Chapter 898: Slice of Life
The capital’s agricultural market occupied three entire streets near the artisans’ district, sprawling with colorful stalls, open sheds, and narrow corridors filled with boxes, baskets, and barrels stacked to dangerous heights. The air carried the mingled scent of damp earth, freshly cut wood, ripe fruit, dried spices, and pack animals slowly pulling heavy carts. It was a kind of organized chaos that only existed in places where hundreds of people tried to sell everything at once. For Strax and his wives, however, it seemed almost peaceful compared to recent events.
Disguised by simple magic, the four walked through the corridors like ordinary travelers. Strax had reduced his own presence to the bare minimum, assuming the appearance of a tall, robust man, without any trace betraying the true monstrosity hidden beneath that human form. Ouroboros looked like an elegant provincial woman, dressed with refined simplicity. Scarlett had assumed the role of a wealthy merchant on a casual stroll, something that suited her natural demeanor perfectly. Tiamat, despite her disguise, continued to radiate the energy of impending trouble.
"I like it here," said Tiamat, looking around with genuine excitement. "There’s food, people shouting, and heavy things to carry. It’s an honest environment." Scarlett sighed beside her. "Your concept of honesty remains deeply troubling." Tiamat ignored the criticism and pointed to a stall selling filled breads. "After the seeds, I want three of those."
Strax held an improvised list written by Ouroboros on folded paper. He observed the contents with the same expression as someone facing a complex military strategy. "Winter wheat, golden barley, dwarf corn, red lentils, damp-soil herbs..." He looked up at Ouroboros. "Is this agriculture or sorcery?" She smiled discreetly. "Both, if done well."
Ouroboros seemed much lighter than in the last few hours. Far from conflicts, far from irritating monarchs, and surrounded by a simple and useful task, her mind finally slowed down. Walking alongside Strax among ordinary stalls, discussing seeds and climate, produced in her a quiet peace difficult to explain. It was strange how someone capable of demolishing armies could also make banalities comforting.
The first stop was at a stall specializing in hardy grains. Jute sacks lined up in impeccable rows, each marked with dark ink indicating origin, harvest, and quality. The seller was a thin, white-bearded man with calloused hands and attentive eyes, someone who could gauge customers in seconds. He analyzed the group and decided that there was money, work, or problems. Perhaps all three together.
"Can I help you?" he asked, drying his hands on his apron.
Scarlett stepped forward naturally. "We want grains adaptable to temperate climates, fertile soil, and rapid cultivation expansion." The old man blinked once. "You want to feed a village?" Strax answered before she could. "We want to feed the future." The salesman stared at him for a second, then pointed to three large sacks. "Then start with these."
While they discussed prices and varieties, Tiamat was already crouched beside a barrel full of samples, sticking her hand into different grains like a curious child. "This one looks like a pebble." She tasted one. "Boring." Ouroboros held her wrist before she could try another raw handful. "You don’t have to eat everything you see." Tiamat frowned. "How will I know if it’s any good, then?"
Strax let out a short laugh. "By the revolutionary method of asking." Tiamat looked at him as if the idea were too absurd to exist.
They bought enough wheat for testing in various fields, barley for bread and drink production, and oats for animals. Strax picked up two enormous sacks and put one on each shoulder without apparent effort. The salesman discreetly widened his eyes. "Do you work in construction?" he asked. "Sometimes," Strax replied. Scarlett coughed to stifle a laugh.
They proceeded to the area with seedlings and vegetables. There, the atmosphere was more colorful and fragrant, with rows of small pots, roots wrapped in damp cloth, and young trees awaiting buyers. Women negotiated loudly, children ran between stalls, and a man dramatically discussed the price of onions as if deciding the fate of the kingdom.
Ouroboros stopped before small apple seedlings and delicately touched a leaf. "This would look beautiful near the Asgard river," she commented. Strax noticed the soft gleam on her face. "Then we’ll take it." She looked at him. "You don’t have to buy everything I find beautiful." "Yes, I do." The answer came so naturally that she was speechless for a second.
Scarlett saw the scene and smiled slightly. "Agricultural romance. Unexpected." Tiamat, who was carrying two filled loaves of bread and couldn’t remember where she got them, nodded with her mouth full. "I thought it was cute."
They bought apples, pears, plums, and some citrus trees that might require adaptation. They also took medicinal herbs, flowers useful for pollination, and seeds of fast-growing vegetables to ensure consistent harvests. Ouroboros explained each choice calmly, while Strax simply agreed and paid. Whenever she showed interest in something, he would already reach out to include it in the purchase.
"You realize you’re being manipulated, right?" Scarlett commented casually.
"I do," said Strax.
"And you don’t mind?"
"Not at all."
Ouroboros lowered her eyes, hiding the blush that was rising again.
Further on, Tiamat found a spice stall and decided that this was the real treasure of the market. The owner, a round and lively man, watched in horror as she opened jars, sniffed everything closely, and sneezed repeatedly after inhaling overly strong chili powder.
