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Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

If so, her tragic worries were not hard to understand. It seemed the adoptive father she'd loved and respected so had not spoken to her about a great many things. Perhaps he had thought they were not relevant to Elsa, that such matters didn't concern her—or perhaps he'd meant her to ponder them on her own. There was no way to know. But to Elsa, who had no one with whom she could discuss her worries, they were a heavy burden indeed. No matter how heavy the load, it could be carried as long as it was placed firmly on one's back. However, all it took was a small disturbance for the whole load to come falling apart. As soon as Elsa began to speak, her words became rapid, as though she could not hold them back if she wanted to. "Is it because my faith is lacking? I know not. I have not the courage to rebuke the two of you, scriptures and holy water in hand. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing—no, what it is at all, I do not—" "My companion—," Lawrence interjected before Elsa could corner herself with her own words. "My companion, though her true form is a giant wolf, does not wish to be called a god nor worshipped as one." Elsa listened quietly, desperately, a lost soul hoping for salvation. "I am, as you see, nothing more than a merchant of no special birth. I know little of the teachings of God. I cannot tell you what is right and what is wrong," said Lawrence, very much aware that Holo was probably eavesdropping on the conversation. "But I do not believe that Father Franz was mistaken." "Why...why do you believe that?" Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, taking a moment to prepare his opinions. It was possible that he was totally off the mark. Indeed, that possibility might have been the larger one. But he felt a strange certainty that he understood Father Franz's point of view. Just as he was about to speak again, Lawrence was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the church's door. "...That will be Elder Sem. I imagine he is here to ask about you and your companion." She seemed to be able to tell who was at the door by the sound of the knocking; perhaps this came from a need to tell whether the noise was someone from Enberch. Wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, she stood, then glanced toward the interior of the church. "If you find yourself unable to trust me, you can get out there through an exit near the stove by the hallway. If you trust me—" "I trust you. I don't know whether I can trust Sem." Elsa neither shook her head nor nodded. "Then please stay in the back of the church," she said. "I will explain that I've been asking you about the news from the churches of other lands. It is not really a lie..." "I understand. I'll be happy to share my experiences," answered Lawrence with a smile. He was about to do as he was told and hide away in the back of the church when he noticed that Elsa had returned to her usual stoic self. He asked himself in that moment if she would betray him. The answer came, No, she would not. Though Lawrence did not trust in God, he did trust in those who did. He decided he did not mind such ironies. Lawrence walked down the dimly lit hallway. Eventually he saw the vague flicker of candlelight from around a corner. There was no way Holo had not overheard his exchange with Elsa, so he prepared himself for whatever expression might await him as he rounded the corner. There was Holo sitting cross-legged with an open book in her lap. She lifted her face to him, displeasure written all over it. "Am I so very malicious, then?" "...You're inventing cause for offense," said Lawrence, shrugging. Holo snorted. "Your trepidation was plain as day; I could hear it in your footsteps." "Merchants only read minds, not feet." "...That was awful," Holo pronounced of Lawrence's joke. "Still, you were quite considerate to the girl." Lawrence both expected and did not expect this subject to come up.

When someone asked advice, it was important to maintain confidence and trust. But Holo's displeasure at the change of subject was written large on her face, and she simply looked down at the book she was reading. Lawrence wondered to himself just who it had been, back in Ruvinheigen, that said if you have something to say, you should just come out and say it. He wanted very much to point that out to Holo, but he could scarcely imagine the fit she would pitch if he was to do so. However, Holo was not a completely unreasonable girl. Before she had completely cornered herself, she relented. "She's acting more or less as she said she would. That Sem fellow, or whatever his name was, seems to have just been checking in on her...He's just now leaving." "If the elder would understand our situation, this would be a lot simpler." "Can you not persuade him yourself?" For a moment, Lawrence thought Holo was mocking him; perceiving this, she glared at him. "You overestimate me." "You don't wish me to trust you, then?" asked Holo with a serious face. Lawrence chuckled ruefully. "As ever, time is the problem. If we dally too long here, it may snow." "And what would be wrong with that?" She seemed to be asking in earnest, so his reply was likewise serious. "If we were to be snowed in somewhere, would a large village or a small town be better?" "Ah, I see. Still, we've a true mountain of books to get through. There's no telling how long it will take us." "True, but we need only find stories that are relevant to you. If we read quickly, the two of us together should be able to make short work of it." "Mm." Holo nodded, smiling as if somehow pleased. "What is it?" As soon as he asked, her smile disappeared. "This is hardly the time to be asking me that," she said with a resigned sigh. "I don't know whether you are truly that slow or...ah, 'tis well." Seeing Holo waving him off, Lawrence thought back over what he had said. Could it be? he wondered. Had she been pleased to hear "the two of us together"? "'Tis too late for you to say it now. I would only become angry." Lawrence took this as fair warning and closed his mouth. Holo flipped through a few pages, sighing. Slowly she let her body lean against his. "Did I not once say I was tired of being alone?" she reminded him reproachfully. The thought nagged at Lawrence. "Sorry." "Mm." Holo sniffed, then reached around and began to massage her left shoulder. Seeing this, Lawrence had to smile. She looked at him with a face that said, "Are you not going to help?" Lawrence obediently brought his hand around to attend to her shoulders. Holo sighed, satisfied, her tail brushing softly against the floor. Even half a year ago, it would have seemed impossible to Lawrence that he would be quietly passing time with someone this way. She was tired of being alone. Lawrence felt precisely the same way. Immediately after the thought passed through his mind, Lawrence heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stone. He hastily tried to pull his hand away from Holo's shoulder when her hand grabbed his with uncanny strength. "The elder has gone, but about what you were...," said Elsa as she was coming around the corner. Lawrence had managed to withdraw his hand and put on his most neutral merchant's face, but Holo continued to lean against him all the same. Her body trembled slightly, as though she were suppressing laughter. At first glance, it probably looked as though she was sleeping, her face pressed against his shoulder. Elsa took this in silently, then nodded as if having come to some kind of conclusion. "Well, then, I will return later." Though her voice was as hard as ever, her consideration was evident from the way she lowered it. Once the sound of her footsteps faded into silence as she walked away, Holo sat up and laughed. "Look, you—," said Lawrence, but his accusatory tone went unheeded.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

When someone asked advice, it was important to maintain confidence and trust. But Holo's displeasure at the change of subject was written large on her face, and she simply looked down at the book she was reading. Lawrence wondered to himself just who it had been, back in Ruvinheigen, that said if you have something to say, you should just come out and say it. He wanted very much to point that out to Holo, but he could scarcely imagine the fit she would pitch if he was to do so. However, Holo was not a completely unreasonable girl. Before she had completely cornered herself, she relented. "She's acting more or less as she said she would. That Sem fellow, or whatever his name was, seems to have just been checking in on her...He's just now leaving." "If the elder would understand our situation, this would be a lot simpler." "Can you not persuade him yourself?" For a moment, Lawrence thought Holo was mocking him; perceiving this, she glared at him. "You overestimate me." "You don't wish me to trust you, then?" asked Holo with a serious face. Lawrence chuckled ruefully. "As ever, time is the problem. If we dally too long here, it may snow." "And what would be wrong with that?" She seemed to be asking in earnest, so his reply was likewise serious. "If we were to be snowed in somewhere, would a large village or a small town be better?" "Ah, I see. Still, we've a true mountain of books to get through. There's no telling how long it will take us." "True, but we need only find stories that are relevant to you. If we read quickly, the two of us together should be able to make short work of it." "Mm." Holo nodded, smiling as if somehow pleased. "What is it?" As soon as he asked, her smile disappeared. "This is hardly the time to be asking me that," she said with a resigned sigh. "I don't know whether you are truly that slow or...ah, 'tis well." Seeing Holo waving him off, Lawrence thought back over what he had said. Could it be? he wondered. Had she been pleased to hear "the two of us together"? "'Tis too late for you to say it now. I would only become angry." Lawrence took this as fair warning and closed his mouth. Holo flipped through a few pages, sighing. Slowly she let her body lean against his. "Did I not once say I was tired of being alone?" she reminded him reproachfully. The thought nagged at Lawrence. "Sorry." "Mm." Holo sniffed, then reached around and began to massage her left shoulder. Seeing this, Lawrence had to smile. She looked at him with a face that said, "Are you not going to help?" Lawrence obediently brought his hand around to attend to her shoulders. Holo sighed, satisfied, her tail brushing softly against the floor. Even half a year ago, it would have seemed impossible to Lawrence that he would be quietly passing time with someone this way. She was tired of being alone. Lawrence felt precisely the same way. Immediately after the thought passed through his mind, Lawrence heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on stone. He hastily tried to pull his hand away from Holo's shoulder when her hand grabbed his with uncanny strength. "The elder has gone, but about what you were...," said Elsa as she was coming around the corner. Lawrence had managed to withdraw his hand and put on his most neutral merchant's face, but Holo continued to lean against him all the same. Her body trembled slightly, as though she were suppressing laughter. At first glance, it probably looked as though she was sleeping, her face pressed against his shoulder. Elsa took this in silently, then nodded as if having come to some kind of conclusion. "Well, then, I will return later." Though her voice was as hard as ever, her consideration was evident from the way she lowered it. Once the sound of her footsteps faded into silence as she walked away, Holo sat up and laughed. "Look, you—," said Lawrence, but his accusatory tone went unheeded.

Lawrence knew that no matter how he answered, he would be falling into a trap. He had lost the moment he'd so happily agreed to massage her shoulders. "Though I will admit," started Holo, her nasty smile disappearing as she contentedly lay her head against Lawrence again, "that I did wish to show off a bit." Lawrence suppressed the urge to pull away from her. "I would hate for you to be taken away from me," she said. As a man, he could not help but feel pleased hearing this. But he could hardly forget that it was Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, who said it. He sighed. "You mean you would hate for your favorite toy to be taken from you." Holo grinned at him. "If that's what you think, will you then play with me?" Lawrence could only sigh. The candle on the stand had lost its shape, and the pile of books they'd read had grown tall enough to lean upon when the church had another visitor. Holo lifted her head, her ears erect. "Who's that?" Lawrence asked. Holo giggled happily, not offering a serious reply—which meant it was probably Evan. Lawrence didn't have to guess why Holo was laughing. "It's gotten late, though...It's dark now." He stood up straight and stretched, his spine popping gratifyingly. He had gotten sucked into reading. The tales were interesting in their own right, even without the motivation of reading for Holo's sake. "I'm hungry also." "Quite. Shall we take a rest?" Lawrence let his stiff body relax as he reached for the candle. "Let's not let Evan see your true nature. The fewer people who know the secret, the better." "Mm. Though that girl will likely tell him all the same." "I don't know...I don't think so." Elsa didn't strike Lawrence as the kind of girl who would easily let a secret slip. Despite Evan's statement that she told him how many sneezes she had in a day, she hadn't mentioned Lawrence and Holo's first visit to the church to him. "Oh no?" came Holo's skeptical reply. "That girl seems troubled over something. Depending on what she decides, who can say what she will do?" "Ah, her questions about God. I suppose that is true now that you mention it." At the time, Lawrence hadn't found a chance to give Elsa his answer, winding up instead lost in a book. But as he thought on it, he wondered if that wasn't for the best. "Incidentally, what were you planning to tell her?" Holo asked. "Well, I might have been completely mistaken anyway." "I would hardly expect a perfect answer from you." It was a nasty thing to say, but hearing it put so bluntly made it easier for Lawrence to answer. "The way I see it, Father Franz collected tales of the pagan gods to prove the existence of his own god." "Oh, ho." "Praying every day, day after day, yet never seeing so much as a hint of one's god—anyone would begin to doubt, don't you think?" Holo—who had been thus doubted—nodded, annoyed by the memory of it. "But if he then started to look around, he would have seen that there were many, many other gods that people worship. Does that god exist? What about this other one? It's only natural that he would've started to wonder. If he could prove the existence of the gods worshipped by others, then that would mean his own God existed, too." Of course, this manner of thought was a complete anathema to the Church. Shortly after Lawrence met Holo for the first time, the two had taken shelter from the rain in a church. Holo had some knowledge of Church beliefs and had been able to chat easily with the believers there—so this had to have occurred to her as well. "Aye, but the God of the Church is a supreme being, is he not? There are no other gods before him, and he created the world—people merely borrow it—is that not what they hold?" "It is. Which is why I believe this is truly an abbey, not a church." Holo's increasingly annoyed expression was no doubt because she did not follow Lawrence's logic. "Do you know the difference between an abbey and a church?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence knew that no matter how he answered, he would be falling into a trap. He had lost the moment he'd so happily agreed to massage her shoulders. "Though I will admit," started Holo, her nasty smile disappearing as she contentedly lay her head against Lawrence again, "that I did wish to show off a bit." Lawrence suppressed the urge to pull away from her. "I would hate for you to be taken away from me," she said. As a man, he could not help but feel pleased hearing this. But he could hardly forget that it was Holo, the self-styled wisewolf, who said it. He sighed. "You mean you would hate for your favorite toy to be taken from you." Holo grinned at him. "If that's what you think, will you then play with me?" Lawrence could only sigh. The candle on the stand had lost its shape, and the pile of books they'd read had grown tall enough to lean upon when the church had another visitor. Holo lifted her head, her ears erect. "Who's that?" Lawrence asked. Holo giggled happily, not offering a serious reply—which meant it was probably Evan. Lawrence didn't have to guess why Holo was laughing. "It's gotten late, though...It's dark now." He stood up straight and stretched, his spine popping gratifyingly. He had gotten sucked into reading. The tales were interesting in their own right, even without the motivation of reading for Holo's sake. "I'm hungry also." "Quite. Shall we take a rest?" Lawrence let his stiff body relax as he reached for the candle. "Let's not let Evan see your true nature. The fewer people who know the secret, the better." "Mm. Though that girl will likely tell him all the same." "I don't know...I don't think so." Elsa didn't strike Lawrence as the kind of girl who would easily let a secret slip. Despite Evan's statement that she told him how many sneezes she had in a day, she hadn't mentioned Lawrence and Holo's first visit to the church to him. "Oh no?" came Holo's skeptical reply. "That girl seems troubled over something. Depending on what she decides, who can say what she will do?" "Ah, her questions about God. I suppose that is true now that you mention it." At the time, Lawrence hadn't found a chance to give Elsa his answer, winding up instead lost in a book. But as he thought on it, he wondered if that wasn't for the best. "Incidentally, what were you planning to tell her?" Holo asked. "Well, I might have been completely mistaken anyway." "I would hardly expect a perfect answer from you." It was a nasty thing to say, but hearing it put so bluntly made it easier for Lawrence to answer. "The way I see it, Father Franz collected tales of the pagan gods to prove the existence of his own god." "Oh, ho." "Praying every day, day after day, yet never seeing so much as a hint of one's god—anyone would begin to doubt, don't you think?" Holo—who had been thus doubted—nodded, annoyed by the memory of it. "But if he then started to look around, he would have seen that there were many, many other gods that people worship. Does that god exist? What about this other one? It's only natural that he would've started to wonder. If he could prove the existence of the gods worshipped by others, then that would mean his own God existed, too." Of course, this manner of thought was a complete anathema to the Church. Shortly after Lawrence met Holo for the first time, the two had taken shelter from the rain in a church. Holo had some knowledge of Church beliefs and had been able to chat easily with the believers there—so this had to have occurred to her as well. "Aye, but the God of the Church is a supreme being, is he not? There are no other gods before him, and he created the world—people merely borrow it—is that not what they hold?" "It is. Which is why I believe this is truly an abbey, not a church." Holo's increasingly annoyed expression was no doubt because she did not follow Lawrence's logic. "Do you know the difference between an abbey and a church?"

"An abbey is a place for prayer. A church is a place for teaching about God. Their aims are entirely separate. Abbeys are built in remote regions with no thought given to guiding people down the correct path. The reason monks may spend their whole lives within one is that there is simply no reason to leave." "Hm." "So what do you think would be the first thing a monk would do if he began to doubt the existence of God?" Holo's gaze drifted. The fish within her mind were surely swimming farther through the sea of knowledge and wisdom. "Indeed—he would seek to ascertain the existence of the God he worshipped, which means our treatment depends even more upon what that girl decides to do," said Holo. "I'm glad I didn't tell her any of this during the day. Elsa's not a nun—she's a member of the clergy." Holo nodded briefly, glancing at the pile of books. They hadn't yet looked at even half of the volumes in the cellar. Though they did not necessarily have to look at every book, they still had not found the stories that Holo sought. Had there been an index where they could have looked for gods of a certain region, that would have sped things up considerably, but as it was, they had no choice but to search page by page through the chronicles. "Well, in any case, all we can do is search the books as quickly as we can. There is still the problem with Enberch, after all." "Mm. True, but"—Holo's gaze turned to the hallway that led to the room where Elsa and Evan were—"first let us eat." A moment later, they could hear Evan's footsteps as he came to invite them to dinner. "We thank God for blessing us with bread this day." After saying the traditional prayer, the four enjoyed a fairly luxurious meal—owing, Elsa explained, to Lawrence's overgenerous donation. However, luxurious in a church meant bread enough for everyone, a few side dishes, and a bit of wine. On the table was rye bread along with some fish Evan had caught in the river and some boiled eggs. Based on Lawrence's experience, for a church with coffers that were hardly deep and rules that were not unstrict, it was quite a feast. No doubt Holo was unsatisfied by the lack of red meat, but fortunately there were other side dishes for her. "Come, don't be so messy. Take a piece of bread, then eat it," corrected Elsa, eliciting a shrug from Evan every time she did so. Just a moment ago Elsa had been unable to watch Evan fumbling to shell a boiled egg and had helped him with it. Holo had watched this with a certain amount of regret, perhaps because she had already eaten her own egg. Lawrence noted this and realized it had been a close call. "Fine, fine!" said Evan. "Anyway, Mr. Lawrence, as you were saying..." Evan's complaining was less that he was genuinely annoyed and more that he did not want to look bad in front of Lawrence and Holo. Though Holo was good at hiding it as she ate, she was clearly smiling. Only Elsa seemed to be seriously concerned with Evan's sloppiness; she sighed. "Er, let's see, where was I?" said Lawrence. "The ship had left harbor and gotten past the cape where rocks lurked beneath the waves." "Oh yes, of course. That particular harbor was dangerous until you reached the open sea. Every merchant aboard was huddled up belowdeck, praying for their lives." Lawrence was telling of a time he had transported cargo by ship. Evan knew little of the ocean and was keenly interested. "Once we learned we had safely passed the cape, we all came abovedeck to discover there were ships all around us." "Even though it was the sea?" "Well, it's only natural for there to be ships in the sea," said Lawrence, chuckling in spite of himself. Elsa sighed a long-suffering sigh. Evan was the only one among them never to have seen the ocean, so his position was a bit unsteady. But Lawrence understood what Evan had meant to say, and so he continued. "It was an amazing sight. The sea was dense with vessels, all hauling in great mountains of fish."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"An abbey is a place for prayer. A church is a place for teaching about God. Their aims are entirely separate. Abbeys are built in remote regions with no thought given to guiding people down the correct path. The reason monks may spend their whole lives within one is that there is simply no reason to leave." "Hm." "So what do you think would be the first thing a monk would do if he began to doubt the existence of God?" Holo's gaze drifted. The fish within her mind were surely swimming farther through the sea of knowledge and wisdom. "Indeed—he would seek to ascertain the existence of the God he worshipped, which means our treatment depends even more upon what that girl decides to do," said Holo. "I'm glad I didn't tell her any of this during the day. Elsa's not a nun—she's a member of the clergy." Holo nodded briefly, glancing at the pile of books. They hadn't yet looked at even half of the volumes in the cellar. Though they did not necessarily have to look at every book, they still had not found the stories that Holo sought. Had there been an index where they could have looked for gods of a certain region, that would have sped things up considerably, but as it was, they had no choice but to search page by page through the chronicles. "Well, in any case, all we can do is search the books as quickly as we can. There is still the problem with Enberch, after all." "Mm. True, but"—Holo's gaze turned to the hallway that led to the room where Elsa and Evan were—"first let us eat." A moment later, they could hear Evan's footsteps as he came to invite them to dinner. "We thank God for blessing us with bread this day." After saying the traditional prayer, the four enjoyed a fairly luxurious meal—owing, Elsa explained, to Lawrence's overgenerous donation. However, luxurious in a church meant bread enough for everyone, a few side dishes, and a bit of wine. On the table was rye bread along with some fish Evan had caught in the river and some boiled eggs. Based on Lawrence's experience, for a church with coffers that were hardly deep and rules that were not unstrict, it was quite a feast. No doubt Holo was unsatisfied by the lack of red meat, but fortunately there were other side dishes for her. "Come, don't be so messy. Take a piece of bread, then eat it," corrected Elsa, eliciting a shrug from Evan every time she did so. Just a moment ago Elsa had been unable to watch Evan fumbling to shell a boiled egg and had helped him with it. Holo had watched this with a certain amount of regret, perhaps because she had already eaten her own egg. Lawrence noted this and realized it had been a close call. "Fine, fine!" said Evan. "Anyway, Mr. Lawrence, as you were saying..." Evan's complaining was less that he was genuinely annoyed and more that he did not want to look bad in front of Lawrence and Holo. Though Holo was good at hiding it as she ate, she was clearly smiling. Only Elsa seemed to be seriously concerned with Evan's sloppiness; she sighed. "Er, let's see, where was I?" said Lawrence. "The ship had left harbor and gotten past the cape where rocks lurked beneath the waves." "Oh yes, of course. That particular harbor was dangerous until you reached the open sea. Every merchant aboard was huddled up belowdeck, praying for their lives." Lawrence was telling of a time he had transported cargo by ship. Evan knew little of the ocean and was keenly interested. "Once we learned we had safely passed the cape, we all came abovedeck to discover there were ships all around us." "Even though it was the sea?" "Well, it's only natural for there to be ships in the sea," said Lawrence, chuckling in spite of himself. Elsa sighed a long-suffering sigh. Evan was the only one among them never to have seen the ocean, so his position was a bit unsteady. But Lawrence understood what Evan had meant to say, and so he continued. "It was an amazing sight. The sea was dense with vessels, all hauling in great mountains of fish."

