The farmer continued his explanation, but grew annoyed when he noticed the boy staring blankly into space like a fool. Who am I kidding? I knew this boy was just here to waste my time. He's not listening to a word I'm saying.
Just then, the butcher shop door creaked open. A stocky, broad-shouldered man emerged—around forty years old with a balding head ringed by greasy black hair and a bristly beard peppered with gray. His face was flushed from heat and labor, his nose slightly crooked from past brawls. A bloodstained leather apron covered his rough linen shirt.
This was Master Wulfger, the village's most prominent butcher.
"Master Wulfger," Lammert nodded respectfully. "Here are the four pigs I brought. They're healthy specimens, definitely worth at least 2 Marks each!"
Wulfger approached the cart, examining and patting the pigs with an experienced eye. "I don't think they're worth 2 Marks each, Lammert. This one looks smaller than the healthy pigs I've bought from other farmers." He shook his head. "I can only offer 1 Mark per pig."
Lammert bristled with indignation. "What are you saying? My pigs are healthier and fatter than any other swine in this village!"
"Prove it," Wulfger challenged, crossing his arms.
"Well, first of all, I'm utterly devoted to our Lord!" Lammert puffed up with pride. "I pray over my pigs daily and feed them those cursed roots that make them grow faster and fatter! Other farmers who lack such faith would taint their pigs by feeding them cursed food without proper prayer—making their meat unsuitable for consumption!" His voice grew louder. "I'm known as the most devout farmer in the village! I donate generously to the church! That's why my pigs are pure and safe to eat. This is the reputation I've built, Master Wulfger!"
Wulfger couldn't argue with that logic, but 2 Marks per pig was steep. "I'm a reputable butcher too, Lammert, though I don't boast about it. If you'll accept 1 Mark each, it'll be good for both of us—"
"2 Marks is my price!" Lammert insisted stubbornly.
The two men began their earnest haggling, creating quite a spectacle.
Alexander snapped out of his system interface and observed the deadlocked negotiation. When he heard them mention "Marks," his thoughts turned to currency analysis.
If I remember correctly, the Kingdom of Earnhardt uses three types of currency. The lowest denomination is the Pfenning—the most commonly used coin. Twelve Pfenning equals one Mark, and 246 Marks equals one Krone.
Pfenning were essentially copper coins, Marks were silver, and Krones were gold.
I'm still getting used to this world's currency, so watching these two discuss money should help me understand the value system, he mused. So one Mark can buy a healthy pig, but the farmer wants two Marks each... That makes even a single Mark quite valuable. But what about a Krone?
His mind raced with calculations. If one Mark can buy a pig, then a Krone—worth 246 Marks—could purchase incredible wealth. That could buy several quality warhorses, or maybe even a modest plot of farmland with a cottage. A skilled craftsman might not earn a full Krone in an entire year! It could purchase a complete set of plate armor for a knight, or perhaps a small merchant's entire stock of goods. In the right circumstances, a Krone might even buy a minor noble title or a strategic marriage alliance. No wonder I've never seen actual Krones in circulation—they'd be reserved for major transactions between lords, buying estates, or funding military campaigns.
The sheer scope of what a single gold coin could accomplish in this medieval economy was staggering.
While calculating currency values, he pondered how much he should offer the farmer for those potatoes. He was itching to snatch the sack and rush back to the castle to clean and prepare them. Of course, with his small body, he couldn't work in the kitchen alone—he'd need to request help from the castle's cook.
"Ahem!" Alexander tried to get the two men's attention by clearing his throat, but they ignored him completely.
"Excuse me, sirs!" he called out, but they continued their heated negotiation. Finally, he shouted loud enough to cut through their argument: "Could you please listen to me for just a moment?"
Both men stopped arguing and turned to stare at the boy. "Who's this kid, Lammert? One of your bastards?" Wulfger asked with a smirk.
Lammert snorted and furrowed his brow. "I don't know this boy, Wulfger. I was wondering if he might be one of yours."
Wulfger nodded knowingly. "Seems we're thinking the same thing—"
Alexander flinched at their crude assumptions and quickly interrupted. "Don't talk about me as if I'm not standing right here."
Both men regarded the boy with renewed interest. "What do you want, lad? Still planning to waste my time asking about cursed food?" Lammert asked sarcastically.
