A Handsome Profit

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The next day, the sun shone high.

Outside Runestone, the eastern coast rolled green to the horizon.

"Maa. Maa."

A herd of goats wandered through the pasture, swinging their plump rumps as they buried their heads in the grass.

From above, they looked like a sack of wool spilled across the ground.

"Stop licking me. Go make trouble somewhere else."

Vaelor, dressed for work, kept his face stern as he drove away several curious goats that had crowded too close.

He planted his short legs in a wide stance, clamped both hands around a clump of dark-green grass, and pulled with all his might.

For good sleep and a taller body, he had risen very early.

"I still don't understand why we're pulling weeds."

Another head emerged from a different knot of goats. Willam complained with obvious reluctance.

He shoved aside a goat in his way and shook a clump of Ula grass that still had roots and soil attached.

Vaelor gathered his strength. His small teeth clenched, and his voice trembled with effort.

"You don't understand!"

Pop.

The Ula grass came free by the roots. The recoil sent him tumbling backward.

Vaelor landed on his backside, rolled twice, and scrambled up again with his little face flushed from exertion.

"Hah... finally."

He cleared the soil from the roots, smoothed the grass blades, and placed them in the basket beside him.

To harvest Ula grass and magic essence, Vaelor had come fully prepared.

He rested one small hand on the basket, which was nearly as tall as he was.

Inside, a simple layer of Ula grass had been spread along the bottom, and the black dragon egg lay casually on top.

Vaelor panted a few times, then pulled a waterskin from the satchel slung across his waist and gulped down several mouthfuls.

The satchel was made of green cloth, and the flap was embroidered with a white tower crowned in flame.

On his small body, it looked refined and perfectly fitted.

"Alive again. Back to work."

In excellent spirits, Vaelor tucked the waterskin away and patted the satchel.

It was a parting gift from a good friend. Normally, he could hardly bear to use it.

Willam strode over, already dizzy with exhaustion.

"You are a prince. You don't need to do filthy work like this."

If he wanted something, servants could do it for him.

Vaelor's large eyes shone. He pointed reasonably toward the guards searching farther off.

"They are working too. If I help, it goes faster."

Ula grass was a treasure that could build his fortune. How could a few guards possibly be enough?

He was not made to sit still.

Vaelor found his own logic sound and threw himself back into the work.

In a single morning, the harvest had been rich.

They had found five clumps of Ula grass in all, gaining five points of magic essence.

[Essence Panel]

Magic Essence +5.

The Essence Panel opened, and the exchange page had refreshed with new cards.

[Essence Panel]

Magic Essence: 12.

1. [+5 Essence] - After exchange, gain 5 points of magic essence. Cost: 10 magic essence.

2. [Constitution +1] - Safely strengthens the body. Cost: 10 magic essence.

3. [Swift Grass Sandals] - After wearing them, move faster than a horse. Cost: 50 magic essence.

Vaelor looked through the cards one by one and gave the first gray card a look of contempt.

Blatant daylight robbery. Who spent ten points to buy back five?

The panel had also revealed something new.

The three open cards were not fixed forever.

Every day before dawn, they would randomly change.

Their quality varied, and their prices varied with it.

Ignoring Willam's lecture, Vaelor reached out and tapped the second white card.

Pop.

The card shattered into foam and became a stream of pale-white light that sank into his body.

Full of expectation, he closed his eyes.

His whole body suddenly felt lighter. The ache in his arms vanished, replaced by a fresh sense of strength.

He hopped in place. Short legs that could barely jump a foot now cleared half again as much.

Vaelor could hardly contain his delight.

'Strengthening my body first was not a bad trade at all.'

He had only wanted to test the effect of Constitution +1 and make the grass-pulling business easier.

He had not expected the improvement to be this obvious.

"If a constitution card refreshes every day, won't I become something no ordinary man can match?"

His mind filled with wild possibilities.

In the world of ice and fire, personal martial strength remained one of the most important ways to judge a person.

The truly exceptional warriors of the present age could be counted on one hand.

Give him ten years to grow, and would that not make him...

"No beef for me!"

The words suddenly burst out of Vaelor.

"What? You want beef for luncheon?"

Willam, whose lecture had been interrupted, nearly dropped his jaw.

In low-yield Westeros, cattle were valuable animals. Unless one died by accident or old age, ordinary nobles did not get to eat beef whenever they wished.

Vaelor snapped back to himself at once and lifted his chin arrogantly.

"I said no beef. Are your ears not working?"

Do not pretend.

Willam was clearly the one craving beef and trying to use him as an excuse.

Absolutely not.

After a short rest, Vaelor bent down and resumed work.

He was full of energy, determined to save more magic essence and exchange for a body as hard as diamond.

Willam could only follow, bending over in the grass and searching painfully for the rare dark-green blades.

After quite a while, he had worked himself dizzy and still had not found a single clump.

He straightened while clutching his waist and grimaced.

"Prince, why doesn't he have to help?"

His finger pointed quietly toward a nearby slope.

Vaelor followed the gesture and saw a towering man with unruly black hair.

Gunthor wore bronze armor and sat boldly on the ground, leisurely watching the scenery.

Perhaps he noticed the little dragon staring at him, because he took a two-handed greatsword from his back.

It was his sword. His size did not allow for a bastard sword or a one-handed blade.

Those would look like toothpicks in his hands.

Under Vaelor's watch, Gunthor began moving with a blank expression.

He pulled a lemon from his pocket and bit into it. The sourness struck his tongue, making his already rough face look even more savage.

He stretched his neck, swallowed the flesh, then dipped the remaining half lemon into an open pouch and calmly wiped down the greatsword.

The sharp-eyed little dragon saw clearly what clung to the lemon.

White salt.

It was one way to maintain a sword, and more expensive than oil.

Salt was costly.

"Is he very strong?"

Vaelor stared in fascination.

With arms like that, the man could probably fight like a storm.

One punch could fold a small man in half.

"Of course he is. Gunthor is Runestone's master-at-arms."

Willam curled his lip with envy and urged, "He should work too. He could pull one up every time."

"Then you call him over."

Vaelor's light sentence exposed the scheme at once.

"Never mind."

Willam laughed awkwardly. He did not dare.

If he provoked Gunthor, his little body might be smacked around like a practice dummy.

The two boys continued searching for Ula grass, combing through the pasture.

Unfortunately, sometimes the mountain walked over on its own.

Gunthor finished wiping his greatsword, rose, and descended the slope toward them. Even the goats in his path obediently moved aside.

Willam nearly lost his nerve on the spot.

"Do you need something?"

Vaelor marched forward on his short legs, planted his hands on his hips, and stood in front of his follower.

Yes, his cousin was the follower.

Even against Gunthor, Vaelor faced trouble head-on.

"I came to supervise you."

Unexpectedly, Gunthor had not come looking for trouble.

He lowered his head and stared at the child who did not reach his knees, his voice deep.

"Lady Rhea also asked me to remind you not to keep rolling in the grass, and to prepare your royal etiquette."

"The next hunt will be the king's own, in the Kingswood."

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