Holo shot Lawrence a glance of extreme skepticism, as though to say, "Even if he's lying, nobody could be that ignorant." "Anyone who's seen the sea there during that season will tell you about the black rivers of fish that run through the water." The herring schools were a magnificent sight. It was said that a sharpened stick thrust at random into the water would come back with three fish upon it. It was unfortunate that short of having Evan see the sight with his own eyes, there was no way Lawrence could convey to him the truth or scale of the sea. "Wow...I can't really imagine it, but I guess the outside world is a big place." "But the most surprising thing on the ship was the food," continued Lawrence. "Oh?" Holo was now the most interested party. "Yes, since there were merchants from so many different regions. There was a man from a place called Ebgod, which is near a salt lake. His bread was incredibly salty." Everyone looked at the bread in the middle of the table. "I can understand making bread sweet, but his bread tasted as though it had salt sprinkled over it. It did not quite agree with my palate." "Salt, eh? He must have been a rich man to put salt upon bread!" said Evan, impressed. Tereo was landlocked, and if there was no nearby source of rock salt, then it would have been a luxury item. "Yes, but Ebgod has a salt lake. Imagine a salt river running through town and every field as far as the eye can see turned to salt. There's so much salt everywhere that the people there enjoy salty bread." "Still, salty bread!" said Evan, disgust on his face. "There were other strange things on the ship, too—like flat bread baked in the bottom of a bowl." A loaf's value was in its rise—or at least, anyone used to baking bread in an oven would think so. "Ha, surely not." Lawrence was pleased to hear the answer he had expected. "Ah, but if you make bread from oats, then it will turn out flat and even, will it not?" "Well, I suppose...," said Evan. "Would you not eat unleavened bread, then?" Lawrence was referring to bread that had not been blessed by the bread spirits but had rather been baked immediately after kneading. It was unlikely that Evan had never eaten it—but he probably hadn't enjoyed it much. "While one could hardly call oat bread delicious even as flattery, the bowl bread was quite tasty, particularly topped with beans or the like." "Amazing," said Evan, impressed, his eyes staring distantly at some far-off imagined place. By contrast, Elsa had torn off a piece of rye bread and seemed to be comparing it to the flat bread in her imagination. The two were highly amusing. "Anyway, the world is a vast place with much to see," said Lawrence, wrapping things up. Next to him, Holo had finished eating and seemed to be getting restless. "My deepest thanks to you for preparing such a feast for us," he added. "Not at all. It is thanks to your generous donation. This is the least I could do," said Elsa. If only she would spare us the slightest smile when she said so, Lawrence thought ruefully. Nonetheless, it did seem she hadn't felt forced to make the dinner, which gave him some measure of relief. "So, about later..." "If you wish to read the books at night as well, I do not mind. I know your aim is the northlands, and if it starts to snow, it will make your situation difficult." Conversation moved quickly with Elsa. Lawrence was grateful. "Well, then, Mr. Lawrence—you'll have to tell me more stories later!" said Evan. "He already said he was in a hurry. And today you have to practice writing," said Elsa. Evan ducked his head, looking to Lawrence with a pained expression that begged for help. That brief instant made Elsa and Evan's relationship crystal clear. "When the opportunity arises, I shall. And we'll impose upon your church's hospitality a bit longer then, thank you." "Yes, feel free." Lawrence and Holo stood, giving their thanks for dinner one last time before leaving the living room.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo shot Lawrence a glance of extreme skepticism, as though to say, "Even if he's lying, nobody could be that ignorant." "Anyone who's seen the sea there during that season will tell you about the black rivers of fish that run through the water." The herring schools were a magnificent sight. It was said that a sharpened stick thrust at random into the water would come back with three fish upon it. It was unfortunate that short of having Evan see the sight with his own eyes, there was no way Lawrence could convey to him the truth or scale of the sea. "Wow...I can't really imagine it, but I guess the outside world is a big place." "But the most surprising thing on the ship was the food," continued Lawrence. "Oh?" Holo was now the most interested party. "Yes, since there were merchants from so many different regions. There was a man from a place called Ebgod, which is near a salt lake. His bread was incredibly salty." Everyone looked at the bread in the middle of the table. "I can understand making bread sweet, but his bread tasted as though it had salt sprinkled over it. It did not quite agree with my palate." "Salt, eh? He must have been a rich man to put salt upon bread!" said Evan, impressed. Tereo was landlocked, and if there was no nearby source of rock salt, then it would have been a luxury item. "Yes, but Ebgod has a salt lake. Imagine a salt river running through town and every field as far as the eye can see turned to salt. There's so much salt everywhere that the people there enjoy salty bread." "Still, salty bread!" said Evan, disgust on his face. "There were other strange things on the ship, too—like flat bread baked in the bottom of a bowl." A loaf's value was in its rise—or at least, anyone used to baking bread in an oven would think so. "Ha, surely not." Lawrence was pleased to hear the answer he had expected. "Ah, but if you make bread from oats, then it will turn out flat and even, will it not?" "Well, I suppose...," said Evan. "Would you not eat unleavened bread, then?" Lawrence was referring to bread that had not been blessed by the bread spirits but had rather been baked immediately after kneading. It was unlikely that Evan had never eaten it—but he probably hadn't enjoyed it much. "While one could hardly call oat bread delicious even as flattery, the bowl bread was quite tasty, particularly topped with beans or the like." "Amazing," said Evan, impressed, his eyes staring distantly at some far-off imagined place. By contrast, Elsa had torn off a piece of rye bread and seemed to be comparing it to the flat bread in her imagination. The two were highly amusing. "Anyway, the world is a vast place with much to see," said Lawrence, wrapping things up. Next to him, Holo had finished eating and seemed to be getting restless. "My deepest thanks to you for preparing such a feast for us," he added. "Not at all. It is thanks to your generous donation. This is the least I could do," said Elsa. If only she would spare us the slightest smile when she said so, Lawrence thought ruefully. Nonetheless, it did seem she hadn't felt forced to make the dinner, which gave him some measure of relief. "So, about later..." "If you wish to read the books at night as well, I do not mind. I know your aim is the northlands, and if it starts to snow, it will make your situation difficult." Conversation moved quickly with Elsa. Lawrence was grateful. "Well, then, Mr. Lawrence—you'll have to tell me more stories later!" said Evan. "He already said he was in a hurry. And today you have to practice writing," said Elsa. Evan ducked his head, looking to Lawrence with a pained expression that begged for help. That brief instant made Elsa and Evan's relationship crystal clear. "When the opportunity arises, I shall. And we'll impose upon your church's hospitality a bit longer then, thank you." "Yes, feel free." Lawrence and Holo stood, giving their thanks for dinner one last time before leaving the living room.

"Oh, that's right." Lawrence turned just as they were walking out the door and looked to Elsa. "About the question you asked me earlier." "I will consider it on my own," she said. "'Think before asking,' Father Franz used to say." Elsa was not the timid, scared girl she had been earlier in the day, but instead showed the stoutness of heart she would need to support the church on her own. "I understand. If you want to hear the thoughts of another, please do come and ask." "I shall, thank you." Evan, unable to follow the conversation, looked back and forth between Lawrence and Elsa until a call from the latter put his attention to other matters. Despite his complaints, Evan seemed to be enjoying his exchange with Elsa as they started clearing the dining table. Though Evan seemed by turns put-upon or annoyed by Elsa's constant corrections, he would sometimes take her hand or say her name, and the two would share a quiet smile. It was the sort of interaction Lawrence had deliberately avoided paying attention to as a merchant. No, he had even mocked them. He held the sconce with its lit candle and gazed at Holo's form in front of him there in the hallway, illuminated by the candle's flickering light. Eventually Holo turned the corner, and she was out of his sight. Lawrence thought back. He had plied the dark roads, stingy even with his candles, picking up gold coins as he traveled. Even though he'd become desperate enough for company to begin to wish he could talk to his horse, he still had never taken his eyes from the path of those gold coins. This behavior seemed truly strange in retrospect. He continued his slow walk down the hallway, relying on the small candle to light his way. As he turned the corner, he saw Holo there, already reading a book. Suddenly she spoke. "And what happened to you?" "Hm?" "That expression of yours—did a hole suddenly open in your coin purse?" she asked with a laugh. Lawrence put his hand to his cheek in spite of himself. Outside of business negotiations, he was quite oblivious to the expressions his face made. "Was I making a face?" "Mm." "Oh. Wait...oh." Holo's shoulders shook with mirth. "Perhaps the wine has gotten to you?" Lawrence reflected on this; his head did feel a bit muzzy, come to think of it. No—he knew exactly what it was that had made him fall into such a strange mood. He was simply unsure where that left him. "Those two certainly get along well," he said, meaning nothing in particular by this. He had truly not put any thought into the muttered statement. But the moment he said it, Holo made an expression that he would long remember. Her eyes were wide and round. "Wh-what's wrong?" asked Lawrence—now he was the surprised one. But Holo merely stared, evidently too stunned to voice anything more than an inarticulate groan. Eventually she returned to herself, but merely stared off into space, an expression of deep distress on her face. "...Did I really say something that strange?" Lawrence asked. Holo did not reply, her fingers restlessly flipping corners of the book's pages. Her expression was troubled, but whether she was stunned or angry or at a loss, it was hard to tell. Just looking at her, Lawrence himself was becoming upset. "Er—well, now—look, you—," she started. At length, she glanced over at him. Something in her eyes looked as though she had given up on something. She seemed so deeply distressed that Lawrence dared not ask what was wrong again. If he did, she might be likely to collapse on the spot. What was worse, when she continued to speak, he didn't understand what she was saying. "I, er...for the most part, I...I know well my own good points and the bad as well." "Ah, oh." "But...er...perhaps it is strange to say so myself, but...having lived so many years, I can laugh off most things. Of course, sometimes I cannot. You should know this quite well yourself...yes?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Oh, that's right." Lawrence turned just as they were walking out the door and looked to Elsa. "About the question you asked me earlier." "I will consider it on my own," she said. "'Think before asking,' Father Franz used to say." Elsa was not the timid, scared girl she had been earlier in the day, but instead showed the stoutness of heart she would need to support the church on her own. "I understand. If you want to hear the thoughts of another, please do come and ask." "I shall, thank you." Evan, unable to follow the conversation, looked back and forth between Lawrence and Elsa until a call from the latter put his attention to other matters. Despite his complaints, Evan seemed to be enjoying his exchange with Elsa as they started clearing the dining table. Though Evan seemed by turns put-upon or annoyed by Elsa's constant corrections, he would sometimes take her hand or say her name, and the two would share a quiet smile. It was the sort of interaction Lawrence had deliberately avoided paying attention to as a merchant. No, he had even mocked them. He held the sconce with its lit candle and gazed at Holo's form in front of him there in the hallway, illuminated by the candle's flickering light. Eventually Holo turned the corner, and she was out of his sight. Lawrence thought back. He had plied the dark roads, stingy even with his candles, picking up gold coins as he traveled. Even though he'd become desperate enough for company to begin to wish he could talk to his horse, he still had never taken his eyes from the path of those gold coins. This behavior seemed truly strange in retrospect. He continued his slow walk down the hallway, relying on the small candle to light his way. As he turned the corner, he saw Holo there, already reading a book. Suddenly she spoke. "And what happened to you?" "Hm?" "That expression of yours—did a hole suddenly open in your coin purse?" she asked with a laugh. Lawrence put his hand to his cheek in spite of himself. Outside of business negotiations, he was quite oblivious to the expressions his face made. "Was I making a face?" "Mm." "Oh. Wait...oh." Holo's shoulders shook with mirth. "Perhaps the wine has gotten to you?" Lawrence reflected on this; his head did feel a bit muzzy, come to think of it. No—he knew exactly what it was that had made him fall into such a strange mood. He was simply unsure where that left him. "Those two certainly get along well," he said, meaning nothing in particular by this. He had truly not put any thought into the muttered statement. But the moment he said it, Holo made an expression that he would long remember. Her eyes were wide and round. "Wh-what's wrong?" asked Lawrence—now he was the surprised one. But Holo merely stared, evidently too stunned to voice anything more than an inarticulate groan. Eventually she returned to herself, but merely stared off into space, an expression of deep distress on her face. "...Did I really say something that strange?" Lawrence asked. Holo did not reply, her fingers restlessly flipping corners of the book's pages. Her expression was troubled, but whether she was stunned or angry or at a loss, it was hard to tell. Just looking at her, Lawrence himself was becoming upset. "Er—well, now—look, you—," she started. At length, she glanced over at him. Something in her eyes looked as though she had given up on something. She seemed so deeply distressed that Lawrence dared not ask what was wrong again. If he did, she might be likely to collapse on the spot. What was worse, when she continued to speak, he didn't understand what she was saying. "I, er...for the most part, I...I know well my own good points and the bad as well." "Ah, oh." "But...er...perhaps it is strange to say so myself, but...having lived so many years, I can laugh off most things. Of course, sometimes I cannot. You should know this quite well yourself...yes?"

Holo put down the book she held, sitting cross-legged and grasping her ankles, her head low. She seemed in truly dire straits, avoiding looking at Lawrence as though it would blind her to do so. Seeing her on the verge of tears, Lawrence could not help but feel deep concern. Then she spoke. "Come now, you—" Lawrence nodded. "I...I wish that you would not sound so envious when you speak of them," she said. Lawrence stood there, stunned, as if he'd been walking a crowded street only to sneeze and find everyone around him suddenly vanished. "I, too...no, I understand. I understand, but I did not want to say it...that seen from the outside, we, too, must look quite the fools." Quite the fools—the implications of the term sunk heavily into Lawrence's ears. It was a terrifying sensation, not unlike having completed a large business deal only to discover the calculations had been performed in the wrong currency. Their relationship was something that had to be considered, yet considering it was terrifying. Holo forcedly cleared her throat, scratching on the floor loudly with her fingernails. "I myself do not...I do not know why it is so embarrassing. No, I should even be angry—'those two certainly get along well,' you said so enviously, so what am I—" "No," said Lawrence, cutting her off. Holo glared at him like an angry child looking at an adult. "No, I understand," he continued. "I think." Holo's face became visibly darker at the way his voice grew hoarse at the end of his statement. "No—I do understand. I do. I always have. I just didn't want to put it into words." Holo began to rise, now on one knee rather than cross-legged. Her gaze was less doubtful and more of a warning—she seemed to be saying that she would not take betrayal lightly. She might well fly at Lawrence, should he speak clumsily. Her state seemed to be pushing him into saying something he normally would not have wanted to say. "I was envious, but not of their relationship itself." Holo hugged her knee. Lawrence continued. "I should have made you give up searching this place." She looked at him, stunned. "Those two are probably going to live together in the church. Elsa's strength and cleverness will get her through the danger, and though I feel bad saying this, Evan will never be a merchant. But...what of us?" Lawrence thought he heard a small voice, perhaps the sound of Holo inhaling sharply. "I turned a profit in Kumersun. You learned more of your home. And you will probably learn still more here, and I am helping you. Of course"—here he spoke a bit louder, perceiving that Holo wanted to interrupt—"of course, I'm helping you because I want to. However..." That which he had been able to avoid thinking about now confronted him. Having gotten to this point, it would be a lie to say that the situation was impossible to explain. But doing so would put more distance between them than slapping Holo's hand aside or not trusting her could. No matter how skillfully one evaded, all debts eventually came due. "However...what will you do after we reach your home?" Holo's shadow on the wall became larger, perhaps because of the tail beneath her robe suddenly fluffing up. But Holo herself seemed to shrink. "I know not," came her voice, also small. Lawrence had asked the question he did not want to ask. He did not want to ask it because he dreaded the answer. "I'm sure you will not be satisfied with a mere glance at your home." Returning home after so many centuries gone—the words it's been a long time hardly sufficed. Lawrence didn't have to ask what would happen once they arrived there. He was filled with regret. If he hadn't asked the question, the distance between them might well have grown. And yet—he wished he hadn't asked. If only Holo would look at him plainly and say, "There we shall say our farewells." Seeing her so troubled made him feel helpless. "No, forget it. I am sorry. There is no point in speculation," he said. This was all pure speculation.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo put down the book she held, sitting cross-legged and grasping her ankles, her head low. She seemed in truly dire straits, avoiding looking at Lawrence as though it would blind her to do so. Seeing her on the verge of tears, Lawrence could not help but feel deep concern. Then she spoke. "Come now, you—" Lawrence nodded. "I...I wish that you would not sound so envious when you speak of them," she said. Lawrence stood there, stunned, as if he'd been walking a crowded street only to sneeze and find everyone around him suddenly vanished. "I, too...no, I understand. I understand, but I did not want to say it...that seen from the outside, we, too, must look quite the fools." Quite the fools—the implications of the term sunk heavily into Lawrence's ears. It was a terrifying sensation, not unlike having completed a large business deal only to discover the calculations had been performed in the wrong currency. Their relationship was something that had to be considered, yet considering it was terrifying. Holo forcedly cleared her throat, scratching on the floor loudly with her fingernails. "I myself do not...I do not know why it is so embarrassing. No, I should even be angry—'those two certainly get along well,' you said so enviously, so what am I—" "No," said Lawrence, cutting her off. Holo glared at him like an angry child looking at an adult. "No, I understand," he continued. "I think." Holo's face became visibly darker at the way his voice grew hoarse at the end of his statement. "No—I do understand. I do. I always have. I just didn't want to put it into words." Holo began to rise, now on one knee rather than cross-legged. Her gaze was less doubtful and more of a warning—she seemed to be saying that she would not take betrayal lightly. She might well fly at Lawrence, should he speak clumsily. Her state seemed to be pushing him into saying something he normally would not have wanted to say. "I was envious, but not of their relationship itself." Holo hugged her knee. Lawrence continued. "I should have made you give up searching this place." She looked at him, stunned. "Those two are probably going to live together in the church. Elsa's strength and cleverness will get her through the danger, and though I feel bad saying this, Evan will never be a merchant. But...what of us?" Lawrence thought he heard a small voice, perhaps the sound of Holo inhaling sharply. "I turned a profit in Kumersun. You learned more of your home. And you will probably learn still more here, and I am helping you. Of course"—here he spoke a bit louder, perceiving that Holo wanted to interrupt—"of course, I'm helping you because I want to. However..." That which he had been able to avoid thinking about now confronted him. Having gotten to this point, it would be a lie to say that the situation was impossible to explain. But doing so would put more distance between them than slapping Holo's hand aside or not trusting her could. No matter how skillfully one evaded, all debts eventually came due. "However...what will you do after we reach your home?" Holo's shadow on the wall became larger, perhaps because of the tail beneath her robe suddenly fluffing up. But Holo herself seemed to shrink. "I know not," came her voice, also small. Lawrence had asked the question he did not want to ask. He did not want to ask it because he dreaded the answer. "I'm sure you will not be satisfied with a mere glance at your home." Returning home after so many centuries gone—the words it's been a long time hardly sufficed. Lawrence didn't have to ask what would happen once they arrived there. He was filled with regret. If he hadn't asked the question, the distance between them might well have grown. And yet—he wished he hadn't asked. If only Holo would look at him plainly and say, "There we shall say our farewells." Seeing her so troubled made him feel helpless. "No, forget it. I am sorry. There is no point in speculation," he said. This was all pure speculation.

Although parting with Holo would bring with it the pain of loss, he felt he would be able to give her up. When he took a loss in business, he would spend a few days feeling as though it was the end of the world, only to return to working at making money again as though nothing had happened. But when the act of thinking rationally about the possibility itself filled him with sadness, what then? He did not know. "I am Holo the Wisewolf," she murmured, staring at the flickering candle. "I am the Wisewolf of Yoitsu." Holo rested her chin on her knee, then slowly stood. Her tail hung limp, as though it was mere decoration. She looked first at the candle placed on the floor, then at Lawrence. "I am Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu," she said, as though the sentence was an incantation. With a quick stride she came to stand directly beside him, then immediately sat down. Before Lawrence had a chance to say anything, she was lying down on his lap. "Have you any complaints?" Holo's normal impudence was undeniably godlike. But this impudence was entirely different. "None whatsoever," said Lawrence. Neither tears nor anger nor laughter seemed to quite suit this delicate situation, which brimmed with tension. The candle burned soundlessly. Lawrence casually rested his hand on Holo's shoulder as she lay in his lap. "I'm going to sleep for a bit. Will you read in my place?" Her face was hidden by her hair, and Lawrence could not see it. But he knew full well when her teeth came down on his index finger. "I shall," he said. It was like a test of courage—not unlike seeing how close one can bring the point of a knife to a kitten's eye. A bit of blood welled up from where his finger had been bitten. He expected Holo would become truly angry unless he actually did some reading. The only sound was the turning of pages. Her evasion of the problem had been very forceful, but she had saved herself and Lawrence both. She truly was a wisewolf. On this count, Lawrence had no doubts. Had the church been a monastery, it would have been time for the morning prayers thanking God for creating the new day. Of course, it was far too early for the morning worship service. The only sounds were of the turning pages and Holo's soft breathing. Lawrence couldn't help but feel impressed at the fact that she'd fallen asleep. At the same time, he was a bit relieved that she had. She had forcibly—so forcibly!—ended the conversation, demanding Lawrence neither say nor ask another thing. Though she had not answered Lawrence's question, her actions alone were enough. After all, they made one thing abundantly clear: Holo did not wish to confront the problem any more than Lawrence did. If she had changed the subject while the true answer to his question lay within her, Lawrence probably would have been angry. But as neither of them had that answer, he was grateful she had ended the conversation by force. At the very least, this meant she did not have to come up with an answer right then and there. Their travels were not over, and they had not arrived in Yoitsu yet. It was the rare debt that was repaid in full before it came due, after all. As he thought these things over, Lawrence put down the book he was reading and picked up another volume. Father Franz had evidently been an intelligent fellow. Within the books, even the lineage of the various gods had been carefully organized, and a glance at the title of each chapter gave one a reasonable idea of its contents. This made the books easy to skim. Lawrence shuddered to think of how difficult this task would have been if Father Franz had simply collected tales at random as he heard them. However, while flipping through the pages of book after book, Lawrence realized something. In addition to the normal, common tales of snakes, frogs, and fish, there were many stories of mountain, lake, and tree gods. Likewise, there were tales of gods of thunder and rain, sun and moon and stars.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Although parting with Holo would bring with it the pain of loss, he felt he would be able to give her up. When he took a loss in business, he would spend a few days feeling as though it was the end of the world, only to return to working at making money again as though nothing had happened. But when the act of thinking rationally about the possibility itself filled him with sadness, what then? He did not know. "I am Holo the Wisewolf," she murmured, staring at the flickering candle. "I am the Wisewolf of Yoitsu." Holo rested her chin on her knee, then slowly stood. Her tail hung limp, as though it was mere decoration. She looked first at the candle placed on the floor, then at Lawrence. "I am Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu," she said, as though the sentence was an incantation. With a quick stride she came to stand directly beside him, then immediately sat down. Before Lawrence had a chance to say anything, she was lying down on his lap. "Have you any complaints?" Holo's normal impudence was undeniably godlike. But this impudence was entirely different. "None whatsoever," said Lawrence. Neither tears nor anger nor laughter seemed to quite suit this delicate situation, which brimmed with tension. The candle burned soundlessly. Lawrence casually rested his hand on Holo's shoulder as she lay in his lap. "I'm going to sleep for a bit. Will you read in my place?" Her face was hidden by her hair, and Lawrence could not see it. But he knew full well when her teeth came down on his index finger. "I shall," he said. It was like a test of courage—not unlike seeing how close one can bring the point of a knife to a kitten's eye. A bit of blood welled up from where his finger had been bitten. He expected Holo would become truly angry unless he actually did some reading. The only sound was the turning of pages. Her evasion of the problem had been very forceful, but she had saved herself and Lawrence both. She truly was a wisewolf. On this count, Lawrence had no doubts. Had the church been a monastery, it would have been time for the morning prayers thanking God for creating the new day. Of course, it was far too early for the morning worship service. The only sounds were of the turning pages and Holo's soft breathing. Lawrence couldn't help but feel impressed at the fact that she'd fallen asleep. At the same time, he was a bit relieved that she had. She had forcibly—so forcibly!—ended the conversation, demanding Lawrence neither say nor ask another thing. Though she had not answered Lawrence's question, her actions alone were enough. After all, they made one thing abundantly clear: Holo did not wish to confront the problem any more than Lawrence did. If she had changed the subject while the true answer to his question lay within her, Lawrence probably would have been angry. But as neither of them had that answer, he was grateful she had ended the conversation by force. At the very least, this meant she did not have to come up with an answer right then and there. Their travels were not over, and they had not arrived in Yoitsu yet. It was the rare debt that was repaid in full before it came due, after all. As he thought these things over, Lawrence put down the book he was reading and picked up another volume. Father Franz had evidently been an intelligent fellow. Within the books, even the lineage of the various gods had been carefully organized, and a glance at the title of each chapter gave one a reasonable idea of its contents. This made the books easy to skim. Lawrence shuddered to think of how difficult this task would have been if Father Franz had simply collected tales at random as he heard them. However, while flipping through the pages of book after book, Lawrence realized something. In addition to the normal, common tales of snakes, frogs, and fish, there were many stories of mountain, lake, and tree gods. Likewise, there were tales of gods of thunder and rain, sun and moon and stars.

