wrapped parcels.
"Yours! Stop staring—two bellas this much! SCRAM!"
"Next! Move your feet! Blocking the queue!"
His sneer could curdle milk. Customers seethed—but stayed silent.
By late afternoon, hooks stood nearly bare.
Another easy day.
"How much you want? Spit it out! I'm closing!"
He didn't look up from wiping his bloody table.
"Ah… not buying. Selling."
Emm's head jerked up.
A lean young man stood there. Clear-eyed. Shoulders square. Ill-fitting clothes couldn't hide coiled strength.
"Selling?"
Emm almost laughed.
Glen stepped aside, revealing the boar on his sled.
"Fresh kill."
Emm wiped hands on his grimy apron. Circled the carcass. Poked. Prodded. Squinted.
"Black boar?"
"Yes, sir."
Back behind his counter, Emm's lip curled.
"Thirty copper. Take it or leave it."
"Thirty? Your chickens cost forty-two!"
"Forty-two. Precisely."
Emm smirked.
"Boar meat's cheap."
"Why? Rare cuts should fetch more."
Glen kept his voice flat.
"My stall. My price."
Emm leaned close, breath reeking of offal.
"Sell to me… or sell to no one."
"Ever had your teeth knocked in?"
Glen crossed his arms.
"Try it, pup."
Emm jabbed a thick finger toward the street.
"Constables love butcher-bashers."
"Let's test something."
Glen's finger stabbed the stall's 4-inch-thick counter plank.
CRUNCH.
Wood splintered. Smoke curled from the smoldering hole.
Emm's throat worked soundlessly.
"Hope I don't see you outside town."
Glen grabbed his sled handle.
Not worth the fight. But he'll remember.
"Puffed-up fool…"
Emm muttered as Glen left.
…I'll just stay in town.
He risked a glance back. Safe.
A silver-haired woman hobbled to the stall next. Trembling hands offered eight coppers.
"Two bella chicken… please? All I have…"
Emm snatched the coins.
"This? Barely one bella!"
"It should be more… please? My grandchildren need—"
"TAKE IT!"
He slammed a meager wrap into her bag.
"Stop whining! Scaring customers!"
"Just a little extra—"
Emm's fist clenched.
Glen stopped. Turned. Marched back.
Emm froze mid-snarl.
"Need meat, ma'am?"
Glen's voice softened beside her.
She blinked up at him.
"Who…?"
"I sell it. Cheaper than this thief."
"But… no coins left…"
Her empty pockets hung loose.
Glen smiled.
Then slammed his palm on Emm's counter.
WHAM!
The plank cracked.
"How much did she give you?"
His eyes locked on Emm's.