As the door closed behind Master Harn, the room seemed to exhale — the faint hum of tension giving way to the soft crackle of the fire. Clara, who had been standing quietly near the table, finally turned toward Leon. Her eyes were wide, half in disbelief and half in admiration.
"You really sold it… for three gold?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Leon smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck as he held the pouch and felt its heaviness on his hands; this was his starting capital.
The first thing, he decided, was to clear every tax and debt his family owed. Freedom came before ambition. Only after that could he think about starting something of his own.
Since arriving here, countless ideas from Earth had drifted through his mind — simple crafts, preservation methods, small luxuries that didn't yet exist in this medieval world. Some required too much silver to start, others were impractical without tools or connections. But now, with gold in his hand and a spark of momentum, it was just a matter of time before one of those ideas took shape.
He tightened his grip around the pouch and exhaled softly, eyes glinting with quiet resolve.
Leon was still lost in thought when the door creaked open and Melina stepped in, carrying a small basket filled with herbs and a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. A trace of morning chill clung to her cloak, and her cheeks were lightly flushed from the walk.
"You're up early," she said with a smile, setting the basket on the table — but her smile paused when she noticed Clara standing nearby.
"Oh, Clara! I didn't see you there."
Clara turned quickly, giving a small, polite smile. "Good morning, aunt Melina."
Melina raised a brow, "What are you doing here and not at work?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her tone.
"I actually came with Master Harn," she said softly. "He wanted to speak with Leon."
Melina's expression shifted, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Master Harn? The innkeeper?"
Leon, who had been quietly watching the exchange, spoke before Clara could answer. "He came to buy one of my recipes," he said simply.
Melina blinked, processing the words, then looked from Clara to Leon. "Buy… a recipe?"
Kara, who was busy with breakfast chimed in, "Guess how much mom?"
"Three gold coins." she answered without giving her mother a chance to take a guess.
Melina froze mid-motion, the loaf of bread still in her hands. "Three… gold coins?" she repeated, her voice rising in disbelief.
Leon took the gold coin from the porch and showed Melina who was still shocked. Gold was not easy to find especially for village women like her, the only gold she had ever seen belonged to her husband and she was not allowed to touch it.
Melina reached out, hesitating before her fingers brushed the edge of the coin. It was heavier than she expected— solid, real, and gleaming in a way that almost felt unreal to her eyes. She drew in a slow breath, staring at it as if afraid the moment might break if she blinked.
The girls surrounded her as they admired the coin with wide, sparkling eyes. Kara leaned in closest, her small fingers twitching with the urge to touch it, while Clara stood beside her, unable to hide her awe.
"I've never seen one up close before," Clara whispered. "It's so… shiny."
"Your mother will be pleased," Melina said softly, glancing at Clara with a knowing smile. "She worries about you working so hard for so little. Seeing this—" she lifted the coin slightly, letting it glint in the light "—will put her heart at ease."
Clara nodded, her expression caught between pride and disbelief. "She'll never believe it when I tell her Master Harn bought Leon's recipe. She always says good fortune doesn't visit our part of the village."
Leon chuckled quietly, slipping the remaining silver coins back into the pouch. "Then maybe we'll prove her wrong."
Thinking about his mother, he couldn't help but smile. He could almost picture her expression — the mix of disbelief and joy she'd wear when she heard the news.
"What are your plans?" Melina asked, even her tone changed as she now viewed Leon differently.
Leon rubbed the back of his neck, the smile still lingering. "First," he said, glancing toward the small pouch of coins, "pay tax and all our debts then start a business."
Clara looked at him curiously. "What kind of business?"
"I am thinking of making candles because it is cheaper to start." He answered casually as he dipped a piece of bread into the porridge.
Melina paused mid-bite, giving him a puzzled look. "Candles?" she repeated slowly. "What's that?"
Leon looked up, realizing none of them knew the word. "It's… a kind of light," he explained, setting down his spoon. "You make it from animal fat and a bit of string. Once you light it, the string burns slowly, and the fat melts to keep the fire going. It's small, steady — and doesn't need oil or firewood."
