[Possible Spacetime] Market, Fakes, and Desserts

The market was just waking up in the early morning, the cacophony of voices and the clatter of vendors blending together like a pot of soup slowly boiling.

Frieren stopped in her tracks.

Her emerald eyes narrowed slightly as her gaze pierced through the throng of people and landed on an inconspicuous stall in the distance. The stall owner, a young man, was squatting there, idly fiddling with a few items.

She turned her head and looked at Fern and Red Hair beside her.

"You guys wait here..." She thought for a moment, then changed her mind, "No, Redhead, you come with me."

Red Hair scratched the back of his head.

"Huh? Why?"

Just listen to me.

After speaking, Frieren walked towards the stall at a leisurely pace.

The stall displayed a variety of odds and ends: a few tools, some ornaments, and a few antiques that looked quite old. The items were laid out casually on a gray cloth.

When the stall owner Gazella, saw a customer enter, he immediately looked up and put on that familiar yet slightly ingratiating smile typical of street vendors.

"Welcome, beautiful lady! Take a look and see if there's anything you like. The price is negotiable!"

Frieren knelt down in front of him, not caring that the hem of her robe was dragging on the ground. Her gaze swept around the stall, finally settling on a dark brown pottery pot.

The pot is small and has a simple shape. There are signs of wear on the surface, and you can vaguely see that a dragon pattern was once carved on it, but it is now blurred.

She reached out and carefully picked up the teapot, her fingertips tracing its rough surface.

"This..." she examined the pot, "... it should be from the period of the Unified Empire..."

Gazella's eyes lit up instantly.

"This young and beautiful lady has such excellent taste! A true connoisseur!" His voice rose, tinged with just the right amount of excitement. "To be honest, this treasure has quite a provenance! I even have a copy of the certificate of authenticity! Seeing how discerning you are, I'll give you a sincere price—" He extended his right hand, thumb and little finger outstretched, the rest of his fingers curled, making a "six." "How about this price?"

Frieren looked at him expressionlessly, then slowly extended three fingers.

"No, this number."

Gazella's smile visibly froze for a moment.

"Cut it in half right off the bat, miss, that's a bit too much..."

Frieren ignored him and turned to look at the redhead standing next to her.

"Redhead, you join us and say a few words."

Red Hair paused for a moment.

"Me? What should I say?"

"Whatever." Frieren glanced at him with her emerald green eyes. "Stand closer, it'll make it look like there are more of us."

"Did you bring me here just to bolster your argument when you're haggling...?"

"Where are your scars? Show them to him."

Red Hair had no choice but to take half a step forward, the scar on his face appearing somewhat conspicuous in the morning light.

Gazella looked at the scar on the red-haired man's face, then at Frieren's expressionless but strangely intimidating face, and her shoulders slumped slightly involuntarily.

"... It really won't work," he said, but his tone was no longer so resolute.

Frieren retracted three fingers and slowly extended four more.

"Then this number will do."

Gazella stared at the four slender white fingers for a few seconds, his lips twitched downwards, then he let out a long sigh, raised his hand to wipe away non-existent cold sweat, and put on a helpless look of "I've lost out big time."

"You're a real shopping pro," he shook his head and held out his hand to take the money. "I need to learn from you too. Okay, okay, let's be friends. Four coins it is."

Frieren's lips curled upwards, revealing a smug smile.

"Hey-hey."

But when she looked at Gazella's outstretched hand, she didn't immediately take out her money; instead, she remained silent for a while.

Gazella waited a few seconds, and when she didn't move, she blinked.

"Hmm?" he asked tentatively, "What's wrong, Miss?"

"Fine."

Frieren took out four silver coins from her small pouch and slowly placed them one by one into Gazella's outstretched palm. The coins clinked together, making a crisp, soft sound.

Unbeknownst to Gazella, the cool surfaces of those silver coins were subtly covered with a layer of almost imperceptible magical imprint.

Inside the temporary stronghold.