In the pagan town of Kumersun, Diana had told many tales that concerned the bear spirit who destroyed Yoitsu. And near the Church city of Ruvinheigen, Lawrence himself had felt the unmistakable presence of a wolf-god not unlike Holo. And Diana herself was a bird spirit larger than any human. Given all this, the books should have been filled with beast legends. Yet Lawrence had found not one. Did the books that they had brought up from the basement simply not happen to contain any such tales? At that moment, Lawrence's eye fell on a sentence written on a piece of parchment that was tucked into the book he had just opened. "It is not my wish to regard the tale of the bear spirit in this book with any kind of special treatment." So far, every book Lawrence had looked through had simply been accounts of the tales Father Franz had heard, written in language as dry as any business contract. Having suddenly come upon this sentence in which he felt he could hear Father Franz's own voice, he was momentarily stunned. "Regarding the stories in the other books—there are many which differ in time and place, but which I believe nonetheless refer to the same spirit. However, this particular spirit is the only one whose stories I have organized so thoroughly." Lawrence wavered, trying to decide whether to wake Holo. He was unable to turn his gaze away from the yellowed page. Father Franz's handwriting was neat, but at the same time, it seemed somehow excited. "Is the Pope aware of this? If I am correct, then the God we worship triumphed without a fight. If that is proof of His omnipotence, how could I possibly remain calm?" It seemed as though he could hear Father Franz's decisive pen strokes. The passage concluded: "I do not wish to let bias cloud my view of all the tales. Yet I cannot help but wonder if the pagans of the northlands themselves did not realize the importance of the Moon-Hunting Bear. No, perhaps the very fact that I am writing this means that I am already biased. As I assembled these books, I felt strongly the existence of these spirits. If possible, I hope that one would judge not with the narrow mind of a worshipper of our God, but rather with the open heart of those whose love of God is like a zephyr in an open field. That is why I have ventured to leave this book in among all the others." As soon as Lawrence flipped the piece of parchment over, the book's story began, much like any of the other books he had read. Should he let Holo read it first? Or should he pretend not to have seen it? The thought flitted through his mind for a moment, but it was too late for that now—and in any case, it would be a kind of betrayal. He decided to wake Holo. He closed the book, whereupon he could hear a strange sound. Plip, plip, plip-plip came the small, dry sound. "...Rain, eh?" But as soon as he said it, he realized the raindrops were awfully large. Eventually he realized that the sound was of galloping hooves. It was said that the sound of a galloping horse at night would draw a throng of demons. When traveling by horse at night, one could never let it run. Church follower and pagan alike believed this. But its true meaning was common sense—a galloping horse at night never brought good tidings. "Hey, wake up." Lawrence closed the book and tapped Holo's shoulder, listening carefully. Judging by the sound of the hooves, there was a single horse, which entered the village square and came to an abrupt stop. "Mmph...what is it?" "I have two things to tell you." "Neither good, no doubt." "First, I found the book with stories of the Moon-Hunting Bear." Holo's eyes widened in an instant, and she looked at the book near Lawrence's side. But she was not the type to have her whole attention stolen by a single thing. Her wolf ears flicked smartly, and she looked back at the wall behind them. "Did something happen?" "That seems very likely. There is nothing less welcome than the sound of a horse's gallop at night."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

In the pagan town of Kumersun, Diana had told many tales that concerned the bear spirit who destroyed Yoitsu. And near the Church city of Ruvinheigen, Lawrence himself had felt the unmistakable presence of a wolf-god not unlike Holo. And Diana herself was a bird spirit larger than any human. Given all this, the books should have been filled with beast legends. Yet Lawrence had found not one. Did the books that they had brought up from the basement simply not happen to contain any such tales? At that moment, Lawrence's eye fell on a sentence written on a piece of parchment that was tucked into the book he had just opened. "It is not my wish to regard the tale of the bear spirit in this book with any kind of special treatment." So far, every book Lawrence had looked through had simply been accounts of the tales Father Franz had heard, written in language as dry as any business contract. Having suddenly come upon this sentence in which he felt he could hear Father Franz's own voice, he was momentarily stunned. "Regarding the stories in the other books—there are many which differ in time and place, but which I believe nonetheless refer to the same spirit. However, this particular spirit is the only one whose stories I have organized so thoroughly." Lawrence wavered, trying to decide whether to wake Holo. He was unable to turn his gaze away from the yellowed page. Father Franz's handwriting was neat, but at the same time, it seemed somehow excited. "Is the Pope aware of this? If I am correct, then the God we worship triumphed without a fight. If that is proof of His omnipotence, how could I possibly remain calm?" It seemed as though he could hear Father Franz's decisive pen strokes. The passage concluded: "I do not wish to let bias cloud my view of all the tales. Yet I cannot help but wonder if the pagans of the northlands themselves did not realize the importance of the Moon-Hunting Bear. No, perhaps the very fact that I am writing this means that I am already biased. As I assembled these books, I felt strongly the existence of these spirits. If possible, I hope that one would judge not with the narrow mind of a worshipper of our God, but rather with the open heart of those whose love of God is like a zephyr in an open field. That is why I have ventured to leave this book in among all the others." As soon as Lawrence flipped the piece of parchment over, the book's story began, much like any of the other books he had read. Should he let Holo read it first? Or should he pretend not to have seen it? The thought flitted through his mind for a moment, but it was too late for that now—and in any case, it would be a kind of betrayal. He decided to wake Holo. He closed the book, whereupon he could hear a strange sound. Plip, plip, plip-plip came the small, dry sound. "...Rain, eh?" But as soon as he said it, he realized the raindrops were awfully large. Eventually he realized that the sound was of galloping hooves. It was said that the sound of a galloping horse at night would draw a throng of demons. When traveling by horse at night, one could never let it run. Church follower and pagan alike believed this. But its true meaning was common sense—a galloping horse at night never brought good tidings. "Hey, wake up." Lawrence closed the book and tapped Holo's shoulder, listening carefully. Judging by the sound of the hooves, there was a single horse, which entered the village square and came to an abrupt stop. "Mmph...what is it?" "I have two things to tell you." "Neither good, no doubt." "First, I found the book with stories of the Moon-Hunting Bear." Holo's eyes widened in an instant, and she looked at the book near Lawrence's side. But she was not the type to have her whole attention stolen by a single thing. Her wolf ears flicked smartly, and she looked back at the wall behind them. "Did something happen?" "That seems very likely. There is nothing less welcome than the sound of a horse's gallop at night."

She took it, but he did not let go. "I don't know what you plan to do upon reading this, but whatever thoughts you have, I'd like you to tell me about them." Holo did not look up, but gazed evenly at the book. "Hmph," she replied. "I suppose you could've easily hidden this book. Very well. I promise." Lawrence nodded as he stood. "I'll go look outside," he said, walking away. Naturally, the church was dark and quiet, though not so dark that Lawrence's eyes were useless. Once he arrived in the living room, there was a bit of moonlight filtering in through the cracks of the window, which improved visibility. He could see well enough to be able to instantly identify the figure that was creaking its way down the stairs as Elsa. "I heard the sound of a galloping horse," she said. "Any notion of what is afoot?" He expected she did, otherwise she would not have come immediately downstairs. "More than I'd like." A village like Tereo was too small for the hooves to be from a town lookout coming to warn of a mercenary attack. It probably had something to do with Enberch. But had the crisis not already passed? Elsa trotted over to the window and peeked out through the crack as she had no doubt done many times in the past. Unsurprisingly, the horse seemed to have stopped in front of the village elder's house. "I only know what I have been able to piece together, but judging from the papers on your desk, Enberch should not be able to strike, should they?" said Lawrence. "A merchant's eyes are keen indeed. But yes. I believe so myself. However—" "If you are going to tell me that the situation would be different if I'd betrayed you, I should tie you up immediately." Unintimidated, Elsa looked sharply at Lawrence. She soon looked away. "In any case, I am a traveler. If things go badly, my position becomes very dangerous. There are scores of tales of merchants who became wrapped up in local problems and lost everything." "So long as I am here, I will not allow anything like that to happen. But please, go and close up the cellar. If there is trouble with Enberch, the village elder will certainly come here." "And what of the reason we are here so late at night?" Elsa's cleverness was different than Holo's. Somehow Lawrence felt an affinity with the girl. "...Bring a blanket to the sanctuary." "Agreed. My companion is a nun, after all. No argument, then?" Though Lawrence had only wanted to confirm their cover story, Elsa did not reply. For if she had, she would have been telling a lie. She was a clergywoman through and through. "Elder Sem has come out," said Elsa. "Understood." Lawrence turned and went to Holo. In times like these, Holo's keen ears were quite useful. She had already returned most of the books to the cellar and put her robes back on. "Take that one book with you. We'll hide it behind the altar," said Lawrence. Holo nodded, handing the remaining books one by one to Lawrence, who had descended halfway down the stairs to the cellar. "This should be all of them," she said. "Then take the hallway opposite the living room. If you continue around the corner, it should take you to the entrance behind the altar. Head in there, and take the book—" Holo ran off without waiting to hear the end of the sentence. Lawrence climbed out of the cellar, replacing the pedestal and putting the statue of the Holy Mother back on top of it. He was nervous for a moment, unable to find the keyhole in the floor, but he managed to locate it, and after locking up with the brass key Elsa had given him, he gathered up the blanket and went after Holo. Church construction was very similar the world over. Just as he had expected, the entrance was there, its doors open. He trotted down the narrow path that he knew should lead to the altar, protecting the candle flame with his hand. Soon his view expanded. A few slivers of moonlight slipped past a window on the second floor, enough that Lawrence felt he did not need the candle.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

She took it, but he did not let go. "I don't know what you plan to do upon reading this, but whatever thoughts you have, I'd like you to tell me about them." Holo did not look up, but gazed evenly at the book. "Hmph," she replied. "I suppose you could've easily hidden this book. Very well. I promise." Lawrence nodded as he stood. "I'll go look outside," he said, walking away. Naturally, the church was dark and quiet, though not so dark that Lawrence's eyes were useless. Once he arrived in the living room, there was a bit of moonlight filtering in through the cracks of the window, which improved visibility. He could see well enough to be able to instantly identify the figure that was creaking its way down the stairs as Elsa. "I heard the sound of a galloping horse," she said. "Any notion of what is afoot?" He expected she did, otherwise she would not have come immediately downstairs. "More than I'd like." A village like Tereo was too small for the hooves to be from a town lookout coming to warn of a mercenary attack. It probably had something to do with Enberch. But had the crisis not already passed? Elsa trotted over to the window and peeked out through the crack as she had no doubt done many times in the past. Unsurprisingly, the horse seemed to have stopped in front of the village elder's house. "I only know what I have been able to piece together, but judging from the papers on your desk, Enberch should not be able to strike, should they?" said Lawrence. "A merchant's eyes are keen indeed. But yes. I believe so myself. However—" "If you are going to tell me that the situation would be different if I'd betrayed you, I should tie you up immediately." Unintimidated, Elsa looked sharply at Lawrence. She soon looked away. "In any case, I am a traveler. If things go badly, my position becomes very dangerous. There are scores of tales of merchants who became wrapped up in local problems and lost everything." "So long as I am here, I will not allow anything like that to happen. But please, go and close up the cellar. If there is trouble with Enberch, the village elder will certainly come here." "And what of the reason we are here so late at night?" Elsa's cleverness was different than Holo's. Somehow Lawrence felt an affinity with the girl. "...Bring a blanket to the sanctuary." "Agreed. My companion is a nun, after all. No argument, then?" Though Lawrence had only wanted to confirm their cover story, Elsa did not reply. For if she had, she would have been telling a lie. She was a clergywoman through and through. "Elder Sem has come out," said Elsa. "Understood." Lawrence turned and went to Holo. In times like these, Holo's keen ears were quite useful. She had already returned most of the books to the cellar and put her robes back on. "Take that one book with you. We'll hide it behind the altar," said Lawrence. Holo nodded, handing the remaining books one by one to Lawrence, who had descended halfway down the stairs to the cellar. "This should be all of them," she said. "Then take the hallway opposite the living room. If you continue around the corner, it should take you to the entrance behind the altar. Head in there, and take the book—" Holo ran off without waiting to hear the end of the sentence. Lawrence climbed out of the cellar, replacing the pedestal and putting the statue of the Holy Mother back on top of it. He was nervous for a moment, unable to find the keyhole in the floor, but he managed to locate it, and after locking up with the brass key Elsa had given him, he gathered up the blanket and went after Holo. Church construction was very similar the world over. Just as he had expected, the entrance was there, its doors open. He trotted down the narrow path that he knew should lead to the altar, protecting the candle flame with his hand. Soon his view expanded. A few slivers of moonlight slipped past a window on the second floor, enough that Lawrence felt he did not need the candle.

He motioned with his eyes to Holo—hurry! It could be problematic to explain the key if it was found on them, so he hid it behind the altar as well. They sat on the floor's only indentation, the place where Father Franz had probably said his prayers for so many years. Lawrence extinguished the candle and wrapped himself and Holo up in the blanket. It had been some time since he'd acted so very like a thief outside the door. Once long ago in a harbor town, he had snuck into a trading company's building with a friend to peek at the company's order ledger. At the time, he had not yet learned how to judge which goods were in demand. Thinking on the situation now, Lawrence realized it was a terrifying risk to take, although still much less so than what he was doing at this very moment. After all, nothing he was doing in Tereo would make his coin purse any heavier. The door opened, and Sem's voice filled the room. "Still, as the village elder, I—" Lawrence took a deep breath and looked up, dazed as though he had just woken from sleep. "My apologies for disturbing your holy time in the church," said Sem. Behind him were Elsa and another villager wielding a wooden stave. "Did something...happen?" Lawrence asked. "I hope that as someone who has traveled much, you will understand. We may cause you some inconvenience for a time. Please bear with us." The villager wielding the staff took a step forward. Lawrence noted this and stood. "I am a merchant who belongs to the Rowen Trade Guild. Many people in the guild's house in Kumersun are aware that I have come to this village." The villager looked back at Sem, surprised. If trouble was to arise with a trade guild, a village the size of Tereo could not hope to escape unscathed. In terms of financial strength, a merchant guild was like a nation. "Of course, Elder Sem, so long as you are taking appropriate actions as the representative of the village, then as a traveler I will certainly abide by them." "...I understand. But the reason I appear before you and your companion is not out of any malice, I assure you." "What has happened?" The patter of more footsteps was heard; Evan had probably awoken. Sem glanced in the direction of the footfalls, then looked back. He spoke slowly. "Someone in Enberch has eaten the wheat of this village and died." *** The first thing that came to Lawrence's mind was a poisonous wheat known as Ridelius's Hellfire. If eaten, it rotted a victim's limbs from the inside, and he or she would die screaming in agony. Even a small amount would cause terrible hallucinations and force a pregnant woman to miscarry. The wheat was believed to come from demons who added fake black wheat to normal ears of wheat, and if it went unnoticed during the harvest and was ground into flour, it would become impossible to find. No one would know the wheat was poison until someone ate it and developed symptoms. To a farming village that raised wheat, its appearance was a calamity as bad as drought or flood. The truly frightening thing about the wheat was not the suffering and death that it caused. What made it so terrible was that when Ridelius's Hellfire was discovered in a year's harvest, none of the harvest could be eaten. "And no one from our village has been poisoned?" asked Sem. "I don't think so, Elder. Grandma Jean is sick in bed, but it's just a cold," said a villager. "The new wheat was used only to bake bread for the harvest festival, right? So at least we know the wheat we ground before that is safe." The large, flat rock in the village square seemed to be the place where the villagers met to discuss important matters. The fire burned red as the sleepy-faced villagers rubbed their eyes and watched their leaders voice various opinions.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He motioned with his eyes to Holo—hurry! It could be problematic to explain the key if it was found on them, so he hid it behind the altar as well. They sat on the floor's only indentation, the place where Father Franz had probably said his prayers for so many years. Lawrence extinguished the candle and wrapped himself and Holo up in the blanket. It had been some time since he'd acted so very like a thief outside the door. Once long ago in a harbor town, he had snuck into a trading company's building with a friend to peek at the company's order ledger. At the time, he had not yet learned how to judge which goods were in demand. Thinking on the situation now, Lawrence realized it was a terrifying risk to take, although still much less so than what he was doing at this very moment. After all, nothing he was doing in Tereo would make his coin purse any heavier. The door opened, and Sem's voice filled the room. "Still, as the village elder, I—" Lawrence took a deep breath and looked up, dazed as though he had just woken from sleep. "My apologies for disturbing your holy time in the church," said Sem. Behind him were Elsa and another villager wielding a wooden stave. "Did something...happen?" Lawrence asked. "I hope that as someone who has traveled much, you will understand. We may cause you some inconvenience for a time. Please bear with us." The villager wielding the staff took a step forward. Lawrence noted this and stood. "I am a merchant who belongs to the Rowen Trade Guild. Many people in the guild's house in Kumersun are aware that I have come to this village." The villager looked back at Sem, surprised. If trouble was to arise with a trade guild, a village the size of Tereo could not hope to escape unscathed. In terms of financial strength, a merchant guild was like a nation. "Of course, Elder Sem, so long as you are taking appropriate actions as the representative of the village, then as a traveler I will certainly abide by them." "...I understand. But the reason I appear before you and your companion is not out of any malice, I assure you." "What has happened?" The patter of more footsteps was heard; Evan had probably awoken. Sem glanced in the direction of the footfalls, then looked back. He spoke slowly. "Someone in Enberch has eaten the wheat of this village and died." *** The first thing that came to Lawrence's mind was a poisonous wheat known as Ridelius's Hellfire. If eaten, it rotted a victim's limbs from the inside, and he or she would die screaming in agony. Even a small amount would cause terrible hallucinations and force a pregnant woman to miscarry. The wheat was believed to come from demons who added fake black wheat to normal ears of wheat, and if it went unnoticed during the harvest and was ground into flour, it would become impossible to find. No one would know the wheat was poison until someone ate it and developed symptoms. To a farming village that raised wheat, its appearance was a calamity as bad as drought or flood. The truly frightening thing about the wheat was not the suffering and death that it caused. What made it so terrible was that when Ridelius's Hellfire was discovered in a year's harvest, none of the harvest could be eaten. "And no one from our village has been poisoned?" asked Sem. "I don't think so, Elder. Grandma Jean is sick in bed, but it's just a cold," said a villager. "The new wheat was used only to bake bread for the harvest festival, right? So at least we know the wheat we ground before that is safe." The large, flat rock in the village square seemed to be the place where the villagers met to discuss important matters. The fire burned red as the sleepy-faced villagers rubbed their eyes and watched their leaders voice various opinions.

"R-return the wheat...That means..." At the innkeeper's murmur, all gathered there in the circle fell silent. It was Iima who finally spoke. She was one of the few women who had joined the gathering at the stone. "It means we'll have to return the money. Isn't that right, Elder Sem?" "...Yes." The villagers went pale at the pronouncement, clutching their heads. Money used was money gone. And most of the villagers did not seem likely to have been carefully saving their earnings. There were a few, though, who did not clutch their heads in dread—Elder Sem, bar mistress Iima, and Elsa, along with the man who had delivered the letter to Sem during Lawrence's first visit. And Lawrence and Holo, of course. It was not because these people had savings or were especially brave, but rather because they were all capable of rationally thinking about the problem. Seen from outside, it was a simple scenario to understand. This wheat crisis was a play directed by Enberch. "Elder, whatever shall we do? We've used the money to buy pigs and chickens and to repair our scythes and plows!" "That's hardly the whole of it. This year's harvest was abundant, so our tavern laid in fine food and drink. If our money went into such purchases, that means yours did as well," said Iima. All who had drunk too much the night before now unavoidably hung their heads in regret. Iima's words only deepened their shame. She turned to Sem. "But, Elder—that's not the only problem, is it?" Iima, the woman who had hauled a brewing pot about on her back, selling her ale as she traveled, was an imposing figure indeed. "Indeed not. Once poison wheat is mixed in with the real wheat, the whole harvest is lost. This year's harvest was great—but last year's was not." Once wheat had been sown and harvested, bringing in triple the sown amount was acceptable. Quadrupling the amount was an excellent harvest. Once the next year's seed grain was removed, the amount set aside in case of a poor harvest was limited. It was possible that the villagers had already eaten last year's reserve, having counted on this year's good harvest. In any case, the village's food supply was in dire straits. And they had no money with which to buy new wheat. "What shall we do? Poverty is bearable but not starvation!" "Indeed. However, I—" Sem was going to continue speaking, but he was interrupted when a man next to the innkeeper stood suddenly and pointed at Lawrence and Holo. "They're the ones who mixed poison wheat in with the harvest! I asked him, and he admitted to bringing wheat in! He's here to ruin our harvest and then force us to buy his wheat!" Lawrence had imagined this would happen. He also knew that Sem had not brought him and Holo to the square out of malice. The elder had known there was a good possibility that if Lawrence and Holo were absent, the villagers would take weapons in hand and go searching for them with suspicion and doubt in their hearts. "Th-that must be it! He went to Evan's all alone to grind his wheat! No, Evan's in it with him, and they're trying to destroy the village!" "Aye, it's Evan! Where did that lying miller scum go? Let's tie them up together and make them tell us which wheat they poisoned!" The villagers stood up one after another, ready to pounce on Lawrence. Suddenly Elsa took a step forward and spoke. "Please wait." "This is no time for women to interrupt. Get back!" "Excuse me?" Iima now stood beside Elsa; she was fully three times the size of the smaller girl. The men cringed, their spirits somewhat cowed. Elder Sem cleared his throat as if to settle things for a moment. "Evan is in the church. We can assign blame later. What is important right now is the wheat that may be returned and the money they're sure to ask for." "We can't pay with money we don't have! We'll have to ask them to wait until next..." "If only it were so simple." The men were stunned at the elder's words. "Elder, what...what do you mean?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"R-return the wheat...That means..." At the innkeeper's murmur, all gathered there in the circle fell silent. It was Iima who finally spoke. She was one of the few women who had joined the gathering at the stone. "It means we'll have to return the money. Isn't that right, Elder Sem?" "...Yes." The villagers went pale at the pronouncement, clutching their heads. Money used was money gone. And most of the villagers did not seem likely to have been carefully saving their earnings. There were a few, though, who did not clutch their heads in dread—Elder Sem, bar mistress Iima, and Elsa, along with the man who had delivered the letter to Sem during Lawrence's first visit. And Lawrence and Holo, of course. It was not because these people had savings or were especially brave, but rather because they were all capable of rationally thinking about the problem. Seen from outside, it was a simple scenario to understand. This wheat crisis was a play directed by Enberch. "Elder, whatever shall we do? We've used the money to buy pigs and chickens and to repair our scythes and plows!" "That's hardly the whole of it. This year's harvest was abundant, so our tavern laid in fine food and drink. If our money went into such purchases, that means yours did as well," said Iima. All who had drunk too much the night before now unavoidably hung their heads in regret. Iima's words only deepened their shame. She turned to Sem. "But, Elder—that's not the only problem, is it?" Iima, the woman who had hauled a brewing pot about on her back, selling her ale as she traveled, was an imposing figure indeed. "Indeed not. Once poison wheat is mixed in with the real wheat, the whole harvest is lost. This year's harvest was great—but last year's was not." Once wheat had been sown and harvested, bringing in triple the sown amount was acceptable. Quadrupling the amount was an excellent harvest. Once the next year's seed grain was removed, the amount set aside in case of a poor harvest was limited. It was possible that the villagers had already eaten last year's reserve, having counted on this year's good harvest. In any case, the village's food supply was in dire straits. And they had no money with which to buy new wheat. "What shall we do? Poverty is bearable but not starvation!" "Indeed. However, I—" Sem was going to continue speaking, but he was interrupted when a man next to the innkeeper stood suddenly and pointed at Lawrence and Holo. "They're the ones who mixed poison wheat in with the harvest! I asked him, and he admitted to bringing wheat in! He's here to ruin our harvest and then force us to buy his wheat!" Lawrence had imagined this would happen. He also knew that Sem had not brought him and Holo to the square out of malice. The elder had known there was a good possibility that if Lawrence and Holo were absent, the villagers would take weapons in hand and go searching for them with suspicion and doubt in their hearts. "Th-that must be it! He went to Evan's all alone to grind his wheat! No, Evan's in it with him, and they're trying to destroy the village!" "Aye, it's Evan! Where did that lying miller scum go? Let's tie them up together and make them tell us which wheat they poisoned!" The villagers stood up one after another, ready to pounce on Lawrence. Suddenly Elsa took a step forward and spoke. "Please wait." "This is no time for women to interrupt. Get back!" "Excuse me?" Iima now stood beside Elsa; she was fully three times the size of the smaller girl. The men cringed, their spirits somewhat cowed. Elder Sem cleared his throat as if to settle things for a moment. "Evan is in the church. We can assign blame later. What is important right now is the wheat that may be returned and the money they're sure to ask for." "We can't pay with money we don't have! We'll have to ask them to wait until next..." "If only it were so simple." The men were stunned at the elder's words. "Elder, what...what do you mean?"