"No," Alexander replied with a slight smile. "I've heard enough information from you. What I want now is to purchase that cursed food... for closer inspection."
Lammert and Wulfger exchanged glances before Wulfger burst into laughter. "Ha! Look at this, Lammert! A boy wants to buy your pig fodder!"
Lammert was equally amused. "I don't know what you're planning, boy, but my pig fodder isn't for sale—"
"I'll pay you 2 Pfenning for it," Alexander interrupted confidently. "What do you say?"
Wulfger's laughter died as he heard the actual price. This kid seriously wants to buy that pig slop? he wondered.
"Boy, you look like you still nurse at your mother's breast. Where would you get 2 Pfenning?" Wulfger questioned skeptically.
"I agree with that!" Lammert nodded vigorously.
Rather than explain further, Alexander simply reached into his cloak and withdrew a small leather pouch. From it, he produced two copper coins and held them out for inspection.
Both men leaned closer to examine the coins. The copper Pfenning bore the authentic design featuring the current King of Earnhardt's profile, clearly genuine currency.
"These are genuine Pfenning," Wulfger said with surprise, now regarding the boy with wariness. Judging from his fine cloak and the way he keeps his hood up, this boy might not be some common village child.
Lammert, slower to catch on, stared at the boy suspiciously. "Where did you get such money, boy? Did you steal it from the market?" He grabbed Alexander's wrist, examining the coins more closely.
Wulfger felt exasperated by Lammert's bluntness.
"What? Of course not!" Alexander protested quickly.
"You'd better confess your sins if you want salvation in the Lord's kingdom!" Lammert insisted righteously.
Wulfger rubbed his temples, realizing this foolish pig farmer might be offending someone whose identity he couldn't afford to antagonize. He was about to intervene when a commotion erupted in the distance.
"What's happening over there?" Wulfger muttered.
Lammert released Alexander's wrist and called to a young villager hurrying past. "What's all the fuss about?"
The villager didn't slow down as he answered breathlessly, "The baron's knights came down from the castle! They're searching for someone!"
"Someone?" Wulfger frowned. "Who are they looking for?"
"That veteran knight leading them—the current lord's brother, Sir Reinhard—says they're hunting for the young lord himself. Alexander Godric von Eisenberg, the baron's son!"
Alexander felt his blood turn to ice. Uncle Reinhard is here! He knew he had to complete this transaction immediately.
Watching the villager disappear into the crowd, Alexander turned back to the two men with barely controlled urgency. "It seems the commotion outside might cause us trouble. Let's step inside the butcher shop to finish our business quickly."
His tone carried an unmistakable note of haste that made both men exchange meaningful glances.
Wulfger studied Alexander thoughtfully. The veteran knight is searching for Alexander Godric von Eisenberg—the second son of Lord Aldric. Could this boy standing before us actually be the one they're hunting for?
But Lammert remained oblivious as always. "We have no business with you, boy! Stop wasting our time! And return whatever you stole to its rightful owner, or I'll report you to Father Hensfried—"
Before he could finish, Wulfger's heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Lammert turned, surprised to see the butcher's unusually grave expression.
"Let's hear what the boy has to say," Wulfger said, his voice matching the seriousness in his eyes.
"But Wulfger—" Lammert started to protest, only to wince as the butcher's grip tightened painfully. He knew better than to test Wulfger's considerable strength.
Having no choice, he fell silent, wondering what had gotten into his friend.
Wulfger turned to Alexander with as much respect as he could muster. "Please, step into my shop."
Alexander studied the butcher's face. It seems this man has figured something out about my identity. That suited him perfectly—in fact, he preferred it this way.
He entered the shop while Lammert lingered outside, grabbing Wulfger's arm. "What's gotten into you, Wulfger? You're not planning to hurt that boy, are you? Don't tell me you're thinking of turning him into sausage!" His face showed genuine terror at the thought.
"What? No!" Wulfger stared at the fool in disbelief. "That boy—we absolutely cannot offend him! I wouldn't dream of harming him, and I'm certainly not some monster who butchers children!"
"Then why must we not offend him?" Lammert asked, still confused.
"That boy... I'm not completely certain yet, but let's go inside and hear what he has to say." Wulfger couldn't jump to conclusions without more evidence, but his suspicions were growing stronger by the moment.
He entered the shop with the bewildered Lammert trailing behind.