Frieren held the dark brown pottery jug high above her head, her face beaming with an irrepressible smile.

"Ta-da!" she said cheerfully. "Hehe~ Look! What I bought! How about that? Aren't I good at shopping?"

Falsh was wiping the windowsill with a rag when he heard the sound and turned around. He pushed up his round-framed glasses, walked over naturally, and took the pot from Frieren's hand.

"Let me see," he said, holding the pot up to his eyes and examining it carefully for about ten seconds, from the spout to the bottom, using the light coming in from the window.

Then, he put down the pot, the sound calm and even.

"It's a fake."

The room fell silent instantly.

Frieren's smile froze. She blinked, glancing at Falsh's expressionless face, then at the pot in his hand.

"... Waaah!"

Her knees buckled, and she fell forward, her forehead hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. Her silver twin ponytails spread out beside her, like two pools of despair.

Fern put down the scroll he was organizing, walked over, squatted down beside her, and gently stroked the top of her fluffy head. The gesture was very gentle.

"Another piece of tattered clothing," Fern comforted her softly, "Lady Frieren, don't be sad..."

Empire Library.

Duncan, holding the thick book with its dark brown cover, walked to the borrowing and returning counter.

The librarian Lutine, sat behind the counter. She wore a dark-colored dress with a dark cardigan over it, her long hair simply tied back with a few strands falling beside her cheek. She was sorting through a stack of return records, the quill pen nib scratching softly across the paper. Only when she heard footsteps did she slowly raise her face.

Seeing the book in Duncan's hand, she blinked listlessly.

"This book..." Her voice was soft and her tone flat, "You borrowed it just the day before yesterday, didn't you? Have you returned it so soon?"

Duncan placed the book on the gleaming wooden counter and pushed it over.

"Well, something urgent just came up, I have to go back to my hometown."

Lutine picked up the book, slowly examining the spine and title page. Then she picked up a quill and made a note in the notebook.

"The journey is quite long," she said as she wrote, her tone unchanged, "Please take care of yourself."

Duncan silently watched her lowered head and the moving quill pen.

"... It's quite a long journey," Duncan said, his voice lower than before, tinged with a thoughtful tone. "Lutine, I don't think I've ever told you that my hometown is Weise."

Lutine's hand holding the pen paused very slightly. It was so brief, almost imperceptible.

Then she looked up at Duncan. Her face was expressionless, her eyes calm.

"Is that so?" Her tone was as flat as before. "Perhaps I've heard about you by chance somewhere? If I've been rude in any way, please forgive me..."

"No, it's okay," Duncan interrupted her. "Don't worry about it, it happens all the time."

He turned around, ready to leave.

He took two steps, then stopped.

He didn't turn around, he just turned his face to the side.

"Perhaps," his voice wasn't loud, but it was clear in the empty silence of the library, "I also overheard someone talking about you somewhere, 'by chance'."

Lutine's interlaced fingers twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Your hometown is Luo Er Bei Ya, the northernmost territory of the Empire. I've heard that a rather fierce war took place there many years ago," Duncan continued, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Also, I've heard you enjoy studying divination? How was the divination you performed for yourself this morning?"

Lutine slowly raised her hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She did this very slowly and steadily.

"The divination result was the same as usual, 'an ordinary day.' But it seems that this result has just been overturned."

Duncan looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Yeah."

He said nothing more, turned and left. His footsteps faded into the empty library hall, eventually disappearing outside the door.

Lutine sat behind the counter, watching the door Duncan had left through. She stared for a long time, until the light outside the window had shifted a short distance, before slowly lowering her head, picking up her quill pen again, and continuing to organize the stack of return records.

The soft scratching of the quill pen tip across the paper once again became the only sound in the silence.

The sun was shining brightly on the street.

Duncan hadn't gone far from the library when he spotted a figure in the shadows at the street corner.

Sense leaned against the exterior wall of a dessert shop, her long brown hair almost touching the ground, gleaming softly in the afternoon sunlight. Her eyelids drooped, her face expressionless, looking lazy and not fully awake from the sun.

