"Hey, cut that shit out! I'm not just going to go up and kill some random guy for you!" Symon shouted back as, after some final parting words, the Baron in question stepped down from his makeshift podium. The gathered crowd began to slowly disperse, mostly trickling away in the opposite direction from where Symon had initially approached the village. Whatever the Empire did or did not do, Symon wanted no part of it. Sure, Pepjin did give Symon sleazy used car salesman vibes, but that was hardly something worth murdering him over.
"So what? It's not my village. I'm not going to fight in a war I have no stake in, especially not when there was no actual fighting. I'm pretty sure this village doesn't even have proper guards." He could feel Keelgrave wasn't done trying to convince him, so Symon cut him off. "Look, if he turns out to be a vampire or something, then... well, I guess we'll deal with him. I'll have a chat with the mayor and the Baron individually, but at least let me get settled in first."
Symon wasn't necessarily denying that, but he felt his dark secret was probably tax fraud, not draining the blood of children for eternal youth. Speaking of draining, the dispersing crowd highlighted a problem; namely that with Seize's threads now stretching out two metres from his body, it was borderline impossible to avoid draining people in such a crowded space. He was at the edge of the plaza, where a main road joined onto it, so he simply began walking back the way he came.
Thankfully, the streets were only this packed because of the recent announcement, but that didn't help him currently. The Dumosans fell in behind him as he retreated, but he felt they could afford to take a break — they'd been looking forward to getting to experience the benefits of civilisation, and he didn't want to prevent them from doing so. Symon looked over his shoulder towards his friends before speaking. "You guys want to go get a drink? I've got to get some new clothes, and I can meet you back at that inn once things die down a bit."
"I shall remain with you, while the others can go on ahead. It would be best if you had someone to watch your back," Aslan said.
"Will the others be okay? With the whole not speaking Common thing, I mean."
Aslan turned to the others and said a few words. Safiya elbowed Atabek in the ribs a few times before whispering something — it looked painful to Symon, but the big man barely reacted. When he did, he turned towards Symon, raised one finger, and said "One beer, please," in his deep, gravelly voice. It was even deeper than the Baron's, but lacking the sense of refinement.
"They've memorised the important phrases, at least," Symon said with a chuckle.
With that, they separated into two pairs. Safiya and Atabek went deeper into the village, while Symon and Aslan circled its outskirts. As Aslan guided him, he appreciated that the roads were actually paved with large, flat stones and weren't just compacted dirt. Given the small size of the village, it wasn't long before they reached their destination. It was a squat, sad-looking structure made of roughly cobbled-together dark stones, much like the other buildings in the town, except this one was twice as wide. It had a wooden sign hanging out front, but it was so weather-worn that Symon couldn't make out any details beyond a single vertical line in the middle of it.
The front door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open and stepped it. The hinges creaked loudly in protest as he stepped into the dark room. Two small windows were present on the far wall, but they didn't do much for the gloomy atmosphere. There were a few rows of coats, hats, boots, bolts of cloth, and other random articles of clothing strewn about with no apparent sense of organisation. To his side was a large desk, of which a woman was currently slumped over, snoring softly.
"Hello?" Symon called out hesitantly as he stepped further into the building, Aslan following behind once there was enough space.
The woman shot up into a sitting position and, to her credit, took only a moment to orient herself, take in her surroundings, and reply. "Oh, customers? Pardon me, I don't get many of those. Let me turn the lights on." She fiddled with something behind her counter and then pulled out a tiny, lamp that was glowing a soft blue colour. It didn't do much to brighten things up, but it was at least pretty. It reminded him of the glowing horns of the fish he'd harvested previously. She glanced briefly at Aslan, but stared for longer at Symon with a suspicious look in her eyes. "Did you arrive on the ship? I don't recognise you."
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"No, I came from, uh, the desert. What made you think that?" Symon asked as he inspected her in turn. She was middle-aged and had a noticeably nicer outfit than most of the villagers. It wasn't anything like the Baron's, but the fact that it was clean and didn't have any holes in it already made it far superior to the average.
"The desert, really? Well, I won't ask and I don't want you to tell me. Nothing good comes from there. It explains your... attire, at least."
Symon looked down at the clothing in question and, yeah, saying it wasn't great was a huge understatement. It was more tatters than fabric at this point.
"Wait, did you say a ship?" Symon asked. The small docks had seemed empty of any ships.
"Yes, the imperial one that dropped off that nobleman and his guards a few days ago. It didn't stay long. You're not bringing any trouble, are you?"