"Surely not..." The faces of the older men among the gathering were full of bitterness. "What are you saying, Elder? Enberch isn't allowed to do anything to this village! Father Franz has already made it so!" Lawrence didn't know whether Sem had not explained the nature of Enberch's relationship to the village or whether the men simply didn't want to understand it, but he soon found out. "Anyway, we should never have allowed Elsa to inherit Father Franz's position! Enberch will never respect that!" "Quite so! She spends all day in that church, never once coming out to work the fields—though she eats her share of bread, 'tis sure. Everyone knows it was thanks to Lord Truyeo's blessings that the harvest was so good this year. How could some church girl—" "Enough!" said Sem. Uncertainty only fanned the flames of discontent. They burned from the driest, most flammable places, then spread from there. It was easy for Lawrence to imagine how hard the serious Elsa had worked to preserve Father Franz's legacy. Having cooperated with her, Sem would likewise have understood. But it was all too plain from the villagers' words how they regarded the girl. Lawrence noticed Elsa's clenched fists and her expressionless face. "What shall we do, Elder?" someone asked. "In any case, each of us must check to see how much harvest money we have yet, as well as how many provisions we've laid in for winter. Until the Enberch messenger arrives, we don't know what they'll demand. They may arrive as soon as daybreak. We should adjourn until then—each of you go now, and check as I've told you to." Though the men's sighs were heavy and dissatisfied, they reluctantly stood. The gazes that Lawrence and Elsa endured as the men left the meeting stone were full of resentment. Though the villagers were unreasonable, it was fortunate that Elder Sem seemed to be their ally. If Sem had been their enemy, then Lawrence would have had no choice but to ask for Holo's help. As the villagers dispersed, Sem approached Elsa, his staff in hand. "Elsa, I know this is hard but please endure." Elsa nodded silently. Sem next turned to Iima. "Iima, please go with Elsa to the church. The angriest ones may attempt to break in." "You can count on me," said Iima. Lawrence immediately understood the power relationships within the village. But where did that leave him and Holo? "Mr. Lawrence," Sem finally said, turning to face him. "Like the other villagers, I have my doubts about you. The timing is too coincidental. However, I hope you would not think me such a fool that I would immediately jump to a conclusion." "Were I in your place, Elder Sem, I would say the same thing," replied Lawrence. His old age made his brow constantly wrinkled, but he seemed slightly relieved. "Both for your own safety and to prevent suspicions from growing still deeper, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to come to my house." Holo and Lawrence were fortunate that he didn't simply tie them up without any explanation. If they had resisted, it seemed to Lawrence that bloodshed would soon have followed. He nodded cooperatively and walked toward Sem's house behind Sem and the villagers. "Y'know, there's a locked cell somewhere in that village," the rumor would go once everyone's tongues were sufficiently loosened by wine. It happened after the merchant in question had drunk too much and told all of his tales of profit. Once he was told of more money to be made, he was all too happy to follow the villagers into the elder's house, only to be locked in a cell, never to escape. As long as none of the villagers spoke of the event, no one would ever know what happened to the merchant. His belongings were all sold off, and the merchant himself was offered up as a sacrifice for a good harvest. Strangely, rumors like these seemed to be more common around wealthier villages. Fortunately, it did not seem like the sort of thing that was likely to happen in Tereo.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Surely not..." The faces of the older men among the gathering were full of bitterness. "What are you saying, Elder? Enberch isn't allowed to do anything to this village! Father Franz has already made it so!" Lawrence didn't know whether Sem had not explained the nature of Enberch's relationship to the village or whether the men simply didn't want to understand it, but he soon found out. "Anyway, we should never have allowed Elsa to inherit Father Franz's position! Enberch will never respect that!" "Quite so! She spends all day in that church, never once coming out to work the fields—though she eats her share of bread, 'tis sure. Everyone knows it was thanks to Lord Truyeo's blessings that the harvest was so good this year. How could some church girl—" "Enough!" said Sem. Uncertainty only fanned the flames of discontent. They burned from the driest, most flammable places, then spread from there. It was easy for Lawrence to imagine how hard the serious Elsa had worked to preserve Father Franz's legacy. Having cooperated with her, Sem would likewise have understood. But it was all too plain from the villagers' words how they regarded the girl. Lawrence noticed Elsa's clenched fists and her expressionless face. "What shall we do, Elder?" someone asked. "In any case, each of us must check to see how much harvest money we have yet, as well as how many provisions we've laid in for winter. Until the Enberch messenger arrives, we don't know what they'll demand. They may arrive as soon as daybreak. We should adjourn until then—each of you go now, and check as I've told you to." Though the men's sighs were heavy and dissatisfied, they reluctantly stood. The gazes that Lawrence and Elsa endured as the men left the meeting stone were full of resentment. Though the villagers were unreasonable, it was fortunate that Elder Sem seemed to be their ally. If Sem had been their enemy, then Lawrence would have had no choice but to ask for Holo's help. As the villagers dispersed, Sem approached Elsa, his staff in hand. "Elsa, I know this is hard but please endure." Elsa nodded silently. Sem next turned to Iima. "Iima, please go with Elsa to the church. The angriest ones may attempt to break in." "You can count on me," said Iima. Lawrence immediately understood the power relationships within the village. But where did that leave him and Holo? "Mr. Lawrence," Sem finally said, turning to face him. "Like the other villagers, I have my doubts about you. The timing is too coincidental. However, I hope you would not think me such a fool that I would immediately jump to a conclusion." "Were I in your place, Elder Sem, I would say the same thing," replied Lawrence. His old age made his brow constantly wrinkled, but he seemed slightly relieved. "Both for your own safety and to prevent suspicions from growing still deeper, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to come to my house." Holo and Lawrence were fortunate that he didn't simply tie them up without any explanation. If they had resisted, it seemed to Lawrence that bloodshed would soon have followed. He nodded cooperatively and walked toward Sem's house behind Sem and the villagers. "Y'know, there's a locked cell somewhere in that village," the rumor would go once everyone's tongues were sufficiently loosened by wine. It happened after the merchant in question had drunk too much and told all of his tales of profit. Once he was told of more money to be made, he was all too happy to follow the villagers into the elder's house, only to be locked in a cell, never to escape. As long as none of the villagers spoke of the event, no one would ever know what happened to the merchant. His belongings were all sold off, and the merchant himself was offered up as a sacrifice for a good harvest. Strangely, rumors like these seemed to be more common around wealthier villages. Fortunately, it did not seem like the sort of thing that was likely to happen in Tereo.

The door had no lock, and it seemed that if Holo and Lawrence needed to force their way out, it would not be impossible. If they had to come up with a plan, this place was as good as any. "What do you think?" asked Lawrence. The two sat opposite each other on benches separated by a low table in the center of the room. He spoke softly so as not to be heard by the guard that was no doubt just outside the door. "I should've given up on looking for the book and left the village with you," came Holo's uncharacteristically glum reply. However, her face did not look especially guilty nor did it show much regret. She focused on one particular spot, her mind furiously working. "It's not clear that would actually have changed anything. Let's say that we came in to ask after the abbey's location and left the same day. That would've been the day before yesterday. Then the news of Enberch's poisoned wheat reaches the village today. Obviously they would assume that someone malicious mixed the poison wheat in with the good. And who do you think they would then blame? Us," said Lawrence. "There are no other groups made up of a foolish merchant and a beautiful maiden. They'd soon catch us on horseback," added Holo. Lawrence winced at Holo's bitter words, but then again, breaking down into sobs of self-recrimination was not exactly Holo's style. "As soon as we set foot in this village, it was inevitable that we would be suspected of poisoning the wheat. Demons bringing calamity always come from without, after all." "And there's nothing we can say to prove our innocence." Lawrence nodded. Whether a demon or a malicious human poisoned the wheat was irrelevant—when calamity occurred, people needed something to blame. It was not that demons were responsible for wrongdoing, but rather that when something bad happened, demons were blamed. "The circumstances are too perfect. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this is a move by Enberch to gain control of Tereo. Everyone in the region must be aware of the tax dispute between the two. If Tereo's wheat suddenly turns up poisoned, Enberch is going to be the obvious suspect. Tereo has people supporting it, and those people would surely not keep silent. So Enberch needs someone else to blame. Then we just happened to show up, which gave them the perfect opportunity to execute their plan." If this was all true, Lawrence had a good notion of what lay at the end of it. "Then when they hold their negotiations with the village, they'll offer the condition of delayed payment so long as the villagers find the person responsible." Thus Enberch would both be able to convince its neighbors that this was not Enberch's own doing and to bring Tereo under its control while Lawrence and Holo evaporated like so much dew on the executioner's block. "Enberch won't want to get in trouble with our trade guild, so they certainly won't have a trial to determine our guilt. They'll simply declare us guilty and execute us, promising to lower Tereo's debt so long as the villagers of Tereo keep quiet about who we were and where we came from, and that would be that." Holo sighed and bit her thumbnail. "And you're content with that?" "Of course not." Lawrence laughed and shrugged, but admittedly he did not know what they should do to extricate themselves from the situation. "If we run, they'll be certain to think it was us who poisoned the wheat, and if your face is then posted everywhere, you won't be able to do business," said Holo. "It would be the end of my life as a merchant, yes." So what to do? Holo seemed to suddenly realize something and spoke. "Hm. Ah, could you not seek help with the guild you're a member of?" "Help, huh. If I could do that I...ah. Hm." Lawrence tapped on his own head. Holo peered at him uncertainly. "Wait—you're here," he finally said. "What do you mean?" "Something good. If I was riding on your back, could we escape to another town faster than on horseback?" "Certainly."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

The door had no lock, and it seemed that if Holo and Lawrence needed to force their way out, it would not be impossible. If they had to come up with a plan, this place was as good as any. "What do you think?" asked Lawrence. The two sat opposite each other on benches separated by a low table in the center of the room. He spoke softly so as not to be heard by the guard that was no doubt just outside the door. "I should've given up on looking for the book and left the village with you," came Holo's uncharacteristically glum reply. However, her face did not look especially guilty nor did it show much regret. She focused on one particular spot, her mind furiously working. "It's not clear that would actually have changed anything. Let's say that we came in to ask after the abbey's location and left the same day. That would've been the day before yesterday. Then the news of Enberch's poisoned wheat reaches the village today. Obviously they would assume that someone malicious mixed the poison wheat in with the good. And who do you think they would then blame? Us," said Lawrence. "There are no other groups made up of a foolish merchant and a beautiful maiden. They'd soon catch us on horseback," added Holo. Lawrence winced at Holo's bitter words, but then again, breaking down into sobs of self-recrimination was not exactly Holo's style. "As soon as we set foot in this village, it was inevitable that we would be suspected of poisoning the wheat. Demons bringing calamity always come from without, after all." "And there's nothing we can say to prove our innocence." Lawrence nodded. Whether a demon or a malicious human poisoned the wheat was irrelevant—when calamity occurred, people needed something to blame. It was not that demons were responsible for wrongdoing, but rather that when something bad happened, demons were blamed. "The circumstances are too perfect. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this is a move by Enberch to gain control of Tereo. Everyone in the region must be aware of the tax dispute between the two. If Tereo's wheat suddenly turns up poisoned, Enberch is going to be the obvious suspect. Tereo has people supporting it, and those people would surely not keep silent. So Enberch needs someone else to blame. Then we just happened to show up, which gave them the perfect opportunity to execute their plan." If this was all true, Lawrence had a good notion of what lay at the end of it. "Then when they hold their negotiations with the village, they'll offer the condition of delayed payment so long as the villagers find the person responsible." Thus Enberch would both be able to convince its neighbors that this was not Enberch's own doing and to bring Tereo under its control while Lawrence and Holo evaporated like so much dew on the executioner's block. "Enberch won't want to get in trouble with our trade guild, so they certainly won't have a trial to determine our guilt. They'll simply declare us guilty and execute us, promising to lower Tereo's debt so long as the villagers of Tereo keep quiet about who we were and where we came from, and that would be that." Holo sighed and bit her thumbnail. "And you're content with that?" "Of course not." Lawrence laughed and shrugged, but admittedly he did not know what they should do to extricate themselves from the situation. "If we run, they'll be certain to think it was us who poisoned the wheat, and if your face is then posted everywhere, you won't be able to do business," said Holo. "It would be the end of my life as a merchant, yes." So what to do? Holo seemed to suddenly realize something and spoke. "Hm. Ah, could you not seek help with the guild you're a member of?" "Help, huh. If I could do that I...ah. Hm." Lawrence tapped on his own head. Holo peered at him uncertainly. "Wait—you're here," he finally said. "What do you mean?" "Something good. If I was riding on your back, could we escape to another town faster than on horseback?" "Certainly."

Holo sniffed slightly through her nose. It was hard to know if it was a small sigh or a reply. "I was thinking that if I was traveling with you in the cart, we'd never be able to contact a guild house before they caught us. But if we can make it to the guild, we can get some measure of protection. If news of a guild member using poisoned wheat to do business got around, it would be a disaster—so they'll do whatever they can to put a stop to it. "If the people trying to trap us are thinking similarly, they may give up the chase as soon as they see we've escaped. "However—" Lawrence's pleasure at seeing a way out of the situation was short-lived; soon he saw its inevitable conclusion. "But after that, who do you think will be accused of being the culprit?" he asked. There was no need to ask. It would obviously be the person that all the villagers knew was a liar, the one who they had always regarded with suspicion and whose occupation afforded him the perfect opportunity to poison the wheat: Evan the miller. Holo was quick to grasp what Lawrence was getting at. She put on an annoyed expression. "Fine then, let him ride on my back as well. He wants to see the outside world anyway, yes? I won't refuse him. If the girl's in danger, put her on as well. You are absurdly softhearted, after all—honestly, the trouble I'm put through on your account...," she said, as though already having given up trying to protest. With Lawrence and Evan gone, Enberch would have no one to point to as the culprit. Not only that, but with both of them gone, Enberch would have to claim to surrounding towns that Evan was the criminal and that he had fled because he was guilty. There would be no need to go after Lawrence since doing so risked trouble with his guild. "The trouble, though, is that you'll have to reveal your true form," said Lawrence. Holo gave an incredulous smile, miffed at being underestimated. "I am not so narrow-minded as to be worried about that. 'Tis true, though...Being feared does wound my fragile heart." There was a hint of accusation in Holo's eyes, perhaps at the memory of Lawrence's fear when he had first seen her wolf form in the sewers of Pazzio. But she soon bit her lower lip mischievously, flashing her fangs slightly, and said, "Or is it simply that you wish to be the only person who knows my secret?" At a loss for words, Lawrence cleared his throat. Holo chuckled throatily. "If this is what you wish to do, I do not mind." It was unavoidable. He couldn't think of another way out of the predicament. "It's the worst-case solution, of course, but the chances of it turning out like this are very high. It would be a shame to leave behind the horse, wagon, and cargo, but there's nothing for it but to think of them as fallen into a deep valley." "I suppose I don't mind being your new wagon." It was a clever jest. "Oh? I'd like to see the cart horse that holds its own reins." Just as Holo flashed her invincible smile, there was a knock at the door. The door opened to reveal Sem. The crisis that the village faced seemed too heavy a burden for his aged body. Though it was probably an effect of the light coming from the candles that hung from the ceiling, he seemed to have become even more haggard looking. "Might I have a word with you?" he asked. It did not seem likely that he had heard Lawrence's hushed exchange with Holo. After all, Holo would not have let her guard down and spoken if that was a possibility. "Yes, we were just hoping to speak to you," said Lawrence. "Well, if you'll excuse me," said Sem, holding himself up on his staff and entering the room. A villager stood behind him, guarding the door. Perhaps unused to the prospect of violence, the villager was obviously nervous. "Please close the door," said Sem. The villager's eyes widened in surprise, but he grudgingly did as he was told and closed the door. It was obvious that he believed Lawrence and Holo were guilty.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo sniffed slightly through her nose. It was hard to know if it was a small sigh or a reply. "I was thinking that if I was traveling with you in the cart, we'd never be able to contact a guild house before they caught us. But if we can make it to the guild, we can get some measure of protection. If news of a guild member using poisoned wheat to do business got around, it would be a disaster—so they'll do whatever they can to put a stop to it. "If the people trying to trap us are thinking similarly, they may give up the chase as soon as they see we've escaped. "However—" Lawrence's pleasure at seeing a way out of the situation was short-lived; soon he saw its inevitable conclusion. "But after that, who do you think will be accused of being the culprit?" he asked. There was no need to ask. It would obviously be the person that all the villagers knew was a liar, the one who they had always regarded with suspicion and whose occupation afforded him the perfect opportunity to poison the wheat: Evan the miller. Holo was quick to grasp what Lawrence was getting at. She put on an annoyed expression. "Fine then, let him ride on my back as well. He wants to see the outside world anyway, yes? I won't refuse him. If the girl's in danger, put her on as well. You are absurdly softhearted, after all—honestly, the trouble I'm put through on your account...," she said, as though already having given up trying to protest. With Lawrence and Evan gone, Enberch would have no one to point to as the culprit. Not only that, but with both of them gone, Enberch would have to claim to surrounding towns that Evan was the criminal and that he had fled because he was guilty. There would be no need to go after Lawrence since doing so risked trouble with his guild. "The trouble, though, is that you'll have to reveal your true form," said Lawrence. Holo gave an incredulous smile, miffed at being underestimated. "I am not so narrow-minded as to be worried about that. 'Tis true, though...Being feared does wound my fragile heart." There was a hint of accusation in Holo's eyes, perhaps at the memory of Lawrence's fear when he had first seen her wolf form in the sewers of Pazzio. But she soon bit her lower lip mischievously, flashing her fangs slightly, and said, "Or is it simply that you wish to be the only person who knows my secret?" At a loss for words, Lawrence cleared his throat. Holo chuckled throatily. "If this is what you wish to do, I do not mind." It was unavoidable. He couldn't think of another way out of the predicament. "It's the worst-case solution, of course, but the chances of it turning out like this are very high. It would be a shame to leave behind the horse, wagon, and cargo, but there's nothing for it but to think of them as fallen into a deep valley." "I suppose I don't mind being your new wagon." It was a clever jest. "Oh? I'd like to see the cart horse that holds its own reins." Just as Holo flashed her invincible smile, there was a knock at the door. The door opened to reveal Sem. The crisis that the village faced seemed too heavy a burden for his aged body. Though it was probably an effect of the light coming from the candles that hung from the ceiling, he seemed to have become even more haggard looking. "Might I have a word with you?" he asked. It did not seem likely that he had heard Lawrence's hushed exchange with Holo. After all, Holo would not have let her guard down and spoken if that was a possibility. "Yes, we were just hoping to speak to you," said Lawrence. "Well, if you'll excuse me," said Sem, holding himself up on his staff and entering the room. A villager stood behind him, guarding the door. Perhaps unused to the prospect of violence, the villager was obviously nervous. "Please close the door," said Sem. The villager's eyes widened in surprise, but he grudgingly did as he was told and closed the door. It was obvious that he believed Lawrence and Holo were guilty.

He certainly got right to the point. Lawrence flashed his merchant's smile. "We are nobody of note, I should say. I have already told you who I am." "Yes, you have indeed told me who you are. Though I have not yet confirmed it, I do believe you." Sem's gaze moved from Lawrence to Holo. Holo looked down silently, her head covered by her hood. It almost appeared as though she were sleeping. "You were asking after Diendran Abbey. What business do you have there?" Sem had conceded that the abbey existed. This was progress. When Lawrence had originally inquired about the abbey's whereabouts, Sem had pretended not to know anything about it. What he wanted now was to ascertain whether Lawrence and Holo were from Enberch. But what would he do after gaining that knowledge? "A person I met in Kumersun told me of the abbot of Diendran Abbey. To be precise, she did not tell me but rather my companion." It was Sem's greatest fear that Lawrence and Holo had been sent from Enberch. But it seemed that he did not have the patience for subtle questions that would draw out the truth. He took a deep, wheezy breath, his eyes imploring. "Did you not come here on the orders of Enberch? If you did, how much—how much did they pay you?" "We did come through Enberch, but it was only one stop on our travels. It is for our own goals that we sought out Diendran Abbey." "Enough lies!" shouted Sem hoarsely, leaning forward, his expression almost monstrous in the candlelight. "We have nothing to do with the dispute between Enberch and Tereo. I only understood the problem by putting together things I heard at your tavern, things I learned by talking to Evan and Miss Elsa, and my own experience," said Lawrence. Sem feared the possibility that Lawrence and Holo were spies from Enberch. The poison wheat problem did not center around heresy and the Church—it was about money. Depending on the negotiations, the village was not necessarily doomed. But if the Church got involved, it would not be so simple. "A-are...are you truly not from Enberch?" Sem himself was probably aware that no answer they gave would fully convince him. But he had to ask, and Lawrence could only answer one way. "We are truly not." Sem looked down, his face a mask of suffering, as though he had swallowed a red-hot ingot of iron. Even sitting, he had to support his body with his staff. He raised his head slowly. "If that is true..." No doubt by now Sem knew the villagers' financial situation. Lawrence thought this over, and this was immediately clear that if all the wheat was returned, the village would fall into ruin. This meant the profit that came once every half a year—perhaps only once a year—would vanish in an instant. "If that is true...might you lend us your wisdom...and your money?" Holo moved slightly. She might have remembered Lawrence having to beg for loans in Ruvinheigen. He'd been caught in a trap and had to frantically run around borrowing money. At the time, he had felt like a drowning man, trying to breathe even if it meant inhaling water. But Lawrence was a merchant. "I can lend you my wisdom. However—" "I would not ask you to provide it free of charge," said Sem. Lawrence met Sem's keen eyes. He did not imagine that Tereo had much to offer him by way of compensation. There were only a few possibilities. "In exchange, I will guarantee your safety," said Sem. Tereo might have been a small village, but it was a community and Sem was its leader. In a poor village, a merchant's coin was powerful. But against the scythes and hoes of angry villagers, a merchant was helpless. "Is that a threat?" "The reason I did not simply have you bound on the spot was because you first came to greet me with wheat," said Sem. He was quite adroit. Lawrence did not feel that arguing would improve his situation. Besides, he had already conferred with Holo; he knew his course of action. Cooperating with Sem would make everything easier. "I suppose I have no choice but to agree." ***