But Duncan knew she was waiting for him.

When Sense saw him come out, he slowly straightened up, his long brown hair swaying like a waterfall with the movement.

"I heard you're going to Weise," she said, her voice steady and flat.

Duncan stopped in his tracks.

"Kindness."

"Before you leave the Imperial Capital," Sense walked over, stopped in front of him, and slightly lifted his drooping eyelids, "I have something I want to ask you."

Neither of them said where they were going. Sense turned around and naturally walked towards the clean-looking, unassuming little restaurant on the side of the street. Duncan followed behind her.

The restaurant wasn't big, and there weren't many customers at this time. They sat down by the window. There were wooden tables and chairs, and a red and white checkered cotton tablecloth on the table.

The waiter brought two glasses of water, placed down the handwritten menu, and quietly withdrew.

Sense didn't look at the menu. She placed her hands folded on the checkered tablecloth, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders.

"The plan to assassinate Serie," she looked at Duncan and asked directly, "How much do you know about it?"

Duncan picked up his water glass and took a sip. The water was just the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cold.

"I don't know anything." He put down his cup.

Sense stared at him with drooping eyes and a blank expression.

I knew you'd say that.

"Because it's true." Duncan leaned back in his somewhat hard wooden chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the checkered tablecloth. "I sit in the seat of the Imperial Court Magic, and I'm also First-Class Mage. Do you think either side would be willing to honestly report this level of information to someone like me, who's 'not on either side'?"

He picked up the menu and glanced at it casually.

"The Continental Magic Association didn't reveal any details about this mission to me, nor did the Empire. When I tried to become a bridge between the two sides, I was no longer someone who could be fully trusted by either side to share secrets. That's my current situation."

His hand holding the glass tightened slightly at the knuckles, then quickly loosened.

"But I don't regret becoming First-Class Mage; after all, it allowed me to rediscover something I had lost long ago."

Sense listened quietly, her expression unchanged. Her eyelids drooped, and her long brown eyelashes cast a small shadow under her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Duncan," she finally said, "I can't believe you."

"You don't need to apologize," Duncan said, his expression unchanged. "If our positions were reversed, I certainly wouldn't believe you either. After all, I'm someone who climbed up the ladder through dirty tricks."

He raised his hand and beckoned to the waiter not far away.

The waiter hurried over.

"And I'm sure you have other questions too," Duncan said, turning to Sense. "What kind of dessert would you like?"

Sense blinked.

"Desserts can calm people down." Her tone remained flat. "When negotiating with others, it's a big no-no to let them see your anxiety."

"So," Duncan looked at her, "What do you want?"

"Okay, if you're treating, I'll have a strawberry sundae and a strawberry pudding, both double portions."

The waiter nodded and noted it down.

"Okay, it will be delivered shortly."

Later, Sense returned to the base.

She pushed open the door and saw Frieren sitting alone on the floor, her back to the door and facing the blank wall. Her silver twin ponytails hung listlessly, and her entire figure exuded a heavy, almost tangible, sense of despondency.

Fern stood beside her, holding the dark brown earthenware pot in his hand, his expression somewhat helpless.

Sense walked in, tilted his head, and his long brown hair slid to one side with the movement.

"... What's wrong?" Her voice carried a hint of languor, as if she had just finished eating dessert.

Fern looked up, saw it was her, and sighed softly.

"Actually, it's because Lady Frieren bought this," she said, shaking the pot in her hand, "That... later it turned out to be a fake..."

Sense walked up to Fern, deftly twirling a strand of his long brown hair around the pottery pot in her hand, and held it up to his eyes for a closer look. The pot, entwined in the hair, hovered steadily in mid-air.

"I just can't do anything with her..." Sense's eyelids drooped, her voice carrying a hint of indifference, "Why is she acting like a child, throwing a tantrum? Hasn't Frieren always had a terrible eye for things?" She manipulated her hair, slowly turning the pot, "I remember back in the Water Mirror Demon's labyrinth, she was also hugging a fake crystal ball, rubbing her face against it happily..."