Kara's eyes widened in wonder. "You mean… it can shine without smoke?"
Leon nodded, a spark of pride flickering in his eyes. "Exactly. You can carry it around, even use it when you're working at night."
After breakfast, Leon and Clara set out down the dirt path, the morning sun already climbing high and washing the village in a warm golden hue. Clara carried a small bundle under her arm, while Leon had the coin pouch tied securely at his belt.
Behind them, Melina and Kara stayed behind, clearing the table and sorting through the herbs Melina had gathered earlier. The air filled with the fresh, earthy scent of dried leaves and roots as Melina separated them into neat little piles.
As they reached the outskirts of town, Leon began to notice the roadside coming alive with the bustle of early trade. Small wooden sheds and makeshift stalls lined the path, their owners already calling out to passersby. The air carried a mix of smells — roasted grain, spiced stew, and freshly baked bread.
Some stalls sold simple meals to travelers — bowls of porridge, roasted roots, or skewered meat sizzling over small clay stoves. Others displayed baskets of fruit, dried fish, or jars of pickled vegetables.
Leon's gaze lingered as they walked. The pattern repeated itself at every stall — women bent over steaming pots or tending fires, their hands busy and faces glistening with heat, while men lounged nearby, counting coins or calling to customers.
He glanced toward the town ahead, where the rooftops of inns and shops rose above the lower huts, smoke curling lazily from their chimneys. The faint clatter of wagon wheels and the chatter of merchants drifted through the air.
"Let's stop by the tax office first," he said quietly.
Clara nodded, matching his stride as they passed under the wooden arch that marked the town's main road. The streets were already busy — traders shouting prices, children darting between stalls, and the occasional guard making his rounds with a spear slung over his shoulder.
As they turned a corner, the wooden sign of the tax office came into view — a faded board with a stamped crest, hanging slightly crooked above a sturdy door.
Leon's hand instinctively went to the pouch at his waist as they stepped inside. The air was cooler within, carrying the faint scent of parchment and ink. Behind a long wooden counter sat a balding man with a thin mustache, his quill scratching lazily across a ledger.
The clerk looked up briefly, eyes flicking between Leon and Clara. "Next," he said, his tone flat from repetition.
Leon stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. "Good morning, sir. I've come to pay the household tax for Nicole of the eastern quarter."
At the mention of the name, the clerk's quill froze mid-stroke. Slowly, his gaze lifted from the ledger, eyes narrowing as they studied Leon's face. For a heartbeat, there was silence — then a smirk began to curl at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, well, well…" he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Look who finally showed up — the weakling son of Nicole." His tone dripped with condescension, each word sharp and deliberate.
A few of the other townsfolk waiting nearby turned to glance at them. The clerk clearly enjoyed the attention. "Didn't think you'd come crawling back here," he continued, tapping his quill against the desk. "Your mother's been behind for months. I was starting to think she'd fled the town like your—"
"Just tell me the amount," Leon said evenly, his voice quiet but carrying weight.
The clerk hesitated, his smirk faltering for the first time. He cleared his throat and glanced back down at the ledger. "Ahem. One silver and eight copper… plus a late fee of four copper — though I bet you can't afford it."
Leon's brows twitched slightly, but he said nothing. He didn't understand where the man's hostility came from — he had never even met him before. Did Mother offend him somehow? he wondered quietly.
The clerk, mistaking Leon's silence for submission, leaned forward with renewed arrogance. "Tell you what," he said, voice dripping with mock generosity, "I can waive the fee… if you kneel and kowtow three times. Right here, in front of everyone."
A murmur rippled through the small crowd inside the tax office. A few turned their heads, watching to see how Leon would respond. The clerk grinned wider, confident he had him cornered.
Leon, who was not in the mood of bickering, took two silver coins and tossed them to the clerk.The coins clattered on the counter, spinning before settling with a sharp clink. The room went quiet.
The clerk blinked, caught off guard by Leon's calm defiance. He had expected pleading — or anger — not this casual dismissal.
"Take the tax, the fee, and give me the balance."