Chapter 41: A Door Replacement

As expected, Lavelle, having failed to meet yesterday's demands, received a thorough thrashing from Glen. Consequently, his face today was still bruised and swollen.

Tia watched with visible heartache.

She didn't dare say much, however, as Glen's violence had been genuinely terrifying.

Besides the beating injuries, Lavelle also sported faint dark circles under his eyes. These weren't caused by pain-induced insomnia, but by the utterly terrifying things he'd witnessed the previous night, leaving him paralyzed with fear until dawn.

Indescribably twisted monsters had roamed the otherwise quiet streets, rummaging and foraging for food. Lavelle, who had never encountered such horrors, had wet himself in terror on the spot. He desperately wanted to flee this place, yet dared not disobey Glen's orders, causing him immense anguish.

"Looks like you didn't sleep well last night," Glen remarked as the three sat down together after he finished making breakfast. "But I won't give you time to rest. We have work to do later. I suggest you perk up, unless you want another beating."

Lavelle nodded wearily, poking listlessly at his food with a fork.

Beside him, Tia couldn't help but add some vegetables to Lavelle's bowl, then glanced guiltily at Glen, fearing his anger.

Glen, however, ignored her small gesture and continued, "I'll feed you for now. But if you fail today's task, you'll go hungry."

Who wants your lousy food anyway... Lavelle gritted his teeth inwardly, while outwardly maintaining a submissive demeanor.

Glen could roughly guess the boy's thoughts but said nothing more. Experience would teach him soon enough.

After breakfast, Tia dutifully cleared the dishes and began her chores, while Glen took Lavelle to the pigpen.

The faint scent of pig manure in the air stung Lavelle's nose, but he barely registered it. His attention was riveted on the large, monstrous-looking, one-eyed dog staring intently at him.

"This is Nightroar. He'll be responsible for your safety," Glen introduced casually.

He then pointed at the modest pigpen. "Your task today is to feed these black pigs. You need to cut pigweed from around here and chop it up. I'll show you the steps shortly. The consequences of failure have already been explained. Do well by yourself."

With everything arranged, Glen hitched the stag cart and left promptly to continue selling his handmade wooden furniture.

Emerging from the outer woods of Bayek, the gradually brightening sunlight lifted Glen's spirits.

Approaching Dudetown, however, his brow furrowed. The patrols and checkpoints outside were noticeably stricter and more numerous than before.

"Still haven't caught those child snatchers?" he murmured softly.

The cart's contents held nothing suspicious, and several officers recognized Glen, allowing him smooth entry into the town.

Perhaps due to the unique style of furniture, or maybe the peculiar-looking giant stag, Glen drew many sideways glances as he traversed the streets. He welcomed this; it was good for business.

Setting up once more on Center Street, Glen found a good spot. He carefully arranged the furniture, placing a simple price chart beside them.

Im was still selling meat. Without Glen competing these past days, his shop wasn't quite as deserted, though business was still far worse than before Glen's arrival. Spotting Glen's return, Im's face immediately soured.

Anyone in town paying attention to meat prices knew that a certain young man sold pork that was not only cheaper but also tastier. When people wanted meat, Glen was their first choice. Im braced for another slow day.

He quickly noticed, however, that Glen hadn't brought meat. Instead, he had a collection of rather beautiful-looking furniture.

This sparked hope in Im. If Glen wasn't selling meat, he wouldn't be cutting into Im's business. The thought noticeably improved Im's mood.

Glen paid no mind to others' thoughts. He focused solely on promoting his wares.

Once everything was set, the curious crowd that had gathered pressed forward, pointing and commenting on the finely crafted wooden pieces.

"Mr. Glen, did you make all these yourself? They're gorgeous! Even noble furniture isn't much better!" "Beautiful, yes, but the prices aren't exactly cheap either!" "These clearly aren't meant for ordinary commoners. Only families with stable incomes, or merchants and nobles could afford them." "I think they look great. I'll buy a couple to try out."

Seeing such intense interest from the townsfolk and traveling merchants alike, Glen beamed. He raised a hand, gently quieting the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "these pieces represent my careful thought and craftsmanship. Each is sturdy, durable, lightweight, and convenient. Take this folding stool, for example..."

Picking up a stool about calf-high, Glen deftly flipped it around a few times. It collapsed into a compact wooden cube, drawing gasps of surprise from the onlookers.

"Just like that! They're incredibly convenient for storage at home or taking with you on the go."

Someone pointed towards a larger reclining chair. "Hey! Sir! What about that? Can it transform too?"

Glen walked over. With similar deft movements, he manipulated the chair, and it folded down into a rectangular panel.

"This is a recliner. Imagine after a long day's work, relaxing on this, basking comfortably in the sun? Pure relaxation! And the price? It's considerably cheaper than what others offer. Anyone interested should grab one quickly!"

Glen's detailed explanations stoked the buying desire of everyone present. Soon, people couldn't resist placing orders.

Glen had anticipated that selling all the furniture might take until evening, given the prices. He was taken aback when, barely any time had passed, every single item was snapped up.

He was both amused and exasperated.

Little did he know, these unique pieces would soon ignite a wave of popularity across the Kingdom of Zain, bringing him minor fame among certain circles.

One of the last orders required him to install a doorframe at the buyer's home. Once that was done, he could head back – likely his earliest return from Dudetown yet.

Recalling the address given by the buyer, Glen guided the stag cart through the streets.

Arriving at the destination, the well-maintained house and tasteful decorations marked it as belonging to the middle class.

He approached and knocked gently. The buyer answered – a neatly dressed woman with pleasant features.

Glen greeted her promptly. "Good day to you, Ma'am."

"Oh, it's you, young man. Please, call me Mrs. Ryan. I didn't expect you quite so soon! Please, come in." "Business was better than I anticipated," Glen admitted, stepping inside. "Took me by surprise too..."

Mrs. Ryan didn't rush Glen to work immediately. Instead, she poured him a cup of warm water.

Glen's ears twitched slightly, catching the faint sound of coughing coming from elsewhere in the house – not from Mrs. Ryan.

"It's the door by the window on the second floor that needs replacing," she explained. "If we forget to close the window at night, it makes this awful noise. I've been meaning to change it for ages."

"Don't worry," Glen assured her, taking a sip of the water. "That won't be a problem anymore."

Setting down the cup, Glen gathered his tools and headed straight upstairs.