"I would never do such a thing, dear madam," I said with a bright smile, even giving her my best puppy-dog eyes.
"You're not that cute," she replied flatly.
"You didn't have to say that! And what's wrong with my looks? I'm handsome! Besides, you're not even that cute yourself," I argued.
She turned away with a sly smile, and I realized too late that I'd walked right into her trap.
"First of all, you're skinny. It looks like you haven't eaten in days. You're not that tall, you're antisocial, and you're cold. None of that goes well together. Your looks? They're just slightly above average, but that's it. Oh, and your hands are rough."
I stared at her, utterly shocked. She didn't have to be so harsh. But she wasn't done yet.
"And another thing—you don't do your job properly."
"What do you mean? I always do my job! I'm the only one who actually works around here!" I protested.
"I do everything on this farm," I added, feeling my frustration rise.
"And you're stupid," she said bluntly, "in the sense that you don't have basic social skills. Your job isn't to do everyone else's work—it's to delegate.
"The only reason those two slackers get away with sleeping all day is because you let them. You tolerate their nonsense, and when they don't do their share, you do it for them."
She paused for effect before delivering the final blow.
"So, overall, I'd rate your looks and personality a five out of ten."
At that moment, my heart sank, and for once, I had no comeback.
As we approached the village, the wooden wall surrounding it came into view. Two guards stood at the entrance.
They weren't dressed in armor like the chief's army, but they both had a sword on their waist.
I pulled the horse to a stop so they could check our cart. This time, they actually did—unusual, since they usually just waved us in. We were one of the few traders who regularly traveled here, and they knew what we sold.
After a quick inspection, one guard nodded to the other and said, "You can go."
Before moving on, I couldn't help myself.
"Hey, do you think I'm handsome?" I asked.
The guard turned and smirked. "A pig is better looking than you."
Rebecca burst out laughing, and even Ken and David joined in.
"I thought we were friends," I muttered before slapping the reins to get the horse moving again.
The village of Tara had one main road, paved with stones. Businesses and houses lined both sides of the street.
The houses, made of wood like our farmhouse, looked much better in comparison. They were painted in bright colors, giving the village a lively charm that our home lacked.
As we entered the village, all eyes locked on us. Their gazes were cold, filled with hatred and suspicion. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they were looking at us like slaves—or even demons.
I nodded to myself and understood why the guards even looked in our cart.
The strangest part of all this? Just last week, we were all smiling, laughing, and bargaining prices with these same people. Now, we were enemies. If it weren't for the common law binding the citizens of the Empire of the Rising Sun, we'd probably already be dead, slaughtered in cold blood.
Yes, my thoughts were dark, but they reflected the truth. Humans are cruel sons of bitches. Mr. Joe is proof enough of that.
When we finally reached the market, I noticed around ten to fifteen carts scattered around, their owners busy dealing with customers. I gently tugged on the horse's rope, and it stopped immediately.
As soon as we came to a halt, a crowd of cheap customers rushed toward us. Most of them still carried malice in their eyes, but they kept their anger in check. After all, they didn't have any better options.
Rebecca handled the money, Fen handed out the corn based on how much she collected, and Davis stayed busy cleaning up, the mess everyone is making.
—
While everyone was busy, I jumped down from the cart and shouted, "I'll be back!" Before anyone could respond, I disappeared into the crowd.
I followed the main road until I stopped in front of the village's famous blacksmith shop. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door, and the small bell above it chimed.
"Coming!" a voice called from the back.
While I waited, I glanced around the shop, my eyes drawn to the walls lined with weapons.
The craftsmanship was stunning—beautiful yet deadly designs adorned the swords. Each blade seemed to tell a story, a testament to the skill and care that went into its creation.
My gaze wandered to the counter, where a single sword caught my attention, it wasn't there before.
Its golden handle was intricately crafted in the shape of a dragon, and I couldn't help but think it must cost a fortune.
But it wasn't the intricate design that captivated me the most—it was the small red crystal embedded in the center of the handle.
From the red crystal, crimson veins extended along the blade, flowing toward its sharp tip like a living pulse.
—-
A tall man moved the curtains aside and stepped behind the table, something clutched in his hand. His body was covered in black marks, and a massive scar ran down his face, taking one of his eyes with it.
He was the one-eyed blacksmith. Despite his towering frame, he looked thinner than the last time I saw him, almost frail.
"Gramps, are you eating well?" I asked in a mocking tone.
"That's none of your business, snot-nosed brat," he replied, his voice weary. "Especially not a brat who's going to die soon."
"Is that concern I hear?" I teased, reaching out to touch the dagger he just put down on the counte. It looked like something he was still working on.
"I don't have sympathy for a heartless boy like you," he said, his tone now sharp and knowing.
His words stung, though I tried not to show it.
My eyes flicked up to him, but I quickly masked any trace of hurt. I was too preoccupied to dwell on it.
"I heard what happened," he continued, his voice heavy with disappointment. "And honestly, I'm disappointed. How could you kill the man who fed you? What kind of monster are you?"
I smiled faintly and asked, "Do you think I'm a stupid monster, Gramps?"
He looked at me, startled, before shaking his head. "No. But you've got problems, and if you're not careful, they'll get you killed. I don't know what you're planning, but the chief isn't happy."
"Why isn't he happy?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Because Farmer Joe's son is a big shot in the Empire's military. That means the chief has to act—to do something that'll please him."
"I see," I murmured, my mind racing. "How long do I have?"
Gramps sighed, "I don't know. Could be today, tomorrow, or a week from now. With or without evidence, the chief will try to pin something on you and your little crew"
"Anyway, Gramps, when are you going to make something like that for me?" I asked, pointing at the dragon-handled sword behind him.
Gramps burst out laughing, the sound deep and booming as he slammed his massive hand against the counter. The whole building seemed to shake under the force. With a wide grin, he said, "You can't even afford the cheapest weapon in my shop! And even if you could, your death's already knocking at the door."
"I beg to differ," I said with a smirk. "I'm going to live. And when I survive and get strong enough, I'm going to rob you blind."
"You? Robbing me?" Gramps chuckled, crossing his arms. "I'd like to see you try."
A moment of silence pass. I stood there staring in his eyes, showing him that I'm serious and that they will come.
With a smile, he started stroking his chin thoughtfully, his massive hand dwarfing his face. "Tell you what—I'm working on something right now. Come back in three days. Not that you'll survive that long."
"Deal," I said, holding out my hand. We shook on it, his grip firm enough to crush a lesser man.
As I turned to leave, I called over my shoulder, "Oh, and Gramps? I feel sorry for any woman you've ever laid with. Hands like that? Insane!"
"Get out of my shop, boy!" he bellowed, though I caught the faint trace of a grin as I stepped outside