Winding forward in time a bit more, the next order of events blurred by relatively quickly:

The elder took his time to calm down before actually getting serious and providing extensive material

for Sir Raylon to use when teaching his pupil. The amount and thoroughness demonstrated was so large

that it seemed like it could have taken days to go through it all, when in reality only mere minutes

passed, so we will be glossing over that moving forward.

The Duo started changing their topic of conversation back to their old acquaintances, which both of

them had a lot to talk about.

While Elder Rakdal only showed rudimentary interest in the Old Merchant’s former relations, the latter

quickly became quite invested in the former’s endeavors and people of interest.

The Ippa-Checchi-Elder, a secluded monk from a northern temple in Dondonpa;

The Beautiful Demon-Hag from Faramaka, an eccentric woman, that keeps her body young and

rejuvenated and has a terrible personality;

Second in command of the Alpata-Guild and a past-time author, Salmata Karankawald.

Among the countless names and stories, that Elder Rakdal fawned about, and among those, that Sir

Raylon had any information to compare his stories to, these people stood out to him the most.

It was not for any special catch-phrases such as ‘this person possesses incredible strength’ or ‘this

person is especially wise’ that he was drawn towards their stories.

Liking to take a walk at night, igniting a fire in your palm and marveling at its beauty for a moment

before continuing the walk.

Running through a thinly shrouded forest only to let the soothing sound of rustling leaves be the balm

of your soul.

Climbing a mountain just to enjoy the view from above and immediately climbing back down.

It was small descriptions, the most trivial of details, that Sir Raylon was clinging onto, but to him these

were the most important ones.

The Sage was willing to answer any question he had, be it as little as a mouse’s tail or as large as a

lizard’s stretched out jaw.

Neither of them questioned the Merchant’s obsession with these details, rather both welcomed the topic

and simply dove into them as they arose.

…

The talks continued for longer than anyone would care to admit and at the same time, only minutes

seemed to have passed.

Then came an interesting topic along the way:

<

from crisis and war! If only we had the legs of a beast to outrun our prejudices and to shed our biases as

we trudged through norms and limitations to meet each other! How many people with minds like

ourselves could we truly find?>>

The person, that said demonstrated this bona-fide theater show was none other than a drunken Raylon

Hawkinson.

The bitter old man vented out his frustration along the lines of not having known about these people

earlier, while his senior simply smiled as he looked at his cute junior with affection.

*Gasp* *THUD*

This vexation from the former however triggered something in the latter and so he suddenly bolted

from his seat with a gasping expression.

While the chair is violently swinging back and forth(in the middle of the conversation Rakdal started

transforming their couches into different types of seats, currently a pair of rocking chairs)

Rakdal now starts wild exclamations in a loud voice like ‘Of course!’ and ‘It was so obvious!’

The seasoned Merchant takes a backseat and simply watches his new friend enrapture themselves in

their own world, while thinking about what they could be going to say next.

After a second of calming down, another for recomposing himself and a third one for coughing in an

embarrassed manner, Rakdal starts speaking:

<

grievances from a friend of mine. In fact the last time was my second meeting with the old witch from

next-doors, where she said similar stuff to you just now.>>

<

when my social circle was still small enough and we all were competent enough, we would send each

other Gale-Cries whenever we had something to discuss.>>

<

safety.>>

<

but can you not supply your friends with a regular supply of Gale-Cries by yourself, brother?>>, thus

arrives the criticism from a veteran in procurement and logistics.

<

First of all Gale-Cries are only meant for short-lipped communication. At most the people I know

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

would need to send a message of ‘pick me up’ to me or one of my friends, and only after one of us

finds the time to stop by, would a conversation become possible.

At some point I even thought about creating a messenger-spirit with the purpose of only receiving and

transmitting messages between our group but ultimately decided against it due to ethical reasons.

Secondly, Regardless of accessibility for conversational tools, most of my social relations are held with

people of high class. It is not a matter of open-mindedness either. I am just naturally burdened with

many responsibilities, most of which I need the official sector to fulfill.

Thus, I do not need to pretend, that prejudice does not reside in the hearts of my friends. Even you,

whom I am talking to right now, probably possess such prejudice without knowing that.

Then lastly, there is the problem for a universal location. You cannot just build a meeting place for a

bunch of important people all over Gaia and choose any country you want to build it at. I do have a

workaround for that, but doing that kind of large-scale project would be quite taxing, even for me. Only

after the first two problems are solved can I even think about doing that kind of tedious method.>>

The problems of Communication, discrimination and location all in order are not easily solvable.

<

to do it, am I wrong?>>, the old Raylon counters.

<

establish my nice little plan.>>, Rakdal boasts with a satisfied smirk on his dried and discolored lips.

He pauses for a second to fiddle with a loose robe from his green upper garment while Raylon takes the

initiative in his questioning.

<

wisdom?>>

A few hundred years from now Sir Hawkinson could have had a role as lead actor in one of Ayrilia’s

(future) famous ‘Dog-Play’s in the cardinal cities of Ifael, Solom, Rakdas and Sharia.

But alas, it was not meant to be. Similarly to his potential acting career, Raylon also receives a refusal

from the very Elder, whom he had given the performance to.

