One small habit that Gravel had developed since arriving in this world was gauging the mana imbued in the food he ate.
Wild fruits found in nature, crops cultivated by farmers, mushrooms growing in the forest—almost everything edible that came from living things contained at least a trace of mana. In most cases, food retained the most mana when consumed in its raw, natural state.
But there were exceptions. One such case occurred at a tavern called Old Stag, which Gravel and Iris had stumbled upon during their time in Froikton.
As Gravel later learned, Old Stag was renowned among adventurers for the exceptional taste of its food.
On the day Gravel and Iris visited, the tavern's atmosphere was surprisingly tranquil.
Most patrons quietly savored their meals, relishing the flavors, while others compared dishes they'd ordered, exchanging praise and light conversation.
Gravel and Iris took their seats and ordered the dishes recommended by the tavern's owner.
Soon after, two large plates of food were placed before them, and they began eating in silence.
Despite the simplicity of the dish—a stir-fry of venison and vegetables—it carried a distinct mana unlike any Gravel had encountered in ordinary meals. The taste was exquisite, but Gravel's attention was consumed not by the flavor but by the mystery of the mana permeating the dish.
Was it a special ingredient? Or perhaps a unique cooking method? Curiosity piqued, Gravel playfully asked the tavern owner the secret behind the dish's remarkable taste.
The owner's response was unexpected.
"I've been cooking hearty meals for my customers every day for years, and I suppose the taste just got better over time."
he said, explaining that he used no special ingredients. His tools, worn and familiar from long use, were nothing extraordinary—just ordinary items anyone could order from the city's blacksmiths.
Unable to get a clear answer, Gravel returned to his lodging that night, but for some time afterward, he frequented Old Stag, determined to uncover why its dishes were so rich in mana.
The small tavern was often quiet during off-hours, and the owner would sit in a corner of the hall, sipping beer from a large mug and chatting with patrons.
Having become a familiar face from his frequent visits, Gravel was approached by the owner one day. The owner asked, half-teasing, if Gravel still thought there was some special secret to his cooking. He offered to let Gravel observe the cooking process in the kitchen the next time an order came in.
Just then, new customers entered and placed their orders. The owner downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, stood, and gestured for Gravel to follow him into the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, the air was thick with the searing heat of flames rising from the stove.
Careful not to disturb the cooking, Gravel stood in a corner, his eyes darting around, trying to catch even the faintest trace of mana flow.
And there, he finally unraveled the mystery.
From the moment the owner began cooking, a faint aura of mana emanated from his body. As he trimmed the ingredients and stirred them in the sizzling pan, tiny amounts of mana—almost imperceptible—transferred from him to the ingredients.
When the finished dish was plated, a larger surge of mana flowed into the plate.
In that moment, Gravel realized something profound. Mana was not merely a resource like MP in a game or a fuel for casting spells—it was far more. It was drawn forth by the spirit, by intangible qualities like the care taken for customers or the pride poured into cooking. This realization clarified why mana imbued the dishes so strongly.
From then on, Gravel understood that mana could reside not only in food and drink but also in objects crafted by others.
This small epiphany at Old Stag led Gravel to prioritize consuming mana-rich foods to accumulate even a little more mana in his body.
This heightened awareness of mana in food allowed Gravel to immediately recognize the value and effect of the apple offered by Dianf.
"I've never tasted an apple this fine."
Gravel said to Dianf, his words laced with gratitude.
"Right? I didn't pour my entire fortune into these for nothing!" Dianf replied.
"But how much are they worth?" Kein asked, holding a half-eaten apple and eyeing Dianf curiously.
"These elven apples?"
"I bought a bushel for five gold coins." Dianf answered.
"At the Grand Market, I'm aiming to sell them for double—about ten gold coins."
"What?! *Cough*Hack! Five gold coins for apples? And how many stones does a bushel weigh?"
"Hmm… about twenty stones (20kg), I'd say."
"Wow… that's a lot, but still… that's way too expensive."
"They'll sell." Gravel interjected, turning to Dianf.
"If you're selling them for ten gold coins, I'll buy a bushel right now."
Gravel pulled ten gold coins from a small pouch and placed them on the makeshift table where Dianf had set out his apples for cooking.
Dianf froze, caught off guard by his first customer, staring at Gravel.
