Chapter 1,349 – New Neighbor

“Dad, look! Someone’s walking around inside Grandpa Hetcher’s house!”

Beene found his daughter seated at her usual spot in the second-floor window’s culvert. He inwardly sighed at the schoolbook in her lap. It had been passed between multiple families before his father won it playing cards. It had taught two generations of children letters and numbers before reaching Helisent’s hands.

The book looked like exposure to sunlight would reduce it to dust, yet the words on the pages were so faded they could only be read when the sun stood just right in the sky. Beene wished he could replace it, but how could he splurge on that when making it through each winter was a struggle? Maybe it was time to give up on the seed business and try something new. The farmers clearly preferred sowing those damn herbs despite the danger it posed to their health.

“Is it a thief?” the child whispered, shrinking back from the window.

“Any thief would know there’s nothing of value in old Hetcher’s store.” Beene smiled as he walked over.

The Greenworth Trade Street saw mediocre foot traffic since the city moved the eastern gate. Many visitors didn’t even know it existed since it was located away from the main avenues and the major plaza. In return, it was mostly spared the chaos of the hunter’s district that sometimes spilled over into Whitfall’s more flourishing shopping neighborhoods.

“Someone’s cleaning,” Beene muttered. “I guess old Hetcher finally managed to rent out his store.”

“A new neighbor?” Helisent asked, her face now flush with excitement. “We should greet him.”

“Let me talk to him first,” Beene said with an almost imperceptible frown before stepping out of his store.

He’d only caught a few glimpses through the window, but Beene’s years in the trade left him certain this was no ordinary merchant. Beene had felt an almost primal threat even from a distance. It was just like when he joined his father on the caravan and they were attacked by wolves on the way home. Could it be an experienced cultivator? Perhaps a fugitive hiding from his enemies or the law?

His mind full of increasingly wild theories, it took Beene a moment to gather the courage to knock on his neighbor’s door. It wasn’t fully closed, likely to let some fresh air in. It had been more than two years since Old Hetcher retired and moved in with his son, and the building had stood empty since.

“Hello?” Beene hesitated as the door swung open with a groan.

After a short shuffle, his new neighbor came into view. The man would have looked the part of a young hero if not for his slightly sickly aura. There were no obvious wounds on his body, and Beene got the feeling it was a congenital issue. Still, he by no means appeared weak. There was a profound depth in his gaze that eclipsed even the greatest hunters Beene had met over the years. They held a storm that sucked the air out of the room, leaving him breathless.

Like a spell broken, the feeling disappeared. And yet, Beene wouldn’t forget that extraordinary disposition. This was a man with a story, and Beene thankfully didn’t sense any malice from him. Judging by the many scars on his exposed arms, he might simply be someone who’d grown weary of traveling the rivers and lakes. Then again, Beene couldn’t sense a speck of that invisible pressure any cultivator would exhibit.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked.

“Ah, apologizes,” Beene coughed awkwardly. “I’m Beene Peck of Peck’s Seeds.”

“Peck’s Seeds?” the man slowly said before connecting the dots. “Oh, you’re from next door. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Zac Atwood. Then it’s your daughter peeking from the window?”

Beene smiled with relief after seeing the young man hadn’t taken offense. “Indeed. Helisent is my youngest of two. She meant no harm. It’s not often something interesting happens here on Greenworth Trade Street. Most stores have been passed on through generations.”

An unusual flicker appeared in the man’s eyes before he smiled. “It’s not a problem. I heard from Master Hetcher that he lived here for nearly forty years.”

“Indeed. It’s good to see someone bring new life to this store. The more wares Greenworth can offer, the more customers we’ll attract,” Beene said. “May I ask which industry Master Atwood specializes in?”

“What I’m selling?” The young man almost looked surprised by the question, and it took him a moment to answer. “Wooden Carvings.”

“Carvings?” Beene blinked with confusion before forcing a smile. “Lumber is plentiful and high-quality this close to the Whitmont Forest. You can even acquire Spiritual Wood from the Guild, though it’ll cost you a penny. Carvings, huh? I’m sure it’ll add a layer of sophistication to the street, assisting its revival.”

Beene wasn’t nearly as optimistic as he let on. Whitfall wasn’t like Proudcrest, a few days’ travel away, let alone the more distant Palimu where the noblemen lived. The township stood at the intersection of the fields and the Whitmont Forest, and the whole city’s economy was centered around the two trades. Farmers and lumberjacks wouldn’t be able to afford carvings.

The skilled hunters braving the forest depths certainly could, but whatever money they saved up went into advancing their cultivation or upgrading equipment. Even if they decided to splurge on an ornament, would they be interested in the carvings of a random storekeeper? No-name artisans would barely make a profit after accounting for materials, rent, and time. There was also the cost of practicing their craft.

It would take a miracle for this Zac Atwood to avoid bankruptcy within a few months. Beene would bet his left hand that Old Hetcher had demanded at least a year’s rent up-front after learning of this man’s business venture.

Zac nodded with a smile. “There’s still much I don’t understand when it comes to running a store. I’d welcome Master Peck’s guidance.”

“My accomplishments are meager, I’m afraid. It might be me who’ll have to rely on Master Atwood in the future,” Beene politely answered.

Beene spent the next twenty minutes going over the informal rules of Greenworth Trade Street and what to take note of when running a store in Whitfall. Zac Atwood was clearly not a local, and Beene didn’t want the courteous young man to fall victim by not understanding the undercurrents.

Life returned to normal, now with Helisent’s occasional update on their odd neighbor. His doors remained closed for business even after a month had passed. It wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense. Zac disappeared for days on end every week. He could return at any time of day, sometimes wounded and always exhausted. A few times, he came back drawing a cart or directly lugging pieces of lumber.

Was he sourcing the wood himself? It would certainly save on costs, but it had to be very time-consuming. Where would Zac find the time to make his carvings and sell them? Not to mention the dangers. The Spiritual Beasts of the Whitmont Forest wasn’t the only thing to worry about. The city had plenty of ruthless hunters, and the rule of law didn’t reach the depths of the woods where the valuable trees could be found. Even the Forester Guild was known to cause trouble for unaffiliated lumberjacks.

Months passed this way, with some of the carver’s outings lasting weeks. Beene was starting to believe his initial suspicions were correct. The whole thing about opening a store to sell wooden carvings was a cover for a more unsavory business. The only thing that left Beene uncertain was Zac’s consistent lack of spiritual pressure and sickly countenance.

It wasn’t just Beene and his daughter who took notice. Dissent was growing among the neighbors. Having boarded-up stores wasn’t good for business. It only reinforced the impression that the Greenworth Trade Street was a mercantile hub on the decline. At the same time, they’d all seen Zac return looking like he’d clawed his way out of hell. No one bought his explanation that he was exploring the region for inspiration and good materials, but they also didn’t dare call him on his bluff.

“Look, it’s Grandpa Hetcher! He doesn’t look happy,” Helisent said one day from her perch by the window.

“He’s having a talk with Zac,” Beene said, already knowing what it was about.

Half a year had passed, and the Greenworth Association had decided to tackle the problem from another direction. The Greenworth Trade Street was a designated mercantile district, and using the buildings solely as a domicile went against the rules. This regulation was rarely enforced, but the Trade Council used it to give Old Hetcher an ultimatum.

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Fix the problem or they’d take the issue to the City Lord. Zac would be evicted, and there was a decent chance that Hetcher would be fined. So it fell on Hetcher’s shoulders to remind his tenant of their agreement. Beene, remembering Zac Atwood’s grim expression as he returned a few days before, hesitated whether he should act as a mediator.

Beene had developed some rapport with the young man over the months, and he might be able to defuse the situation in case it grew heated. A smiling Hetcher emerged from his storefront before Beene could convince himself, and news quickly spread among the merchants. Atwood Carvings would open in a week.

The day of, Beene prepared a small gift and set out with Helisent on his heels. Beene had tried to keep his young daughter away from this mysterious stranger, but he wouldn’t hear the end of it if she missed out on the grand opening.

Atwood Carvings had opened without fanfare or even a symbolic ceremony for good luck. The only difference was that the storefront’s door stood wide open, and the large sign above the entrance that had appeared during the night. Beene stopped on the street, entranced by the characters carved into the oiled board that retained the natural shapes of the tree it came from.

“Great strokes,” Beene muttered.

The longer he looked, the more moved Beene became. He didn’t understand the fine arts, leaving him unable to articulate why the calligraphy left his heart thumping. The two unadorned words simply held an otherworldly charm. It was as though they were naturally formed by the wood, and looking at them temporarily swept away his chronic fatigue.

“Dad!”