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He certainly got right to the point. Lawrence flashed his merchant's smile. "We are nobody of note, I should say. I have already told you who I am." "Yes, you have indeed told me who you are. Though I have not yet confirmed it, I do believe you." Sem's gaze moved from Lawrence to Holo. Holo looked down silently, her head covered by her hood. It almost appeared as though she were sleeping. "You were asking after Diendran Abbey. What business do you have there?" Sem had conceded that the abbey existed. This was progress. When Lawrence had originally inquired about the abbey's whereabouts, Sem had pretended not to know anything about it. What he wanted now was to ascertain whether Lawrence and Holo were from Enberch. But what would he do after gaining that knowledge? "A person I met in Kumersun told me of the abbot of Diendran Abbey. To be precise, she did not tell me but rather my companion." It was Sem's greatest fear that Lawrence and Holo had been sent from Enberch. But it seemed that he did not have the patience for subtle questions that would draw out the truth. He took a deep, wheezy breath, his eyes imploring. "Did you not come here on the orders of Enberch? If you did, how much—how much did they pay you?" "We did come through Enberch, but it was only one stop on our travels. It is for our own goals that we sought out Diendran Abbey." "Enough lies!" shouted Sem hoarsely, leaning forward, his expression almost monstrous in the candlelight. "We have nothing to do with the dispute between Enberch and Tereo. I only understood the problem by putting together things I heard at your tavern, things I learned by talking to Evan and Miss Elsa, and my own experience," said Lawrence. Sem feared the possibility that Lawrence and Holo were spies from Enberch. The poison wheat problem did not center around heresy and the Church—it was about money. Depending on the negotiations, the village was not necessarily doomed. But if the Church got involved, it would not be so simple. "A-are...are you truly not from Enberch?" Sem himself was probably aware that no answer they gave would fully convince him. But he had to ask, and Lawrence could only answer one way. "We are truly not." Sem looked down, his face a mask of suffering, as though he had swallowed a red-hot ingot of iron. Even sitting, he had to support his body with his staff. He raised his head slowly. "If that is true..." No doubt by now Sem knew the villagers' financial situation. Lawrence thought this over, and this was immediately clear that if all the wheat was returned, the village would fall into ruin. This meant the profit that came once every half a year—perhaps only once a year—would vanish in an instant. "If that is true...might you lend us your wisdom...and your money?" Holo moved slightly. She might have remembered Lawrence having to beg for loans in Ruvinheigen. He'd been caught in a trap and had to frantically run around borrowing money. At the time, he had felt like a drowning man, trying to breathe even if it meant inhaling water. But Lawrence was a merchant. "I can lend you my wisdom. However—" "I would not ask you to provide it free of charge," said Sem. Lawrence met Sem's keen eyes. He did not imagine that Tereo had much to offer him by way of compensation. There were only a few possibilities. "In exchange, I will guarantee your safety," said Sem. Tereo might have been a small village, but it was a community and Sem was its leader. In a poor village, a merchant's coin was powerful. But against the scythes and hoes of angry villagers, a merchant was helpless. "Is that a threat?" "The reason I did not simply have you bound on the spot was because you first came to greet me with wheat," said Sem. He was quite adroit. Lawrence did not feel that arguing would improve his situation. Besides, he had already conferred with Holo; he knew his course of action. Cooperating with Sem would make everything easier. "I suppose I have no choice but to agree." ***

Lawrence was neither begging for his life nor asking to be left some small portion of his own money, but rather making demands of remuneration. Sem seemed momentarily stunned but soon came to himself. Perhaps he thought Lawrence's self-confidence was warranted. Or perhaps he simply wanted to believe as much. But the truth was that Lawrence lied in order to win Sem's trust. He wanted to get away from this village as peaceably as possible. Thus the best course of action was to wait for the messenger from Enberch to arrive, and then Lawrence would see for himself what Tereo's fate would be. Assuming that Enberch wished to take control of Tereo as easily as possible, it was unlikely that the townspeople would have investigated whether the poisoned wheat had occurred naturally or was the result of foul play. They would probably leave the mystery unsolved. "Very well. Tell me all the details," said Lawrence to Sem. Maybe by some miracle they could turn the situation around. The more of the story Lawrence heard from Sem, the worse it got. The contract Father Franz had negotiated with Enberch was unlike anything Lawrence had ever heard of, beginning with the stipulation that Tereo could simply name its selling price and amount when selling wheat to Enberch. But looking at the books that Father Franz had assembled in the church's cellar, it was easy to imagine that he had powerful supporters somewhere. Bound in leather and reinforced at all four corners with iron, each volume would have cost a fortune. Based on the letters that Lawrence had spied on Elsa's desk, Father Franz had been personally acquainted with the duke of a nearby border region, as well as the bishop of a very large bishopric. Though he was suspected of heresy time and time again, Father Franz had been able to live out his days peacefully, no doubt because of his powerful connections. Like the ropes that are woven together to create a net, the bonds between people could be a source of great strength. Sem claimed not to know how Father Franz had imposed the contract on Enberch, which was probably true. He speculated that Father Franz had learned something damaging about Duke Badon, the ruler of Enberch, which seemed likely. Father Franz had certainly been a remarkable man. However, this was no time to waste breath singing the praises of the deceased. If Lawrence could find a way to solve the village's problem, it would be good business for him, so he wanted to give the matter serious thought. The extravagance with which the villagers squandered Father Franz's legacy was nothing short of tragic. Even if Lawrence were to hand over all his gold and silver in the village's name, the money would make little difference. It was clear that if all the wheat was returned, the village would be ruined. But nothing would come from such thoughts. Lawrence offered the only possibility he could think of. "Properly speaking, Enberch will want to purchase wheat from next year's harvest to make up for whatever they're left owing now." "...Which means?" "It means that they'll set a price now for the purchase of all the wheat from your fields next year." Sem did not even understand the idea of green harvesting—it was obvious how long the village had been free of worry. "I-if that is possible, then we would have a reprieve, for the nonce—" "But the buying party has the advantage. As they are paying for something that does not yet exist, it is only favorable to them if they're given a significant discount. And once the price is agreed upon, no matter how large the harvest, you must still sell it all at that price." "B-but that's absurd."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence was neither begging for his life nor asking to be left some small portion of his own money, but rather making demands of remuneration. Sem seemed momentarily stunned but soon came to himself. Perhaps he thought Lawrence's self-confidence was warranted. Or perhaps he simply wanted to believe as much. But the truth was that Lawrence lied in order to win Sem's trust. He wanted to get away from this village as peaceably as possible. Thus the best course of action was to wait for the messenger from Enberch to arrive, and then Lawrence would see for himself what Tereo's fate would be. Assuming that Enberch wished to take control of Tereo as easily as possible, it was unlikely that the townspeople would have investigated whether the poisoned wheat had occurred naturally or was the result of foul play. They would probably leave the mystery unsolved. "Very well. Tell me all the details," said Lawrence to Sem. Maybe by some miracle they could turn the situation around. The more of the story Lawrence heard from Sem, the worse it got. The contract Father Franz had negotiated with Enberch was unlike anything Lawrence had ever heard of, beginning with the stipulation that Tereo could simply name its selling price and amount when selling wheat to Enberch. But looking at the books that Father Franz had assembled in the church's cellar, it was easy to imagine that he had powerful supporters somewhere. Bound in leather and reinforced at all four corners with iron, each volume would have cost a fortune. Based on the letters that Lawrence had spied on Elsa's desk, Father Franz had been personally acquainted with the duke of a nearby border region, as well as the bishop of a very large bishopric. Though he was suspected of heresy time and time again, Father Franz had been able to live out his days peacefully, no doubt because of his powerful connections. Like the ropes that are woven together to create a net, the bonds between people could be a source of great strength. Sem claimed not to know how Father Franz had imposed the contract on Enberch, which was probably true. He speculated that Father Franz had learned something damaging about Duke Badon, the ruler of Enberch, which seemed likely. Father Franz had certainly been a remarkable man. However, this was no time to waste breath singing the praises of the deceased. If Lawrence could find a way to solve the village's problem, it would be good business for him, so he wanted to give the matter serious thought. The extravagance with which the villagers squandered Father Franz's legacy was nothing short of tragic. Even if Lawrence were to hand over all his gold and silver in the village's name, the money would make little difference. It was clear that if all the wheat was returned, the village would be ruined. But nothing would come from such thoughts. Lawrence offered the only possibility he could think of. "Properly speaking, Enberch will want to purchase wheat from next year's harvest to make up for whatever they're left owing now." "...Which means?" "It means that they'll set a price now for the purchase of all the wheat from your fields next year." Sem did not even understand the idea of green harvesting—it was obvious how long the village had been free of worry. "I-if that is possible, then we would have a reprieve, for the nonce—" "But the buying party has the advantage. As they are paying for something that does not yet exist, it is only favorable to them if they're given a significant discount. And once the price is agreed upon, no matter how large the harvest, you must still sell it all at that price." "B-but that's absurd."

It was for this reason that villagers normally spent so much time on side jobs during the winter. They had to save money to prevent others from stealing their land. "I always thought that all would be well so long as we avoided taxation...That is why I tried so hard to guard what Father Franz left us." "You were not mistaken. However, the villagers did not understand how great the gift of Father Franz's legacy was." "I see...I know it is too late for such talk, but when Father Franz first arrived, he asked to stay at the church in exchange for his improving relations with Enberch. Though we had a church in our village, we could not abandon our faith in the ancient guardian of the land, Lord Truyeo. Father Franz claimed not to care about that, and he was never involved in any proselytizing. He simply lived in the church." The villagers had probably thought of Father Franz as a blessing sent to them by Lord Truyeo. "I can't believe it has come to this," said Sem finally. "Elder Sem, surely you saw the potential for this to happen, did you not?" asked Lawrence bluntly. Sem's face went blank, and he closed his eyes, sighing. "I suppose...I did. But to think that Khepas liquor would turn up..." "Khepas liquor?" "Ah, yes, that is what we call the poison wheat. It is made from rye, and we all know of it—I cannot imagine that any from the village would be so careless as to mix it with wheat at sufficient purity to kill a man." Lawrence agreed. "So it will be assumed that someone did it intentionally," he said. "The villagers will blame the traveler since outsiders are always the subject of suspicion," said Sem. "And after that, Evan the miller." Sem nodded and then nodded again. "I spoke with Elsa a moment ago, and she believes Enberch to be responsible. I am pathetic. I believed that so long as we could raise wheat and sell it easily, we would have peace. I thought of nothing else." "When the messenger from Enberch arrives, it will be clear whether this is all their doing or not. If possible, I would like to speak to Elsa before then," said Lawrence. All of the advice Lawrence had given Sem was simply a setup to deliver this line. "Understood." Sem stood and opened the door, giving the villager there some brief instructions. He then turned to Lawrence. "This man will take you to her." Sem clung to his staff as he moved aside for Lawrence and Holo to pass. "Embarrassingly this has taken...a toll on this old body of mine. Please tell me what you learn later." The villager hastily pushed forth from the chair he had been sitting on. Sem sat on it now, pain in his features. Though it was convenient that Sem would not be following them to the church, he was also the one who could protect Holo and Lawrence from the ire of the villagers. Lawrence certainly hoped that this would all be resolved peacefully. He would feel bad if Sem were to collapse now, so he left the man with some kind words before leaving his house. The fire in the village square still burned brightly with small groups of villagers gathered here and there talking. As soon as Lawrence and Holo emerged from the elder's house, the villagers' eyes all fell upon them. "Well, that's certainly unpleasant," muttered Holo. If the villager leading them to the Church was to betray them, Lawrence and Holo would almost certainly be beaten and hanged by the angry mob. It was an incredibly delicate situation. Though the church was but a short distance away, it seemed very far indeed now. "Iima—the elder sent us." They had finally reached the church, whereupon the villager knocked on the door and announced himself quite loudly. No doubt the loud voice was also to announce to the surrounding villagers that he was leading the two travelers on the elder's orders. What a villager feared above all was to be singled out by his fellow villagers.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

It was for this reason that villagers normally spent so much time on side jobs during the winter. They had to save money to prevent others from stealing their land. "I always thought that all would be well so long as we avoided taxation...That is why I tried so hard to guard what Father Franz left us." "You were not mistaken. However, the villagers did not understand how great the gift of Father Franz's legacy was." "I see...I know it is too late for such talk, but when Father Franz first arrived, he asked to stay at the church in exchange for his improving relations with Enberch. Though we had a church in our village, we could not abandon our faith in the ancient guardian of the land, Lord Truyeo. Father Franz claimed not to care about that, and he was never involved in any proselytizing. He simply lived in the church." The villagers had probably thought of Father Franz as a blessing sent to them by Lord Truyeo. "I can't believe it has come to this," said Sem finally. "Elder Sem, surely you saw the potential for this to happen, did you not?" asked Lawrence bluntly. Sem's face went blank, and he closed his eyes, sighing. "I suppose...I did. But to think that Khepas liquor would turn up..." "Khepas liquor?" "Ah, yes, that is what we call the poison wheat. It is made from rye, and we all know of it—I cannot imagine that any from the village would be so careless as to mix it with wheat at sufficient purity to kill a man." Lawrence agreed. "So it will be assumed that someone did it intentionally," he said. "The villagers will blame the traveler since outsiders are always the subject of suspicion," said Sem. "And after that, Evan the miller." Sem nodded and then nodded again. "I spoke with Elsa a moment ago, and she believes Enberch to be responsible. I am pathetic. I believed that so long as we could raise wheat and sell it easily, we would have peace. I thought of nothing else." "When the messenger from Enberch arrives, it will be clear whether this is all their doing or not. If possible, I would like to speak to Elsa before then," said Lawrence. All of the advice Lawrence had given Sem was simply a setup to deliver this line. "Understood." Sem stood and opened the door, giving the villager there some brief instructions. He then turned to Lawrence. "This man will take you to her." Sem clung to his staff as he moved aside for Lawrence and Holo to pass. "Embarrassingly this has taken...a toll on this old body of mine. Please tell me what you learn later." The villager hastily pushed forth from the chair he had been sitting on. Sem sat on it now, pain in his features. Though it was convenient that Sem would not be following them to the church, he was also the one who could protect Holo and Lawrence from the ire of the villagers. Lawrence certainly hoped that this would all be resolved peacefully. He would feel bad if Sem were to collapse now, so he left the man with some kind words before leaving his house. The fire in the village square still burned brightly with small groups of villagers gathered here and there talking. As soon as Lawrence and Holo emerged from the elder's house, the villagers' eyes all fell upon them. "Well, that's certainly unpleasant," muttered Holo. If the villager leading them to the Church was to betray them, Lawrence and Holo would almost certainly be beaten and hanged by the angry mob. It was an incredibly delicate situation. Though the church was but a short distance away, it seemed very far indeed now. "Iima—the elder sent us." They had finally reached the church, whereupon the villager knocked on the door and announced himself quite loudly. No doubt the loud voice was also to announce to the surrounding villagers that he was leading the two travelers on the elder's orders. What a villager feared above all was to be singled out by his fellow villagers.

The hate-filled gazes that Lawrence and Holo endured were dyed red by the firelight, but now the closing church door blocked them out. It was a magnificent door, but Lawrence was not sure how it would hold up against anything but hateful gazes. "The elder sent you, then? What is it?" Though she had let them into the church, Iima blocked their path, not letting them enter any farther. "I need to speak with Miss Elsa." "With Elsa?" asked Iima, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Sem guaranteed my safety in exchange for my wisdom and coin. But to make that wisdom and coin as effective as possible, I need accurate information. I believe Miss Elsa has a better understanding of the situation than Sem does." Lawrence expected that Iima, who had lived and traveled alone, would have some sympathy for him and Holo and the unreasonable situation they now found themselves in. Whether or not that hope was clear to her, she gestured with her chin in the direction of the living room. "She's in there; follow me," said Iima, heading into the church. Holo was still looking into the sanctuary. Had Lawrence not been there, she would have long since forced her way into the church, and once she had the book clenched between her wolf teeth, Holo would have run for the horizon. To the left of the sanctuary were the priestly offices and study. Candlelight shone from around the corner at the end of the hallway, and when the group rounded it, they found Evan. He stood there before the door to the living room, ax in hand. It was not hard to guess why he was there. When he noticed Lawrence and Holo, he was at first surprised before his face settled into a more complicated expression. There were two people in the village who were suspected of poisoning the wheat. Evan, of course, knew it wasn't himself, so that left only one person to suspect. He was, though, one of the few people who could see the path that all the village's wheat took. Perhaps he knew there was no chance Lawrence could have poisoned it. "Elsa is here, correct?" "Ah, yes, but—" "The elder's already given permission. Elsa! Elsa!" said Iima as she shoved past Evan. The blade of the ax Evan held was rusted, and the handle looked as though it had been eaten away by termites. Lawrence could understand what would make Evan grab such a weapon and stand in front of the door like that. After all, Lawrence himself had stood in front of Holo, exhausted and beaten up, to protect her in the sewers beneath Pazzio. "What is it?" asked Elsa. "You've got guests." "Huh? Oh—" "We've come to speak with you," said Lawrence. Elsa's expression was somehow even more neutral than it had been when he'd visited the church before. "Very well, come in—" Iima raised her voice. "Elsa." Elsa was just about to retreat into the room when she turned around at Iima's voice. "Is it really all right?" Iima asked. No doubt she was referring to Lawrence and Holo. Lawrence was not at all confident in his ability to best Iima in a scuffle. He considered it as she gave him an unintimidated glance. Evan swallowed hard and looked on. "We cannot depend upon them, but we can trust them," said Elsa. "After all, they do at least know how to pray." This was just the kind of sarcasm that Holo liked. Lawrence noticed that Elsa herself wore a slight smile. Beneath her hood, Holo's expression suggested that she had no time for dealing with unimportant people—but what actually irritated her was no doubt that she wished to retort but could not. "Fine. Evan, boy—you protect her, you hear?" ordered Iima, slapping Evan's shoulder and walking back down the hallway. It spoke well of Iima that she did not insist upon being included in the conversation. So long as she was around, Evan and Elsa would feel secure. "I apologize for the interruption," said Lawrence, entering the room with Holo behind him. Evan, ax in hand, was about to follow them, but Elsa stopped him. "You wait outside." "What? Why?" "Please."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

The hate-filled gazes that Lawrence and Holo endured were dyed red by the firelight, but now the closing church door blocked them out. It was a magnificent door, but Lawrence was not sure how it would hold up against anything but hateful gazes. "The elder sent you, then? What is it?" Though she had let them into the church, Iima blocked their path, not letting them enter any farther. "I need to speak with Miss Elsa." "With Elsa?" asked Iima, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Sem guaranteed my safety in exchange for my wisdom and coin. But to make that wisdom and coin as effective as possible, I need accurate information. I believe Miss Elsa has a better understanding of the situation than Sem does." Lawrence expected that Iima, who had lived and traveled alone, would have some sympathy for him and Holo and the unreasonable situation they now found themselves in. Whether or not that hope was clear to her, she gestured with her chin in the direction of the living room. "She's in there; follow me," said Iima, heading into the church. Holo was still looking into the sanctuary. Had Lawrence not been there, she would have long since forced her way into the church, and once she had the book clenched between her wolf teeth, Holo would have run for the horizon. To the left of the sanctuary were the priestly offices and study. Candlelight shone from around the corner at the end of the hallway, and when the group rounded it, they found Evan. He stood there before the door to the living room, ax in hand. It was not hard to guess why he was there. When he noticed Lawrence and Holo, he was at first surprised before his face settled into a more complicated expression. There were two people in the village who were suspected of poisoning the wheat. Evan, of course, knew it wasn't himself, so that left only one person to suspect. He was, though, one of the few people who could see the path that all the village's wheat took. Perhaps he knew there was no chance Lawrence could have poisoned it. "Elsa is here, correct?" "Ah, yes, but—" "The elder's already given permission. Elsa! Elsa!" said Iima as she shoved past Evan. The blade of the ax Evan held was rusted, and the handle looked as though it had been eaten away by termites. Lawrence could understand what would make Evan grab such a weapon and stand in front of the door like that. After all, Lawrence himself had stood in front of Holo, exhausted and beaten up, to protect her in the sewers beneath Pazzio. "What is it?" asked Elsa. "You've got guests." "Huh? Oh—" "We've come to speak with you," said Lawrence. Elsa's expression was somehow even more neutral than it had been when he'd visited the church before. "Very well, come in—" Iima raised her voice. "Elsa." Elsa was just about to retreat into the room when she turned around at Iima's voice. "Is it really all right?" Iima asked. No doubt she was referring to Lawrence and Holo. Lawrence was not at all confident in his ability to best Iima in a scuffle. He considered it as she gave him an unintimidated glance. Evan swallowed hard and looked on. "We cannot depend upon them, but we can trust them," said Elsa. "After all, they do at least know how to pray." This was just the kind of sarcasm that Holo liked. Lawrence noticed that Elsa herself wore a slight smile. Beneath her hood, Holo's expression suggested that she had no time for dealing with unimportant people—but what actually irritated her was no doubt that she wished to retort but could not. "Fine. Evan, boy—you protect her, you hear?" ordered Iima, slapping Evan's shoulder and walking back down the hallway. It spoke well of Iima that she did not insist upon being included in the conversation. So long as she was around, Evan and Elsa would feel secure. "I apologize for the interruption," said Lawrence, entering the room with Holo behind him. Evan, ax in hand, was about to follow them, but Elsa stopped him. "You wait outside." "What? Why?" "Please."

