CHAPTER 113: PLEASE OLD MAN

The sunlight was already mocking him.

Kaelen winced as he stepped out of the Ashen Boar, shielding his eyes from the unforgiving morning glare. A breeze ruffled his shirt, he hadn’t even buttoned it right. One side hung loose like a defeated flag. His belt was crooked. His hair, a mop of black mess, looked like it lost a brawl with his pillow.

And he was late.

Very late.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Kaelen muttered, sprinting through the narrow cobbled streets of the sleepy town nestled at Frahein’s edge. "He’s gonna roast me. Literally. I saw him butter a pan last night."

His boots slapped against the stone path as he darted toward the central marketplace, dodging an old woman with a basket, nearly trampling a child chasing a chicken, and whispering apologies he didn’t mean.

The marketplace was already half empty.

Stalls stood bare, crates empty, vendors packing up with satisfied expressions and (XP)coin-heavy aprons.

Kaelen skidded to a stop in front of the produce stand he was supposed to be at an hour ago.

"Old man!" he called, panting, leaning against the wooden stall. "Please tell me... you saved me some..."

The old store owner looked up from behind a pile of parsnips, unimpressed.

"Well, well. The sleeping prince arrives."

Kaelen clasped his hands like a penitent monk. "Forgive me, Master of Vegetables. I was... struck down by a cruel illness known as bed comfort. Please, have mercy. Dad’s gonna grill me alive."

"I thought your father liked you," the old man muttered, scratching his beard.

"He does! That’s the problem, he knows exactly how to season me." Kaelen dropped to his knees dramatically. "You must have something. Just a bag of onions. A cursed tomato. Anything!"

The old man snorted. "All gone. The morning rush cleaned me out. You weren’t the only one restocking today."

Kaelen’s face fell. "Nooo..."

"But," the man added, narrowing one eye, "you look strong. Adventurer-type. Sword-swinger. Got that—’I kill things, then forget I killed them’—look about you."

"...thanks?" Kaelen blinked.

"There’s a patch of wildstock greens growing near a forest spring, about an hour from here. Good stuff. Better than what I sell, even. But it’s off-path. Not safe for common folk."

"So why are you telling me?" Kaelen asked, squinting.

"Because you look like you wrestle bears for warm-up stretches."

Kaelen raised a brow.

"And because you’re desperate," the man added with a grin. "I’d go meself if I were thirty years younger and not one bad knee away from becoming soup."

Kaelen groaned. "Fine. Directions?"

The man handed him a rough, dirty map, clearly drawn on old parchment and annotated with drawings that looked like a drunk toddler sketched them.

"This thing is too dirty to be even used as toilet paper."

"Follow the trade path out of town," The man ignored him and instructed, jabbing a finger at the squiggles. "Cross the first fork, turn at the crooked pine, can’t miss it, it looks like it’s dancing, and follow the stream upstream. You’ll see a mossy rock shaped like a boar. Go past that. The greens are by the spring under a fallen willow."

"That’s... oddly specific."

"I foraged there for thirty years. Trust me."

Kaelen took the map and stuffed it into his belt. "Alright. But if I die... "

"Leave your boots. They’re nice."

Kaelen shot him a sour look and turned on his heel.

As he trudged out of town, muttering curses at his own name, Kaelen took mental notes.

"Crooked pine. Mossy boar. Fallen willow. If I get eaten by a giant monster, I swear I’m haunting this place..."

He passed through the outer gate of the town, his pace picking up. The world was quieter now, chirping birds, rustling leaves, the gentle gurgle of a distant stream. His boots sank slightly into soft earth. It smelled like spring and soil.

He flexed his shoulders, finally starting to feel the calm in the air.

Then he tripped over a root and face-planted into a bush.

"...I hate this job."

He stood up, spat out a leaf, and sighed.

Still, a part of him, buried beneath the sarcasm, felt good. The woods were alive, yes, and probably dangerous... but they were quiet. There were no explosions, no screaming monsters, no ancient rituals gone wrong.

Just him. A map. And a suicidal errand to find whatever vegetables he didn’t know.

Kaelen’s boots crunched through the underbrush, the mid-afternoon sun filtering between the trees in golden shafts. The forest, for once, seemed peaceful. Just birdsong and the faint perfume of moss.

He squinted at the map again.

"Crooked pine, stream, boar-rock, willow..." he muttered, following the scribbled instructions. "This better not be a test from Derek. Or some elaborate prank by that old man. If a tree turns into a mimic and eats me, I swear... "

And then he saw it.

A spring bubbled gently under the shade of a willow tree, its trunk collapsed in a soft arc like a cradle. Around it grew a lush bed of leafy greens, round, broad leaves glistening with dew, vibrant in color, and...

Absolutely delicious-looking.

Kaelen crouched down, whistling low. "Damn. That’s one sexy plant."

He plucked a few and sniffed them. Earthy. Rich. Sweet, almost. "Why doesn’t this grow everywhere?"

He didn’t know it, but nestled under the surface of each glimmering leaf was a slow-acting neurotoxin. The kind that made your thoughts fuzzy, your stomach warm, and your speech hilarious before eventually knocking you on your ass. But for a normal human it meant instant death.

But Kaelen?

Kaelen wasn’t worried about labels. He was hungry.

His stomach growled. "No way I’m eating grass raw."

Then, rustle.

A squirrel dashed across the clearing.

Kaelen’s eyes lit up.

Later That Evening...

A small fire crackled merrily beneath a makeshift spit. Several skewered squirrels rotated lazily, their fur long plucked, seasoned with wild salt leaves Kaelen had found by accident and roasted to a crisp perfection.

A steaming bundle of the glistening green leaves sat beside him, steamed, sautéed, and folded into some kind of forest salad monstrosity.