Chapter Two: Unaware of the Value

By evening, the caravan finally reached a small village.

Claris jumped down from the wagon and shouted to Todd, “I’m going to get someone to fix the roof and hand out some flyers. Watch this kid and don’t let him run off. He’s worth twenty gold vit, and if he escapes, I’ll deduct it from your wages!”

Todd grumbled, “Yes, boss.”

“Shut up, don’t call me boss, I’m poor!” Claris stormed off in a huff.

She was truly angry, for fate had delivered her a pauper who wasn’t worth a single coin.

This fellow, who called himself Fink, didn’t even have a copper vit to his name.

It was infuriating.

What was rare, though, was that this fool of a boy didn’t even try to haggle. Heaven knows, the price she’d named was meant for bargaining. There were too many ruffians in this world who broke things and refused to pay, always trying to wriggle out of it, so one had to start high to leave room for negotiation and hope to get a fair settlement.

Yet the boy’s generosity only led the shrewd troupe leader to realize she had “an easily bullied simpleton” on her hands. If fate hadn’t dropped gold into her lap, then perhaps it had at least sent her a pair of hands to put to work.

People are always quick to take advantage, especially when the boy had done something she considered “incredibly foolish.”

So, before leaving, Claris instructed the girls to let the black-haired boy handle all the chores. Though the girls were reluctant, Claris didn’t care—handsome wasn’t a valid exemption from work.

After the caravan stopped, there was much to do: they had to set up the stage, prepare for the performance, and make dinner.

The troupe lived simply, and there was no dedicated cook, so the girls took turns preparing meals.

Today it was Lanty’s turn, the scantily clad, lively girl.

“Girls shouldn’t let smoke and fire spoil their beauty; let me handle the cooking,” Hugh said to Lanty with a smile.

“Forget it.” Lanty began chopping vegetables with a clang. “The leader’s away, so you needn’t do anything. It’s just a broken roof—it won’t cost twenty gold vit to fix. I’d say two gold vit would settle the whole thing. The leader’s being harsh, but it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have agreed to whatever she asked.”

“It’s all right. Still, I feel bad for letting you all catch a chill. Besides, it’s not like I’m short of money.”

“Oh?” Lanty fixed her bright eyes on him.

Hugh felt awkward. “I mean, I thought I’d brought enough, but there are always unexpected things.”

“So now you can only grit your teeth and accept her price? You must regret it.”

“To be honest, I don’t mind helping out to make up for it, so there’s nothing to regret,” Hugh said with a laugh.

“Well, if you’re willing, help me with those vegetables, if you know how. If not, it doesn’t matter—so long as you don’t poison us. Actually, you shouldn’t have shown those weird things, or the leader wouldn’t be so angry.”

To make amends, Hugh had offered Claris a few precious potions. Unfortunately, not everyone recognizes a treasure when they see one; to Claris, a potion that could fetch hundreds of gold vit at market was no more valuable than plain water.

She’d decided that fate had not sent her a golden goose but instead a charlatan. Hence, she put Hugh to work, hoping both to compensate for her loss and to teach him a lesson about the immorality of deceit.

Hugh could only sigh.

Those potions, with their remarkable healing effects, were wasted on healthy girls who had no need for them. The support potions were for mages and warriors; ordinary folk would see no benefit. As for the youth-restoring elixirs, their effects weren’t immediate. Ironically, the only ones whose results were instantly visible were the curses and poisons.

Since the girls had done nothing to deserve such “life and death” experiences, he had no wish to test them out.

He also had seeds of magical plants, but suspected Claris would toss them aside as worthless pebbles.

He did possess some magical swords and blades that could be sold for a tidy sum, and Claris would likely recognize their worth, but clearly, he couldn’t carry such large objects on him, and producing them from thin air would reveal the secret of his ring. Besides, weapons like that would likely frighten the girls.

He carried all the wealth of Inferno Isle: books, potions, weapons, energy crystals, magic-enhancing gems—either unprovable in value, or simply impossible to show others. Perhaps the only thing Claris might immediately recognize was Heinz’s staff; women always had a keen eye for gemstones.

But if he actually handed it over, he doubted Claris would hesitate to pry every gem off the staff and then toss the rest away.

That would be a terrible waste.

For most ordinary people, a mage was a thing of legend, and the staff even more so. No one would believe that someone who fell from the sky was a mage simply for that reason.

Especially as this boy was so young, showing neither the arrogance nor the age expected of a mage. Everyone knew that the great were always proud, especially the rare mages.

Had Hugh responded to Claris’s demand for compensation with the arrogance of “How dare you ask a mage for money?” she might have backed down, in light of his miraculous appearance. Instead, he had accepted her terms without protest.

That was why, when Hugh said he had no money and offered potions as payment, Claris had so unceremoniously decided to put him to work.

She would never believe a mage would be so polite, no matter how he fell from the sky. If he was a mage, he was just an “easy to bully mage.”

That was Claris’s conclusion.

When Lanty questioned him, Hugh could only rub his nose and smile wryly. “If I said I was richer than a king, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Everyone has a right to dream,” the girl replied cheerfully.