Lawrence untied the coin purse that was fixed at his waist and held it out to Evan. "Any merchant would weep if he lost his coin purse. I'm leaving it with you. Think of it as proof that you can trust me." The coin purse contained only his cash on hand, so it was not a great deal of money to Lawrence, but Evan took hold of the bag like it was glowing hot, looking back and forth between the purse and Lawrence's face, his expression on the verge of tears. "I'll leave it in your care, then," finished Lawrence. Evan nodded and took a step back. Elsa closed the door, then looked back into the room. "Quite an excellent performance. If Enberch was as skilled as you, we would have no choice but to surrender," she said with a sigh. "Do you doubt us?" "If you were from Enberch, then it would be Church elders coming to the village, not a wagon loaded with wheat." Elsa stepped away from the door and sat in a chair, gesturing perfunctorily for Lawrence and Holo to do the same. She massaged her temples, as though suffering from a truly awful headache. She continued. "Besides, it's even harder to believe you came here to poison the wheat than it is to believe you've come in search of heresy." "By which you mean...?" "Hmph. While Elder Sem still doubts you, all this...all this is clearly Enberch's doing. I just never imagined it would come to this." "Father Franz passed away this past summer, correct? It's hard to have poison wheat ready in a mere six months. Anywhere you go, Ridelius's Hellfire—er, I mean Khepas liquor—is hidden and disposed of as soon as it appears," said Lawrence. If Enberch had prepared the poison wheat long ago and never put the plan into action, it was probably because no conveniently unseasonable travelers to foist the blame on had come through Enberch into Tereo until now. Thinking about this rationally, the townspeople had probably also feared Father Franz. By the same token, however, they had likewise no doubt decided that they could safely act against Elsa. "The village's financial state is hopeless. I would very much like to ask for aid from my supporters, but they are all of them only supporting me because of my father's legacy. It is all I can do to convince them to continue that support. If I ask for more, I risk losing what I have," said Elsa. "...Undoubtedly." Lawrence cleared his throat. "So, Miss Elsa—what do you think will become of us now?" A typical clergyman would tell him that as long as he trusted in God's grace, there was no need to worry, that God knew the truth. A smile played at the corners of Elsa's mouth. "Are you asking me?" she inquired quietly. "The ones who can best tell me how Enberch's play will end are you and Iima." "As well as the two of you, don't you agree?" Elsa clearly did not want to say it herself. On the matter of what sorts of demands Enberch's messenger would bring and who would be taken back to Enberch in exchange for the wheat, Lawrence and Elsa were likely of one mind. Lawrence nodded, then looked at Holo next to him. Beneath her hood, she looked sleepy. She was well aware of what her role would soon be, so she seemed to be saying, "Let me rest until then." Lawrence suddenly looked back at Elsa. "We are planning to escape," he said casually. Elsa was unmoved. If anything, her face betrayed displeasure, as if she were dealing with a particularly dense and slow child. "I believe the time for escape has long passed." "Do you think Enberch already has the road under watch?" "That may well be. If they have indeed planned all of this, then they would need you two as well." Elsa's opinion reinforced Lawrence's—which meant the same problem troubled both of them. "The village's suspicion is aimed at you and Evan. It will be difficult to defend yourselves. Yet if you run, it will be the same as admitting your guilt," said Lawrence. Had Elsa been a bit older and a man, she would have been able to easily inherit Father Franz's great legacy, Lawrence felt.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence untied the coin purse that was fixed at his waist and held it out to Evan. "Any merchant would weep if he lost his coin purse. I'm leaving it with you. Think of it as proof that you can trust me." The coin purse contained only his cash on hand, so it was not a great deal of money to Lawrence, but Evan took hold of the bag like it was glowing hot, looking back and forth between the purse and Lawrence's face, his expression on the verge of tears. "I'll leave it in your care, then," finished Lawrence. Evan nodded and took a step back. Elsa closed the door, then looked back into the room. "Quite an excellent performance. If Enberch was as skilled as you, we would have no choice but to surrender," she said with a sigh. "Do you doubt us?" "If you were from Enberch, then it would be Church elders coming to the village, not a wagon loaded with wheat." Elsa stepped away from the door and sat in a chair, gesturing perfunctorily for Lawrence and Holo to do the same. She massaged her temples, as though suffering from a truly awful headache. She continued. "Besides, it's even harder to believe you came here to poison the wheat than it is to believe you've come in search of heresy." "By which you mean...?" "Hmph. While Elder Sem still doubts you, all this...all this is clearly Enberch's doing. I just never imagined it would come to this." "Father Franz passed away this past summer, correct? It's hard to have poison wheat ready in a mere six months. Anywhere you go, Ridelius's Hellfire—er, I mean Khepas liquor—is hidden and disposed of as soon as it appears," said Lawrence. If Enberch had prepared the poison wheat long ago and never put the plan into action, it was probably because no conveniently unseasonable travelers to foist the blame on had come through Enberch into Tereo until now. Thinking about this rationally, the townspeople had probably also feared Father Franz. By the same token, however, they had likewise no doubt decided that they could safely act against Elsa. "The village's financial state is hopeless. I would very much like to ask for aid from my supporters, but they are all of them only supporting me because of my father's legacy. It is all I can do to convince them to continue that support. If I ask for more, I risk losing what I have," said Elsa. "...Undoubtedly." Lawrence cleared his throat. "So, Miss Elsa—what do you think will become of us now?" A typical clergyman would tell him that as long as he trusted in God's grace, there was no need to worry, that God knew the truth. A smile played at the corners of Elsa's mouth. "Are you asking me?" she inquired quietly. "The ones who can best tell me how Enberch's play will end are you and Iima." "As well as the two of you, don't you agree?" Elsa clearly did not want to say it herself. On the matter of what sorts of demands Enberch's messenger would bring and who would be taken back to Enberch in exchange for the wheat, Lawrence and Elsa were likely of one mind. Lawrence nodded, then looked at Holo next to him. Beneath her hood, she looked sleepy. She was well aware of what her role would soon be, so she seemed to be saying, "Let me rest until then." Lawrence suddenly looked back at Elsa. "We are planning to escape," he said casually. Elsa was unmoved. If anything, her face betrayed displeasure, as if she were dealing with a particularly dense and slow child. "I believe the time for escape has long passed." "Do you think Enberch already has the road under watch?" "That may well be. If they have indeed planned all of this, then they would need you two as well." Elsa's opinion reinforced Lawrence's—which meant the same problem troubled both of them. "The village's suspicion is aimed at you and Evan. It will be difficult to defend yourselves. Yet if you run, it will be the same as admitting your guilt," said Lawrence. Had Elsa been a bit older and a man, she would have been able to easily inherit Father Franz's great legacy, Lawrence felt.

"If my companion were merely the maiden she looks to be, that would be true." Lawrence got the sense that Holo's ears twitched, perhaps due to her irritation at Elsa's gaze. "Speaking in terms of outcomes, we can escape. We can escape whenever we wish," he said. "Then...why aren't you?" Lawrence nodded. "First, we have not yet read through all the books in the cellar. Also, if we run, who do you think would be next in line to receive the villagers' ire?" Elsa did not so much as swallow. Her quick, logical mind had already led her to that conclusion, and she already seemed to have been prepared to face it. "I do not know how you plan to escape, but do you have confidence that you can take Evan with you?" "Not only him, but you as well." For the first time, Elsa smiled. "Ridiculous," it seemed to say. "I will neither impede nor encourage your escape. As a villager, I cannot allow you to run as you are still the most suspicious party. But as a follower of the Church, I cannot allow you to be unjustly condemned and would hope for your successful flight." She must have thought Lawrence was cornered and speaking nonsense—thus the strange carelessness of her manner. "In any case, regarding your first point, I have no reason to refuse you at this late hour. I would like to let you finish reading the books...," she continued. "At this point, there's but a single volume we'd like to see." Holo shifted and said, "'Tis directly behind the altar. I'd like to read just that book...given the situation. I will not ask for more." Elsa closed her eyes slowly, seeming to come to a decision. She may have decided to grant some grace to people who she felt would soon be dead. She stood and opened the door. "Wh-whoa!" "Eavesdropping brings punishment," said Elsa. "Er, no, I didn't mean to—" "Honestly. It matters not either way. There is a book hidden behind the altar. Go fetch it, please." The discussion that had just taken place was not a loud one, so Lawrence was not sure whether Evan had heard it. Evan hesitated for a moment but soon ran off down the hallway. Elsa watched him go and seemed to murmur something under her breath, but Lawrence couldn't catch what it was. It might have been "If we could escape," but before he could ask Holo, Elsa turned back to face him. "I will not try to stop you from escaping. However"—she was every inch the noble clergywoman—"until you do, would you lend us your wisdom? There are none in this village who know well the ways of coin." Naturally Lawrence nodded. "I will, though I cannot guarantee that you will find my answers satisfying." Elsa blinked in surprise, then gave the same small smile she seemed to use on Evan. "It seems you merchants quite enjoy that line." "We are a careful lot," said Lawrence, whereupon Holo stepped on his foot. "I've brought the book." Evan must have found the book easily. He'd returned faster than Lawrence had expected. "But...isn't this one of the books of pagan legends? Why do you need it?" Evan asked. Holo walked over to him and took—no, snatched—the book from him. The contents of the book were something so important that Father Franz had been careful to record them impartially. Holo had no time for Evan's questions. Lawrence answered for her. "When one gets old, the ancient tales get more interesting." "Huh?" grunted Evan cluelessly. Holo walked right past him and into the hallway. It was obvious that she didn't want to read the book while others looked on. Lawrence had Elsa light a candle for him, then placed it on a sconce, and followed after Holo. When he arrived in the rear of the sanctuary, he found Holo crouched down, holding her knees like a scolded child. "No matter how good your eyes are, you can't read in the dark." She hugged the book, trembling faintly. Just when Lawrence wondered if she was crying, she looked up slowly. Her face betrayed no hint of weakness. "Listen, you," she began. "If I destroy this book in anger, will you make amends?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"If my companion were merely the maiden she looks to be, that would be true." Lawrence got the sense that Holo's ears twitched, perhaps due to her irritation at Elsa's gaze. "Speaking in terms of outcomes, we can escape. We can escape whenever we wish," he said. "Then...why aren't you?" Lawrence nodded. "First, we have not yet read through all the books in the cellar. Also, if we run, who do you think would be next in line to receive the villagers' ire?" Elsa did not so much as swallow. Her quick, logical mind had already led her to that conclusion, and she already seemed to have been prepared to face it. "I do not know how you plan to escape, but do you have confidence that you can take Evan with you?" "Not only him, but you as well." For the first time, Elsa smiled. "Ridiculous," it seemed to say. "I will neither impede nor encourage your escape. As a villager, I cannot allow you to run as you are still the most suspicious party. But as a follower of the Church, I cannot allow you to be unjustly condemned and would hope for your successful flight." She must have thought Lawrence was cornered and speaking nonsense—thus the strange carelessness of her manner. "In any case, regarding your first point, I have no reason to refuse you at this late hour. I would like to let you finish reading the books...," she continued. "At this point, there's but a single volume we'd like to see." Holo shifted and said, "'Tis directly behind the altar. I'd like to read just that book...given the situation. I will not ask for more." Elsa closed her eyes slowly, seeming to come to a decision. She may have decided to grant some grace to people who she felt would soon be dead. She stood and opened the door. "Wh-whoa!" "Eavesdropping brings punishment," said Elsa. "Er, no, I didn't mean to—" "Honestly. It matters not either way. There is a book hidden behind the altar. Go fetch it, please." The discussion that had just taken place was not a loud one, so Lawrence was not sure whether Evan had heard it. Evan hesitated for a moment but soon ran off down the hallway. Elsa watched him go and seemed to murmur something under her breath, but Lawrence couldn't catch what it was. It might have been "If we could escape," but before he could ask Holo, Elsa turned back to face him. "I will not try to stop you from escaping. However"—she was every inch the noble clergywoman—"until you do, would you lend us your wisdom? There are none in this village who know well the ways of coin." Naturally Lawrence nodded. "I will, though I cannot guarantee that you will find my answers satisfying." Elsa blinked in surprise, then gave the same small smile she seemed to use on Evan. "It seems you merchants quite enjoy that line." "We are a careful lot," said Lawrence, whereupon Holo stepped on his foot. "I've brought the book." Evan must have found the book easily. He'd returned faster than Lawrence had expected. "But...isn't this one of the books of pagan legends? Why do you need it?" Evan asked. Holo walked over to him and took—no, snatched—the book from him. The contents of the book were something so important that Father Franz had been careful to record them impartially. Holo had no time for Evan's questions. Lawrence answered for her. "When one gets old, the ancient tales get more interesting." "Huh?" grunted Evan cluelessly. Holo walked right past him and into the hallway. It was obvious that she didn't want to read the book while others looked on. Lawrence had Elsa light a candle for him, then placed it on a sconce, and followed after Holo. When he arrived in the rear of the sanctuary, he found Holo crouched down, holding her knees like a scolded child. "No matter how good your eyes are, you can't read in the dark." She hugged the book, trembling faintly. Just when Lawrence wondered if she was crying, she looked up slowly. Her face betrayed no hint of weakness. "Listen, you," she began. "If I destroy this book in anger, will you make amends?"

Lawrence sighed and shrugged. "I don't mind paying for it, but don't tear pages out to dry your eyes." He felt it was a fairly good line. Holo grinned, showing her fangs as she looked up. "You'd happily buy my tears at a high price, though. 'Twould be a shame not to cry them." "There are many counterfeit gems in the world. I'd hate to purchase a fake." It was their usual banter. They both laughed at the absurdity of it. "Will you leave me alone for a while to read?" she asked. "I shall. But tell me your thoughts when you're finished." If possible, Lawrence wanted to be at her side as she read. Saying so, however, risked her anger. Worrying about someone was the same as not trusting them. Holo was a proud wisewolf. Lawrence could plainly see that treating her like a delicate, weeping maiden would bring furious reprisals. He would worry about her when she called upon him to do so. Leaving Holo to her reading, he said no more, nor did he look back. Holo took a deep breath as though she had already forgotten his presence. The next moment, he heard a decisive page flip. As he walked down the dim hallway, Lawrence tapped his head with his closed fist, trying to think about something else. Elsa had not given up on trying to restore the village's position. If the knowledge and experience Lawrence possessed could be of any help, he would lend it. Also, in the back of his mind, he was searching for the words he would need to persuade Evan to flee with him should the worst come to pass. "Oh, Mr. Lawrence, aren't you going to stay with her?" came Evan's surprised query when Lawrence returned to the room. Noticing the change in mood, Elsa casually withdrew her hand from Evan's, wiping the corners of her eyes. Holo was never so sweet. "Ah, if it would be better for me to be elsewhere, I can go." Elsa cleared her throat, and Evan looked blank. Lawrence wondered if that was what he looked like from the outside, but he didn't have the luxury of such pointless worries at the moment. No doubt Elsa, too, would prefer to simply be at Evan's side, never having to worry about anything. She soon regained her neutral expression. "Well, then, how can my knowledge and experience help you?" "I heard from Elder Sem earlier that if all the wheat is returned, we will be short seventy limar." The limar was a gold coin equal to twenty silver trenni pieces, which meant the debt would come to about fourteen hundred trenni. That was probably equivalent to the amount the town had spent on repairing their tools, laying in provisions for the winter, and on buying food, drink, and luxuries. Generously estimating Tereo's population at one hundred households, that came to fourteen silver pieces for each one. The village's farmland was not particularly large—fourteen silver pieces was far too high a figure. "Even if they collect everything I own, it would be like scattering water on a hot cooking stone. If Enberch is the buyer, they'll beat the price down as low as they can. All the wheat in my cart would barely go for two hundred silver at best," said Lawrence. "That's not all we lack. We can't very well eat the seed grain that's been stored in the granary, so we'll need to come up with funds to purchase more to eat...," said Elsa. "Could we not test the returned wheat for poison by feeding small amounts of it to, say, dogs?" Evan asked. In the worst case, that would be their only option. But would the villagers be able to survive mainly on bread from possibly poisoned wheat clear through to the next year's harvest? Unlikely. "Khepas liquor is invisible, and even if you took a handful of safe wheat from a sack, the wheat directly beneath it might well be poisoned." Even supposing that Holo could tell poisoned wheat from safe, they would never be able to make the villagers trust her. They could pick some flour at random and make a loaf of bread, but the next loaf might well be deadly.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence sighed and shrugged. "I don't mind paying for it, but don't tear pages out to dry your eyes." He felt it was a fairly good line. Holo grinned, showing her fangs as she looked up. "You'd happily buy my tears at a high price, though. 'Twould be a shame not to cry them." "There are many counterfeit gems in the world. I'd hate to purchase a fake." It was their usual banter. They both laughed at the absurdity of it. "Will you leave me alone for a while to read?" she asked. "I shall. But tell me your thoughts when you're finished." If possible, Lawrence wanted to be at her side as she read. Saying so, however, risked her anger. Worrying about someone was the same as not trusting them. Holo was a proud wisewolf. Lawrence could plainly see that treating her like a delicate, weeping maiden would bring furious reprisals. He would worry about her when she called upon him to do so. Leaving Holo to her reading, he said no more, nor did he look back. Holo took a deep breath as though she had already forgotten his presence. The next moment, he heard a decisive page flip. As he walked down the dim hallway, Lawrence tapped his head with his closed fist, trying to think about something else. Elsa had not given up on trying to restore the village's position. If the knowledge and experience Lawrence possessed could be of any help, he would lend it. Also, in the back of his mind, he was searching for the words he would need to persuade Evan to flee with him should the worst come to pass. "Oh, Mr. Lawrence, aren't you going to stay with her?" came Evan's surprised query when Lawrence returned to the room. Noticing the change in mood, Elsa casually withdrew her hand from Evan's, wiping the corners of her eyes. Holo was never so sweet. "Ah, if it would be better for me to be elsewhere, I can go." Elsa cleared her throat, and Evan looked blank. Lawrence wondered if that was what he looked like from the outside, but he didn't have the luxury of such pointless worries at the moment. No doubt Elsa, too, would prefer to simply be at Evan's side, never having to worry about anything. She soon regained her neutral expression. "Well, then, how can my knowledge and experience help you?" "I heard from Elder Sem earlier that if all the wheat is returned, we will be short seventy limar." The limar was a gold coin equal to twenty silver trenni pieces, which meant the debt would come to about fourteen hundred trenni. That was probably equivalent to the amount the town had spent on repairing their tools, laying in provisions for the winter, and on buying food, drink, and luxuries. Generously estimating Tereo's population at one hundred households, that came to fourteen silver pieces for each one. The village's farmland was not particularly large—fourteen silver pieces was far too high a figure. "Even if they collect everything I own, it would be like scattering water on a hot cooking stone. If Enberch is the buyer, they'll beat the price down as low as they can. All the wheat in my cart would barely go for two hundred silver at best," said Lawrence. "That's not all we lack. We can't very well eat the seed grain that's been stored in the granary, so we'll need to come up with funds to purchase more to eat...," said Elsa. "Could we not test the returned wheat for poison by feeding small amounts of it to, say, dogs?" Evan asked. In the worst case, that would be their only option. But would the villagers be able to survive mainly on bread from possibly poisoned wheat clear through to the next year's harvest? Unlikely. "Khepas liquor is invisible, and even if you took a handful of safe wheat from a sack, the wheat directly beneath it might well be poisoned." Even supposing that Holo could tell poisoned wheat from safe, they would never be able to make the villagers trust her. They could pick some flour at random and make a loaf of bread, but the next loaf might well be deadly.

Such things happened in business all the time. Lawrence had seen any number of scuffles wherein the party to cast the first stone wound up winning. It was a common saying that while God reveals the model for righteousness, He does not execute its proof. Elsa's feeling of powerlessness was understandable. "Bemoaning our fate will get us nowhere," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded, her head still resting in her hand. She looked up and spoke. "True. I can't very well cry now, my father...Father Franz, he would...would..." "Elsa!" Her legs seemed to lose all their strength, and she was about to collapse, but Evan managed to catch her just before she did. She seemed exhausted, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. She'd had her hand pressed to her head out of dizziness—anemia, perhaps. "I'll fetch Iima," said Lawrence. Evan nodded, then lay Elsa down gently, pushing the chair aside. Elsa had fainted before when Lawrence and Holo had revealed the truth of Holo's existence. This leader of a church that no one attended—she was not so different from a god without worshippers. With neither tithes nor offerings, she had only a poor miller for company. No matter how the two of them split their meager bread, it would come with intolerable suffering, Lawrence could tell. He headed to the entrance of the sanctuary where he found Iima planted in a chair. She stood as soon as she noticed Lawrence. "Miss Elsa has collapsed." "Again? Anemia, right? She pushes herself too far, that girl." Iima brushed past Lawrence and returned shortly carrying Elsa in her arms, heading for the living room. Behind them came Evan, holding a candle in one hand, his expression clouded. "Hey, Mr. Lawrence?" "Hm?" "What's...what's going to become of us?" asked Evan as he looked blankly toward the living room. He seemed a different person from the Evan of a few moments ago. Elsa's collapse had clearly shaken him. No, that wasn't it, Lawrence corrected himself. Evan couldn't let himself look uncertain in front of Elsa. Even the stout Elsa had turned to Evan for reassurance as soon as Lawrence was no longer nearby. And as the one whose reassurance was sought, Evan could not let himself look weak. But that did not mean he didn't have fears of his own. "Elsa keeps saying it can't be, but the villagers—they all suspect you and me, don't they?" Evan did not look at Lawrence. "That's right," Lawrence said, staring off vaguely. Evan inhaled sharply. "I knew it..." His face looked almost relieved. It seemed to Lawrence like an expression of defeat, but suddenly Evan continued. "Still—," he said, looking up. "Was what you said before true?" "Which part?" "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but...the part about being able to escape." "Oh yes. Yes, we can escape." Evan looked quickly toward the living room, then back at Lawrence. "With Elsa as well?" "Yes." Evan was used to being the object of suspicion but unused to feeling that emotion himself; he looked uncomfortable. It was clear that beneath the flames of his doubt was a desire to believe. "If my companion and I escape alone, the blame will fall upon you and Elsa. It is thus my own selfish wish that if there is to be an escape, I would want to bring both of you with me." "That's not selfish at all! I don't want to die here. I don't want to let Elsa die here. If you'll help us, I want to run. Even Elsa, I'm sure she—" Evan looked down, wiping the corners of his eyes before continuing. "I'm sure she wants to get out of this village. The villagers claim to owe Father Franz a great debt, but they never show a bit of gratitude. They never listened to his teachings, and even when they offered huge sacrifices to the old god of the village, they wouldn't give so much as a loaf of bread to the church. If it hadn't been for Elder Sem and Mrs. Iima, we'd have starved to death long ago." Evan's words were heavy and unpremeditated.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Such things happened in business all the time. Lawrence had seen any number of scuffles wherein the party to cast the first stone wound up winning. It was a common saying that while God reveals the model for righteousness, He does not execute its proof. Elsa's feeling of powerlessness was understandable. "Bemoaning our fate will get us nowhere," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded, her head still resting in her hand. She looked up and spoke. "True. I can't very well cry now, my father...Father Franz, he would...would..." "Elsa!" Her legs seemed to lose all their strength, and she was about to collapse, but Evan managed to catch her just before she did. She seemed exhausted, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. She'd had her hand pressed to her head out of dizziness—anemia, perhaps. "I'll fetch Iima," said Lawrence. Evan nodded, then lay Elsa down gently, pushing the chair aside. Elsa had fainted before when Lawrence and Holo had revealed the truth of Holo's existence. This leader of a church that no one attended—she was not so different from a god without worshippers. With neither tithes nor offerings, she had only a poor miller for company. No matter how the two of them split their meager bread, it would come with intolerable suffering, Lawrence could tell. He headed to the entrance of the sanctuary where he found Iima planted in a chair. She stood as soon as she noticed Lawrence. "Miss Elsa has collapsed." "Again? Anemia, right? She pushes herself too far, that girl." Iima brushed past Lawrence and returned shortly carrying Elsa in her arms, heading for the living room. Behind them came Evan, holding a candle in one hand, his expression clouded. "Hey, Mr. Lawrence?" "Hm?" "What's...what's going to become of us?" asked Evan as he looked blankly toward the living room. He seemed a different person from the Evan of a few moments ago. Elsa's collapse had clearly shaken him. No, that wasn't it, Lawrence corrected himself. Evan couldn't let himself look uncertain in front of Elsa. Even the stout Elsa had turned to Evan for reassurance as soon as Lawrence was no longer nearby. And as the one whose reassurance was sought, Evan could not let himself look weak. But that did not mean he didn't have fears of his own. "Elsa keeps saying it can't be, but the villagers—they all suspect you and me, don't they?" Evan did not look at Lawrence. "That's right," Lawrence said, staring off vaguely. Evan inhaled sharply. "I knew it..." His face looked almost relieved. It seemed to Lawrence like an expression of defeat, but suddenly Evan continued. "Still—," he said, looking up. "Was what you said before true?" "Which part?" "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but...the part about being able to escape." "Oh yes. Yes, we can escape." Evan looked quickly toward the living room, then back at Lawrence. "With Elsa as well?" "Yes." Evan was used to being the object of suspicion but unused to feeling that emotion himself; he looked uncomfortable. It was clear that beneath the flames of his doubt was a desire to believe. "If my companion and I escape alone, the blame will fall upon you and Elsa. It is thus my own selfish wish that if there is to be an escape, I would want to bring both of you with me." "That's not selfish at all! I don't want to die here. I don't want to let Elsa die here. If you'll help us, I want to run. Even Elsa, I'm sure she—" Evan looked down, wiping the corners of his eyes before continuing. "I'm sure she wants to get out of this village. The villagers claim to owe Father Franz a great debt, but they never show a bit of gratitude. They never listened to his teachings, and even when they offered huge sacrifices to the old god of the village, they wouldn't give so much as a loaf of bread to the church. If it hadn't been for Elder Sem and Mrs. Iima, we'd have starved to death long ago." Evan's words were heavy and unpremeditated.

