System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 291: The Cost of City Dreams
“Dearest Roy,
“In the blink of an eye, we have been apart for a year. Since the last letter you sent back from Cintra, several more months have passed without any word.
“Susan and I sometimes think of those years in Kagen Village, Lower Aedirn. The whole family keeping to that shabby woodshed, those barren tobacco fields. The days were tight, but having the family whole and together was the greatest happiness.
“...
“My child, are you well now?
“In the last letter you sent, you said you often live in the wild, dealing with parasites and insects, man-eating beasts, and the deadly threats of all manner of terrifying monsters. We are very worried for you. Susan even lost sleep for several nights because of it. Sadly, as ordinary folk, apart from praying again and again to the goddess Melitele for you in Novigrad, we can do nothing to help.
“But Master Letho is an expert in this field, experienced and seasoned. You must listen to his command and humbly learn how to handle all kinds of dangers.
“Most important of all, protect yourself. Your life comes first.
“When we meet again before long, I hope to see a handsome, strong young man, not a cripple missing arms or legs, blind in one eye or short an ear.
“Otherwise your mother will not bear it.
“Enough of sad matters. I have good news for you.
“Your little brother Minnole had his first full month the day before yesterday. Goddess Melitele bless him, illness has never visited him since birth. He is very healthy, plump and fair, with bright black eyes, a tiny nose and mouth. You truly ought to see him with your own eyes. When he smiles, he looks exactly like you did as a child.
“The little fellow is clever and lively, babbling all day long. We reckon he is calling your name, impatient to meet you, the strange elder brother, and hear you share the adventures of your journey.
“All right, enough about Minnole. Let me tell you about the vegetable stall. Only recently did I learn that Novigrad is the largest city in the North, with more than thirty thousand residents. Not only humans, but dwarves, halflings, elves, the likes of which I had never seen before ... Novigrad consumes a great amount of food every day, so the vegetable stall’s business is quite good. Daily profit can reach three or four crowns, several times more than farming in Lower Aedirn, enough for our family to live fed and clothed in a great city.
“Speaking of that, we must thank Masters Orin and Kael, who brought us to Novigrad. Thanks to their help, we were able to gain a foothold.
“Both masters are very good people, apart from their slightly odd tempers.
“You did not say last time how you get along with them.
“If some conflict has happened by accident and you truly cannot stay with them, then come to Novigrad. Old Mole will keep you fed, like back in the countryside.
“There is much more I want to tell you face to face. Do not make us wait too long.
“Old Mole and Susan, who will love you forever.
“November 12, 1261, Novigrad.”
“Scratch, scratch...” In the dim yellow candlelight, a slender quill drew the final graceful curve across the clean white letter paper.
A young blonde woman in a corset, full-figured and fair, stood from the desk, dusted the envelope, and gently breathed warm air over the ink marks on the page.
“Uncle Moor, I have written the letter according to your request. Let me read it to you and see if there is anything else you want changed...”
“No problem. No need to change it.” Across from her, a thin middle-aged man with a slightly hunched back took the letter with gratitude all over his face. “Miss Vesprala, I have troubled you again.”
The man tucked the envelope close to his chest, into his coarse linen shirt, patted it lightly, then took out a dirty money pouch smeared with mud. “Same as usual. One crown as payment.”
Hearing this, Vesprala shook her head. Her blue eyes swept over him. The man before her was clearly not yet forty, yet frost had already touched his temples. His face was full of wrinkles, his skin dry and rough, the living image of a farmer worn down by life.
For the past half year, he had come to her every month to write letters. Unfortunately, because he did not know the recipient’s address, the letters had almost never been sent, and could only pile up, waiting for the child to return and read them.
Her pretty eyes swept over the man again.
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