"I'll teach him." The punch came fast, a straight strike aimed at Liam's stomach.
A dull thud echoed through the air. The crowd instinctively took a step back.
Liam didn't.
The adventurer's grin faltered. He expected something—a wince, a reaction, anything. But the man before him stood still, unfazed. Not even a shift in stance.
"...The hell?" The bearded man took a step back, flexing his fingers as if trying to shake off a bad feeling. 'Like a tree... no, like a wall.'
"Tch." The lean one clicked his tongue. "Dumb muscle, don't start fights with freaks."
Liam exhaled through his nose. "Are you done?"
The bearded man scowled, about to speak, but the woman finally stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Enough." Her voice was calm, steady. "This isn't worth it."
A moment of hesitation. Then the man scoffed, spitting to the side. "Tch. Whatever." He grabbed their bag, and the three of them quickly disappeared into the crowd.
Though Liam felt their lingering stares on his back, the interest of the onlookers soon faded, and he finally turned to the trader, extending a hand. "You alright?"
The man hurriedly nodded, still shaken. "Y-Yes. Thank you…"
Liam didn't reply. Just picked up his basket again, but as he bent down—just for a moment—his fingers twitched. His lips parted, but no sound came. A fleeting, near-invisible grimace a swift hand movement.
Then, nothing.
"You buying herbs today?" He asked, setting the basket down.
The trader blinked as if snapping back to reality. "Uh...? Oh, y-yes… Just a moment." He hurriedly sorted through the contents. "Oh, good, fine… These are very good; some planted, some wild. Twelve bundles… and even three rare ones."
A pause. Then, thoughtfully, he rubbed his chin. "Three silver. How does that sound?" With three fingers held up, he looked up at Liam.
"No." Liam's voice was flat. Unmoving.
The trader hesitated. "Uhm, I can't go any—"
"No, it's too much."
"...!?" Hearing something he'd never heard before, the trader blinked, speechless.
"The selling value should be around two silver. You need to profit, too."
"Uh? Oh… It seems you're a good man. Consider it a thanks for saving me."
Liam's stare didn't waver. "Is your safety only worth one silver?"
"...?" The trader couldn't tell if it was a challenge, an insult, or something else entirely.
A breath. Then, a tired chuckle. "Alright, two silver it is. Need anything else?"
"Spices. Do you have some?"
"Absolutely. Just common ones?"
"Yes. Make it an even two silver."
"Coming right up!" A few moments later, small spice pouches landed on the table. But Liam frowned, pointing at some bags of seeds and rhizomes. "What are these?"
The trader lowered his voice. "A small gift. Cloves, black pepper, ginger. You know how to grow them, don't you?"
"I do not accept gifts." His voice was firm. Nearly angry.
"Ugh, don't do this, young man. Yes, they're pricey, and no, I shouldn't sell them to just anyone, not to say hand them out—but these won't last much longer. I'd rather give them to someone who won't let them rot."
"..."
"Besides, I'd feel bad if I didn't thank you somehow. It's not a gift—consider it a payment." He smiled. "Good people should be repaid, so they stay good. That's something my father used to say. Let me stay true to it."
Liam's fingers curled slightly. Anger, frustration—something swelled in his chest before dissolving at the man's last words.
"...Alright." He packed his things quickly, wasting no more time.
The trader watched him go. "I hope we meet again, young man… Stay good."
Liam stopped. Just for a second.
"You have a good eye for trade," he said. "Not for people." His voice was quiet, almost distant. "I'm no good, quite the opposite..."
Then, he walked away.
...
Blugh.
It wasn't long after. Only moments, really.
Liam stumbled into a narrow alleyway. Ugh.Blugh. Hunched over, one hand braced against the wall, deep red blood poured from his mouth.
His other hand trembled as he brought a herb to his lips, swallowing it whole.
'I took one... sorry, old man...'
'This should be enough till I get back...' He staggered further into the alley, his breath unsteady.
The pool of blood at his feet—ignored. A common occurrence.
His steps were heavy, his mind even heavier.
'If... if I just had a system...' His eyes darkened, frustration lacing his thoughts. Thud. His fist cracked against the stone wall.
'It's just light internal bleeding. This should be solvable with herbs... so why... why...why does it hurt so damn much!?'
*Uhf* His anger smoldered, but his body faltered—his knees giving out just as the heat of his frustration reached its peak. He barely caught himself before collapsing.
"Why... does it keep getting worse..." His head lowered, eyes searching the ground for answers he wouldn't find, all the while his body forced itself up, step by staggering step.
'Why am I so weak? What... what is wrong with me? Why is my body failing me...' He told himself he didn't need a system for strength.
'I need it... to see... to understand it...'
But deep down, a whisper lingered—a question he might refuse to acknowledge.
'I...' His hands curled into fists.
'They—what did they do to deserve something I don't? Why do they have it but not me? Even a smith like Berric has one...' Before he could spiral further, he reached the alley's end.
And just like that, as the light touched—his posture straightened. His steps steadied. His face turned blank, motionless as if nothing had happened at all.
...
The forge, his next stop, wasn't far, but still, it sat on the outskirts of the village, a sturdy stone structure with a thick chimney spewing dark smoke into the sky.
The air was thick with the scent of burning coal and hot metal. The rhythmic clanging of hammer against steel rang through the yard as Liam approached.
Inside, a burly man pounded a glowing piece of iron. His wife, a sharp-eyed woman with graying hair tied back, stood nearby, polishing a finished item.
