[15] Chapter 3. In Order Not to Love (2)
The rain finally stopped on the third day after the pair and the merchant caravan arrived in Maroila.
It was the third day of her menstruation—like walking through pillars of hellfire with a bare body—and by then, Fernciana was feeling much better. Ilias, though trying to act indifferent, looked visibly relieved.
“Are you feeling much better?”
When Fernciana stepped outside for the first time in three days, some of the caravan members recognized her and expressed their concern. It seemed they had been told she’d fallen ill from overexertion during the battle. Fernciana nodded with a bright smile.
After a simple breakfast, she stepped out to find the rain had cleared, leaving the air sparklingly clear. She took a deep breath. A slight chill brushed her lungs.
Just then, a familiar face caught her eye. Across from the hotel were a row of quaint, vintage shops, and one had opened earlier than the others. It was a jewelry store, its sign gleaming with something out of the ordinary.
A tall man was standing outside that store. Fernciana shaded her eyes from the morning sun and crossed the street.
“Ilias?”
“Hey. You had breakfast?”
“Just now… What were you looking at?”
“The craftsmanship was unusual. I got curious and asked about it.”
“Craftsmanship?”
Fernciana tilted her head. The shop owner, who had been excitedly talking to Ilias, brightened when he saw her.
“I have pieces that would suit the young lady perfectly!”
Without another word, the shopkeeper disappeared inside the store. Fernciana didn’t even have a chance to stop or follow him. Left behind, Ilias had a dazed expression.
“How did he know?”
“Know what?”
“That you’re a woman.”
“Shouldn’t the real issue be with the person who didn’t notice?”
Like, say… a certain Mr. Ilias Seiran?
Before Ilias could playfully smack her, the shopkeeper returned, prompting Fernciana to greet him with a triumphant smile and a little cough.
The shopkeeper brought out a small velvet-lined board adorned with various sparkling accessories.
“Oh, this one’s pretty.”
“You have a good eye. That’s refined silver, inlaid with a rare yellow-tinted crystal. It’s been carefully cut into a teardrop shape…”
The shopkeeper launched into detailed explanations for every piece Fernciana glanced at. Then, whenever Ilias asked a question about the craftsmanship, the explanation shifted in that direction, only to veer again when Fernciana looked at something else.
Finally, after he’d explained everything, Ilias offered his thanks and purchased the necklace Fernciana had first said was pretty.
“You’re going to wear a necklace, Ilias?”
While waiting outside, Fernciana asked when she saw Ilias coming out holding a small case. As she tucked her wind-blown hair behind her ear, Ilias shrugged and held the case out to her.
“Nope. Here.”
“Huh?”
Startled, Fernciana blinked at him. Ilias urged her to take it.
“After listening to all that, I couldn’t just leave without buying something.”
“Then you should’ve bought something you needed.”
“Nothing suited my taste. But you said this one was pretty, right?”
Well… she did.
Caught off guard, Fernciana hesitated for a while before cautiously accepting the case. She opened it. Inside was the pendant she had admired, now hanging gracefully on a chain.
“…It’s beautiful…”
“He’s really talented… Even in Formilas, it’s rare to find a craftsman this skilled—and yet he’s here in a place like this.”
Ilias looked around the store with a low gleam in his eyes, seemingly lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Fernciana kept gazing at the necklace Ilias had given her. Ilias, deep in thought while staring at the shop, finally noticed and clicked his tongue at her.
“You’ve never worn a necklace before? Want me to put it on for you?”
“Ah… Yeah.”
“This is going to get really expensive later, so don’t lose it,” Ilias said in a joking tone. Fernciana blinked at the cool touch at the back of her neck, then smiled softly.
“…It’s been so long since someone gave me a gift like this…”
“…Did your friends not hang out with you or something?”
“Ilias!”
At her fierce expression and loud retort, Ilias quickly laughed and apologized, saying he was just joking.
“Is this place supposed to be good?”
“That’s what I heard. The caravan folks all recommended it.”
Ilias’s reply came with a hint of uncertainty. Fernciana eyed the overly shabby sign above the restaurant and lowered her voice.
“If a restaurant’s food is really good, it gets popular, right?”
“Right.”
“Then they’d have a lot of customers and make good money?”
“Right.”
“Then wouldn’t they replace an old, broken sign pretty quickly—or something like that?”
Ilias couldn’t argue with that logic, so he didn’t answer right away. Eventually, he mumbled a vague defense of the place.
“Maybe the sign has… like, some meaning or something?”
“You just said ‘something’ three times.”
In the end, the only reason they actually went inside was because, through the slightly ajar door—opened when a customer exited—they saw that the place was packed.
As soon as they entered, everyone glanced their way before returning to their meals. With no tables available, the two had to sit side by side at the bar.
The server handed them a menu. Fernciana carefully chose a dish: a delicately fried soft-shell crab seasoned with exotic spices. Ilias didn’t bother picking—he simply ordered the two dishes that had been recommended alongside the restaurant.
“Mmm, it smells amazing. I’m suddenly really hungry…”
“Yeah.”
Despite the sign looking like it hadn’t been replaced in years, the interior was neat and bustling, and the staff seemed plentiful and attentive.
As the two whispered their observations, three dishes were placed before them. There wasn’t enough room for individual plates, so they had to hold their forks and plates in both hands.
“Ah! This is delicious!”
Shortly after taking a bite, Fernciana exclaimed. The bartender polishing glasses glanced over, but Fernciana was too absorbed to notice. Ilias wasn’t much different.
“Oh, that is worth recommending…”
“It’s more than that—it’s really good! Have you tried the fried one yet? You have to! It’s amazing!”
Face flushed, Fernciana urged him. Ilias took a bite and his eyes widened. The shell was crispy and tender, the meat rich and savory without being fishy, and the exotic spices balanced it all perfectly.
Their enthusiasm eventually tempted the bartender—likely the owner—who approached them with a resigned smile.
“You two from out of town?”
“Sorry? Oh, yes.”
“Glad the food suits your taste.”
Fernciana, cheeks stuffed, could only nod. Then she accidentally dropped her fork.
Had that not happened, the two of them likely would’ve finished their meal, returned to the hotel, slept, and continued their journey to the capital the next day.
“Oh dear, I’ll bring you a new fork.”
At the owner’s nod, a server brought a clean set of utensils and took the dropped fork away. Not long after, the same server returned—his face pale.
“Miss, are you alright?”
Even under the dim lighting, it was clear the cloth napkin he held was stained with blood. He had picked up the fallen fork, returned to the kitchen, and when he wiped his hands, blood appeared on the cloth—startled, he rushed back out.
Both the bartender and Ilias instantly turned their eyes toward Fernciana’s hand.
There was a glimpse of red on the knuckles of the hand holding the new fork.
Oh! Is the new fork a different metal?