It was Iima emerging from the living room who interrupted. "The outside world isn't great, either," she said, hands on her hips and a weary expression on her face. "But it's a lot better than this place. I don't know how many times I've tried to tell her." "You've some experience with the traveling life, don't you?" asked Lawrence. "I surely do. You heard my tales at the tavern, didn't you? I don't think a person needs to stay in the same town or village her whole life. The villagers' attitude changed just like that as soon as Father Franz's health failed, but that girl's so stubborn. She would've wanted to leave long ago, Evan, even without you telling her to." Evan turned away, though out of embarrassment or anger it was difficult to say. "But what's going on now...it's a disaster for the village. I'm just as scared about our future as anyone else. But I have to admit that it would be a good chance for this misfit church to finally wash its hands of Tereo." Saying the church would "wash its hands" of Tereo was putting a nice face on it. There was no getting around the fact that Elsa and Evan were being chased out. Lawrence hoped that Holo wasn't listening in on this conversation. However, he didn't feel that it made any sense for Elsa and Evan to stay behind just to die together. "So, if you...er...," started Iima. "Lawrence. Kraft Lawrence." "Ah, yes, Mr. Lawrence. If you have some way of escaping with them, I think you should. No—I want you to. This place is my home, after all. I don't want it to have the reputation that would come from putting innocent people to death. It would be too sad." The village's wheat had been poisoned and was going to be returned. How many people would worry about reputation in such a crisis? "I suppose we'll need to persuade Elsa." Iima nodded at Evan's statement. People left their hometowns for many reasons. Some, like Lawrence, cut all ties while others left out of necessity. Still others—Iima, for example—had their homes destroyed. Holo had left to go traveling for a time and had ended up not returning home for centuries, during which time Yoitsu was destroyed. Sometimes things went as one wished; other times they did not. Why was the way of the world always thus? Perhaps it was because they were in a church that Lawrence's thoughts strayed to such uncharacteristic places. "I expect everyone will stay quiet until Enberch's messenger arrives. It would be best to make your preparations and leave by then if you're leaving," said Iima. Sem had said that the messenger would probably arrive around daybreak. They had some time until then. Evan nodded and dashed off to the living room. Lawrence was about to check on Holo when Iima stopped him. "There's all this talk of leaving, but exactly how do you plan on escaping?" she asked. It was a perfectly reasonable question. Its answer, however, was anything but. "If one can enter a forest and chance upon a maiden who brews delicious ale, then surely there are other equally mysterious beings in the world?" Iima was taken aback for a moment, then smiled dubiously. "Don't tell me you've met a fairy." It was a gamble. Lawrence shrugged and gave a vague nod. Iima laughed heartily. "Ha! Do such things truly happen, I wonder." "No doubt the duke who discovered you felt the same way." Iima smiled, then touched her cheek thoughtfully. "I certainly heard such stories on my travels, but to think...I gather you speak of your companion?" The gamble had paid off. "I cannot very well lie in a church." "Quite so. Well, I am but the mistress of the tavern and may as well be drunk the whole year long. All I wish is for this village to be a good one. I'm sorry for holding you up." Lawrence shook his head. "Not at all." Iima grinned. "I've heard tell that to capture a luck fairy in a bottle, you need to use liquor brewed from nectar. It's liquor that lured me to this village as well."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

It was Iima emerging from the living room who interrupted. "The outside world isn't great, either," she said, hands on her hips and a weary expression on her face. "But it's a lot better than this place. I don't know how many times I've tried to tell her." "You've some experience with the traveling life, don't you?" asked Lawrence. "I surely do. You heard my tales at the tavern, didn't you? I don't think a person needs to stay in the same town or village her whole life. The villagers' attitude changed just like that as soon as Father Franz's health failed, but that girl's so stubborn. She would've wanted to leave long ago, Evan, even without you telling her to." Evan turned away, though out of embarrassment or anger it was difficult to say. "But what's going on now...it's a disaster for the village. I'm just as scared about our future as anyone else. But I have to admit that it would be a good chance for this misfit church to finally wash its hands of Tereo." Saying the church would "wash its hands" of Tereo was putting a nice face on it. There was no getting around the fact that Elsa and Evan were being chased out. Lawrence hoped that Holo wasn't listening in on this conversation. However, he didn't feel that it made any sense for Elsa and Evan to stay behind just to die together. "So, if you...er...," started Iima. "Lawrence. Kraft Lawrence." "Ah, yes, Mr. Lawrence. If you have some way of escaping with them, I think you should. No—I want you to. This place is my home, after all. I don't want it to have the reputation that would come from putting innocent people to death. It would be too sad." The village's wheat had been poisoned and was going to be returned. How many people would worry about reputation in such a crisis? "I suppose we'll need to persuade Elsa." Iima nodded at Evan's statement. People left their hometowns for many reasons. Some, like Lawrence, cut all ties while others left out of necessity. Still others—Iima, for example—had their homes destroyed. Holo had left to go traveling for a time and had ended up not returning home for centuries, during which time Yoitsu was destroyed. Sometimes things went as one wished; other times they did not. Why was the way of the world always thus? Perhaps it was because they were in a church that Lawrence's thoughts strayed to such uncharacteristic places. "I expect everyone will stay quiet until Enberch's messenger arrives. It would be best to make your preparations and leave by then if you're leaving," said Iima. Sem had said that the messenger would probably arrive around daybreak. They had some time until then. Evan nodded and dashed off to the living room. Lawrence was about to check on Holo when Iima stopped him. "There's all this talk of leaving, but exactly how do you plan on escaping?" she asked. It was a perfectly reasonable question. Its answer, however, was anything but. "If one can enter a forest and chance upon a maiden who brews delicious ale, then surely there are other equally mysterious beings in the world?" Iima was taken aback for a moment, then smiled dubiously. "Don't tell me you've met a fairy." It was a gamble. Lawrence shrugged and gave a vague nod. Iima laughed heartily. "Ha! Do such things truly happen, I wonder." "No doubt the duke who discovered you felt the same way." Iima smiled, then touched her cheek thoughtfully. "I certainly heard such stories on my travels, but to think...I gather you speak of your companion?" The gamble had paid off. "I cannot very well lie in a church." "Quite so. Well, I am but the mistress of the tavern and may as well be drunk the whole year long. All I wish is for this village to be a good one. I'm sorry for holding you up." Lawrence shook his head. "Not at all." Iima grinned. "I've heard tell that to capture a luck fairy in a bottle, you need to use liquor brewed from nectar. It's liquor that lured me to this village as well."

Heading toward the back of the sanctuary where he expected to find Holo, he rounded the second corner only to run face-first into a wall. Or so he thought—but what now appeared to be before him was a thick, heavy book. "Fool. As though I would be taken in by mere drink." Lawrence took the book, rubbing his nose. He stole a glance at Holo. She did not appear to have been racked with sobs. This fact relieved him. "So are you finished talking?" "More or less." "Mm. Well, for my part I've reached my goal. All I need to do now is keep you safe." Lawrence looked at the book. Holo noticed his glance. "Half and half, I'd say," she said. "Half and half?" "Half of me wishes I hadn't read it, and the other half is glad I did." It wasn't a very clear answer. She gestured with her chin at the volume, as if telling Lawrence to see for himself, then sat down beside the candle and brought her tail out. The sheet of parchment stuck between the book's pages probably marked the section that dealt with Yoitsu. Lawrence, though, started at the beginning. The book was organized as a narrative that began with the origins of the bear spirit and continued on into the many stories about the spirit from various regions. It was written in the book that the bear spirit was truly gigantic, well worthy of the epithet "moon hunter." It was said to be so vast that even the highest mountain was but a cushion for the bear spirit to lie upon. The white-furred beast had a savage disposition and was said to be a harbinger of death. It killed without mercy all who opposed it. The bear spirit traveled from region to region, challenging any being that was worshipped as a god. Once it had killed, it devoured all the food in the region and moved on. The tales in the book were all thus. Aside from the section marked by the sheet of parchment, the stories were much the same. Among them, the longest tale concerned the bear spirit's battle against the sea serpent of Teuperovan, a creature so vast that a continent and countless islands were carried on its back. There was even a song written about the great conflict, the lyrics of which contained a reference to an island in the region of Radoon, which had been created when earth fell from the serpent's back in the course of the battle. The fight between the bear and serpent had been fierce, and many pages were devoted to recording its extent. The other tales, while not quite so epic, were still spectacular, and all served to confirm both the bear's invincible savagery and the number of lesser spirits it had felled. It was easy to understand why Father Franz had wanted to judge the tales without bias. If these stories were to be believed, it would mean that the spirits in this area had already been ravaged before the Church moved in from the south. Once Lawrence read the section that dealt with Yoitsu, his feelings became rather complicated. Though Yoitsu was indeed mentioned, it seemed the spirits of the region had all tucked their tails between their legs and run, and Yoitsu itself had been torn apart in less time than it takes for fruit to drop from a tree's branch to the ground. That was all that had been written. If one were flipping quickly through the pages, that section would be easy to miss. The spirits of the region were no doubt Holo's old friends. If they had truly fled, that meant they were safe, but it also made them look unavoidably pathetic. Lawrence now knew what Holo had meant by half wishing she had not read it and being half glad that she had. Yoitsu's story had not even been very interesting—it was but a brief, unexciting section. Holo could not have enjoyed it. All that said, the fact that Yoitsu had not been destroyed after a bitter, desperate struggle was good fortune within bad. If this was all true, then perhaps the spirits who knew the name Yoitsu had just moved elsewhere.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Heading toward the back of the sanctuary where he expected to find Holo, he rounded the second corner only to run face-first into a wall. Or so he thought—but what now appeared to be before him was a thick, heavy book. "Fool. As though I would be taken in by mere drink." Lawrence took the book, rubbing his nose. He stole a glance at Holo. She did not appear to have been racked with sobs. This fact relieved him. "So are you finished talking?" "More or less." "Mm. Well, for my part I've reached my goal. All I need to do now is keep you safe." Lawrence looked at the book. Holo noticed his glance. "Half and half, I'd say," she said. "Half and half?" "Half of me wishes I hadn't read it, and the other half is glad I did." It wasn't a very clear answer. She gestured with her chin at the volume, as if telling Lawrence to see for himself, then sat down beside the candle and brought her tail out. The sheet of parchment stuck between the book's pages probably marked the section that dealt with Yoitsu. Lawrence, though, started at the beginning. The book was organized as a narrative that began with the origins of the bear spirit and continued on into the many stories about the spirit from various regions. It was written in the book that the bear spirit was truly gigantic, well worthy of the epithet "moon hunter." It was said to be so vast that even the highest mountain was but a cushion for the bear spirit to lie upon. The white-furred beast had a savage disposition and was said to be a harbinger of death. It killed without mercy all who opposed it. The bear spirit traveled from region to region, challenging any being that was worshipped as a god. Once it had killed, it devoured all the food in the region and moved on. The tales in the book were all thus. Aside from the section marked by the sheet of parchment, the stories were much the same. Among them, the longest tale concerned the bear spirit's battle against the sea serpent of Teuperovan, a creature so vast that a continent and countless islands were carried on its back. There was even a song written about the great conflict, the lyrics of which contained a reference to an island in the region of Radoon, which had been created when earth fell from the serpent's back in the course of the battle. The fight between the bear and serpent had been fierce, and many pages were devoted to recording its extent. The other tales, while not quite so epic, were still spectacular, and all served to confirm both the bear's invincible savagery and the number of lesser spirits it had felled. It was easy to understand why Father Franz had wanted to judge the tales without bias. If these stories were to be believed, it would mean that the spirits in this area had already been ravaged before the Church moved in from the south. Once Lawrence read the section that dealt with Yoitsu, his feelings became rather complicated. Though Yoitsu was indeed mentioned, it seemed the spirits of the region had all tucked their tails between their legs and run, and Yoitsu itself had been torn apart in less time than it takes for fruit to drop from a tree's branch to the ground. That was all that had been written. If one were flipping quickly through the pages, that section would be easy to miss. The spirits of the region were no doubt Holo's old friends. If they had truly fled, that meant they were safe, but it also made them look unavoidably pathetic. Lawrence now knew what Holo had meant by half wishing she had not read it and being half glad that she had. Yoitsu's story had not even been very interesting—it was but a brief, unexciting section. Holo could not have enjoyed it. All that said, the fact that Yoitsu had not been destroyed after a bitter, desperate struggle was good fortune within bad. If this was all true, then perhaps the spirits who knew the name Yoitsu had just moved elsewhere.

He closed the book and glanced surreptitiously at Holo's back. The time when the world revolved around the gods had passed. Even the Church with all its great influence in the south felt the effects. But there were many gods who had never held particularly strong influence, even in the distant past. In the face of this truth—that the world of the gods was not so very different from that of the humans—Holo's form seemed smaller than usual. She had even been subjected to scorn in her own village. Lawrence felt as though he understood the source of her loneliness. She was no different from a person—in some ways, she was every bit the young girl she appeared to be. Just as it occurred to him— "Perhaps it is just my imagination, but I feel as though someone is looking at me in a truly infuriating way." Holo turned around and gave Lawrence an overpowering glare. The monarch of a small country was a monarch nonetheless. "No, no, I'm not...No, I suppose I am. I am sorry. Don't be so angry." Normally Holo would have turned away. Lawrence had no choice but to capitulate under her withering gaze. He was surely correct about her. "Hmph. I am satisfied knowing my friends are safe. That is all there is." No doubt she wanted to add, "So ask me no further," but her pride as a wisewolf would not let her make such a pitiful request. Lawrence could not help but feel some amusement at her faintly childish manner. He coughed to conceal the smile that unavoidably rose to his lips, then spoke. "That is indeed good news, but we still have no more information about Yoitsu's location." He flipped through the pages once again. While information on Yoitsu itself was sparse, it seemed all of the tales of the bear spirit were very old, most of them taking place in towns or villages that Lawrence had never heard of and in nations with unfamiliar names. He had heard a few of the tales before—notably, the tale of the sea serpent—and though he knew of the Radoon region, there was nothing that helped him narrow down the whereabouts of Yoitsu. Yet of all the stories of massive destruction wrought by the bear spirit, what strange coincidence was it that Lawrence had heard of Yoitsu? It was pointless to consider, yet Lawrence could not help thinking about this. "The world does not go as one would wish," he said, closing the book. Holo chewed on the tip of her tail. "Quite." She sighed. "So what of those in this village for which the world goes not as they would wish? If you would escape, do decide quickly. It would be best to leave in the dark of night." "Elsa and I are of one mind on our fates should we remain. We'll need to make sure we're correct, but in that case, I think discretion will be the better part of valor." "A poor idea is worse than none," she said with a yawn, standing. "Still, if it comes to that, you stand to take quite a loss." "It can't be helped. It's not as though we can bring the wheat with us." "Still, you don't seem too upset about it." "Don't I?" asked Lawrence, stroking his chin. It was not the first time he had been caught up in this kind of dispute. Sometimes losses were unavoidable. It was true that his profit in Kumersun had far exceeded his expectations, but even given that, Lawrence was still surprised at his own calm. And in any case, a traveler's life was a cheap thing in an isolated village. Knowing his own life was not actually in danger was profit enough. "Still, even with things as they are, there are some expensive things we can probably save," said Lawrence. "The pepper, right?" Any merchant would have thought the same thing. Pepper and other spices were expensive because they were scarce. Though if they couldn't stock up on any, there was no point in talking about transporting it. Something occurred to Lawrence as he was mulling this over. "There's a high-value product even lighter than spices that we can bring with us." "Oh?" "It's trust."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He closed the book and glanced surreptitiously at Holo's back. The time when the world revolved around the gods had passed. Even the Church with all its great influence in the south felt the effects. But there were many gods who had never held particularly strong influence, even in the distant past. In the face of this truth—that the world of the gods was not so very different from that of the humans—Holo's form seemed smaller than usual. She had even been subjected to scorn in her own village. Lawrence felt as though he understood the source of her loneliness. She was no different from a person—in some ways, she was every bit the young girl she appeared to be. Just as it occurred to him— "Perhaps it is just my imagination, but I feel as though someone is looking at me in a truly infuriating way." Holo turned around and gave Lawrence an overpowering glare. The monarch of a small country was a monarch nonetheless. "No, no, I'm not...No, I suppose I am. I am sorry. Don't be so angry." Normally Holo would have turned away. Lawrence had no choice but to capitulate under her withering gaze. He was surely correct about her. "Hmph. I am satisfied knowing my friends are safe. That is all there is." No doubt she wanted to add, "So ask me no further," but her pride as a wisewolf would not let her make such a pitiful request. Lawrence could not help but feel some amusement at her faintly childish manner. He coughed to conceal the smile that unavoidably rose to his lips, then spoke. "That is indeed good news, but we still have no more information about Yoitsu's location." He flipped through the pages once again. While information on Yoitsu itself was sparse, it seemed all of the tales of the bear spirit were very old, most of them taking place in towns or villages that Lawrence had never heard of and in nations with unfamiliar names. He had heard a few of the tales before—notably, the tale of the sea serpent—and though he knew of the Radoon region, there was nothing that helped him narrow down the whereabouts of Yoitsu. Yet of all the stories of massive destruction wrought by the bear spirit, what strange coincidence was it that Lawrence had heard of Yoitsu? It was pointless to consider, yet Lawrence could not help thinking about this. "The world does not go as one would wish," he said, closing the book. Holo chewed on the tip of her tail. "Quite." She sighed. "So what of those in this village for which the world goes not as they would wish? If you would escape, do decide quickly. It would be best to leave in the dark of night." "Elsa and I are of one mind on our fates should we remain. We'll need to make sure we're correct, but in that case, I think discretion will be the better part of valor." "A poor idea is worse than none," she said with a yawn, standing. "Still, if it comes to that, you stand to take quite a loss." "It can't be helped. It's not as though we can bring the wheat with us." "Still, you don't seem too upset about it." "Don't I?" asked Lawrence, stroking his chin. It was not the first time he had been caught up in this kind of dispute. Sometimes losses were unavoidable. It was true that his profit in Kumersun had far exceeded his expectations, but even given that, Lawrence was still surprised at his own calm. And in any case, a traveler's life was a cheap thing in an isolated village. Knowing his own life was not actually in danger was profit enough. "Still, even with things as they are, there are some expensive things we can probably save," said Lawrence. "The pepper, right?" Any merchant would have thought the same thing. Pepper and other spices were expensive because they were scarce. Though if they couldn't stock up on any, there was no point in talking about transporting it. Something occurred to Lawrence as he was mulling this over. "There's a high-value product even lighter than spices that we can bring with us." "Oh?" "It's trust."

"Do you have any idea just how paranoid I've become since being teased so mercilessly by you?" Holo chuckled, then slipped her arm around Lawrence's. "I suppose I will have to make it up to you." "This is exactly the sort of thing I've learned to be suspicious of." Holo was unmoved; she narrowed her eyes. "Lies will only lower the value of your trust." She never played fair. "Still, you've never once blamed me for this trouble we're in, and for that I am properly grateful." "Huh?" "If I had not insisted upon coming here, you would not be suffering this loss." So she was playing this card now, Lawrence mused. Yet they were probably her true feelings. "Well, what say you moderate your eating and drinking for a while to make up for the loss, hm?" Holo groaned. "You've certainly become less restrained." "Feel free to take the reins and—," began Lawrence as he slipped the sheet of parchment back between the pages of the book. Their eyes met. The statue of the Holy Mother looked down on the two, her head drooping as though at a loss at the foolish conversation taking place below her. The sound that now echoed through the sanctuary loud enough for Lawrence to hear it was certainly not a blessing from the Holy Mother. Someone was banging on the door of the Church. "I have a bad feeling about this," said Lawrence. "Bad feelings are usually correct," said Holo, letting go of Lawrence's arm. The two scampered down the hallway. Lawrence heard the sound of knocking again, along with Iima shouting something in response. It was obvious to both of them that the villagers were demanding that Iima hand over Lawrence and Holo. "No, not this way!" said Iima. "To the back of the church—go!" "But—" "They're babbling on about if they hand you over to Enberch, Enberch will forgive all this! They were never planning to do anything themselves. Even wheat just grows up out of the ground on its own—they're happy to harvest it so long as it's convenient. So long as things are easy, they'll do anything to keep it that way!" As Iima was talking, there were more heavy knocks on the door. It was a church in a pagan area and as such had a heavy wooden bolt on the door. It seemed unlikely that the villagers would be able to break through the main door, but there was a flimsy wooden window in the living room. If they got serious, they could easily break it and get inside the church. It was now a fight against time. Just then, Evan appeared with Elsa in tow. "I'll go and persuade them to—," Elsa began. "Don't be ridiculous," said Iima. "But—!" Iima gave the door a hard thump from the inside, then turned to face Elsa. "You going out to face them would be like throwing fuel on a fire. You think you've done a good job hiding it, but everyone knows you and Evan are close. In the worst case, they would call you a heretic just to be able to turn you over to Enberch." Iima had a good grasp of the situation. Lawrence could easily picture it. Forced to choose between Elsa and the village, even Sem, who had been Elsa and Evan's last ray of hope, would probably side with the village. No one wanted to throw away their life, their position, their name, and their home. "Listen well, now. You can't stay here. Look at these two strange travelers, and you'll understand—the world is vast. The villagers cannot comprehend it. You should at least try to begin your new life with companions you can trust," said Iima. There was much Elsa and Evan had to abandon, but there was much they would gain. Elsa turned to look at Evan, and then both of them looked down. Lawrence took this in and realized that the two needed to exchange no words to convey their thoughts at the moment. Just then, Holo tugged at his sleeve. Though she had never said it, she must have given up many things in leaving the village she'd inhabited for so many centuries. "No matter the journey, when you come to a fork in the road, you must decide in an instant which path to take," said Holo.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Do you have any idea just how paranoid I've become since being teased so mercilessly by you?" Holo chuckled, then slipped her arm around Lawrence's. "I suppose I will have to make it up to you." "This is exactly the sort of thing I've learned to be suspicious of." Holo was unmoved; she narrowed her eyes. "Lies will only lower the value of your trust." She never played fair. "Still, you've never once blamed me for this trouble we're in, and for that I am properly grateful." "Huh?" "If I had not insisted upon coming here, you would not be suffering this loss." So she was playing this card now, Lawrence mused. Yet they were probably her true feelings. "Well, what say you moderate your eating and drinking for a while to make up for the loss, hm?" Holo groaned. "You've certainly become less restrained." "Feel free to take the reins and—," began Lawrence as he slipped the sheet of parchment back between the pages of the book. Their eyes met. The statue of the Holy Mother looked down on the two, her head drooping as though at a loss at the foolish conversation taking place below her. The sound that now echoed through the sanctuary loud enough for Lawrence to hear it was certainly not a blessing from the Holy Mother. Someone was banging on the door of the Church. "I have a bad feeling about this," said Lawrence. "Bad feelings are usually correct," said Holo, letting go of Lawrence's arm. The two scampered down the hallway. Lawrence heard the sound of knocking again, along with Iima shouting something in response. It was obvious to both of them that the villagers were demanding that Iima hand over Lawrence and Holo. "No, not this way!" said Iima. "To the back of the church—go!" "But—" "They're babbling on about if they hand you over to Enberch, Enberch will forgive all this! They were never planning to do anything themselves. Even wheat just grows up out of the ground on its own—they're happy to harvest it so long as it's convenient. So long as things are easy, they'll do anything to keep it that way!" As Iima was talking, there were more heavy knocks on the door. It was a church in a pagan area and as such had a heavy wooden bolt on the door. It seemed unlikely that the villagers would be able to break through the main door, but there was a flimsy wooden window in the living room. If they got serious, they could easily break it and get inside the church. It was now a fight against time. Just then, Evan appeared with Elsa in tow. "I'll go and persuade them to—," Elsa began. "Don't be ridiculous," said Iima. "But—!" Iima gave the door a hard thump from the inside, then turned to face Elsa. "You going out to face them would be like throwing fuel on a fire. You think you've done a good job hiding it, but everyone knows you and Evan are close. In the worst case, they would call you a heretic just to be able to turn you over to Enberch." Iima had a good grasp of the situation. Lawrence could easily picture it. Forced to choose between Elsa and the village, even Sem, who had been Elsa and Evan's last ray of hope, would probably side with the village. No one wanted to throw away their life, their position, their name, and their home. "Listen well, now. You can't stay here. Look at these two strange travelers, and you'll understand—the world is vast. The villagers cannot comprehend it. You should at least try to begin your new life with companions you can trust," said Iima. There was much Elsa and Evan had to abandon, but there was much they would gain. Elsa turned to look at Evan, and then both of them looked down. Lawrence took this in and realized that the two needed to exchange no words to convey their thoughts at the moment. Just then, Holo tugged at his sleeve. Though she had never said it, she must have given up many things in leaving the village she'd inhabited for so many centuries. "No matter the journey, when you come to a fork in the road, you must decide in an instant which path to take," said Holo.

