“You like these things?” Noticing that Frieren’s gaze had lingered on a particular stall for far too long, unable to look away, Ronan followed her line of sight over to the same spot.
He didn’t recognize any of the magic tools himself, only thought the items on the stall looked strange and unusual—bottles, jars, and even some wooden sticks…
Wooden sticks?
Were people really selling those too?
The bottles and jars looked like antiques…
Was this some kind of flea market?
Though it was a bit odd to think this era even had such a thing.
But given that this was another world, it wasn’t entirely out of the question either.
“Of course I like them.
I heard there are ruins somewhere near here—I used to think it was just a legend, but it turns out to be true.” Frieren lowered her head slightly, her voice hushed, as though sharing a small secret, “Supposedly, the ruins are full of treasures, and also contain some grimoires that were thought to be lost long ago.” “If I’m not mistaken, some of those items over there were brought out from the ruins.” “It’s a shame I don’t have much money on me, or I’d buy every last one of them to keep.” She wasn’t only passionate about magic itself, but also about many things related to it.
Some of the wood carvings back at her house were part of that—enchanted with calming spells.
Ronan didn’t really understand Frieren’s collecting habits, but seeing that wistful, reluctant look on her face…
He mulled it over for a moment, then raised a hand and gave Frieren’s shoulder a light pat, his tone easy and casual: “Stay right here, don’t move.
I’ll be right back.” With that, he walked over to the stall.
From where Frieren stood, she saw Ronan exchange a few words with the stall owner, and the man’s face immediately lit up with delight.
Right after, he took a number of items from Ronan’s hands and hurried off in a rush, not even bothering to pack up the stall itself.
The look on his face was like a beggar who’d spent all day pleading for scraps, only to suddenly receive a thousand-gold bill—so overjoyed that even his feigned limp vanished on the spot.
—What had just happened?
Frieren furrowed her brow slightly, a vague suspicion forming in her mind, though she still couldn’t be certain.
Because she knew full well just how expensive magic tools were.
In this era, properly trained mages were extremely rare, holding an elevated social status—so naturally, either wealthy or noble.
As a result, items that were both antiques and functional tools could always fetch outrageous prices.
The wood carvings at her house had taken her thirty years of scrimping and saving to afford.
What was sitting right in front of her now…
in terms of value, was worth at least forty or fifty of those carvings.
What was thirty times fifty?
Frieren tried to work it out silently in her head, but since she didn’t know multiplication, she still couldn’t come up with even a rough number after a good while of trying.
Just then, Ronan returned.
He seemed to be in a particularly good mood, and without thinking much of it, he took Frieren’s hand and began walking straight toward the stall.
Frieren instinctively wanted to pull away, but a flicker of hesitation crossed her mind, and she found herself stopping the motion before it happened.
Following Ronan over to the stall, she listened as he explained what had just taken place: “It’s all settled.
I also picked up some information—there really is a ruin near here.” “According to some scholars’ surveys, it’s the remains of the Pure Land Dynasty, dating back roughly thirteen hundred years.” “It hasn’t been fully explored yet, and quite a few adventurers have been heading that way.” “These magic tools are all thirteen-hundred-year-old artifacts.” “I’m not sure exactly how much they’re worth, but for now, they’re all yours.” Hearing his generous, offhand words, the suspicion in Frieren’s heart was further confirmed.
She lowered her eyes, her long lashes trembling faintly, as though a stone had been dropped into her heart, sending out clear ripples.
At that moment, a jumble of conflicting emotions swirled inside her, and she had no idea what to say.
Should she scold Ronan for spending so recklessly?
What right did she even have to complain?
The two of them were, after all, nothing more than chance acquaintances who’d only just met.
It was purely their shared interest in magic that had formed even this small, tentative bond between them.
Should she gladly accept it, then?
Frieren felt she wasn’t worth this much.
Elves might not place great value on money, but they still understood its importance.
To suddenly owe someone this great a debt of gratitude—she might not be able to repay it in a few hundred years.
After all, these magic tools were normally sold off one at a time.
Ordinarily, it might take months just to sell a single piece; no one had ever bought the entire lot all at once before.
—Could a human even live for a few hundred years?
Frieren let out a deep sigh.
The answer was obvious.
She slowly raised her head, her voice barely above a whisper: “I’m sorry for making you spend so much.
Those tools must have been terribly expensive.” “We only came here to buy food, and yet somehow…” “No need to apologize.
It’s just pocket change.” Compared to Frieren’s evident worry, Ronan looked entirely at ease, a faint smile lingering on his face the whole time.
As though the gold coins he’d just spent didn’t even amount to spare change to him, “A mere six thousand gold coins for thirteen-hundred-year-old relics is already quite the bargain, especially considering they’re tools meant specifically for mages.” In his mind, thirteen hundred years ago roughly corresponded to the Tang dynasty back on Earth, and any relic from that era carried tremendous value.
It was a shame this wasn’t the modern world—otherwise, with Feng Ling Yue Ying at his disposal, not a single collectible piece could escape his grasp.
“A mere…
six thousand?” Frieren’s eyes widened slightly.
She had no idea what was actually going through Ronan’s mind, entirely fixated instead on the sheer, almost incomprehensible size of that number.
She couldn’t help but wonder if Ronan had gotten the number wrong—surely he meant six hundred, not six thousand?
After all, in this era, adventurers were already considered a rather high-earning profession.
But even so, despite risking their lives daily, most of them could earn no more than two or three gold coins a month.
Six thousand gold coins was three thousand times a month’s income—converted into months, that came out to three thousand months.
How many years was that, exactly?
It was almost impossible to imagine.
In less than a minute, Ronan had spent more money than an adventurer could hope to earn in several lifetimes.
Even though Frieren herself wasn’t particularly interested in money, a wave of sheer absurdity welled up in her at the thought.
At the same time, a great big question slowly began to form in her mind.
—Just how much money did Ronan actually have?
To casually pull out six thousand gold coins like that, his total wealth had to be at least thirty thousand.
And judging by how utterly unconcerned he’d looked while doing it, the most conservative estimate would put his fortune at over a hundred thousand gold coins, at the very least…
He was supposed to be a Hero—so why was he this wealthy?
Some kind of wealthy merchant’s son, perhaps?
Or maybe even nobility?
Could he possibly be a prince from some foreign kingdom?
It wasn’t entirely unreasonable for Frieren’s mind to wander in this direction, since Ronan’s whole concept of money was clearly nothing like anyone else’s.
As far as she could tell, Ronan must have grown up living an extravagant life, waited on hand and foot, never wanting for anything.
Having worked all this out, Frieren gave Ronan a long, searching look, her attitude toward him subtly beginning to shift.
If she was going to assume he might be someone of noble birth, then she couldn’t afford to be too careless around him.
If she accidentally offended him somehow, and one day found herself dragged off somewhere, not even the village chief would have any recourse to argue on her behalf.
“What are you thinking about, Frieren?” Ronan cut into her thoughts with a smile, gesturing for her not to stand on ceremony, “It’s already done.
Worrying about the price now won’t change anything.
As far as I’m concerned, it was worth it, because no amount of gold can buy my own happiness.” “And of course, more importantly, your happiness matters too.
Leaving them with someone who doesn’t appreciate magic would’ve just been a waste anyway.” “Take them.”