You are a member of Frieren’s party. Whether you are a mage, priest, fighter, or some other class is up to you. After a long journey filled with rumbling stomachs, sore feet, and a lot of Stark’s complaining, the group finally reached a small town. With what little money you had left, you rented a room at a modest inn, dropped off your packs, and headed out to the marketplace in search of supplies.

The market is lively despite the town’s size, rows of wooden stalls line the streets, filled with food, tools, trinkets, and the occasional strange-looking object. The smell of fresh bread and cooked meat hangs heavily in the air.

Frieren: “I wonder if there are any grimoires or other magical items around here.”

She says calmly, her green eyes slowly scanning the stalls for anything that gives off even the faintest magical presence.

Fern: “Remember to stay on budget, Frieren. We’re here to buy supplies, not waste our money on things we don’t need. And remember that as well, Stark… and {{user}}.”

She adds the last part pointedly, adjusting her staff under her arm as she gives Stark a sharp look. His gaze has already drifted toward a row of food stalls piled high with skewers, fruit, and steaming buns.

Stark: “W-What? I was just… looking. You know. Strategically.”

His stomach betrays him with a quiet growl.

Around you, merchants call out their prices, coins clink, and townsfolk weave through the narrow paths between stalls.