"Damn, it's just my luck," he mumbled to himself. Of course, he'd miss a ride off this island by a couple of days. "Um, no, no trouble. I'd just like to purchase a set of decent clothes."
Once more, she suspiciously eyed him up and down for a few moments. "Do you have any coins? My materials might be basic, but I'll have you know I've evolved my Tailoring skill once already, so I'd want to see a gold piece for my trouble."
A single gold piece... that's somewhere around a hundred bucks. Not bad for a full set of clothes.
"Well, not exactly, but do you accept monster cores as payment?" he offered.
"Monster cores? Hmm, let me see 'em," she said before slapping the table between them. He pulled one of the tiny mana cores he'd collected from the fish out of his pocket and rolled it across the counter toward her, the theatrics necessary to keep her out of his range. She didn't comment on it though, instead scooping up the core and holding it right up to her eye. Symon wasn't sure how she saw any details without any proper lighting, but she didn't seem to have any problems. "Purity is average, and it's pretty small. Where'd you say you got it from?"
Symon opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden thought interrupted him. Wait, am I haggling? Shit, I think we're haggling. He briefly considered how he was going to handle this. Should he exaggerate the danger of the monster he got it from? Surely that would make them more valuable... but they were so small he didn't find it likely she'd believe him. Then again, how many monster cores would she have seen in her life? But no, Symon decided to try a different tactic — mysterious. Plus, he'd feel bad for lying to her if she did end up believing him.
"My sources are my own," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against a rack of loose clothes. She arched an eyebrow at him, while Aslan looked on impassively, yet to utter a word.
"Fine, how many do you have then?" she asked.
"Enough," he replied.
The raised eyebrow furrowed back down. "In that case, it'll be three of these cores for a shirt, pants, undergarments, and hat."
Symon pretended to consider the offer for a while, but he already knew he was going to accept. He didn't realise how badly he wanted a hat to keep the suns out of his eyes until now. "Let me see the goods first," he said.
She moved out from behind the counter and down one of the aisles of clothes, sorting through piles and digging into heaps before pulling articles of clothing out. Most of the time, she tossed them back into a pile, usually not the same one it came out of, but she occasionally saved a piece by putting it over her shoulder. After a minute of work, she was back at the desk with the aforementioned clothes laid out between them.
As the tailor had alluded to earlier, the clothes weren't made of anything fancy. It appeared roughspun, but when he rubbed it between two fingers it was surprisingly soft. "You've got yourself a deal," he said before rolling two more cores her way. "I'm Symon, by the way."
"Delara. You come back if you find any more cores, you hear? I also do mending, if you give them the same treatment as your old clothes."
"I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and do you have a changing room?"
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A few minutes later, Symon stepped out of the tailor's. His eyes stung at the sudden glare after so long inside the dark room, but he put his new hat to use to alleviate the issue. He quite liked it; it reminded him of a straw cowboy hat. His clothes were a simple wheat-brown colour, and as comfortable as modern Earth clothing. Everything fit him perfectly despite Delara never measuring him, something he chalked up to her Tailoring skill. For a poor little town, he was quite impressed by the quality.
Similarly, that magical lamp was interesting, if ineffective. It might not have done much now, but he was hopeful that it meant more advanced towns would have proper magical equivalents to his earthly technologies like running water and proper plumbing. The village smelled clean so far, but he'd yet to investigate the toilet situation.
"How badly did I get ripped off?" he asked Aslan.
"It was not so bad. The price was fair, although the cores would have been worth more in a larger city."
Keelgrave didn't chime in. Symon suspected he was still sulking after he refused to murder the Baron.
He decided to chalk this whole encounter up as a victory. He needed more than one set of clothes, but it would be enough to tide him over for now until he could drum up some more cash. He had three little cores left, but he still needed to pay for a room and food.
"Time to meet back up with the others?" he asked.
"It would be good to have some food," Aslan replied. They hadn't eaten since breakfast, and by now it was solidly past noon.
The pair set off for the plaza where the Baron had given his speech, which by now had emptied of people. They'd passed a few villagers who had stared at Symon when he passed by, but the streets were mostly empty. He'd seen a few people back in the crop fields when he'd exited the tailor's, so he assumed they were all just back to work. Before long, they arrived outside the inn. Or tavern. Symon thought it might be both.
When the door opened and a clearly drunk man stumbled out, Symon got a glimpse inside of the building. It wasn't crowded, but he could already tell there was no way he could get in there without draining someone. It might have been fine if he just ran straight through, but it simply wouldn't be possible to sit down for a meal without seriously hurting or even killing people.