Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: 15. Adding Insult to Injury? (1)
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# 140
“A, Daddy?”
I grab my flustered daughter’s hand and quickly take care of business.
Sorry, sweetie.
But lately, my instincts have been screaming at me to stay cautious over and over.
Even if I’m disguised, it’s hard to believe there are tons of kids like No. 17 back in the day with facial recognition issues.
Especially someone like Sia—she’d charge right at me, claiming she could smell my scent, and that wouldn’t be weird at all.
So I handle my errands swiftly without enjoying this village I’ve visited after so long.
“Daddy, money!”
“Here.”
I hand over a pouch with an appropriate mix of gold, silver, and copper coins to Scraps.
That kid could probably survive even if the incarnation of the evil god from legends, the Demon King himself, showed up.
So Scraps gets to act solo.
Of course, she just uses the money to buy a bunch of snacks and shares them with Ellis.
“There really something going on?”
Her worried eyes stab at my conscience a little.
A peaceful village with nothing special happening.
For a country girl living there, coming to the next village over—let alone one of the biggest in this viscountcy like this place—must feel like a huge deal.
A special occasion that only happens twice a year!
And here I am ruining that special day on a mere gut feeling. No way I could admit that outright!
“Had a bad dream last night, sweetie. Looks like we gotta wrap up quick and head home today.”
“Oh? If Daddy says so, it must be true.”
Even with her dejected expression, Ellis blindly trusts my words, and it makes her all the more precious.
Where did this adorable kid even come from!
“To make up for it, tell me anything you want, and I’ll buy it for you!”
“Really, Daddy?”
“Really!”
Her mood lifts at my words, and she flashes a beaming smile. I swear I’d buy her any treasure in the world.
Anything available in a village like this, I could get from my secret stash anyway!
“So let’s grab the essentials first!”
“Okay!”
Holding hands, we zip around buying stuff.
Since it’s a regular merchant caravan, I just tell them the quantities and have them send it to our inn. Super convenient.
Thanks to that, I finish all the shopping in just an hour and hurry back to the inn.
Of course, I match Ellis’s pace, and running too fast would draw eyes, so it’s more like brisk walking.
“Little sis, try this too!”
“This one’s yummy too!”
“And this!”
“W-Wait, big sis! I haven’t finished yet!”
Ellis panics, and sure enough, Scraps—popping up like Hong Gildong from east to west—has a cat on her shoulder from the other hand.
The hand not holding mine has skewers wedged between every finger joint.
“Quick! There’s tons more tasty stuff!”
“You’re too fast, big sis!”
Pulling a face, Ellis starts munching through the skewers.
Starting with mystery meat skewers, then corn, rice cakes, and back to meat skewers.
“Daddy want some?”
My cute daughter looks up with pleading eyes, begging for rescue. How could I say no?
I pluck a rice cake skewer from between her fingers, freeing up some space, and she brightens right up.
“Now my hands are free!”
“Ack!”
But that spot gets filled with another meat skewer instantly.
“Mmm... wheat.”
I’d hoped for rice cakes, but nope—wheat ones, as expected.
Coated in sweet honey sauce instead of spicy gochujang.
“Tch. Would’ve bought some if they were rice cakes.”
If I really wanted, I could source rice anywhere, but no way am I building paddies just to grow it.
Sure, other novels show folks turning wheat fields into paddies to outproduce other territories with rice, but how many people actually know how to make a paddy?
It’s not like you just dig a hole and pour water.
Or... does it work?
Maybe I should try sometime, but nah—no desire to pull a stunt like that and attract aggro.
I don’t need to double-crop like some novel protagonist to boost food supplies anyway.
Farm just enough to eat; if it flops, buy more.
I never struggled with money because of constant orders to the Black Anvil or research costs—not because I couldn’t earn it.
I’ve got enough wealth to let my darling daughter eat whatever she wants!
“Oh, right.”
I finish the last rice cake and eye Ellis, who’s sniffling through her fourth skewer.
“Ease up a bit.”
“It’s big sis’s love—wanting little sis to eat all the yummy things she wants!”
It’s clearly her fourth skewer, yet all four finger gaps are still packed.
Maybe too much meat, because now it’s honey-glazed fruit, tree nuts, veggie skewers— all bite-sized.
“The inn we’re staying at has great cooking too, so save room for dinner.”
“Daddy!”
I snag two skewers from her hand, and she looks like a lamb saved by the lord himself.
Her faith is almost scary!
“Thanks, Daddy!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Savoring the perfectly steamed pumpkin, I bring up what I’d just thought of.
“I said I’d get you a present. Find anything you like?”
“Oh, yeah!”
Her eyes sparkle as she scans around.
“That one!”
She points to a stall loaded with all kinds of eggs.
“Eggs?”
“Yeah! I wanna raise chickens, Daddy!”
Slurp.
Seeing her drool over the eggs, I can only let out a small sigh.
She’s grasped the allure of chicken way too early. Her chicken devotion probably ranks right below her love for me.
-Owner gonna lose?
-No way?
For a split second, I think maybe. Top secret.
