"Stay here."
Seven instructed the guard that Iria chose.
There were only two guards assigned in the exiled mansion, yet Iria chose the one who just joined the ranks a year ago instead of a veteran.
"I beg your pardon, Young Lord. But by Lady Iria’s command—"
"Are you taking orders from a servant over your lord?"
"Forgive , Young Lord. I overstepped."
The knight bowed slightly.
The knight had three brown bracelets tattooed on his wrists.
Seven understood the knight’s duty, but the village was barely half a kiloter away from the exiled mansion to not have company for the walk.
It was also his first ti going out of the mansion grounds.
’I suppose it’s fine. No one should recognize ... ’
He thought.
He was ready to walk, but looking at the knight’s iffy expression, he could not help but feel guilty.
He frowned but decided to give the man a chance anyway.
"Ugh, fine. Take off your armor."
"...Remove my armor?"
"Are you deaf?"
The knight hesitated, but Seven rembered reading that knights considered removing their armor a grave offense.
But he did not care.
Walking around with a fully armored knight was just asking for trouble.
"Hurry up."
He kept playing the scoundrel personality.
After all, the knights were sent by the Archduke himself, so it was obvious that his actions were monitored.
Step.
Step. Step.
After barely a minute of walking, Seven and the knight who was now wearing a plain set of clothes arrived at the gate of the village.
The place was larger than what he imagined a "village" to be, yet not quite big enough to be called a town.
Ancient-looking houses leaned on each other like weary old n as weathered wood, crumbling stone, and patchy rooftops defined most of the structures.
There were no sounds beyond the grunts of villagers who paused to glance at them.
But their stares were not because they recognized them, but because their clothes were too neat and out of place compared to them.
"Outsiders."
"Please... spare a blessing."
"I haven’t eaten in days..."
The whispers and pleas followed them as they moved through the dirt path.
Seven said nothing, but he frowned.
A wooden sign hung crookedly from what looked to be the village hall. Scrawled in weather-worn paint were the words:
ㄴVillage of Exileㄱ
At first, he thought it was a label and a place where exiled criminals were dumped. But the knight, walking beside him, quietly corrected him.
"That’s the village’s actual na, Young Lord.
"It’s been here for centuries.
"When the second generation of the Hart family moved the territory elsewhere, this village chose not to follow."
It made sense.
Located near the borders of the Umbral Wilds, it was arguably the most dangerous part of the region. That, ironically, was also what gave the village its value.
Zaen users occasionally ca from across the continent to prepare for expeditions into the Wilds.
Most never returned.
Thus the villagers survived by salvaging what the dead left behind.
Weapons.
Trinkets.
Provisions.
Sotis corpses.
Hence, a few rchants sotis visit the village to barter their products for those retrieved belongings.
"A grim economy."
Seven muttered.
Step.
"Mister! Handso Mister!"
A cheerful voice ca out from a nearby stall, and most of the males passing by turned to look at him.
Seven too.
"Co take a look. I’ve got the finest swords in this village."
He approached out of curiosity.
There was a stockpile of swords displayed with fancy designs, but when he looked closely, it seed as if they might crumble after just one swing.
"Watchu think? They’re cool, huh?"
The rchant leaned forward with an eager grin.
This part of the village seed to be bustling with loud rchants, a complete opposite of the quiet deanor in the entrance earlier.
Sigh.
Seven sighed.
Any ordinary person might have been persuaded, but not him. It was obvious that those swords were from the belongings of those who t their ends in the Umbral Wilds.
Step.
"Mister? Wait, I’ll give you a discount!"
"..."
But he did not reply.
Instead, he just kept on walking until he saw the stall with no custors and the only quiet rchant.
Well, it was an old woman hunched over with a curved back so it was obvious that she would not raise her voice and shout to advertise her products.
|| Basic Information ||
|| Character: Lydia Asarkhun ||
|| Age: 83 ||
|| Talent: Botanical Alchemy ||
In the first place, the products displayed in her stall did not need any advertisents since they were just dicine.
"Uhh... How much for this?"
He pointed to one jar filled with green-looking pills.
But the old woman did not even bother to look up at him and was too focused on grounding leaves and herbs with mortar and pestle.
"Excuse ?"
"Ah! Buzz off. I don’t sell to lads like you."
"Sorry?"
"I said I only sell to those who actually need it. Not soone lookin’ clean and well-fed like you.’
"Then sell one."
Seven frowned.
Sure, his clothes were too clean. But no one in their right mind would say he looked well-fed.
The old woman gave him a quick glance.
Her eyes flicked over his pale skin, slender fra, and the dark circles sagging under his eyes.
A boy who looked one bad night away from dying.
Her expression shifted. The edge in her voice softened as she reached for a small jar, scooping in a handful of red dull, chalky pills.
"They help flush out toxins. Should keep you steady for a while."
The old woman muttered as she dropped a small handful of dull red pills into a worn glass jar.
Before Seven could say anything, she reached for another container, a tin box this ti, and pulled out a second handful of blue rough, pebble-like supplents.
"These might help you put on a bit of muscle.
"You’ve got nothing on your bones."
She moved to a third container, pried open the lid, and added several round, yellow tablets.
"These will help with circulation."
She reached for the fourth ceramic jar and carefully pinched several green small, soft capsules and let them tumble into the mix.
"And these should help you sleep.
"You look like you’ve been fighting yourself in your dreams."
Seven watched in silence.
He ran a hand through his hair as the pile inside the jar steadily grew.
A part of him wanted to stop her, but another part was curious how many more jars she might reach for.
Eventually, he decided to speak.
"That’s... a lot."
The old woman let out a wheezy laugh.
"What a funny young lad! Of course it’s a lot.
"Look at you pale as paper, arms like twigs, eyes hollower than my pantry after winter."
She squinted her eyes.
"You think one pill’s gonna fix that?"
Seven opened his mouth just to close it again.
He glanced at the jar of pills, then to the old woman.
’...Fudge.’
He cursed inwardly.
’Wouldn’t I overdose if I took them all?
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