She Is Not a Witch

After leaving ‘Lake Light Shield,’ it was already afternoon. Loranhil glanced at the high sun and decided to find a nearby restaurant to have lunch and rest for a while.

This time, Loranhil chose a ordinary restaurant instead of a luxurious one, wanting to see what common people in this country ate.

The open door let out a slightly noisy atmosphere. Customers sat in small groups inside, with occasional sounds of cooking from the kitchen. A wheatey aroma permeated the air.

Dock workers and workshop laborers wouldn’t eat at restaurants, as it was too extravagant for them. They usually set up large pots near their workplaces to cook noodle soups and vegetables. The diners here were mostly travelers passing through Hopland, sailors, and small merchants – the middle-income ordinary people of the city.

As Loranhil sat down, a boy quickly approached. He was somewhat chubby with large nostrils, not particularly handsome. He held a wooden menu listing the restaurant’s current offerings.

“What would you like for lunch, customer?” The 14 or 15-year-old boy asked excitedly, his accent sounding strange, unlike a Hopland local.

The young woman looked at the menu he held.

The staples were simple breads: coarse black bread with bran, refined white bread, and freshly baked fruit bread.

Side dishes or vegetables included vegetable soup, sausages, smoked meat, dried fish, and grilled fish. There were also oranges and apples, with beer as the only drink option.

A few common categories were written on the wooden board, the writing somewhat faded. It seemed the restaurant’s menu hadn’t changed much.

“One white bread and two oranges, please,” Loranhil said. In this era, she usually avoided meat unless it was freshly prepared.

In a world lacking refrigeration technology, meat was typically heavily salted for preservation and difficult to eat directly without cooking in noodle soup.

“Certainly, please wait,” the boy noted her order and quickly ran off. Soon, he returned from the kitchen with a tray bearing her order.

Loranhil inspected the food. It was relatively clean, served on simple clay dishes. The golden bread had a faint oily sheen and felt slightly warm to the touch. Though not freshly baked, it had been made that day.

As she ate the bread, she observed other diners’ meals. Most ate cheaper black bread with some dried fish. Near the sea, fish was abundant and inexpensive, serving as the main protein source for most people.

Inland, meat was less accessible. Some small merchants would transport salt-preserved dried fish inland as a dual-purpose salt and food commodity, though many inland residents still couldn’t afford it.

A nearby table had a more lavish meal: a large pot of noodle soup with vegetables and sliced sausage, simmering over a small stove. Five adults, three children, and an elderly person sat around it, with large mugs of beer beside some of the adult men.

As Loranhil finished her bread and began peeling an orange, this family prepared to pay.

“Waiter, we’re ready to settle the bill,” called the brown-haired man who seemed to be the head of the family.

“Coming right up!” the boy replied.

After some calculation on the back of his wooden board, the boy announced the price.

“One large porridge soup, 10 white breads, 3 vegetable servings, 4 beers, 2 sausages, 3 dried fish. That’s 2 silver coins and 18 copper coins in total.”

The brown-haired man paused, then exclaimed, “Are you kidding? Over 2 silver coins for just this meal?”

Startled by the sudden loud tone, the boy carefully recalculated and slowly responded.

“I apologize, customer. I made a mistake. It’s 2 silver coins and 10 copper coins. I overcharged 2 copper coins per beer due to a recent price adjustment.”

“You’ve got some nerve!” The man slammed the table, rattling the dishes. The chubby boy flinched.

“Pulling tricks like this at your age, how shameless. I’ve seen plenty of these gutter tactics.”

“What’s this? Crying now, like a little girl? Are you joking?” The man turned to the other diners, smirking. Chuckles rippled through the room.

“I… I’m sorry… I calculated wrong. I can give you a discount, okay?” The chubby boy stood alone at the table, tears streaming down his face, with no colleagues coming to his aid.

“So you’re playing games with me?” The brown-haired man grinned, leaning back in his chair and tapping the table.

“First you try to overcharge, now you’re offering a discount. Do you take me for a country bumpkin?”

“I… I didn’t… I’m sorry,” the boy’s voice choked, his body trembling slightly.

“Hah, saying sorry now? Where was that earlier? You’re quite the character.”

Other diners watched, occasional murmurs and pointing adding to the boy’s growing distress.

“Don’t lower your head. Is that how your mother taught you to speak to others?”

“Yeah, lift your head.” At the man’s command, the boy slowly raised his head, snot and tears mingling on his face, his already large nostrils even more prominent.

“Your appearance reminds me of a… pet I had back home.”

“It ate and slept all day, loved rolling in mud, and made noises while eating.”

“Can you imitate its sound?”

The boy looked at the crowd through tear-filled eyes. Everyone stared at him, silent, seemingly anticipating a show. A wave of sadness, grievance, and fear washed over him.

…..

….

“Oink… oink…” After a while, interspersed with sobs, he imitated a pig’s grunt.

“Haha, he actually did it!”

“How amusing.”

“Hahaha, what’s this, a pig-faced boy?” Laughter erupted around them, as if watching a live comedy.

“Enough!” Loranhil slammed her table, silencing the room. She stood up.

The brown-haired man looked her up and down. “Miss, this doesn’t concern you. I’m just kindly teaching this waiter a lesson. His scheming ways will lead him to great trouble in the future.”

“You’re simply taking the opportunity to humiliate someone,” the young woman coldly replied, then approached and placed three silver coins on the table.

“Finish your meal and leave.”

“You…”

The brown-haired man was about to speak, but seeing the young woman effortlessly press a silver coin deep into the solid wooden table with her finger, his face showed a terrified expression. He hurriedly stood up, ushering his family out quickly.

“Tch, no fun.”

The crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed. Only then did the boy dare to cry out loudly, his tears of grievance blurring his already unattractive face, making it appear even uglier and more distorted.