Liam placed the wrapped knives on the counter. "Need these sharpened."
The blacksmith, Berric, glanced up, resting his hammer on the anvil. "Ah, the Sylven blades finally need touchin' up? 'Bout time. Been what—three months since your last visit?"
Liam leaned against the counter. "Something like that."
Berric grunted as he walked over, picking up one of the blades. "You three take care of your tools well. Barely any damage."
"We use 'em properly..."
Berric smirked. "Not like the villagers, huh?"
Liam shrugged. "It's different."
The blacksmith let out a short chuckle and placed the knife down. "I'll have 'em done by evening. You already know it's harder to work with these."
"Yeah, it's fine. You don't have to hurry. I have to get back tomorrow anyway; it's fine by morning."
"Hmph, morning it is then." Berric set the knives aside.
Liam turned to leave, but before he could step outside, Berric's wife, Elira, called after him. "Mercy doing alright?"
"She is fine."
Elira nodded. "Good girl, that one. Still don't see much of her in the village."
"She prefers it that way," Liam replied.
The blacksmith shook his head. "Shame. People do like her."
Liam didn't respond to that. He knew Mercy wasn't disliked, but dark elves weren't common here, and he knew she still carried the scars of past prejudice, even if no one in the village dared mistreat her now.
"Anyway, have a nice day, goodbye."
As he left, Elira leaned toward her husband, her voice dropping slightly. "You notice?"
"Hm?" Berric sat back down; he didn't even look up from his work.
"He's bigger."
Berric paused for a second before continuing his hammering. "Boy's always been big."
"Not like this." Elira folded her arms. "I swear, he grows every time I see him."
Berric huffed. "Kid's a workhorse. Probably all that lifting."
"Hmh, he was also angry..."
"Sigh... You already know what day is today. It is common for some trouble to arise with these traders and adventurers passing through, and you also know who is the first one to step in if it's clear who is in the wrong."
Elira wasn't convinced. "But there's something different about him today."
Berric finally stopped, resting his hammer against the anvil. "There's always been somethin' different about him."
*Sigh* "He views himself worse than anyone can... You suffer more in your mind than ever in your life... let's just hope he finds and chooses his path before it's too late."
"Hope... let's hope... but why not say it to him?"
"He already knows what he wants... why should I intervene? After all, these were words he himself told me long ago."
The couple shared a brief look before Berric shook his head and went back to work.
...
Wandering back to the village center.
'A system... a unique yet common manifestation of power and will... that's what people say, fancy words... simply a thing that helps you get stronger, you can carve your own path with it...'
His mind wasn't in this village, even as he returned the random greetings.
'But it's not like you can't get stronger without it... it's just like you are groping in the dark...'
'But it is also not that hard... these are just excuses for the weak-willed...'
'I am not weak... what I... wasn't...' His mind was still the same, even as the scent of warm bread filled the air from the small bakery.
A stall, manned by an older woman, stacked with golden loaves and sweet rolls.
Matilda spotted him and beamed. "Ah, Liam! Here for the usual?"
He nodded. "Mercy wants bread."
"Of course she does," the old woman chuckled, already placing a fresh loaf into a cloth bag. "And let me guess, you won't take anything extra for yourself?"
"No."
Matilda sighed dramatically. "One of these days, I'll get you to try my honey cakes."
"Unlikely."
She handed him the bag. "Tell Mercy to visit, will you? I miss that girl."
"I'll tell her."
Matilda smiled. "Good boy."
"I will pay tomorrow..." Liam took the bread and left.
"Alright, have a nice day!"
'This was the last stop.' Outside, Liam thought for a moment, a scene unfolding in his mind, light steps, quick movements.
'Hmh... home...' A light hum, his still mouth moving into a small arch as he stepped forward...
...
Liam arrived home slightly past noon, the sun's heat lingering on his skin as he stepped through the doorway.
The scent of warm food filled the air—savory broth and roasted meat, mixed with the faint sweetness of fresh bread. It was a scent of comfort.
Placing the things down without a word, Mercy's voice greeted him first.
"You're late. We were waiting for you... Did you get into a fight?" She stood by the table, her arms crossed but her eyes warm.
"For you," Liam muttered without responding...
Her gaze flicked to the small pouch he slid across the wooden surface.
Her brows furrowed as she opened the pouch. "Seeds? Spice seeds?"
He nodded. "The trader gave some..."
A small yet beautiful smile played on her lips, subtle, quiet. "Thank you... I'll plant them..."
"Uh?" But it didn't last long as realisation struck her. "So you did get into a fight!?"
*Sigh*
"No, Liam, you know what happens if you get hurt... did you get hurt? Are you alright? Should I bring some herbs?"
"I'm fine." Liam exhaled through his nose, turning away just as Taegan entered, wiping his hands clean on a cloth. The elf who looked not much older than his children also carried that same air of enthusiasm as any young one, eyes gleaming bright blue as he glanced at Liam.
"You're just in time... We were waiting to eat." Taegan said as he sat down, pushing his long silver hair behind the chair's back.
"Do I have to do anything today?"
"Hmh? Hm, no, you can take it easy today, son."
"Then I'm not eating," He said simply. "I'll be in the forest."
Mercy frowned slightly, about to say something, but Taegan just hummed again, tilting his head as if catching something faint, something hidden. But rather than pressing, he only nodded.
"Alright. Don't stray too far."
Liam left without another word.