An'nan appeared in this world like a blank canvas.
His first three days of destitute life had stained that canvas with muddy brown spots, later overlaid with warmer hues from Aunt Susan's family and Dawn Tavern. But undoubtedly, the bard's stories had added the most colors, and the brightest ones at that.
Perhaps in the foreseeable future, this blank canvas would become a kaleidoscope of overlapping colors, turning into something unrecognizable. But for now, at least, An'nan still held beautiful fantasies about this world's supernatural powers.
Mages wielding staffs to cast spells and summon elemental beings. Sorcerers tapping into their bloodlines to use mysterious powers. Warriors swinging greatswords and giant shields, fighting bloodied battles to become the strongest spear or the hardest shield. Rangers with longbows and daggers, dancing through enemy ranks like elven dancers. Even becoming a shadow-dwelling assassin seemed like a fine idea.
Forest-protecting druids, coveted succubi, muscle-headed barbarians, undead with terrifying appearances but gentle hearts, and those support classes who, while not wielding supernatural powers themselves, were the best companions in the bard's tales.
Yet besides that spell he saw that night, An'nan hadn't witnessed any other supernatural powers.
The next day, An'nan and Martin carried firewood to the market in the afternoon. As usual, he wandered the streets like a cat familiarizing itself with new territory, expanding his range day by day.
An'nan could chat with anyone, always stopping at stalls to exchange pleasantries like "How are you? I'm fine" or "How much is this item?" though he never bought anything.
The locals at the market gradually grew familiar with this black-haired boy with his strange accent, whom they'd never seen before.
Expanding his territory, An'nan soon reached the market's depths, where they sold cattle and sheep... and slaves.
In a cage stained with blood and rust crouched a muscular figure with two horns protruding from its head, one broken.
Perhaps An'nan was observing too closely, as a man wearing a stolen leather armor by the cage warned: "Hey, keep your distance, careful it doesn't hurt you."
"Is he a minotaur?"
"Minotaur? It's just a half-breed." The man struck the cage with his iron sword, producing a harsh clang.
The half-minotaur raised his head, his horizontal pupils reflecting An'nan with only serenity: "You're not from around here."
"Um... no."
An'nan didn't make a fuss about "it can talk"—the bard's stories had raised his acceptance threshold. But this half-minotaur, both similar to and distinctly different from humans, closed his eyes and ignored the outside world again.
An'nan stood nearby, and soon someone showed interest in the half-minotaur slave.
"50 silver coins," the leather-armored man quoted.
"Too expensive, it's not even a full minotaur."
"You think you can get a real minotaur for 50 silver?"
"I'll only pay 30 silver."
"I'd rather sell it to the haunted gold mine."
The price negotiation ended poorly, and though others came to inquire, no one bought him.
An'nan could only listen; his entire wealth was just 2 silver coins.
"I can't help you..."
An'nan whispered to the life trapped in the cage before turning away. Those closed eyes opened then, watching his departing figure.
Back at the market's edge, Martin had just sold the firewood. An'nan approached and asked, "How much did you get?"
"20 copper coins."
This was Aunt Susan's required minimum price, and Martin always sold at exactly this price.
That's why Martin always sold quickly.
On the way back, they needed to buy 5 pounds of black bread. An'nan volunteered, taking 15 copper coins to buy 5.5 pounds of black bread from the bakery near Dawn Tavern—he got the extra half-pound through charm and conversation. Then he carried the paper bag back to Aunt Susan's house.
...
"Gold mine? Little An'nan can't even lift a pickaxe."
Faint arguing voices came from the yard. Before An'nan could make out more, he saw an iron pickaxe leaning against the yard wall. He picked it up and opened the gate: "Aunt Susan, is this pickaxe ours?"
"I brought it back, help me put it by the woodpile," Aunt Susan said, quickly changing her expression to a gentle one.
"Alright."
Then she continued arguing with Uncle Holin: "Little An'nan is so frail, how could he swing a pickaxe?"
Thunk—
An'nan struck the pickaxe against the woodpile.
"Aunt Susan, what are you discussing?"
Uncle Holin sheepishly told An'nan that an old friend who'd moved to Breeze City had invited him to work as a miner at the gold mine outside Pine Grove Town. The pay was good, so he wanted to bring Martin and An'nan along.
"How much is the pay?"
"30 copper coins per day."
It sounded only 10 copper coins more than chopping wood daily, but Martin and An'nan could earn the same amount.
"Are Uncle Holin and Martin going too?" Based on his trust in Aunt Susan's family and his need for money, An'nan agreed, "I'll go too."
"Little An'nan, mining isn't suitable for you. You should rest for a while now and think about your future," Aunt Susan advised. This outwardly rough woman surprisingly had a delicate heart.
An'nan believed his future lay in becoming a mage, which required an aptitude test, which required a gold narr, which required earning money...
As for asking Aunt Susan... An'nan knew her family didn't have much money.
Well, 30 copper coins per day wasn't much either. An'nan convinced himself he could sell that pajama set. Rather than letting it gather dust or keeping it as a collection piece, it would be more beneficial to use this modern garment to attract the interest of nobles or mages.
Provided he could communicate normally and not be fooled by a few incomprehensible words.
Aunt Susan convinced An'nan, and Uncle Holin was spared.
The next morning, Uncle Holin and Martin ate last night's leftovers and set off for the haunted gold mine outside town, carrying their pickaxes.
They left cheerfully but returned dejected at dusk.
"What happened... Martin!" Aunt Susan's angry shout silenced even the distant dogs' barking.
"Uncle Holin accidentally got his foot crushed by ore," Martin said, supporting Uncle Holin.
Though the injury wasn't severe and would heal in a few days, they were now short one worker.
"I'll go in Uncle Holin's place," said An'nan, who had tossed and turned all night, explaining to the worried Aunt Susan: "I've thought it through, Aunt Susan, I need money now..."
The doting Aunt Susan couldn't refuse, but things turned unfortunate for Uncle Holin and Martin. At dinner time, they sat nervously under Aunt Susan's imposing presence, while only An'nan quietly ate his black bread and meat soup, as if uninvolved.
At night, An'nan and Martin lay in their separate beds.
An'nan asked Martin about conditions in the mine, while the next room had long since stopped echoing with Aunt Susan and Uncle Holin's arguments.
Thud—
A dull sound of something heavy falling came from the yard, followed by silence.
"What was that sound?"
An'nan thought it might be thieves, but Martin scratched his bottom nonchalantly: "Aunt Susan's throwing clothes."
"Why are the clothes so loud?"
"Uncle Holin's in them too."