Ch.143The City That Denied the Sun. Belfort (2)

The view of Belfort City was no different from any other city.

From the manholes and sewers connected to the underground sewage system, indescribable stench rose through the winter cold with gurgling sounds, and despite the freezing weather, scantily clad prostitutes gritted their teeth as they seduced adventurers whose bodies burned with long periods of involuntary abstinence.

Buildings soared high, leaving the alleys without sunlight, and on the frozen streets, uniformed men wielded various snow removal tools, breaking ice and clearing snow.

“Nothing particularly special here.”

“Well… it’s a city with historical significance. Not exactly a city with any particular strengths… Still, with high foot traffic, the economy should be quite robust.”

“Economy, huh…”

The economy that the media and politicians talked about was always in recession, with no certainty of when it would improve.

Even a scrap of newspaper from the marketplace was filled with talk of downward pressure and increasing household debt, yet the market had never lacked vitality, and the lights in the red-light district had never gone out.

“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

But regardless… I didn’t care much about economic talk or growth discussions in a place that wasn’t even my hometown.

If the economy is strong, that’s at least better than being weak, isn’t it?

“The time is… around 2 PM…”

“If we wander around the market for supplies and then find an inn for a meal, it’ll be lunchtime.”

The good thing about awkward timing is that by the time you finish what you need to do, it somehow aligns perfectly.

When you start and finish work at the perfect time, don’t you always end up with awkward timing?

“Alright. Let’s head to the market then.”

As I said this, I gently stroked Bruiser, who was exhaling white breath.

The caravan had provided feed for the horses over the past month, but it was based on standards for ordinary pack horses, which wouldn’t have satisfied our party’s war horses with their much larger stomachs.

Clip-clop, clip-clop…

Trotting through the streets, we surveyed from horseback to locate the market.

After about five minutes, we heard bustling sounds in the distance, and we instinctively knew that was the market.

“Since awakening my aura, my hearing has become more sensitive.”

“Well… that’s the standard feature for aura users. Having better hearing isn’t always good. You end up hearing unpleasant sounds too.”

“Hmm… I’m fine with it. I can hear my wife’s moans better.”

As I stretched my wife’s cheeks playfully while answering, Lucia and Casia’s faces instantly contorted.

“You walking adult toys, get a room.”

“The jealousy of old hags whose combined age is twice what we’ve lived… how utterly ugly…”

“Gaaah! Party leader or not, I’ll kill you!”

“If you’re jealous, go catch yourself a man and prove yourself.”

“Sob… how am I supposed to catch a man when all I do is adventure?”

“We agreed to call that ‘talent.'”

Teasing the (relatively) young elves thoroughly, we arrived at the entrance to the market.

*

“Fresh vegetables here! Preserved food also for sale!”

“Check out these sturdy bags! Buy now and get a free potion!”

“Look at these freshly arrived dried fish and smoked fish! We also have pickled salmon roe!”

The market was bustling with merchants’ solicitations, just like any other place.

A wide array of colorful goods from clothing to food lined the stalls, and Belfort’s citizens were engaged in invisible struggles to take them home according to their circumstances.

The wealthy leisurely wrapped themselves in fur coats to ward off the cold while handing shopping bags to their servants, those of moderate means filled their bags and satisfied their hunger with street food like bean-filled pastries or egg bread, and the poor trembled in the biting cold, pitifully carrying thin bags.

“People’s lives are the same everywhere…”

I muttered, watching a little girl begging her mother for just one pastry, and the mother who couldn’t afford even that for her daughter.

“Humans are strange… why do they insist on having children when they know it will only make life harder?”

Casia also muttered, looking at the same mother and daughter, and fortunately, I knew the answer to that question.

“It’s simple. Family is something you can’t break away from even if you want to. A child born from your own body. Parents who gave you your name… It’s human instinct to increase the number of people who will surely help you when you’re dying.”

What parent with money would let their child go hungry? If there were such people, they wouldn’t deserve to be parents.

At the very least, the children on the streets learn to work early for their families, and they strive desperately to protect what comes after their names while expanding their families.

Once born, one doesn’t die so easily.

Twisted, crushed, broken, snapped—the instinct to survive tenaciously borders on madness, and nothing can overcome a human’s will to continue living.

That’s how I survived, after all.

“How would Lord Victor, who has no family, know such things?”

“I may not have a family, but that doesn’t mean others don’t. Besides, those who’ve always targeted me lived by the excuse of doing it for their families.”

“…”

Perhaps it was meant as a playful question rather than a serious one, as Lucia’s expression quickly turned sheepish.

“Sister, you should choose your opponents more carefully. He’s killed far more people than anyone you’ve ever met.”

Casia’s disgusted reaction seemed to be proof of my victory, though I wondered what exactly I had done to win.

But who cares?

A win is a win!

*

“It feels good to have a full chest.”

“Did you really have to describe restocking our spatial storage that way?”

“Yep.”

Having replenished our depleted spatial storage at the market, we began to wander around looking for an inn as the sun climbed toward its zenith.

Since we had horses, we needed a place with stables, but there weren’t any such inns in this area. We were combing the streets like anteaters, but eventually found a suitable inn in the downtown area and drove our horses into the attached stable.

“Welcome!”

A stable boy who was feeding the horses ran over with a bright smile, and we dismounted, stepping onto the straw-covered ground as we handed him the reins.

“Feed these horses well.”

I handed him three silver coins, and the stable boy, smiling brightly again, led our three war horses—each capable of trampling him to death—to an empty spot in the stable. After watching him take Bruiser and the other two unnamed war horses away, we opened the door and entered the inn.

“Wow. It’s warm.”

As the hot, stuffy air characteristic of a furnace welcomed us with a whoosh, I found myself touching my face, wondering if my skin might melt.

Seated around a suitable round table, we each hung our outer garments on our chairs and opened the menus.

“Ah… it’s been over a month since I last opened a menu. I can hardly believe it…”

The fruits of civilization to be tasted after so long!

Out in that harsh wilderness, there was only cold and hunger, fear and slaughter.

But inside villages and cities, these small written words allowed one to taste all manner of delicacies.

“Human civilization is truly great…”

“What about elven civilization?”

“The World Tree one-trick is a bit stale.”

“Hmph.”

Humans have built up a brilliant civilization over hundreds of thousands of years.

Although they lost it all during the Era of Eclipse, as they say, even a ruined wealthy family lasts three generations—humanity bloomed civilization again from the ruins and fragments of that destruction.

But what have elves done besides tending to make the World Tree bigger and more magnificent?

“Do you know how beautiful the World Tree is? You’ve never even seen it!”

“Does boiling soup with World Tree leaves make elixir?”

I crushed her valid rebuttal by channeling a ruthless industrialist, then called over the waiter who had been watching us cautiously.

“We’d like to order.”

“Yes!”

“Veal roast with tofu rice. Also, chilled lager and five servings of whole wheat bread.”

“Yes! Understood!”

“And five servings of cream stew and marbled beef with shrimp.”

I tossed some money as I spoke, and the waiter bowed at precisely 76 degrees while catching the money I threw.

As the waiter returned to the kitchen to relay our order, I received questioning glances from my companions.

“Why did you decide the order on your own?”

“Because I’m paying for it?”

“Ah, then we should listen to Lord Victor.”

I don’t skimp on money.

After all, money can always be earned again!