"This one is trying to kill me," Tiamat declared approvingly.
"This is imperial pepper," the vendor replied proudly.
"I want two."
Scarlett intervened before they bought dangerous quantities of anything incendiary. Still, they left with enough cinnamon, dried herbs, cured garlic, aromatic seeds, and spices to turn any meal into an event. Tiamat looked as satisfied as a warrior after a successful raid.
In the middle of the main corridor, a boy stumbled while carrying a basket of eggs and saw tragedy approaching. Before disaster struck, Strax moved his hand with invisible speed, catching the basket in mid-air without breaking a single egg. The boy stood there, speechless. Strax returned the basket and pointed to his feet. "Watch where you’re going." The boy nodded frantically and ran off.
Ouroboros watched the scene with silent tenderness. "You like playing the kindly rude one." Strax adjusted a bag on his shoulder. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." Tiamat laughed loudly. "He’d save a baby from a fire and then complain about the noise."
Near the end of their shopping, they found a small stall selling rare seeds brought from distant regions. The owner spoke softly and treated each packet like a relic. There were dark tomatoes, striped beans, ornamental blue herbs, and night-blooming flowers that only opened after sunset. Scarlett was immediately interested. "These could be worth their weight in gold in the future if cultivated well."
Strax crossed his arms. "Then we’ll take them too."
"You didn’t even ask the price."
"If they’re worth their weight in gold in the future, we’ve already saved time."
Scarlett laughed genuinely. "I’m beginning to understand why conquerors prosper."
When they finally finished, they had more bags, boxes, and pots than a regular cart could hold. Strax carried most of it alone. Tiamat carried light items and food. Scarlett mentally organized everything for future planting. Ouroboros walked beside him, holding only a small lavender seedling, which she had insisted on carrying herself.
"Why this one?" Strax asked.
"Because I liked the smell."
"Reason enough."
She smiled.
They left the market as the sun began to set, tinging the rooftops of the capital with a warm golden glow. The city remained vibrant, noisy, and hurried, but the group carried something more valuable than merchandise. There was a lightness between them. Easy laughter. Simple plans. No throne, no war, no ego clashes. Just four people returning home with seeds, seedlings, and the silent promise to build something together.
Tiamat bit into the last filled bread and spoke between bites. "When we plant all this, I want a garden of my own."
"To grow what?" asked Scarlett.
"Spicy, dangerous, and beautiful things."
"That describes you," said Ouroboros.
Strax chuckled softly.
Tiamat smiled broadly. "Exactly."
–
Asgard awoke to a clear, fresh morning, enveloped by that rare climatic balance that seemed to favor any form of life willing to grow. Neither severe cold nor suffocating heat. The breeze swept across the fields around the city, carrying the scent of tilled earth, freshly cut wood, and damp grass. In the distance, the rhythmic sound of hammers and saws still reminded everyone that the kingdom continued its constant expansion, but in that more open region, another type of work predominated. Instead of walls and houses, the focus now was on food, permanence, and the future.
On the edge of the newly demarcated agricultural area, Monica kept her hands clasped behind her back as she watched dozens of workers lining up low fences, digging narrow channels, and removing stones from the ground. Her attentive gaze swept over everything with natural administrative severity. She didn’t need to raise her voice to be obeyed. Simply being present was enough. She wore simple, yet elegant, clothes for the countryside and carried a wooden clipboard full of notes held together by leather straps.
Frieren stood a few steps ahead, crouched beside the dark, fertile ground, touching the earth with her fingertips as if listening to something invisible beneath the surface. Her light hair swayed in the gentle breeze, and her tranquil expression contrasted with the bustle around her. While Monica calculated production, routes, and storage, Frieren seemed to assess the soil’s intimate willingness to cooperate.
"I asked the girls to buy as much grain as possible," Monica said, without taking her eyes off the workers. "If they made half of what I imagined, they’ll come back with enough variety for us to really get started."
Frieren continued analyzing the land before replying. "They probably made more than you imagined. When those four go out together, they always come back with a surplus." She stood calmly and wiped her hands. "Which, in this case, is good."
Monica let out a small sigh that almost sounded humorous. "I sincerely hope it is good. If Tiamat participated in the choices, there’s a real chance we bought too many spices and too little wheat."
Frieren tilted her head, reflecting for a moment. "Fair enough."
Before them stretched a vast area leveled in recent days. Trees had been removed only where necessary, and small groves had been preserved between the sections to maintain shade, wildlife, and natural moisture. Irrigation channels were being laid in precise lines. Stakes marked future divisions between different crops. The place still looked like a large field under preparation, but it already carried the silent promise of abundant harvests.
"I’ve already prepared ten hectares for planting," Frieren said, pointing to the open expanse. "Loose soil, corrected drainage, stones removed, balanced acidity, and reinforced nutrients. If we plant soon, the first crop will grow quickly."
