Chapitre 9: Chapter 9
"Wait, I think I forgot to say goodbye to my grandma before coming," Leon said, forcing a sheepish smile and scratching the back of his neck. "Would you mind if I take a moment to do that?"
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but shrugged. "Fine. Just make it quick."
"Thanks." Leon nodded and turned away with measured steps. Once the guard's gaze drifted elsewhere, Leon bolted down a narrow side street.
"F**king disaster," he hissed, ducking behind a stack of barrels. His heart was racing, the ridiculous image of the woman flashing in his mind—her bloated frame, the chins that jiggled as she giggled like an oversized child. A noblewoman? No. She was a wreck, a walking disaster with enough bulk to level half the market if she tripped over a cobblestone.
"What the hell was I thinking?" he muttered, chest heaving as he leaned against the damp stone wall of an alley. "That truck would crush me flat if anything goes wrong."
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly. Panic wasn't going to help. Think, Leon. Think. He reached into his inventory.
Salt. Here, it wasn't just seasoning—it was power. Wars had been fought over it, and in a place like this, where modern-world goods were rare, it was as precious as gold.
"Yeah, this'll do," he murmured.
He crouched low, peering out at the marketplace. Merchants squabbled over prices, guards loitered with feigned indifference, and peasants trudged through the mud, their backs bent under heavy baskets. The scene reeked of inefficiency, desperation, and decay.
Leon snorted softly. These people didn't need a hero. They needed a miracle—or someone willing to sell them one.
His hand brushed the rifle slung across his back. The cold metal was a silent reminder of his ace in the hole. Here. A tool that could make him a god among men.
"This thing makes me a one-man army," he whispered, smirking. "Nobody messes with the guy holding the boomstick."
But the grin faded as his mind drifted to his ammo count. He had maybe 200 rounds left, and when those were gone, the rifle would be little more than an overpriced club. Every shot had to count. Besides, violence wasn't always the answer. Not yet.
Leon adjusted his rifle strap, boots crunching on the cobblestones as he approached the marketplace. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, roasted meat, and desperation. His eyes scanned the stalls until they landed on a likely target—a heavyset merchant seated behind a rickety counter. The man's beady eyes darted around like a predator watching over his hoard, his greasy tunic stretched taut over his belly. This guy reeked of greed. Perfect.
Leon approached, keeping his expression casual but his posture firm. The merchant looked up, his sharp eyes immediately narrowing at the sight of Leon's odd clothing and the strange weapon slung over his back.
"What do you want, traveler?" the merchant barked, his voice gruff.
Leon reached into his pocket and produced a tiny, tightly tied pouch of salt. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the counter. The small pouch landed with a satisfying thud.
The merchant's gaze snapped to it, his face shifting from skepticism to curiosity. He picked it up, loosening the knot with quick, practiced fingers. His expression froze as he dipped his hand in, letting a few grains trickle through his fingers like sand through an hourglass.
"This..." The merchant's voice trailed off, his beady eyes widening as he stared at the grains. "This is pure salt."
Leon leaned on the counter, his smirk growing. "The good stuff, isn't it?"
The merchant quickly masked his astonishment, his eyes darting around to make sure no one else saw. "Where did you get this?" he hissed, leaning closer. "You know how rare this is?"
"Let's just say I have a reliable source," Leon replied smoothly. "The question is, what's it worth to you?"
The merchant's face tightened, his gaze flicking between Leon and the pouch. "It's... decent quality," he said, his tone dismissive as he attempted to regain control of the situation. "But it's not enough to make a fortune. Maybe a few silver coins."
Leon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Oh, don't play coy with me. You and I both know this is worth more than a few measly silvers. How about you try again?"
The merchant's eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Listen, stranger. This isn't the kind of place where you get to name your price. You hand over the rest of your supply, or I'll call the guards and tell them you've been stealing from the lord's stores."
Leon's smirk didn't waver. Instead, he reached over his shoulder and slowly unslung his rifle, setting it on the counter with deliberate care. The merchant's bravado faltered as his eyes locked onto the unfamiliar weapon.
"Let me make this clear," Leon said, his tone deadly calm. "I'm not some peasant you can push around. You try to cheat me, you try to threaten me, and this 'boomstick' here will be the last thing you ever see. Got it?"
Leon leaned in closer, his smirk never leaving his face. The merchant's confidence was quickly fading, his eyes shifting nervously between Leon and the rifle.
"Got it?" Leon repeated, his voice soft but carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the merchant's chest.
The merchant's mouth opened, but no words came out. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he looked at the weapon. Leon's rifle was no simple gun—its sleek design, the muted finish, and the suppressor attached to the barrel made it clear this was not something he could easily handle. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a reminder that, in this exchange, Leon held all the power.