"Even fools have their fun," she continued, a strand of hair curling around the teapot as she examined it from all sides. "And, looking closely, although this teapot is fake, it's a pretty convincing imitation, the workmanship isn't bad. It'd actually be quite nice as a decoration in the corner of the room..."

"It's so noisy."

Frieren had her back to her, and her muffled voice came from the direction of the wall, clearly irritated.

Also, don't touch that pot.

Sense stopped moving. She blinked, her hair still curling around the pot, which hung in mid-air.

"Your hair," Frieren's voice was flat and icy, "Reeks of blood."

Sense was silent for two seconds. Then she tilted her head, her long brown hair sliding to one side with the movement. Her expression looked a little confused, yet also innocent, as if she had been wrongly accused.

"Uh..." she drawled, "That's not true. I washed myself thoroughly; I should still smell nice..."

She even took half a step forward, letting a strand of long hair hanging down her chest reach towards Frieren's back.

"Would you like to smell it?"

"Get out of here right now, stay away from me."

Frieren pouted, not turning her head, her voice even harsher than before.

Sense remained frozen in the position of offering his hair.

She turned to Fern, her face expressionless, but a clear confusion shone in her drooping eyes.

"What kind of attitude is that..." Sense's voice remained steady, but his speech was slower. "He was just trying to comfort her out of kindness... or is Frieren just someone who throws tantrums all the time?"

Frieren continued to face the wall without speaking. But her shoulders were slightly hunched, and her cheeks seemed to puff out in anger.

Fern glanced at Sense, then at his master's back, which seemed to say "Leave me alone," and sighed softly.

"That was Lady Frieren's super irritable outburst," she explained, her voice soft, as if sharing a secret. "It only happens about once every ten years; this is only the second time I've seen it."

"Frieren's words in this state are like knives, capable of taking lives. It's best not to provoke her."

Sense blinked.

"... I see. Are elves such a mysterious race? So what should we do?"

"Please rest assured," Fern said, "Lord Heiter said that this state usually only lasts for ten minutes."

Sense remained silent for a few seconds.

"Is that so?" Her tone returned to its usual calm. "For a temper tantrum that only happens once every ten years, it really doesn't last very long."

She turned away, no longer looking at Frieren. Her long brown hair drew soft arcs in the air with her movement, and she gracefully reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair that had fallen to her chest behind her shoulder.

"I've certainly been through enough battles that the smell of blood would seep into my hair, but that's just a metaphor."

Fern walked over to her, leaned close to the strand of long, brown hair that hung down, and gently sniffed it. The movement was natural, like a puppy confirming a scent.

Sense turned to look at her. "There's no smell of blood, is there?"

"Hmm." Fern took a half step back and nodded. "It smells nice... and it seems a little sweet, strawberry flavor? It sounds delicious."

Sense: "..."

She drooped her eyelids and looked at Fern's calm yet serious little face for a few seconds.

"Both of you, master and apprentice, have a touch of the strange," she concluded.

No sooner had she finished speaking than Frieren suddenly stood up from the ground.

Her final evaluation

"Great! Fern! Redhead!" Her voice was clear and bright, brimming with obvious excitement. "Grab the jug, let's go out—to return it!"

Fern looked at her and nodded.

"It's back to normal."

Sense turned around, his droopy eyelids lifting slightly.

"Still on a mission..."

"I told you I don't want to get involved." Frieren waved her hand, but her smile didn't fade. "But you could call this helping. It's something I'm concerned about, and I think I can help you with that."

After she finished speaking, she walked towards the door with light steps. Fern picked up the ceramic pot and followed behind her with Red Hair.

The door opened and then closed again. Their light footsteps echoed in the corridor, quickly fading away.

Sense stood there, watching the door close again. A few strands of brown hair spontaneously curled up the forgotten pottery pot in the corner and gently placed it on the low table in the center of the room, straightening it.

