Cain sat by a crackling fire in the forest, the warmth a welcome relief from the biting cold. The flames danced in the twilight, casting flickering shadows across his face as he savored a modest meal of dried meat and bread.
"Mmm, it's no surprise the Count sent men to kill me," Cain mused, examining the black leather pouch hanging from his belt. "But the plans remain the same. The best part is that the bandits had gold coins—about 89 of them. Mmm, with this, I can finally buy the tools I need."
He poured the contents of the pouch onto a nearby rock, the gold coins gleaming faintly in the firelight. Cain's fingers traced the edges of the coins as he contemplated his next steps.
"Tomorrow, I suppose I'll head to the nearest village," he decided, his gaze fixed on the snow-covered landscape stretching out before him. "Although, I'd prefer to go straight to the mountains. It seems the Count was intent on starving me to death, or was he just trying to keep me from becoming his legitimate son?"
Cain's thoughts drifted back to the empty cart with no food reserves, a stark reminder of Patrick's malicious intent. The idea that Patrick had orchestrated the bandits' attack to prevent him from claiming his rightful place as his son fueled Cain's resolve.
"Maybe that's for the best," he said to himself. "Tomorrow will be a long day. There's a rural village to the west; I'll head there and see what's available."
As night fell, the forest around him grew still. Cain knew that sleeping in such an exposed position was dangerous, so he climbed a sturdy tree and settled onto a high branch, using a blanket of snow to shield himself from the cold. The snow on his pale skin made him blend seamlessly with the wintry landscape, and the darkness of the night concealed his features. Only his striking eyes, reflecting the light like distant stars, were visible.
He pondered over Sara, wondering how she was managing. Leaving her unprotected weighed heavily on his mind, but he rationalized that if he were dead, Patrick would lose interest in her. The thought of her being safe and secure brought him some comfort. Cain knew that ensuring he had enough resources was critical for his future plans, with the "Three Northern Mountains" as his strategic stronghold.
••••
(The next day)
Cain, now mounted on a sturdy horse, made his way toward the nearest village. The village bustled with a slightly festive air, contrasting sharply with the cold and harsh environment he had endured. He dismounted and tied his horse to a post outside a quaint inn, then stepped inside, where the warm glow of lamps and the smell of hearty food greeted him.
"Excuse me, how much is the bill?" Cain asked a waitress, her uniform neatly pressed and her demeanor friendly.
"Oh, it's 2 coins," she replied with a bright smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Alright," Cain said, handing her the coins. "By the way, do you know where I can find blacksmith tools and food reserves?"
"Well, I'm not too sure," the waitress said, tilting her head slightly. "But I recommend the blacksmith shop two blocks south. As for food, we can provide some here if you like."
"Thank you for the information. Could you reserve food for 5 days for me?"
"Certainly," she replied, taking note.
Cain handed her a gold coin as a token of appreciation for her help. "Here's a coin for the good service."
Leaving the inn with a determined stride, Cain headed directly to the blacksmith shop. The chill in the air did nothing to dampen his resolve. As he approached, he saw a mercenary swaggering out of the shop, his new sword gleaming in the sunlight. To Cain, the weapon was nothing more than a flashy piece of metal, destined to be discarded.
Upon entering the shop, Cain was greeted by the sight of a young blacksmith, probably just over 19 years old. Despite his youth, Cain could see the skill and experience in his work, evident from the array of finely crafted tools and weapons displayed on the walls.
"Excuse me," Cain said, his voice steady and confident.
"Oh, a customer," the blacksmith responded, wiping his hands on a cloth. "What can I help you with, young man?"
"I was wondering if you could sell me some blacksmithing tools," Cain inquired, gesturing towards the tools hanging on the walls.
"Tools, not a sword?" the blacksmith asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's unusual. What do you need them for?"
"It's just a personal request," Cain replied.
"Hmm, alright. I think I have a set of basic tools here. That'll be 30 coins."
"Although that's a bit steep, I'll take them. Deal," Cain agreed, nodding.
"Good. Find a cart and come back to collect them," the blacksmith instructed.
"Count on it," Cain said, his mood lifted by the successful negotiation.
Cain left the shop with a satisfied smile and headed to a nearby stable to purchase a cart for transporting the tools and food. After arranging the supplies, he returned to the blacksmith's shop. However, he soon noticed a commotion outside. The mercenary from earlier was engaged in a heated argument with the blacksmith.
"Damn it, how dare you scam me!" the mercenary shouted, his face flushed with anger.
"…"
"Answer me, why did you give me a defective sword?"
Cain observed the scene, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected drama.
End of chapter 19