The cart rattled noisily down the gentle slope, its contents trembling with every bump. I clung to the edges with a mixture of apprehension and determination, while Carla latched on with both hands, her face pale.
"Ronnie, there's a fork in the road up ahead," came Fiorette's calm, composed voice from the driver's seat of the cart.
"Right! Take the right!" I shouted over the rumbling.
Fiorette gave a slight nod and gestured with her hand. The cart responded as if alive, veering smoothly to the right without any intervention on her part.
Carla, gripping the side for dear life, let out a stream of panicked gibberish that sounded like a string of vowels. Meanwhile, I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing in fascination at the cart's wheels.
The wheels were rolling across the packed dirt path, but something peculiar caught my attention. The ground beneath the wheels seemed to ripple, lifting and moving as though guiding the cart along the path. Once passed, the ground returned to its natural state, leaving no trace of disturbance.
So, this was earth magic.
In the Narazario region, earth magic was a rare sight. Reference materials on it were sparse, making it a lesser-prioritized area of study. Yet here it was, right before me.
"Changing the shape of the earth without any direct contact—could this be explained as a natural phenomenon?" I muttered, half to myself. "Perhaps vibrations or tremors like an earthquake? But it's far too precise…"
"Ronnie?"
Fiorette's voice broke through my musings.
"Yes?"
"Destination ahead," she said, gesturing toward a clearing where a cluster of carts and stalls had gathered.
"Stop here," I said quickly, shaking off my train of thought.
Fiorette gestured again, and the cart slowed gradually before coming to a gentle stop, defying all expectations of momentum.
I stepped off the cart, nodding in satisfaction. "We've made good time. Thank you for your help."
Fiorette smiled warmly, her golden hair catching the early morning light. "I'm glad I could be of assistance."
She was the picture of nobility, dressed in a light pink dress with intricate embroidery. She seemed out of place among the earthy tones and rustic charm of the marketplace, and yet her presence drew admiring glances.
Carla, meanwhile, clung nervously to the cart, whispering, "Are you sure we'll find someone to take all this?"
"I'm sure there's someone here who'll take an interest," I replied, scanning the crowd.
"You're not even sure?"
I shrugged. "Father used to frequent an antique dealer here. If my memory serves, he still might."
Carla's anxious expression deepened, but she didn't argue further.
The town's market was alive with activity. Vendors laid out their wares—fresh vegetables, meats, and even handcrafted trinkets—along the dirt paths, calling out to passing customers. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the earthy smell of the morning dew, creating an oddly pleasant atmosphere.
As we moved through the crowd, whispers trailed in our wake.
"Isn't that Ronnie? The useless son of Narazario?"
"No way… What's he doing here?"
"Who's the beauty walking with him?"
Their words weren't new, nor were they particularly inventive. I had long grown used to the town's perception of me. However, Fiorette seemed to draw more attention than I anticipated.
"Who's that lady? She's stunning!"
"Definitely not a local. She's way too refined for this backwater place."
Fiorette either didn't hear or chose to ignore the murmurs. She simply walked with her usual grace, her eyes scanning the market stalls with mild curiosity.
"Ronnie, how much farther are we going?" she asked.
"Not much farther now," I replied.
A short walk later, a large wagon with ornate stitching on its canopy caught my eye. "That's the one," I said, pointing.
Fiorette followed my gaze. "That carriage is quite distinct."
I nodded and pushed the cart toward the wagon. "Carla, why don't you and Fiorette take a look around while I handle this?"
"Oh! Um, okay…" Carla stammered, clearly unsure how to respond to Fiorette's inviting smile.
As they wandered off, I approached the wagon. The words "Pattez Antiques" were written in bold, elegant script across the side.
I opened the double doors at the back. Inside sat a man with neatly combed black hair and round spectacles perched on his sharp nose. He glanced up from a ledger with an air of mild irritation.
"Shop's not open yet," he said curtly.
"I know. I just need a moment of your time. Are you Mr. Pattez?"
The man adjusted his glasses and stood, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I am. And you are…?"
"Narazario. Ronnie Narazario," I said, cutting straight to the point.
The shift in his demeanor was immediate. His posture straightened, and his face lit up with recognition.
"The young master of Narazario? My, what an honor! Your father has been a valued patron of mine for years. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
"The pleasure is mine. I've brought a few items for appraisal."
"Items? From Narazario? How intriguing!" His interest was piqued, and he followed me out to the cart. As I removed the covering, his eyes widened in delight.
"This is extraordinary! A treasure trove of antiques! Why, this sculpture alone is a rare find!"
He examined the items with the fervor of a child opening presents. After a moment, he turned to me, his expression serious. "If you'll allow me some time, I can offer a proper appraisal."
"Take all the time you need."
Pattez nodded eagerly and dove into his work, muttering excitedly as he cataloged each piece.
Half an hour later, he approached me with a sheet of paper in hand, his face flushed with excitement.
"Master Ronnie, I must say, this collection is remarkable. Here is my offer."
I glanced at the paper and blinked in shock. The amount was more than triple what I had hoped for.
"This… are you sure?"
"Quite sure, young master. These are rare pieces, and I am confident they will fetch an excellent price."
"Well, in that case… I accept."
"Splendid! I'll prepare the payment immediately."
Just as he turned toward his wagon, a familiar voice rang out.
"Ronnie, is everything settled?"
Fiorette and Carla had returned, carrying small bags of goods.
Pattez froze mid-step. He turned slowly, his face going pale.
"F-F-F-Fiorette… L-Lady Fiorette?!"
Fiorette tilted her head in confusion. "Mr. Pattez? What's wrong?"
For reasons unknown, the man who had been brimming with confidence now trembled as though caught in a thunderstorm.