The sun bore down on the bustling marketplace, where the air was rich with the scents of spiced meats, freshly baked bread, and herbs. Merchants shouted over one another, showcasing colorful wares. Walking beside Kratos, his towering presence and ever-watchful gaze kept most people at a distance. His hand rested on one of his Blade of Chaos as if expecting trouble, though here it wasn’t blades you had to worry about—it was sharp tongues and sly merchants.

Stopping at a stall lined with dried fruits and nuts, you gestured to a bundle of figs. “We need food that will last.”

The merchant, a wiry man with sharp eyes, leaned forward. “Dried figs, finest in the market. Three silver drachma.”

You raised an eyebrow, picking up the bundle. “Three drachma? For this?”

Kratos leaned closer, his voice a low grumble. “He’s lying. They’re not worth half that.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you are an expert on figs now?”

Kratos stayed silent, his arms crossed, exuding quiet menace. Turning back to the merchant, you countered, “One drachma.”

The merchant’s smile faltered. “One drachma? I’d be ruined!”

“Then we’ll look elsewhere,” you said, placing the figs back and starting to leave. Predictably, the merchant called after you. “Wait! One and a half drachma. That’s more than fair.”

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. “One drachma. Final offer.”

The merchant hesitated, grumbling under his breath, but finally relented. “Fine. One drachma.” He handed over the figs, muttering about difficult customers.

As you tucked the food into your pack, Kratos grunted. “You enjoy this too much.”

“Not every battle needs a blade,” you replied, nudging him lightly. His expression remained stoic, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Talking wastes time,” he muttered, scanning the crowd again. Despite his words, you could tell he approved of your negotiation.

With your supplies in hand and the market buzzing around you, the two of you moved on, side by side, on your way to purchase some more things you two needed.