<

but this little plan of mine will have to remain a secret for a few more months before everything is

ready to go.>>

The oldest man makes a face deep in thought before literally upheaving the wood beneath the two of

them, molding it into a wooden board and scribbling on top with a language that is not any of the

languages currently spoken on Gaia. All the while, the old man is mumbling different words and

discussing things with his familiars in seemingly different languages.

After a while of drawing on the board, Rakdal decides to stamp out a circular part from the board and

write a character on top of it. He inscribes three Λ stacked on top of each other, all in increasingly

darker shades of Grey.

Lastly punching a hole through the new medallion’s sides and threading a newly made thread of

knotted wooden fiber as suspension, a necklace is created as a present for now and maybe more for

later?

Humanitarian Sage Rakdal simply smiled while lightly throwing this necklace to the (less-) old man

before continuing to speak his final words on the matter.

<

necklace and a single word. ‘Urwald’.

*Chuckle*

Make of those two things whatever you want.

Instead, let us get back to discussing other important matters.>>

And with that, the discussion was settled.

The two of them continued talking about this and that, before a beat up Haja stormed into the room,

profusely crying and running into the lap of a confused Raylon.

It is now time to go back and experience this event for ourselves:

Going back about 45 minutes worth of time.

Decently long before Haja had managed to collect the last of his power to do a final sprint into Sir

Raylon’s arms.

Shortly before the boy had to drag his battered body through the entirety of Jarabesa-Village while

being laughed at by the useless bystanders.

After being dragged back to Miss Margarret’s house.

Very closely before being slammed heavily into the ground and kicked out of Jarabesa-Village’s private

sector(only allowed to employees).

This little story begins with a small house. The worker houses in Jarabesa are typically build to house

multiple people in one place, but there is always exceptions to the rule:

Miss Margarret’s place was a small, worn down house close to the residential area, including two

bedrooms, one moderately sized washing and laundry area outdoors and a large living room, decorated

with all kinds of magic charms.

These are not the types of charms, that actually have an effect. Instead they are closer to Gaia’s version

of homeopathy, meaning they are virtually useless.

Regardless, this house is currently inhabited by three people including Miss Margarret and two

children.

Just now, the laundry room’s door (basically a thick wooden board without lock or handle) opened with

the sound of nails scratching over a blackboard.

Out comes one of Miss Margarret’s juniors, a girl no older than Haja, short and skinny with silky black

hair flowing down her shoulders. She is dressed in a white gown with frills on the neck and legs,

similar to modern baby suits. Wearing a pair of run-down, brown shoes from her senior and holding a

purple dress with yellow firework-embroidery embedded in one hand; holding a soaking red towel in

the other, she marches into the living room with her gaze directed only at the closest seat, eyes

unfocused, expression annoyed.

With a face riddled of pimples and a mole under her left eye, combined with a scrawny and flat build,

this girl ticks all the boxes for being considered extremely ugly in this current time.

As her senior in the business had o so kindly put it:

“Sorry sweetie, but you have the kind of face, that not even your father would find attractive. The only

good thing about it are your eyes, so make sure to treasure them and eat your carrots!”

(Note: She did not actually say ‘carrots’ but rather Orozaza, which is a type of plant-root, that is said to

be good for the eyes. Carrots do not actually grow in Gaia.)

Indeed, she was correct. You should always eat your carrots and this girl definitely possesses a

beautiful pair of eyes. Purple Amethysts, that stare into your soul like a forbidden treasure, bewitching

many men. They are also the reason, why this girl is able to work in this field of work without needing

to starve on the streets.

*Sigh*

As evidenced by her current behavior, she is in a very bad mood today.

Why would that be you might ask?

How about asking a different question:

Jarabesa village is colored in 3 different colors:

Royal-Blue, Sulfuric-Yellow and Scarlet-Red. How are these expensive colors used in such a place?

The easiest one out of the three is the Sulfuric-Yellow.

While not quite the right color, you can get really close to it by rinsing certain dried berries with Jara-

Water and creating a powder out of the mix. That powder, after being dissolved together with color-

neutral water and a slight bit of skin (whether it is human or beast skin does not matter for the color).

É Voila, you have a lot of quasi-Sulfuric-Yellow lying around to be used.

Next is Royal-Blue:

Using the urine from certain Yetenbu-races as the base, drying it and mixing in a bit of ash and soot,

then dissolving the mixture in colorless water and lastly adding a few drops of juice of blue berries

(also called blueberries but not necessarily the same as blueberries you know).

One fatal disadvantage of this method to creating Royal-Blue is the pungent smell, even after many

rinsing and incensing, which is why Jarabesa has a specially developed infrastructure to mask that

smell.

Lastly, there is Scarlet-Red. Scarlet-Red is surprisingly simple to produce, though Jarabesa can only

afford a small amount of it every year. In order to produce this version of Scarlet-Red, you combine the

natural Jara-Water with human blood.

Of course, Jarabesa is not a city of murderers(that was a few hundred years back in time)

No, Jarabesa is known for and thrives as the village of red Colors, the Color of loss, the city of

prostitution gains its color using its workers’ ‘blood’.

However, even in Jarabesa, the Scarlet-Red had been heavily limited up until three years ago.

And it just so happens that within the last three years, Jarabesa has gained an abnormally large amount

of ‘Color’ every single day.

*Sigh*

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