She was silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly.

In a forest not far from the Imperial Capital, several figures were scattered in a clearing, some standing and some sitting.

Schritt leaned against a thick tree trunk, holding a flat metal flask in her hand. She unscrewed the cap, tilted her head back, took a swig, and then let out a satisfied sigh.

"Is everyone almost here?" She put down the wine jug, her gaze lazily sweeping over the familiar and unfamiliar faces on the open space. "Come on, let's check it one last time."

She bent her fingers, tapped her forehead with her knuckles, and began calling roll.

"Me," she pointed to herself, "[Mercenary] Schritt."

Her gaze shifted to Wolf was leaning against another tree not far away, holding a long object wrapped in gray cloth in his arms.

"[Tavern Manager] Wolf."

Wolf raised his hand in response, revealing half of a smooth, dark wooden bow arm beneath the cloth strip.

Wolf, leaning against another tree not far away, raised his hand in response. He was holding a longbow wrapped in cloth in his arms.

"[Tavern waitress]--" Schritt drawled, looking at Iris, who was sitting on a fallen log, swinging her legs, "--Our lovely Iris- chan~"

When Iris heard her name called, she looked up, a sweet, carefree smile blooming on her face, and waved to Schritt.

"[Liberal Artist] Lutine."

Lutine stood in the shadows of the trees a little further away, holding a thick, heavy book with a dark leather cover. She nodded slightly, said nothing, and her lowered eyelids concealed most of her expression.

"[Father] Clematis."

Father Clematis leaned against the trunk of a beech tree, his hands in the large pockets of his black priest's robe. His face was calm, and he merely raised his eyes slightly upon hearing this, his gaze serene.

"[Nun] Lore."

Sister Lore closed her eyes, her hands clasped together in front of her, fingertips lightly touching, like a silent statue of prayer. She stood half a step behind Clematis, motionless, her breathing so light it was almost imperceptible.

"[Varos, the vagrant]"

Varos lay curled up on a small patch of dry leaves in the center of the clearing, like a true homeless wanderer. He held a thin twig in his hand, unconsciously drawing meaningless lines in the soil. Hearing his name, he didn't raise his head, only letting out a muffled "hmm" from his nose.

"[Street vendor] Gazella."

Gazella sat cross-legged on the ground, looking down at the contents of a small leather bag at his waist. Hearing his code name, he raised his hand without looking up.

Schritt squinted, looking at each one in turn, counting them on her fingers.

"Hmm... one, two, three... eight people, everyone's here..."

"Schritt."

Father Clematis's calm voice rang out.

Schritt looked at him. "Hmm?"

"One person is missing," Clematis said, looking at her calmly.

Schritt blinked, looking a little bewildered. She picked up the flask, took another sip, and then seemed to suddenly remember something.

"Ah, Master Levi must have gone to deal with some troublesome fellows. I heard he's free to move around. So even if he didn't come..."

"No... he said the one who didn't come was the blacksmith," Gazella interjected without looking up.

Sister Lore, who had been standing silently with her eyes closed, moved her lips very slightly, her voice as soft as a mosquito's buzz, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.

Your brother is not here.

Schritt's hand, holding the wine jug, froze in mid-air.

She paused for two seconds, then her eyes slowly widened.

"Ah... ah!" She put down the wine jug, slapped her forehead hard, making a crisp sound, and a smile that was a mixture of surprise and embarrassment appeared on her face.

"I have an older brother!" she laughed, the sound somewhat jarring in the quiet woods. "Ahaha... I completely forgot! I'll contact him later, I definitely will! Haha!"

Varos tossed aside the branch he was holding, slowly sat up, glanced at her, and uttered three words from his stubble-covered mouth:

"Alcohol, ghosts, brains."

Iris covered her mouth, her shoulders twitching slightly as she made a cute, animalistic "hee-hee" sound.

"After all," she said with a smile, her eyes curving into crescents, "Sister Schritt is always so clueless about everything except for her amazing swordsmanship."