Chapter 62: Is Money Really This Easy?

Glen checked each black pig in the pen, then turned to Tia.

"Wait here. I'll be back soon."

Before she could reply, he vanished into the forest like a gust of wind.

Silence swallowed the clearing, broken only by the pigs' grunts. Tia shivered, pressing closer to the fence.

Glen reappeared moments later, a large, antelope-like creature slung over his shoulder. It was nearly the size of a hog, with a small conical horn on its forehead.

"Mr. Glen, what is that?" Tia asked, wide-eyed.

Glen shrugged. "No idea. I call it a shǎ páo zi."

He used the strange syllables of his native tongue. Tia stumbled over the pronunciation.

"Sha-pao-zi? Such a peculiar name. Why not something simpler?"

"Feel free to rename it," Glen offered, already drawing his knife.

He'd promised Old Cat meat for sale. No time to waste.

Tia tapped her chin, deep in thought, but inspiration eluded her.

"Never mind. I can't think of anything better."

As they chatted, Glen expertly skinned and butchered the animal. He loaded the meat onto the cart, hitched the giant stag, and motioned for Tia to climb aboard.

The maid scrambled onto the cart with clumsy enthusiasm, earning a quiet chuckle from Glen.

"Ready?"

Tia nodded.

With a flick of the reins, the stag's hooves clopped against the dirt, pulling the cart faster into motion.

———

Deep in the woods, Lawell cursed under his breath as he hacked at tough weeds. The basket Glen had crafted for him was nearly full.

Forced labor grated on him, but rebellion was pointless. He glanced at Night Howler dozing nearby and seized his chance to slack off. No pay means no guilt, he reasoned. Just finish by sundown.

He set down his basket and poked through the undergrowth, lifting rocks. Soon, he held two palm-sized black beetles, their heads sporting mismatched pincers.

Lawell had discovered a grim amusement: place two together, and they'd fight to the death. To him, this brutal spectacle outshone any aristocratic pastime.

His once-fine nobleman's clothes—unwashed for five days before his arrival—were now frayed and caked in mud. Back home, servants would have replaced them daily. Here, only Tia cared, but she'd brought no spare garments.

Doesn't matter, Lawell told himself, poking the beetles into combat. Filth is freedom now.

———

On the cart, Glen's voice broke Tia's reverie as she watched trees blur past.

"Oh, buy Lawell some clothes later. His stench is reaching me from miles away."

"Of course, sir." Tia hesitated. "With... my two silver coins?"

"Naturally. Plain work clothes won't cost much."

"Very well." Her shoulders slumped.

As they entered Dud Town, Tia's disappointment melted into awe. Stalls, houses, and bustling people captivated her. Outside a bakery, her eyes locked onto golden loaves in the window.

Glen tugged the reins, halting the stag. "Go on. Get some if you like."

He recognized the look—a child seeing wonders for the first time.

"Won't I delay you?" Tia already had one foot over the cart's edge.

"Take your time. Just don't waste it."

She leaped down, ponytail bouncing, and dashed inside.

Moments later, she returned clutching a paper bag brimming with bread. She handed it to Glen to hold while climbing up, then offered him a piece.

"Want some, Mr. Glen?"

"I've tasted them all." He shook his head, driving onward.

Tia bit into a dark-brown roll. Her eager expression faded.

It's... bland, she thought, Nothing like Mr. Glen's cooking. She tried another. Same disappointment. By the time they stopped, the bag remained plump.

They parked beside the tavern Glen had bought the day before. Its doors were chained shut. Spotting Tia's still-full bag as she dismounted, Glen raised an eyebrow.

"Full already?"

Tia flushed. "I... thought I'd eat it later at home."

"Ah." Glen didn't press. "Your choice."

He unlocked the tavern, cleared space near the entrance, and hauled out a makeshift stall. The shǎ páo zi meat went onto the cutting board. Tia stayed, helping arrange items despite her small stature.

Then Glen began shouting.

"Fresh wild game! Half market price!"

Tia stared, mesmerized by his bold calls.

A crowd materialized—past customers and newcomers alike.

"Same price as before, Mr. Glen?"

"Same!"

"Twenty behrs' worth, then!"

"Coming right up."

Glen sliced a precise portion, weighed it (a flawless match), and handed it over. His muscle memory needed no scale, but buyers distrusted guesswork.

Someone squinted at the unfamiliar meat.

"What is this? Edible? Last time it was black pork!"

"Safe and savory," Glen assured. He'd tested a scrap himself earlier.

Reassured, hesitant buyers joined the rush. With meat prices back to pre-Glen levels, no one wanted to miss cheap cuts.

Tia watched copper and silver coins pile up in Glen's palm, her mouth agape.

How…?

Money seemed to flow to him like water. A dizzying thought took root:

Is earning coins really this easy?