Chapter 24 Elder

"Hand it over!"

It was a demand rather than a request, his hands ready to snatch—how could a herb gatherer not know the price of Sober Sleep Powder? If that small packet really contained Sleep Powder, then it would be a business deal worth dozens of Taler Silver Coins at the very least!

Taler Silver Coins, also known as Great Silver Coins, are the main currency issued by The Empire, with the current Imperial Emperor's profile engraved on the obverse side. Apart from Taler, there are also Small Silver Coins, known as Bison Coins, which are the local currency used in the five Southwest Provinces of The Empire.

When the currency's value is stable, one Taler is equal to twelve Small Silver Coins, and ordinary people can hardly afford Talers, even Small Silver Coins are not used often, which is why there are pennies made of copper, with ten of them equal to one Small Silver Coin.

A Small Silver Coin could buy one pound of mixed beef at places with normal prices, and a penny could buy a large chunk of black bread.

"I'm going to be rich!"

At this thought, and seeing the prize almost in his grasp, the herb gatherer's breathing became heavy.

Dozens of Talers could account for his total income of three years, that is if he didn't eat or drink, had good luck, wasn't stung by insects, avoided miasma, and didn't fall ill!

This stuff wasn't very valuable to the Natives, but it was extremely rare and precious for the Imperial People.

Of course, the herb gatherer failed to notice the slight upward curl of Ian's lips.

—The plan was going smoothly.

Everyone was distracted by the fire, and the knife wound that Ian had inflicted on himself, with the help of his teacher, was convincing enough to deceive everyone. Hiliard was clearly a master highly skilled in combat, and the mimicked wound looked just as if it had been inflicted in battle, with no detectable flaws.

Not to mention the ability to control his muscles, the so-called knife wound was just a superficial cut.

Next, by showing a little bit of wealth, even if the herb gatherer didn't take action on his own, Ian would himself sprinkle some Sleep Powder to let everyone around discover it, which would naturally lead them to associate it with what the Natives carried with them.

The Sleep Powder held in his hand was only one third of the original amount, another third he had used against Osenna's House and the Natives, the remainder was enough to allow both him and Hiliard to 'recover from their wounds' without needing to work to survive.

After all, if this stuff wasn't precious, it couldn't have caught Osenna in the trap, turning him into a Native spy within the city.

And the one third of the Sleep Powder that might be snatched away and scattered was just to rationalize everything and draw away all attention, leaving people no energy or attention to consider the loopholes in the fire and other matters; a tool and bait.

By the next day, the incident would be turned over; the most dangerous moment had already passed in the struggle for the Sleep Powder.

However, just as Ian was ready to let the herb gatherer snatch the Sleep Powder from his hands willingly.

Senan on the other side got angry.

That fellow Brin, it was tolerable when he stole some flowers and herbs from the Natives, but now he dared to rob Ian, whom he had rescued from the flames?!

—I haven't even made my move, and it's your turn?!

Even though Senan hadn't actually managed a rescue, this Fisherman clearly positioned himself as if he had, and the herb gatherer's actions did not afford him any respect.

"You bastard!" he lifted his hand, ready to swing a punch.

"Hands off, you thieving brat, and get your hand back!"

But before the slow-reacting Senan, who had only just raised his hand, could land his punch on the herb gatherer's face

a loud scolding exploded from down the street; the familiar voice immediately caused the would-be robber's hand to shrink back in fright.

"Elder Prude is here!" A shout of surprise came from the side of the road.

Ian also lifted his head in astonishment and looked toward the street entrance.

Accompanied by the hurried, heavy footsteps, several pharmacists from the port along with the White Folks' Elder, who had arrived first, reached the scene.

Elder Prude, unlike the common image of a white-haired, gasping old man on the verge of death, was a stout figure, only a bit over one meter sixty, a seventy-year-old with a pair of thick heavy eyebrows and a big bushy gray beard.

"What on earth is going on here?!"

His voice, with traces of Dwarven blood, boomed loudly as he strolled with short legs that seemed to stir up a wind.

He strode over, pointing his finger at the gatherer and bellowed, "Robbing something from a kid's hand? Huh? Stealing from your own brothers and sisters?"

"I just wanted to see what it was, to make sure it wasn't dangerous..." The gatherer tried to defend himself as he backed away and waved his hands, clearly frightened but still attempting to argue.

But obviously, it was to no avail.

Elder Prude approached the confused-looking Ian, protectively placing the boy behind him.

Then, he extended his hand and slapped the still-explaining gatherer squarely across the face.

Whoosh! The slap came with a gust of wind and carried a force that no old man should possess; it was so severe that it knocked the gatherer to the ground, making him kneel, clearly stunned by the blow.

Even so, the slapped gatherer could do nothing but accept it, not even daring to show dissatisfaction. After repeatedly apologizing while enduring the stars in his vision, he quickly left amid the smirking or disdainful glances of the bystanders, covering his face.

"What happened? How did Osenna's house catch fire? Did he set his pants on fire while roasting a leg?"

Seizing the momentum, the old man's eyes bulged as he scanned the scene, gathering the general details from the others present.

"No!"

"Elder, let me explain, it was the Natives..."

"Osenna this time truly acted like a man..."

For a moment, everyone spoke up at once, which brought on another round of roaring scolding from Elder Prude. When everyone finally fell silent, he started asking about the incident one by one.

This time the answers were much more orderly.

Afterward, he also asked Ian and received an answer consistent with everyone else's. The Elder had his considerations: "Natives? I see, so it's the demands for a pure sacrifice that have driven these damned spirits mad, even going so far as to target us!"

The White Folks are an ethnic group with a very strong sense of family, usually gathering in the Empire's large cities in the form of The Noble Clans or surname villages or forming their own villages and towns, with the oldest and most authoritative elders managing internal affairs.

The branch at Harrison Port was politically stripped of its surname, land, and wealth decades ago and exiled from the Imperial Capital to this coastal port at the southern edge of the Bison Mountain Range.

In fact, most of the residents of the immigrant districts in all the ports south of the Bison Mountain Range have similar stories; if not demoted officials, then exiled families.

"Good boy, you did well tonight. Whatever is won in battle belongs to you. The family may not have a surname, but it must have rules."

Elder Prude comforted Ian, who was no longer crying but still somewhat fearful, then picked up Elan, who was sound asleep.

Upon closer inspection, his brow furrowed deeply: "Damn it! He has indeed inhaled quite some Sleep Powder; those savage people weren't planning on bringing back a single child intact!"

After checking Elan's eyelids and smelling his hair, the experienced Elder Prude could readily identify the traces and scent of the Sober Flower Sleep Powder. Ian's words were entirely accurate—it seemed for the sake of the pure sacrifice, those barbaric Natives were indeed well-prepared.

Subsequently, Elder Prude cast a sideways glance at 'Osenna,' who was having his wounds treated by the physician.

The knife wounds needed no mention; those Natives were indeed cruel in their assault.

What actually surprised Elder Prude was 'Osenna's' courage: "Hard to believe Osenna, usually so silent and grim, would have such gallantry, to kill four Natives despite such severe knife wounds... If it weren't for the distortion, with such talent and willpower, he might even become a Sublimator."

"Of course, it's also possible that he was tripping on mushrooms and couldn't tell if it was real or not?"

Elder Prude didn't have a high opinion of Osenna, but since the man had fulfilled his duty to protect his kin, he wasn't going to speculate maliciously: "I underestimated your courage... It seems sometimes a person really needs to be pushed to reveal their true nature."

"Come to think of it, hasn't the boy bulked up a bit?"