Monica finally turned her face to her. "You said that as if it were something simple."
"It was relatively simple."
"Frieren, leveling, correcting, and strengthening ten hectares usually requires months of work, expensive tools, and dozens of people."
The mage blinked slowly. "I used magic."
Monica remained silent for a few seconds. Then she just jotted something down on her clipboard. "Sometimes I forget that managing resources around you alters the concept of impossible."
Frieren took that as a neutral comment. To her, it truly was.
A group of workers passed by carrying logs for the construction of barns. Monica called the foreman, adjusted the position of the main structure by a few meters, and rearranged the assembly order without even consulting the papers. The man nodded immediately and ran off to relay the changes. Frieren watched curiously.
"You like this," she commented.
"Like what?"
"Being in charge of everything."
Monica raised an eyebrow. "I like to avoid waste. The fact that I have to be in charge of everything to achieve that is a consequence."
Frieren smiled discreetly. "I understand."
The two walked between the wooden markers while the wind stirred the colorful ribbons attached to the stakes. Around them, Asgard residents worked with genuine enthusiasm. Many had arrived in the kingdom fleeing war, famine, or abandonment. Planting this soil wasn’t just work; it was participating in the construction of a stable place for the first time in a long time.
Monica realized this and softened her voice. "If we get it right now, no one here will depend on external caravans in a few years. Our own bread, our own vegetables, our own fruit, our own animal feed. Security begins on the plate."
Frieren nodded. "And well-fed people tend to be less irritating."
"Not always."
"Less than when they’re starving."
"That’s true."
Further in the background, some young people were trying to dig straight furrows for planting and were failing miserably. The lines came out crooked like drunken snakes. Frieren watched for a few seconds, discreetly raised his hand, and dozens of perfect rows appeared on the ground as if an invisible ruler had crossed the entire field. The boys froze, staring at the finished work.
Monica closed her eyes for a moment. "You could try not to humiliate their manual labor."
"I saved time."
"Yes, but now none of them want to keep digging."
Frieren looked at the demotivated workers. "Ah."
Monica took a deep breath and walked over to them. "You. Stop admiring magical furrows and start hauling fertilizer. Movement." Immediately everyone went back to work.
Frieren watched the scene with academic interest. "You use magic too."
"No."
"You do. You just don’t shine."
For the first time, Monica laughed for real, short and dry. "Maybe."
They reached the edge of a small natural lake that would serve as a water reservoir. Frieren pointed to the calm water. "I can connect this to the canals and maintain a constant flow. I can also call for rain if needed, but I prefer not to depend on frequent intervention."
"I agree," said Monica. "I want systems that can survive without you around."
The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Frieren wasn’t offended. He just stared at the water.
"That’s sensible," he replied. "People live better when they build something that endures without needing daily miracles."
Monica closed her clipboard. "Exactly."
The distant sound of bells echoed from the main town, marking mid-morning. Carts arrived carrying tools, seedlings, and empty barrels. Children ran after the wheels until they were shooed away by busy mothers. The whole place breathed growth.
"When they get back," Monica said, "we’ll need to sort seeds by climate, planting depth, harvest time, and pest risk. I also want to reserve some for strategic stock."
Frieren seemed distracted, watching a butterfly land on a stake. "We can enchant barns against rodents."
"Great."
"And I can talk to birds about insects."
Monica glanced sideways at her. "You really talk to birds?"
"When they’re willing."
"And are they usually?"
"It depends on their mood."
Monica decided not to delve into this topic.
They continued walking to the highest point of the terrain. From there they could see Asgard in the distance: new roofs, widened streets, smoke from bakeries, functioning workshops, well-built houses springing up where ruins once stood. The kingdom was ceasing to be a makeshift shelter and becoming a real city.
Monica observed silently for a few seconds. "When we arrived here, there was ash and broken walls."
Frieren looked in the same direction. "There’s a line at the bakery now."
"That excites me more than it should."
"Bread usually does that."
Monica snorted a short laugh.
A stronger gust of wind swept across the fields, bending the grass in gentle waves. Frieren closed her eyes and felt the earth’s mana respond beneath them, alive, stable, promising. "It will grow well here," she said with quiet conviction.
Monica trusted numbers more than hunches, but in this case she accepted both. "Then we’ll make it grow."
In the distance, a watchman at the main gate sounded a short horn announcing the approach of travelers on the road. Monica raised her head immediately. "Perhaps it’s them."
Frieren opened her eyes. "Or merchants."
"If it’s them, I expect sacks of grain."
"If it’s merchants, you’ll buy more sacks of grain."
Monica didn’t deny it.
The two began to walk back towards the city, one with calculated steps and a mind full of lists, the other calm as if she already saw future harvests swaying in the wind. Behind them, ten hectares of prepared land awaited only seeds to be transformed into food, wealth, and permanence. In Asgard, even the soil seemed ready to begin again.