Then, as if the situation had finally sunk in, he rushed to his wagon, retrieved a large bushel basket, and set it before Gravel.
"Thank you for recognizing their value!" Dianf exclaimed.
"You're Gravel, right? I forgot to mention earlier, but these apples aren't just expensive because of their taste. They take two years to grow—three if the tree or environment isn't ideal. These aren't your average apples that you can eat every year. They might sell out the moment we reach the Grand Market, so you're making a smart choice buying now. Oh, and since you're my first customer and there's no one else around, I'll take just eight gold coins. Plus, I'll throw in an extra five stones' worth!"
Elated that Gravel appreciated his goods, Dianf spoke excitedly, explaining the rarity of the elven apples. He pocketed eight gold coins and returned two to Gravel.
His enthusiasm renewed, Dianf resumed cooking. After a short while, he announced, "The meal is ready! I've also prepared some wine to go with it!"
Dianf plated the dishes, removed baked apples from long skewers, and served them to the group.
Thus began a lavish feast on the plains. The savory, sweet-spiced meat dishes, the crisp wine that cleansed the palate of grease, and the sweet, roasted apples created a delightful evening under the stars.
Later, Dianf tossed a handful of dried leaves into the campfire, claiming they were effective at repelling nocturnal insects. A warm, floral scent, like sun-dried petals, spread through the campsite where the two wagons were parked.
With full bellies from the delicious meal and the soothing fragrance filling the camp, everyone—except Reave and Kein, who were on watch—fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Before slipping into his portable bedding, Gravel gazed at the two moons in the sky, once again struck by the reality of being in an unfamiliar world. The anxiety and unease he'd felt when he first began his life in Froikton had largely faded. In their place grew a yearning and excitement to explore this new world further.
*****
A Few Days Later
Diara's wagon and Dianf's wagon rolled along the road.
Dianf, a skilled storyteller, regaled the group with tales of the anthro from the Trea Caravan they'd encounter at the Grand Market and the delectable foods that had once delighted his palate there. His stories kept the travelers entertained, preventing boredom despite the monotonous landscape of endless grassy plains dotted with trees and rocks like islands in a sea.
But even the most eloquent storyteller would tire without an engaged audience. Reave and Kein supported Dianf, exclaiming at his tales, urging him to continue, and occasionally sharing their own stories. Their chatter continued unabated until sunset.
At times, strong winds swept through the plains, rustling the grass and whistling past the ears of Diara, Iris, and Gravel, who listened quietly. But even this was taken as part of the journey's charm. They lit the lanterns on their wagons and pressed on through the darkening road for a few more hours.
Dianf, with a grin, spoke to the group.
"We're almost there. You can tell by the unique cry of the Mooloomook. It was worth pushing through without camping tonight. Once we crest this hill, you'll see it."
Dianf urged his wagon up the hill and pointed ahead. There, illuminated by countless lights, was the Grand Market.
Gentle hills rose and fell, dotted with an uncountable number of wagons and glowing lights that formed part of the Grand Market, serving as a beacon for late-night arrivals—both customers and merchants, who were both allies and competitors.
"Whoa! Is that the Grand Market of Levados Plains?" Gravel exclaimed.
"Yep! It gathers for thirty days, stays for thirty days, and disperses over thirty days… that's the Grand Market." Dianf replied.
Gravel, holding the reins in silence, stared in awe at the city of wagons illuminated by a kaleidoscope of colored lights. He watched, entranced, as wagons moved toward the glowing spectacle, their lanterns shining like stars across the plains.
As they drew closer, the variety of wagons became clearer—some small, others massive. On the outskirts of the market, the Mooloomook, enormous beasts covered in long fur as Dianf had described, bellowed sounds reminiscent of war horns.
The wagons filled gaps and spaces, forming streets and alleys. Even as they approached, earlier arrivals were claiming their spots.
Guided by Dianf, the two wagons entered the outer edges of the Grand Market.
Lamps hung on tall poles illuminated the area, welcoming late-night visitors. Beneath them, wagons doubled as shops, bustling with activity.
As they traveled along a street lined with open-air eateries, the air filled with lively voices—merchants shouting to attract customers, the laughter of traders celebrating a successful day, the clinking of sturdy wooden mugs, and the cheerful calls of waitresses taking orders.