The cart rumbled noisily along the gently sloping road, its contents rattling and shaking with every bump. I held onto the edge tightly, feeling the vibrations through my grip as Carla clung to the cart like her life depended on it.
"Ronnie," Fiorette called from the front of the cart, her voice calm despite the chaotic descent. "There's a fork in the road. Which way should I turn?"
"Right! Take the right!" I shouted over the noise, hoping my voice carried above the rattling of the wheels.
Fiorette nodded and raised her hand. The cart shifted smoothly, veering right as though it were alive, executing the turn with precision far beyond the capabilities of a mere vehicle.
Carla, gripping the cart's frame, let out a stream of panicked babbling that was almost comical if it weren't for her genuine terror. Meanwhile, my focus was fixed on the ground beneath us.
The soil beneath the wheels moved unnaturally, rippling like water and subtly lifting to propel the cart forward. After the cart passed, the ground smoothed itself out, leaving no trace of disturbance.
This was no ordinary earth.
"Earth magic," I muttered to myself, marveling at its intricacy. It wasn't a common sight in the Narazario region, where water magic was the dominant attribute. The rarity made it an under-researched subject in our library.
Changing the shape of soil without tools, without touching it directly—how was that possible? It wasn't simply moving dirt; it was commanding the very earth as if it were an extension of oneself. The applications were fascinating, and my mind raced with possibilities.
"Ronnie?" Fiorette's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Yes?"
"The destination is just ahead," she informed me, pointing toward a clearing in the distance.
"Oh, good. Let's stop here," I replied quickly, refocusing on the present.
Fiorette raised her hand again, and the cart slowed to a gentle stop. No jolts, no skidding—just a smooth halt that defied all the rules of momentum.
"Did we make it in time?" Fiorette asked, her tone tinged with pride.
I nodded. "Thanks to you, yes."
Her face lit up with a warm smile, a rare and disarming sight. Clad in a soft pink dress that shimmered faintly in the morning light, Fiorette looked every bit the noblewoman she was. Her presence was incongruous in the rustic morning market, drawing curious glances from passersby.
Carla, still clinging to the cart for balance, finally found her voice. "So… someone here will buy all this?"
"I hope so," I replied with a shrug.
"You hope so?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising an octave.
"Relax. If memory serves, there's an antique dealer who comes to these markets. Father used to frequent him back in the day."
"An antique dealer…?" Carla repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. It was clearly not a profession she was familiar with.
I gave her a reassuring smile. "These morning markets are special. Merchants from all over bring their wares here. Fresh produce, rare goods, and yes, antiques. It's quite the event."
Fiorette nodded in agreement, her gaze drifting over the bustling market stalls. "It's lively, isn't it? Produce and crafts seem to be the main attraction here."
We navigated through the throngs of vendors setting up their displays. Whispers followed us, the townsfolk clearly recognizing me—or rather, recognizing my reputation.
"Is that Ronnie? The good-for-nothing son?"
"What's he doing here?"
"Who's the lady with him? She's gorgeous!"
The murmurs were far from subtle, but they didn't bother me. I was used to the town's low opinion of me. Fiorette, however, drew more attention than I anticipated.
"That's not a local. She's way too elegant."
"Could she be…?"
The speculations didn't seem to reach Fiorette, or if they did, she ignored them with the poise of someone used to public scrutiny. I hurried us along, not wanting to linger and attract more attention.
Finally, we reached a secluded area where a large wagon stood out from the rest. The words Pattez Antiques were painted in elegant script on its side.
"That's the one," I said, gesturing toward it.
Fiorette tilted her head. "It does seem… unique. Will you be long?"
"It might take a while," I admitted. "You and Carla can explore the market if you'd like."
"Oh! Um…" Carla stammered, clearly caught off guard by Fiorette's expectant smile.
Leaving them to their devices, I approached the wagon and knocked lightly on its door. A voice answered from within, gruff and impatient.
"Shop's not open yet."
I pushed the door open, peering inside. A tall, thin man with neatly combed black hair and round spectacles looked up from his ledger. His sharp features and polished demeanor gave him the air of a professional.
"I'm looking for Pattez. Is that you?"
The man adjusted his glasses and stood, scrutinizing me. "That would be me. And you are…?"
"Narazario," I said plainly. "Ronnie Narazario."
The shift in his demeanor was immediate. He straightened, his eyes widening.
"Young Master Narazario! What an honor! Your father has been a valued client for many years. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I have some items for appraisal," I said, gesturing to the cart.
Pattez's eyes lit up, and he hurried to inspect the goods. As I removed the covering, his reaction was immediate—wide eyes and a gasp of delight.
"This… this is remarkable! A treasure trove of artifacts!"
I watched as he examined each piece with meticulous care, occasionally muttering to himself in awe.
Half an hour later, he approached me with a piece of paper in hand. His face was flushed with excitement.
"Master Ronnie, I must say, your collection is extraordinary. Here is my offer."
I glanced at the paper and nearly dropped it. The amount was triple what I had anticipated.
"This… Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. These are rare, valuable pieces. I'm confident they will fetch excellent prices."
"Well… I accept," I said, still stunned.
"Wonderful! I'll prepare your payment immediately."
As he turned to head back to his wagon, a familiar voice called out.
"Ronnie! How fortunate!"
Fiorette and Carla returned, their hands full of small shopping bags.
Pattez froze mid-step. He turned slowly, his face pale as he caught sight of Fiorette.
"F-F-Fiorette… Lady Fiorette?!"
Fiorette's brow furrowed. "Mr. Pattez, is something the matter?"
Pattez stammered incoherently, his composure unraveling as sweat beaded on his forehead.
I raised an eyebrow. "Fiorette, you know him?"
"Yes, he's visited the Grastark estate several times. Haven't you, Mr. Pattez?"
The merchant nodded weakly, his face a mask of panic.
Fiorette's expression hardened. "I see. In that case, may I take a look at the appraisal?"
Before Pattez could respond, Fiorette deftly plucked the paper from his hand and began reading it.
Her face darkened. "What is the meaning of this?!"
Pattez's voice quivered. "I-I can explain—"
"Silence!" Fiorette snapped, her voice cutting through the market like a whip.
The scene escalated rapidly from there. By the end of it, Pattez was on his knees, groveling for forgiveness while Fiorette delivered a scathing lecture on honesty and ethics.
By the time we left the market, the correct payment in hand, I couldn't help but marvel at Fiorette's commanding presence.
"You didn't have to go that far," I said.
"I most certainly did," she replied, her tone firm. "Ronnie, you're too kind. People like that will take advantage of you."
Perhaps she was right. Still, I had gained more than I lost that day—not just in coin, but in understanding the strength of the people around me.