The silence stretched, thick with tension. The merchant's eyes darted to the rifle again, calculating, but he wasn't fast enough.
Leon's smirk faded, replaced by a deadly calm. He placed one hand gently on the barrel of the rifle, tapping it once, the metallic sound sharp in the quiet.
"You see this?" Leon said, his voice low and menacing. "This is a suppressed rifle. One shot, and you'll never know what hit you."
The merchant's eyes widened in realization, and his mouth dried up. "Y-you wouldn't…"
Leon's finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger guard, a small, deliberate motion that made the merchant freeze.
"I don't make threats," Leon said, his tone still deadly calm. "But a single shot from this thing, and you'd be staring down at your own blood without even hearing the sound of it. No one would know it came from me."
The merchant swallowed hard, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. "Please... no need for this, sir. We can come to an agreement."
Leon raised an eyebrow, his gaze hardening. "You're goddamn right we can. I don't want silver. I don't want copper. I want gold, supplies, and information. If you so much as think about crossing me, I'll be back—and I won't be so generous next time."
The merchant's entire body was trembling now, his earlier bravado completely evaporated. "I... I understand. Of course. Whatever you want. Just don't—"
Leon smiled, a cold, satisfied grin that made the merchant's stomach churn. He straightened up and let go of the rifle, the tension in the air finally starting to dissipate.
"Good. Now we're talking."
With a flick of his wrist, he gestured toward the back of the stall. "Go fetch the gold. I'll wait."
The merchant nodded quickly, his movements shaking as he scrambled away to gather the supplies. Leon stayed where he was, his eyes scanning the area one more time, ensuring no one had caught sight of their exchange.
He was in control now.
The gold was secured. Leon tucked it away, nodding his approval as he turned and made his way toward the next part of his plan.
As he walked through the marketplace, the noise of haggling and shouting faded as his attention snapped to something else. A crowd had gathered near a wooden platform where slaves were being sold. It was the usual scene of misery, but something caught his eye—her.
"Hmm..." he muttered, his gaze lingering on her.
"Well, should I buy her?" He glanced at the auctioneer, who was calling out bids.
Leon scratched his chin, pondering.
"I think I should," he decided with a grin. Why not? He was in a new world. Might as well make a few questionable decisions along the way, right? There were far more important things to consider—like how to avoid getting stabbed in his sleep, or what to eat for dinner—than whether or not buying a silver-haired slave was a good idea. After all, she looked like she could be a tool... or maybe something more.
As the auction began, the bidding process was full of the usual theatrics: exaggerated cries, desperate looks, and random shouting from the back of the crowd. One particularly enthusiastic bidder waved a gold coin like it was a sacred relic. Leon rolled his eyes.
"Alright, alright," the auctioneer said with a grand gesture, "Let's get this show on the road! First bid for the silver-haired beauty! Starting at... 50 silver coins!"
Leon's eyes flicked to the crowd, seeing several men jostling for position. One of them was already leaning over the railing, practically salivating as if she were the last slice of pizza at a party.
Leon chuckled under his breath. "Really? Are we doing this? Alright then, let's see how desperate these people are."
He raised his hand casually, his voice clear as day. "One packet of salt."
The entire crowd turned, stunned. There was a brief silence before a low murmur rippled through the onlookers. Even the auctioneer blinked, as though he'd just heard someone announce they'd bought a castle for the price of a loaf of bread.
The bidding abruptly stopped.
The auctioneer, still in shock, cleared his throat and then hesitated. "I... I believe we have a new bid! Going once... going twice... Sold, to the fine gentleman with the... packet of salt?"
Leon smirked, clearly pleased with himself. He hadn't exactly expected it to work, but there was something delightfully absurd about trading something as ordinary as salt for a person.
He had no idea what he was going to do with her, but buying people in a new world seemed like one of those things you had to do, right? Like a rite of passage or something.
As the silver-haired woman was led over to him, Leon patted his pockets absentmindedly, as if still unsure about how this situation was going to unfold. "Well, this is going to be interesting."
He tossed the packet of salt to the auctioneer, who caught it with a baffled expression, clearly still processing what had just happened.
"Pleasure doing business," Leon muttered with a half-smile, walking off with the silver-haired girl. She looked to be around 17 or 18, and her demeanor, though calm, was guarded.
Leon glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow. "So... what's your name, princess?"
She didn't answer immediately, only giving a slight tilt of her head, clearly unsure how to respond to the strange.
"Hey, no need to be shy," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I just bought you with a packet of salt. What's the worst that could happen?"
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone