THFN | Chapter 4

Emphasizing the word “kind,” Clara left the storage with the door slightly ajar.

If they run away, so be it. If they stay…

‘Well, at least I can use them for the rest of the year.’

He’d think about the rest later. Of course, there was a risk, but he wasn’t too worried about them turning into a thief. Clara might look like a rebellious noble with no strength, enjoying flirting with women, but he knew how to handle a sword.

He had no intention of taking a loss. The lodging doors were locked, and the other storage areas, sealed with magic, hadn’t been opened by any so-called worker-thieves in the past five years. Without Clara’s cooperation, nothing could be stolen.

Besides, this storage was already ruined.

‘Nothing more to mess up….’

Clara glanced once more at the jars with stained corks but still intact, then left.

That evening.

The empty baskets were filled with over a hundred fig trees harvested. Clara, confident in his choice, grinned widely.

With a much softer tone, he playfully tapped the tomato pile, finding the startled reaction amusing. It was fun to tease a bit and see the response.

“Wow, did you work all night without sleeping?”

Twitch!

Maybe they really had nowhere to go. The person hiding in the same tomato sack twitched noticeably.

As they twitched so much, a tomato on top was about to roll off, so Clara approached and caught it, poking the empty space with his fingertip.

“Strange… It seemed like the sack moved.”

Whether they knew he was smiling or not, the tomato sack shook like an earthquake each time.

“Must be my imagination, ahem. Ahem. Right?”

Poke, poke. Tremble.

Each poke sent a tomato rolling away. The pile froze, looking scared, so Clara raised his palm.

…Then Clara felt a sense of déjà vu.

Due to his upbringing, he didn’t build much muscle, had a pale, thin body, and a voice as light as his appearance, so workers rarely feared him.

Actually, not just rarely—except for when he killed a monster that invaded the farm four years ago, there wasn’t a time.

“……?”

He almost remembered something but it was already night. Unlike the morning, a chilly autumn breeze blew.

Quickly losing interest in suspicion, Clara shook a small basket he had prepared, letting the aroma waft.

The evening menu was figs with damaged skins, a few tomatoes, hot fish radish soup made with fish bones and radish from the lake, and fish steak grilled to perfection.

With only one worker, Clara put effort into the meal, using chicken stock, rosemary, oregano, and various ingredients. He placed the basket down, savoring the crispy oil smell.

As the weather turned chilly, he spread out thick blankets and pillows on the floor.

Though grateful, he couldn’t let an unknown person into the house. But the nights were cold, and there was nowhere else to go but the storage, which might still have glass shards on the floor, so this was the compromise.

Bringing bedding from the worker’s quarters, Clara spread it wide on the dirt-covered storage floor, rolling around a bit before deciding it was enough.

“Where did they go? I’ll leave the usual snacks and meals here. They’ll eat it.”

Twitch, twitch.

“Surely they won’t leave it uneaten, right? If it’s cold by tomorrow, I’ll have to throw it away.”

That was a lie. Clara would eat even moldy dried fish without a problem. But people tend to be tempted when rushed, don’t they?

The tomato sack twitched slightly.

The movement seemed more like a big-nosed animal sniffing than a person, and Clara barely held back laughter, pretending to cough and standing up naturally.

“It’d be a waste to throw it away. It’s payment for work, so someone should eat it. I’ll get back to work.”

He left the storage door half-open and slipped outside, leaning against the back of the storage.

Why? Well. Aren’t you curious? Grinning, he listened closely until he heard rustling. Something rolled with a thud. Thump, thump. Vegetables rolled and bumped.

‘…Why are there no footsteps?’

Clara, fiddling with his piercing for a change of pace, tilted his head. Strange. Had he become so rusty that he couldn’t hear a worker’s footsteps?

…Well, it had been four years since he last wielded a sword. It wasn’t surprising if his senses dulled after such a long break. Resisting the urge to tap his waist, Clara focused on the sounds.

The straw food basket rattled, and hurried eating and drinking sounds followed. Rattle, munch, crunch.

Listening for a moment, Clara’s expression turned curious.

‘It’s young.’

Swallowing, eating manners, urgency, spilling sounds. Such things hinted at age. Though no voice was heard, it didn’t seem like an adult’s presence.

Guessing, it seemed to be between five and ten years old.

Why would a child be here?

If not a worker, he didn’t want to keep anyone on the farm. Should he open the storage door, reveal their identity, and send them back? His hesitant hand gripped the door handle tightly.

Just as he was about to open it, a naive voice echoed from the other side of the storage door.

“I wish I could eat like this every day.”

“…….”

“Sniff, I should bring some to my family.”

Clara froze at the word “family.”

The sound of sniffing, as if the soup was too hot, continued inside the storage, hidden by the thick door. Yet he stared at the shadowed door for several minutes.

“I shouldn’t be the only one eating delicious food….”

What was he thinking during that short time? Even he didn’t know. In the end, he couldn’t open the door.

Instead, his backward steps toward the opposite side of the storage quickened.

Hastily returning to the storage where the meat was frozen, Clara, not knowing what he was thinking, grabbed whatever meat he could. Ribs, bones, thigh bones. He even took a piece of tenderloin, the softest meat for a child to eat.

As it wasn’t a comprehensive farm but a regular one, they didn’t raise many livestock. Though they kept a few pigs to feed leftover crops, considering raising them professionally was a hassle due to slaughter and storage facilities. Above all, animals were harder to store than expected.

In this era, with insufficient refrigeration, bringing them to this remote area without a mage was a challenge, so even Clara rarely ate meat a few times a year. Not to mention outside.

Perhaps that’s why the notion of meat as nourishment was firmly ingrained.

He took it out generously and boiled it. He scooped in a full scoop of salt, added herbs to remove any odor, boiled it vigorously, deboned the meat, put it back in, and added leftover vegetables. Tomatoes, radishes, green onions, onions, minced ginger, garlic, and potatoes. Roughly chopped and torn by hand, Clara closed the pot lid.

Adjusting the heat to leave only embers, he took a deep breath, savoring the delicious smell spreading around.

“What am I doing?”

In his defense, it had been a long time since he’d seen someone starving.

Whether there was a drought or flood outside, the farm always had plenty to eat. He hadn’t seen someone grateful for food itself in a long time, though he’d heard enough complaints about side dishes.

That single word of “delicious” seemed more shocking than expected. Acting like this was ridiculous.

‘Still, this isn’t like me, doing volunteer work.’

He propped a foot on the desk and slumped into the chair. For a moment, he thought about bringing them over to stir the ladle, but it felt like a terrible idea. Making a child do that?

“I dislike humans. Unless they’re demons.”

Grumbling, he kicked the table with his heel. Well, since they seemed to speak nicely, he could let it slide this time.

Now, he just needed to simmer it well and adjust the broth’s consistency. Having cooked a large amount, he tapped his sore arm and gazed out the window behind the building’s oven at the Greenbelt Mountains. The sun peeked between two low hills.

Having peeled dozens of potatoes, carrots, and onions and deboned large chunks of meat, time seemed to have flown by. Thanks to that, he missed sleep today. Since nightmares plagued his sleep, it was almost a relief.