With all the love she has for me, no chance she’d pick chicken over me.
-Confident? Ask her: pick one forever—me or chicken, no seeing the other. Bet she cries for at least three days.
-I’m confident I’d win, but can’t deny she’d agonize three days minimum!
Not asking ’cause I fear losing to chicken. Absolutely not.
Just sparing her the dilemma, out of love. For real!
“You sure you can raise ’em right?”
“Yeah! I’ll raise ’em long and big—into huge chickens!”
She hasn’t realized yet: chicken tastes best from young birds.
Old hens are for broth, not frying—too tough otherwise.
“Alright, which egg?”
“Hm? Lemme see first!”
I follow at a leisurely pace as she toddles over eagerly.
No caravan mark on the stall, so looks like a peddler...
“What kinda eggs are these?”
No two the same size or color.
Huge ones up front, tiny ones around.
Plain gray, striped, black polka-dot—sizes from smaller than quail eggs to ones I’d barely hold with two hands. Total peddler vibe!
“Dunno.”
“Knew it.”
Peddler confirmed.
Makes sense—during caravan season, folks from nearby villages flock here.
Some come solo like me, others send reps, but bottom line: business booms.
So you get official stalls for a fee, or sneaky blanket peddlers.
This guy—early thirties, friendly smile, selling eggs—is one of ’em.
“How much?”
“Depends on size. Biggest is 7 silver.”
“Too steep for eggs...”
“Look at the size! Who knows—could be rare beast eggs?”
“Or just dead ones?”
“Hey, I used to work for the kingdom’s wyvern knight breeders, bottom rung or not. I know live from dead.”
Even here, air power’s key in battle.
Handled by mages, summoners with flying beasts, or knights taming flying monsters.
Knights have best endurance—no mana drain like flying mages; they just ride like horses.
Drakes can even breathe fire if trained right—insane combat power!
Wyverns are top-tier too, with manticores and griffons.
A wyvern breeder—even low-level—shouldn’t end up here.
“Oh, you know your stuff.”
He scratches his head under my skeptical glare.
“Well... got broke, sold wyvern eggs on the black market, got caught.”
“Death penalty, right?”
“Yeah, supposed to be. But it hit right during the great war. Kingdom fell, so I slipped through.”
“Smuggling wyvern eggs mid-war? Ballsy.”
“Hahaha, now I’m just a chicken farmer!”
His hearty laugh gets one from me.
“Hahaha. You’re a riot. But... really 7 silver for that egg?”
“Tch, fine—5 silver.”
He scowls, clicking his tongue like I’m annoying.
Kid, when I was your age, I worked the empire’s worst crime syndicate.
Seen truckloads of punks like you!
“Nah, not buying.”
“Then why ask?”
“’Cause my girl might want one.”
“Picked the wrong mark.”
Grumbling at me, he spots Ellis inching from the corner and beams, approaching her.
“Princess, looking for a special egg?”
“Huh? Me? Um... I want one with a big, tasty chicken inside!”
“Oh, perfect! You’re in luck—I run the best poultry farm around, princess!”
“Really?!”
Dodged a bullet.
Good thing he’s not the type to crush a kid’s dreams with “cry all you want, no Santa.”
If he’d spouted nonsense like “no chickens from these” or “hatchlings, not chickens,” I’d have let Scraps deck him thrice.
-Owner, stop showing off. Nobody but you says useless crap like that to kids.
-As if I would.
Ignoring Scraps’s nonsense, I watch her and Ellis with the guy.
He tempts with big, pricey-looking eggs, sweet-talking nonstop.
Scraps sidles up, slurps some noodle dish, then says,
“Sucker bait.”
“If it makes Ellis happy, a bit of extra spend’s fine.”
Max is 7 silver anyway.
Risky not knowing what hatches, but from a peddler—it’s fine.
Best case, lizardman egg?
“Lizardmen around here?”
“Nope, but stuff rolls in from trouble elsewhere.”
“No drake eggs?”
“Guy wouldn’t sell those if he had ’em.”
Ex-wyvern handler spotting drake eggs? Nah.
“Could be lying.”
“True, but black market egg sales? Legit.”
“How you know?”
“Smells like me.”
Not showing his true colors for nothing.
Kin recognizes kin.
And our kind? We don’t dig into each other.
Just business.
To me, he IDs wyvern, drake, manticore, griffon eggs easy.
Would’ve fenced ’em to underworld shops.
Underworld folks keep coming back if you know ’em.
“So those? Eggs he doesn’t care about. Safe buy.”
Dumb peddler might offload junk, but a scam artist kin like him? No losses.
Perfect spot—no plot traps, just satisfies daughter’s excitement!
“Daddy, this one!”
She picks a huge egg, grinning ear to ear.
“Excellent choice, princess! 7 silver, sir!”
Rubbing hands at Ellis, he eyes me gleaming. I feel ripped off but pay up for her joy—7 silver.
“Happy?”
“Yeah!”
Seeing her cradle the egg preciously, I smile too.
‘Nothing hatches? Egg cuisine it is.’
Daydreaming nonsense about whatever might emerge.