"Oh! There must be celebration outside." Phillip said while looking outside. The streets are lively and crowd of people are gathering on yhe main street.
"Yeah. It’s a celebration. But we can’t join them. We still need to manage the shop." Old Brandon said while organizing the new crates delivered three hours ago after the sun rise.
The grand avenue of the royal capital was drowning in noise, color, and the smell of cheap grease.
Golden trumpets blared from high limestone watchtowers, bright silk banners flapped in the warm autumn breeze, and every single cobblestone street was packed shoulder to shoulder with drunk nobles, loud merchants, and singing peasants.
It was the annual victory celebration for the high ranked Mage Knights who had just returned from the northern border war, but as far as Philip was concerned, it was just the biggest open-air buffet and robbery convention in human history.
"Where do you think you’re going Philip?!" Brandon wheezed out, his fat face bright red as he chased Philip through the crowded entrance of the market plaza. "You can’t just leave the shop! We have three crates of broken bronze shields that need sorting!"
Philip didn’t even slow down his pace. He was walking with a spring in his step, enjoying the crisp afternoon air and the sweet sound of silver coins clinking inside his pocket.
"Relax old man," Philip said, turning around backwards while still walking smoothly through the crowd. "We just made two full gold coins off Master Geron and I knocked out Big Julian with one punch. The business is thriving. We are taking a corporate holiday."
"A corporate holiday?!" Brandon practically shrieked, pulling at his greasy hair with both hands. "There is no such thing as a corporate holiday in the slums! If the city guards see you walking around with gold in your pockets, they’ll arrest both of us for tax evasion! And what if that crazy lightning static comes back out of your nostrils?!"
"If static comes out of my nose, I’ll tell them I have a severe winter allergy," Philip chuckled, turning back around and weaving effortlessly between two tall guards in iron chestplates. "Now go back to the cellar and count your money Brandon. You’re ruining my festive mood with all that heavy breathing."
"You took my coin purse you little rat!" Brandon yelled from twenty feet behind, suddenly realizing his belt felt remarkably light. "Give that back! That had four silver pieces in it!"
"Consider it my advance for next month’s performance review!" Philip shouted back over his shoulder, disappearing into the dense sea of festival goers with a wave of his hand.
Philip grinned from ear to ear as he stepped deeper into the bustling street market. In his past life back in New York, he had spent over a decade dodging security cameras, undercover cops, and store owners with baseball bats.
But here?
In a fantasy realm where nobody even knew what a fingerprint was? It felt like playing a video game on the easiest difficulty setting.
He strolled up to a smoking food stall where a thick merchant with a dirty apron was turning long wooden skewers of sizzled meat over a bed of red hot coals.
"Get your fresh roasted wild boar legs here!" the vendor roared to the passing crowd. "Infused with real fire mana herbs! Gives you strong muscles and a healthy liver! Only three coppers a skewer!"
Philip leaned against the side of the wooden stall, sniffing the air with deep professional interest. "Hey boss, honest question. Is there actual fire magic in this meat, or did you just dump a bunch of cheap red pepper powder on expired pork?"
The merchant glared down at Philip, holding a giant iron meat cleaver in his grease stained hand. "What did you just say to me kid? This is premium boar meat from the royal hunting grounds! My family has been roasting boars for three generations!"
"Yeah yeah, three generations of giving people food poisoning," Philip snickered. "Look at that crust. That’s at least forty percent sawdust mixed with old paprika. You can’t fool a guy who used to eat cold burritos out of dumpsters."
"Get out of here before I carve you up like a roast pig!" the vendor snarled, raising his heavy cleaver in the air.
"Alright alright, keep your shirt on," Philip said, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture.
As the furious vendor turned back around to tend to his burning grill, Philip’s right hand darted forward like a striking cobra.
In a single fluid motion that took less than half a second, he unhooked two thick, sizzling meat skewers from the top rack while simultaneously slicing a heavy leather coin purse right off the vendor’s leather apron.
Philip ducked behind a nearby flower cart, shoved a massive piece of juicy roasted pork into his mouth, and let out a long satisfied sigh.
"Mmm, okay," Philip admitted around a mouthful of grease. "It might be mostly sawdust, but the pepper mix is actually pretty good. Seven out of ten."
He acted as a food testing vlogger he once watched on Metube.
He flipped the stolen leather purse in his hand. It gave off a heavy metallic clunk that made his heart warm. He opened the top and peered inside.
"Five silver and twelve coppers," Philip giggled quietly to himself, sliding the coins straight into his tunic pocket. "God bless the royal festival. I should have reincarnated ten years ago."
As he continued his lazy stroll down the grand avenue, he ran into a strange wooden stage set up near a stone church.
A street performer wearing a colorful silk robe was jumping around on the stage, waving his hands in the air while trying to pull tiny blue sparks out of a wooden wand to impress a crowd of crying children.
On the side of the performance table sat a messy pile of painted wooden masks used for theatrical plays.
Philip walked over to the edge of the stage, leaning his elbows on the wooden boards while the performer was busy trying to light a dry candle with his weak wand.