Im flinched at the thump of the wooden board, then hesitantly answered Glen's question. "Tw… twenty‑one copper coins…"
"Twenty‑one? For just one Bela of chicken? You really are a top‑notch seller," Glen said with mock amazement, then gave a cold smirk.
Humiliated, Im didn't dare respond, but his mind was already cursing a blue streak.
Suddenly, a hand shot into Im's coin pouch, then just as quickly pulled out Glen's hand, counting coins in front of him.
Im gaped. "Those are my coins…"
Glen's glare silenced him.
"Exactly twenty‑one copper coins. Ma'am, keep them safe." Glen gently placed the coins in the old woman's palm, then handed the chicken back to Im.
"Come over here—I'll sell you meat at a better price." He gestured, and the old woman, bewildered, followed.
They reached the black boar. Its rough appearance made her hesitate—unsure if she should eat such meat.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Gather round! Today, something good for everyone is happening here! Whether you believe it or not, it won't hurt to watch…" Glen suddenly announced to the crowd. Instantly, shoppers, carriage riders, and passersby all turned their attention to him.
Once a decent crowd gathered, Glen stopped shouting and spoke clearly: "Friends, whether you've complained about meat prices or not, I bet you'd all like to buy raw meat cheaper, right? Well, I'm offering just that—four copper coins per Bela!"
Murmurs spread through the crowd, everyone waiting for more.
Im's face twisted in dismay.
"Four coppers a Bela? That's cheap, but it's a black boar. Will the meat even taste good?"
"We can try a little—it's not expensive."
Pausing to listen to the buzz, Glen felt confident. He'd tasted the boar meat himself—no castration, but no strong gaminess either. It was perfectly fine.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'll perform a special trick now. Watch closely—plucking pig bristles with my bare hands…"
Before anyone could react, Glen went to work. Fine hairs grew on his palms, shielding them from view. His arms moved lightning‑fast—even if it didn't help much, the visual was dazzling. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The sound of bristles ripping from skin was steady; small piles of hair formed around the sled, and the once‑black hog turned sleek and hairless.
Glen's hands worked like sandpaper, scraping away even the trickiest bristles. In just over ten minutes, the job was done.
He swept the last of the hair off the sled, revealing a clean, shiny hog. Glen bowed to the "audience" with a grin, earning cheers and applause.
"Amazing!"
"Perfect performance!"
"Unbelievable!"
The old woman he'd brought over clapped hard, her wrinkled face lighting up with wonder.
Enjoying the moment, Glen finally straightened up, still smiling warmly.
"Thank you all—show's over, time to get to business. I'll sell to this lady first, and you're welcome to watch. If you want in, don't miss out." He beckoned the old woman forward.
"Ma'am, how much would you like?"
"I… I want twenty‑one coppers' worth of meat."
"That's a little over five Belas. Since you're my first customer, I'll throw in an extra Bela—six Belas for you!"
In front of the crowd, Glen drew the dagger he'd kept at his waist, expertly butchered the boar, and borrowed a scale from a nearby fruit stall. The scale was clunky but accurate.
Six Belas of pork landed in the old woman's arms—she could barely hold it.
"That's too heavy to carry. Let me tie it up so you can wear it like a backpack." Glen reshaped her cloth bag into a simple pack, loaded the meat, and helped her onto her back.
"Much better, thank you, child." She loved his kindness—something she'd never felt from other stall owners.
From the start, some onlookers had been itching to buy. Seeing the old woman leave with her meat, a few middle‑aged women stepped up.
"Four Belas for me, please!"
"Five Belas!"
"Two Belas…"
Glen kept his smile, handling the rush with ease.
Once they taste it, they'll realize chicken is still tastier… Im's eyes burned as he watched the crowd around Glen, slamming his cleaver into minced chicken.
…
Doud Police Station
A young officer in black uniform pushed open the dark brown door, a file in hand. Three middle‑aged officers were mid‑discussion; they stopped when he entered.
"What is it?" asked the leader, a man with a thick mustache.
"Another missing child case—a couple says their eleven‑year‑old vanished. They're out front crying."
"Of course. Yesterday two girls reported something, now this," the mustached man sighed.
"They live outside town. The kid went missing three days ago—they thought he was lost in the forest and searched two days before reporting."
"Understood." The mustached man waved a hand, then asked, "Any sign of Bob?"
"A worker thinks he saw him yesterday. He's still in town, but we don't know where."
"Alright, keep looking."
"Yes, Chief." The young officer saluted and left.
"Captain, we really need to pay that Glen guy a visit," said a long‑face, broad‑browed officer gravely.
The mustached "captain" frowned, then gave in. "Special circumstances—fine."
Just then, another officer rushed in, slightly out of breath. "Captain, that Glen guy is in town."
Everyone stood, urgency on their faces. The captain simply said, "Let's go."