Ah, best to focus on cooking.

————————————

The Violet Troupe consisted of about thirty members, mostly women, with fewer than a third being men.

They had five wagons, one cargo cart, and their performance props—this made up their entire assets.

Besides Claris, the leader, there was a steward named Alec Binney, who handled the troupe’s daily affairs, and a liaison responsible for contacting theaters and negotiating performance fees. Such formal venue rentals were only possible in big cities; in small towns, the troupe would cobble together a makeshift stage.

Performing in cities meant high rental costs, but with more nobles and wealthy patrons, profits could soar. Troupes always longed for city shows, but many prestigious venues barred small companies, forcing Claris to rely on scattered performances to make ends meet.

Thus, wherever they arrived, they would quickly set up a stage, and the leader and liaison would go drumming up business.

When Claris returned, she had already handed out flyers and brought a few locals to repair the roof. She spent half the day bargaining, finally settling on a price of one gold vit and eighty silver.

As soon as she returned, she called out, “Oh, the boy’s still here? Good. Tell me what work you assigned him. Don’t try to fool me—I know how you all are when a pretty face shows up. Todd, you answer.”

The burly, simple-minded driver replied, “I saw him cooking, hauling some stuff, and flirting with Lanty.”

“Lanty!” Claris shrieked.

Lanty flung a towel at Todd’s face in fury and shouted, “Todd, you idiot! I never thought you’d be such a tattletale!”

Todd touched his face and grinned. “Mama says, being dumb doesn’t mean being good.”

Watching this ludicrous scene, Hugh was both amused and moved.

On Inferno Isle, every day had been tense, every word had to be weighed with care. He’d lived in constant fear of Heinz’s spies, and every action required endless deliberation.

But here, in this troupe, he saw natural camaraderie. They laughed and bickered openly, spoke freely, with no hierarchy—everyone treated each other as equals.

It was truly enviable.

Perhaps this was the sort of life Claris longed to escape, but for Hugh, it was the very thing he had dreamed of for years—maybe he’d tire of it soon, but for now, he savored every moment.

After the commotion, Claris turned to Lanty and asked, “My darling Lanty, what are we eating tonight?”

Lanty replied with a sigh, “Stir-fried wild greens, big-eared pine nuts, and some tomato and rum soup left from lunch.”

“Sounds thoroughly unappetizing.”

“It’s winter, and we’re broke,” Lanty answered helplessly.

Claris clenched her fists. “All right then, that’s what we’ll eat. Let everyone eat quickly, then on to work… let’s hope we get more customers tonight.”

Seeing the troupe’s plight, Hugh finally couldn’t help but say, “Leader Claris, even in winter, there are plenty of ingredients available for food, and they don’t cost a thing.”

His words surprised not only Claris but the other girls as well, who all turned to look at him.

Claris eyed him, making sure he wasn’t joking, then asked, “Are you sure we can find other food?”

“Yes, Leader Claris. I noticed some wild mushrooms growing on the outskirts of the village. Even in winter, they thrive in abundance, easy to harvest.”

“But mushrooms are poisonous, you can’t eat them!”

“Yes, Leader Claris, but not all mushrooms are deadly, and more importantly, their toxins can be removed—it’s not difficult.”

“You mean you can remove the poison from mushrooms?” Claris stared at him in shock, unable to imagine such a thing from this young man.

Hugh nodded. “I’ve seen those mushrooms. I’m certain I can prepare them so you can enjoy their flavor without fear.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to poison us all and then run away?” Claris exclaimed.

Hugh replied helplessly, “You’re free to doubt me, but I’m just trying to help and make up for the trouble I caused. Besides, I’ll be eating those mushrooms too.”

Claris crossed her arms and eyed him for a long moment before saying, “None of us here know how to cook mushrooms.”

“I do,” Hugh replied with a smile. “And I dare say I’m rather good at it.”

“You’re skilled in the kitchen?”

“You can try my cooking for yourself.”

Lanty brought over a dish of the wild greens Hugh had prepared and set it before Claris.

Claris picked up a piece with delicate fingers, tasting it. Her eyes widened in surprise and she cried out, “This is excellent! Oh, Fink, you’re a marvelous cook!”

Lanty laughed too. “I think we should let him try.”

“Very well, let him eat first when it’s ready,” Claris agreed.

That night, the troupe enjoyed a mushroom feast, all prepared by Hugh’s own hands. At first, everyone was hesitant, but seeing Hugh eat heartily with no ill effects, their fears melted away.

Soon, the rich flavor of the mushrooms had them utterly enchanted.

That night became the troupe’s finest meal since its founding. As Claris put it, “Not even nobles could eat such a variety of delicious food—we must be the happiest people in the world.”

Her standards were indeed modest.

Her attitude toward Hugh changed at last.

At that moment, Hugh said to Claris, “Once we reach the city, I’ll sell some of my potions and repay what I owe you. Until then, I don’t mind making myself useful—let me cook. Think of it as… fare and interest.”

Claris agreed without hesitation.

For the sake of good food, she secretly hoped Hugh would never be able to pay her back—and she didn’t believe those odd little potions of his would fetch much anyway.