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut and openly grabbed Evan's hand. She opened her eyes. "I want to run." Iima looked back at Lawrence, who looked at Holo. "Leave it to me," said Holo. "I have one condition," she continued, pulling back her hood and ignoring Iima and Evan's surprise. "Think of everything that happens from now 'til dawn as a dream." When it came to decisiveness, perhaps women were better than men. Elsa nodded, and only after seeing her agree did Evan also nod. "What am I but a fairy that brews ale in the forest? Drunkards remember nothing," said Iima. Holo smiled. "Then leave this all to me. Now, if the lot outside have spears, I can jump past them easily enough, but they could still trouble you." "Does the church have a back door?" Lawrence asked. For a moment Elsa began to shake her head, but stopped. "Perhaps—Father Franz told me about the cellar only once, but when he did, he said there was an underground passage accessible from its rear." If the construction of churches was the same the world over, then so were the actions of the people within them. Any church with as many enemies as this one had would have secret passages for escape—it was a well-known fact among the kind of people that needed to know. "Well, let's use that," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded and looked at Iima. "Things should be all right for a bit longer. They haven't decided exactly what they want to do out there yet." It was true—once Iima had banged on the door from the inside, the hubbub seemed to have quieted. "We'll go down to the basement, then," said Lawrence. "We're relying on you," said Elsa, her tone firm, though uncertainty colored her features. Anyone would feel trepidation upon suddenly hearing they had to leave their birthplace forever, unless they'd spent their days dreaming of doing exactly that. "You've got it easy," said Iima. "At least you can do a bit of preparation before you leave." Iima's own hometown had been razed by pirates, and she'd had to flee for her life. "Indeed," agreed Holo. "It is not as though your home will have disappeared tomorrow. Be glad it will still exist." "Oh, ho, Miss Fairy has lost her home as well?" "Don't lump me in with those weaklings." Knowledge of others' suffering did not lessen one's own suffering, after all. It could be used for a bit of encouragement, though. Elsa recovered her resolve. "We'll make ready right way," she said. "Do you have traveling money?" Iima asked. "Evan," Lawrence said. Evan remembered the coin purse Lawrence had entrusted him with and produced it for Lawrence. "This should be enough for the four of us, provided we're frugal," said Lawrence. "Good. Right, off with you!" At Iima's words, everyone sprang into action. She was the image of a heroic woman, mused Lawrence as he ran. Once they arrived at the statue of the Holy Mother, Holo spoke up as if having read Lawrence's thoughts. "Even I cannot match her presence." Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. This did not, of course, go unnoticed. "Worry not—this is the only form I can assume," she said with a laugh. Lawrence harrumphed, partially out of embarrassment, and replied, "It's a shame. I prefer a more generous figure." Holo cocked her head and smiled, then smacked Lawrence in the face with her closed fist. "Just open the cellar." Lawrence decided not to think too much about what had angered Holo lest it bring still more anger. *** Lawrence had been concerned that Elsa and Evan would have trouble getting their things together quickly, but perhaps thanks to Evan's long-standing desire to leave, they were prepared in short order. The supplies they had prepared contained nothing unnecessary, save perhaps for a battered book of scriptures. It was a passing grade. "The passage?" "I've found it," said Lawrence. "It's blocked by a wall." Directly opposite the foot of the staircase leading down to the cellar, there was a section of bare wall where no bookshelves had been set.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut and openly grabbed Evan's hand. She opened her eyes. "I want to run." Iima looked back at Lawrence, who looked at Holo. "Leave it to me," said Holo. "I have one condition," she continued, pulling back her hood and ignoring Iima and Evan's surprise. "Think of everything that happens from now 'til dawn as a dream." When it came to decisiveness, perhaps women were better than men. Elsa nodded, and only after seeing her agree did Evan also nod. "What am I but a fairy that brews ale in the forest? Drunkards remember nothing," said Iima. Holo smiled. "Then leave this all to me. Now, if the lot outside have spears, I can jump past them easily enough, but they could still trouble you." "Does the church have a back door?" Lawrence asked. For a moment Elsa began to shake her head, but stopped. "Perhaps—Father Franz told me about the cellar only once, but when he did, he said there was an underground passage accessible from its rear." If the construction of churches was the same the world over, then so were the actions of the people within them. Any church with as many enemies as this one had would have secret passages for escape—it was a well-known fact among the kind of people that needed to know. "Well, let's use that," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded and looked at Iima. "Things should be all right for a bit longer. They haven't decided exactly what they want to do out there yet." It was true—once Iima had banged on the door from the inside, the hubbub seemed to have quieted. "We'll go down to the basement, then," said Lawrence. "We're relying on you," said Elsa, her tone firm, though uncertainty colored her features. Anyone would feel trepidation upon suddenly hearing they had to leave their birthplace forever, unless they'd spent their days dreaming of doing exactly that. "You've got it easy," said Iima. "At least you can do a bit of preparation before you leave." Iima's own hometown had been razed by pirates, and she'd had to flee for her life. "Indeed," agreed Holo. "It is not as though your home will have disappeared tomorrow. Be glad it will still exist." "Oh, ho, Miss Fairy has lost her home as well?" "Don't lump me in with those weaklings." Knowledge of others' suffering did not lessen one's own suffering, after all. It could be used for a bit of encouragement, though. Elsa recovered her resolve. "We'll make ready right way," she said. "Do you have traveling money?" Iima asked. "Evan," Lawrence said. Evan remembered the coin purse Lawrence had entrusted him with and produced it for Lawrence. "This should be enough for the four of us, provided we're frugal," said Lawrence. "Good. Right, off with you!" At Iima's words, everyone sprang into action. She was the image of a heroic woman, mused Lawrence as he ran. Once they arrived at the statue of the Holy Mother, Holo spoke up as if having read Lawrence's thoughts. "Even I cannot match her presence." Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. This did not, of course, go unnoticed. "Worry not—this is the only form I can assume," she said with a laugh. Lawrence harrumphed, partially out of embarrassment, and replied, "It's a shame. I prefer a more generous figure." Holo cocked her head and smiled, then smacked Lawrence in the face with her closed fist. "Just open the cellar." Lawrence decided not to think too much about what had angered Holo lest it bring still more anger. *** Lawrence had been concerned that Elsa and Evan would have trouble getting their things together quickly, but perhaps thanks to Evan's long-standing desire to leave, they were prepared in short order. The supplies they had prepared contained nothing unnecessary, save perhaps for a battered book of scriptures. It was a passing grade. "The passage?" "I've found it," said Lawrence. "It's blocked by a wall." Directly opposite the foot of the staircase leading down to the cellar, there was a section of bare wall where no bookshelves had been set.

Beyond the wall was a perfectly round tunnel—so round it was eerie. It was less a passageway and more of a cave or den of sorts. "Shall we?" said Lawrence. Under the watchful gaze of the Holy Mother, Evan and Elsa nodded. Iima was probably still above them at the church door, keeping the villagers from doing anything reckless. Lawrence took a deep breath and, candle in hand, headed into the tunnel. Holo followed immediately behind him with Elsa and Evan bringing up the rear. There were still many unread books in the cellar. In one of them may well have been tales of Holo's old companions. And from a strictly mercantile point of view, the magnificently bound volumes were worth a fortune. Lawrence very badly wished to bring one with him in order to add to their meager travel funds, but he didn't have the nerve to try and bring a book chock-full of pagan stories along on such a trip. In case of trouble, a book was silent and unhelpful, whereas the strange girl with her ears and tail could muster eloquence that no merchant could match. And so Lawrence stepped farther into the tunnel. His body was immediately surrounded by a strange chill. The tunnel was not high enough for him to stand up straight; he had to duck his head slightly to pass. It was narrow enough that he could touch both sides simultaneously with his outstretched hands. Fortunately, the air did not seem stale or moldy. Candle in hand, Lawrence saw that the tunnel was as strangely circular as it had first appeared to be with large stones here and there deliberately and cleanly chiseled into the proper shape. And yet the tunnel was not straight; it wound to and fro. If the builders had not intended for the tunnel to be perfectly straight, then why go to all the trouble of deliberately carving it into these contortions? It made no sense to Lawrence. The passage also had a raw, animalistic smell, which conveyed a sense of unease wholly different from the smells that filled the sewers of Pazzio. Lawrence held the candle in his right hand and Holo's hand in his left. He could sense a slight nervousness coming from her. All were silent as they walked. They had decided that Iima would close the entrance to the cellar after a time, but Lawrence now found himself worrying about whether she would open it back up for them should this tunnel turn out not to have an exit. They proceeded forward nonetheless, undaunted. The passage had no branches off it despite its winding nature. If a fork were to appear in the path, Lawrence knew he would probably succumb to the pressure and speak. Silently, silently, they walked farther along the passageway. It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually they could detect snatches of fresh air amid the fetid smell in the tunnel. "We are close," murmured Holo, which elicited an obvious sigh of relief from Evan. Taking care not to let the candle blow out, Lawrence quickened his pace. Urged on by the unbearable eeriness of the tunnel, he saw moonlight in the space of time that it took to take three breaths. Trees grew thickly around the tunnel's other entrance, which made Lawrence assume that it was hidden between crags. But no—as he approached, he soon saw that was not the case at all. The entrance was wide, seeming to almost gulp down the moonlight. He had assumed the entrance would be situated in a hidden, inconspicuous location, but before it stood something that was distinctly altarlike. As he approached to get a better look, Lawrence saw that a broad, flat stone had been placed carefully upon four square rocks. Upon the flat stone lay some dried fruit and wheat. Surely not, Lawrence murmured to himself. Holo likewise seemed to notice and looked at Lawrence. A moment later, Elsa's voice called out, "Th-this is—" "Ha! Oh, this is great," said Evan, laughing. The tunnel that led from the church seemed to pass through a hill at the outskirts of the village, emerging on the opposite side.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Beyond the wall was a perfectly round tunnel—so round it was eerie. It was less a passageway and more of a cave or den of sorts. "Shall we?" said Lawrence. Under the watchful gaze of the Holy Mother, Evan and Elsa nodded. Iima was probably still above them at the church door, keeping the villagers from doing anything reckless. Lawrence took a deep breath and, candle in hand, headed into the tunnel. Holo followed immediately behind him with Elsa and Evan bringing up the rear. There were still many unread books in the cellar. In one of them may well have been tales of Holo's old companions. And from a strictly mercantile point of view, the magnificently bound volumes were worth a fortune. Lawrence very badly wished to bring one with him in order to add to their meager travel funds, but he didn't have the nerve to try and bring a book chock-full of pagan stories along on such a trip. In case of trouble, a book was silent and unhelpful, whereas the strange girl with her ears and tail could muster eloquence that no merchant could match. And so Lawrence stepped farther into the tunnel. His body was immediately surrounded by a strange chill. The tunnel was not high enough for him to stand up straight; he had to duck his head slightly to pass. It was narrow enough that he could touch both sides simultaneously with his outstretched hands. Fortunately, the air did not seem stale or moldy. Candle in hand, Lawrence saw that the tunnel was as strangely circular as it had first appeared to be with large stones here and there deliberately and cleanly chiseled into the proper shape. And yet the tunnel was not straight; it wound to and fro. If the builders had not intended for the tunnel to be perfectly straight, then why go to all the trouble of deliberately carving it into these contortions? It made no sense to Lawrence. The passage also had a raw, animalistic smell, which conveyed a sense of unease wholly different from the smells that filled the sewers of Pazzio. Lawrence held the candle in his right hand and Holo's hand in his left. He could sense a slight nervousness coming from her. All were silent as they walked. They had decided that Iima would close the entrance to the cellar after a time, but Lawrence now found himself worrying about whether she would open it back up for them should this tunnel turn out not to have an exit. They proceeded forward nonetheless, undaunted. The passage had no branches off it despite its winding nature. If a fork were to appear in the path, Lawrence knew he would probably succumb to the pressure and speak. Silently, silently, they walked farther along the passageway. It was hard to know how much time had passed, but eventually they could detect snatches of fresh air amid the fetid smell in the tunnel. "We are close," murmured Holo, which elicited an obvious sigh of relief from Evan. Taking care not to let the candle blow out, Lawrence quickened his pace. Urged on by the unbearable eeriness of the tunnel, he saw moonlight in the space of time that it took to take three breaths. Trees grew thickly around the tunnel's other entrance, which made Lawrence assume that it was hidden between crags. But no—as he approached, he soon saw that was not the case at all. The entrance was wide, seeming to almost gulp down the moonlight. He had assumed the entrance would be situated in a hidden, inconspicuous location, but before it stood something that was distinctly altarlike. As he approached to get a better look, Lawrence saw that a broad, flat stone had been placed carefully upon four square rocks. Upon the flat stone lay some dried fruit and wheat. Surely not, Lawrence murmured to himself. Holo likewise seemed to notice and looked at Lawrence. A moment later, Elsa's voice called out, "Th-this is—" "Ha! Oh, this is great," said Evan, laughing. The tunnel that led from the church seemed to pass through a hill at the outskirts of the village, emerging on the opposite side.

When all four had exited the tunnel and made sure there were no villagers nearby, they looked back at the hole. "Mr. Lawrence, do you know what that hole is?" Elsa asked. "Not really." "It's the burrow that Lord Truyeo used when he came from the far north to hibernate long, long ago." Lawrence had more or less guessed as much upon seeing the altar with the offerings on it, but his face still betrayed surprise when his suspicions were confirmed. "Every year for sowing and harvest, the villagers come here to give prayers and celebrate. We don't usually participate, but...why would the church passageway lead here?" "I don't know why, but it's certainly clever. The villagers would never dare to enter," said Lawrence. Still, there were things about the tunnel that were strange. If Father Franz had dug it, it was impossible to imagine that the villagers wouldn't have noticed him doing so, and in any case, the villagers had been worshipping Truyeo long before the church was built. Lawrence looked at Holo as he thought it over and saw that she was staring vaguely at the cave's entrance. Suddenly he understood—the strange twisting of the tunnel, the perfectly carved rocks here and there, and the complete lack of any bats despite the perfection of the cave. And there was that raw, fetid smell. Noticing Lawrence's look, Holo smiled, then turned to look at the moon that hung in the night sky. "Come, staying here is like asking them to find us! Let us first head down to the brook," she said. There were no arguments. Elsa and Evan trotted through the dry grass of the hillside as Lawrence blew the candle out and took one last look over the area. "Is this den real?" He hadn't dared ask the question in front of Elsa and Evan. "There was a great snake here. As to how long ago, that even I cannot tell." It might not even have been Truyeo. It might have been sheer coincidence that the church's cellar intersected with the path of the den. Properly speaking, the cellar had been constructed in the middle of the den, which probably continued past the cellar in the opposite direction. Lawrence had no idea whether or not there truly was a giant snake curled up somewhere deeper within. Holo regarded the entrance somehow both sadly and fondly as she spoke. "It just happened to make a burrow here, and yet people continuously come to worship. I doubt it has ever been able to get a proper nap." "That's not the kind of thing a merchant who superstitiously follows the paths of the saints wants to hear." Holo smiled and shrugged. "'Tis hardly my fault humans are such queer creatures that they must find something to worship." Her smile turned malicious. "Do you not wish to worship me?" Lawrence knew she hated being worshipped and feared as a god, so she was clearly not being serious. Yet he had no ready retort. After all, when she was in a foul temper, he would offer her sacrifices to calm her. Lawrence sighed and looked away; Holo chuckled. Suddenly he felt her take his hand. "Let us go," she said, pulling him along as she ran down the hillside. He looked at her face in profile. She seemed less satisfied over her teasing of him and more relieved about something. Perhaps seeing the den of Truyeo, who the villagers all worshipped, reminded her of her own past and the village she had once inhabited. It was surely out of embarrassment over turning suddenly sentimental that Holo had resorted to teasing Lawrence. She continued to run under the moonlight. Aside from pretending not to notice, there was little Lawrence could do to help her with these pangs of weakness. It made him feel completely useless, and yet Holo was still willing to take his hand. Maybe this was the perfect distance to maintain, he mused—with just a bit of loneliness. Such were the thoughts that occupied his mind as they descended the face of the hill to catch up with the pair that had reached the riverbank ahead of them. "So, how do we escape?" asked Evan.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

When all four had exited the tunnel and made sure there were no villagers nearby, they looked back at the hole. "Mr. Lawrence, do you know what that hole is?" Elsa asked. "Not really." "It's the burrow that Lord Truyeo used when he came from the far north to hibernate long, long ago." Lawrence had more or less guessed as much upon seeing the altar with the offerings on it, but his face still betrayed surprise when his suspicions were confirmed. "Every year for sowing and harvest, the villagers come here to give prayers and celebrate. We don't usually participate, but...why would the church passageway lead here?" "I don't know why, but it's certainly clever. The villagers would never dare to enter," said Lawrence. Still, there were things about the tunnel that were strange. If Father Franz had dug it, it was impossible to imagine that the villagers wouldn't have noticed him doing so, and in any case, the villagers had been worshipping Truyeo long before the church was built. Lawrence looked at Holo as he thought it over and saw that she was staring vaguely at the cave's entrance. Suddenly he understood—the strange twisting of the tunnel, the perfectly carved rocks here and there, and the complete lack of any bats despite the perfection of the cave. And there was that raw, fetid smell. Noticing Lawrence's look, Holo smiled, then turned to look at the moon that hung in the night sky. "Come, staying here is like asking them to find us! Let us first head down to the brook," she said. There were no arguments. Elsa and Evan trotted through the dry grass of the hillside as Lawrence blew the candle out and took one last look over the area. "Is this den real?" He hadn't dared ask the question in front of Elsa and Evan. "There was a great snake here. As to how long ago, that even I cannot tell." It might not even have been Truyeo. It might have been sheer coincidence that the church's cellar intersected with the path of the den. Properly speaking, the cellar had been constructed in the middle of the den, which probably continued past the cellar in the opposite direction. Lawrence had no idea whether or not there truly was a giant snake curled up somewhere deeper within. Holo regarded the entrance somehow both sadly and fondly as she spoke. "It just happened to make a burrow here, and yet people continuously come to worship. I doubt it has ever been able to get a proper nap." "That's not the kind of thing a merchant who superstitiously follows the paths of the saints wants to hear." Holo smiled and shrugged. "'Tis hardly my fault humans are such queer creatures that they must find something to worship." Her smile turned malicious. "Do you not wish to worship me?" Lawrence knew she hated being worshipped and feared as a god, so she was clearly not being serious. Yet he had no ready retort. After all, when she was in a foul temper, he would offer her sacrifices to calm her. Lawrence sighed and looked away; Holo chuckled. Suddenly he felt her take his hand. "Let us go," she said, pulling him along as she ran down the hillside. He looked at her face in profile. She seemed less satisfied over her teasing of him and more relieved about something. Perhaps seeing the den of Truyeo, who the villagers all worshipped, reminded her of her own past and the village she had once inhabited. It was surely out of embarrassment over turning suddenly sentimental that Holo had resorted to teasing Lawrence. She continued to run under the moonlight. Aside from pretending not to notice, there was little Lawrence could do to help her with these pangs of weakness. It made him feel completely useless, and yet Holo was still willing to take his hand. Maybe this was the perfect distance to maintain, he mused—with just a bit of loneliness. Such were the thoughts that occupied his mind as they descended the face of the hill to catch up with the pair that had reached the riverbank ahead of them. "So, how do we escape?" asked Evan.

"We'll need to first make for Enberch." "Huh?" "We've been there once before. We'll need some sense of the lay of the land if we're to escape undetected." Evan nodded, as if to say, "Oh, I see." But Holo still looked vaguely displeased as she kicked pebbles around by the bank of the brook. She sighed. "Let me just say this," she said, facing Evan and Elsa, who were still holding hands. "If you cower in fear, I'll devour the both of you." Lawrence fought back the urge to point out that this statement itself was threatening enough. Holo was probably aware of that. She was like a child who knew her demands were unreasonable but could not help making them anyway. The two nodded, unsurprisingly taken aback by Holo's manner. Holo looked to one side, seeming somewhat embarrassed herself. "Both of you! Turn around and look the other way! And you—" "Right," said Lawrence. Holo pulled her hood back and removed her cape. She handed her clothes to Lawrence piece by piece as she removed each item. Just watching her was enough to make Lawrence feel cold. Evan looked over his shoulder, apparently unable to resist peeking at the sudden sound of clothes rustling. Holo did not have to snap at him because Elsa did it for her. Lawrence sympathized with Evan. "Truly, why is the human form so weak against cold?" Holo complained. "It makes me chilly just looking at you," said Lawrence. "Hmph." She took off her shoes and tossed them to Lawrence, then finally removed the pouch containing wheat grains that dangled from her neck. There they stood amid the bare-branched trees dimly lit by the moon. The brook reflected the moonlight like a mirror. Before that brook stood a strange girl with keen wolf ears and a fluffy tail that seemed to be the only warm part of her body. It truly was a vision from a dream before daybreak. White puffs of breath escaped from Holo's mouth. She suddenly looked at Lawrence. "Do you want words of praise now?" he asked with a shrug. Holo gave him a defeated smile in return. Lawrence turned his back to her, looking away. There beneath the sparkling moonlight, the maiden became a wolf. This world did not belong solely to the Church. The proof of that was now no farther away than the opposite bank of the babbling brook. "My fur truly is the finest." Lawrence turned and looked at the source of the low, rumbling voice and was met by a pair of red-tinged eyes shining back at him, bright as the moon. "If you ever wish to sell it, just say the word," said Lawrence. Holo curled her lips back, revealing a row of sharp teeth. He knew her well enough to understand this was a smile. Now all that remained was the test of Elsa and Evan. Holo seemed to sigh, looking at their shapes, their backs still turned in the gloom. "Hmph. Well, I cannot say my expectations were high. Come, climb upon me. 'Twill be bothersome if we're discovered." A bird stalked by a dog lacks the strength to take off and fly, and despite Holo's words, this was so of Elsa and Evan. It was not until Lawrence circled around to stand in front of Elsa and Evan and gestured with his chin that they could bring themselves to turn around. Even Lawrence had been terrified almost past the ability to stand when he had seen Holo's true form for the first time. In his mind, he applauded the couple for not fainting dead away. "This is naught but a dream before daybreak, remember?" he said, looking particularly at Elsa. They neither cried out nor tried to run, merely looking back at Lawrence for a moment before facing Holo again. "So Father Franz wasn't lying," murmured Evan, which elicited a long-fanged smile from Holo. "Come, let's get on," said Lawrence. Holo heaved a great, weary sigh, then crouched down low. Lawrence, Elsa, and Evan all climbed upon her back, each gripping her stiff, bristly fur. "If you should fall, I will pick you up with my mouth. Be prepared." Evidently this was Holo's standard warning when bearing humans on her back.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"We'll need to first make for Enberch." "Huh?" "We've been there once before. We'll need some sense of the lay of the land if we're to escape undetected." Evan nodded, as if to say, "Oh, I see." But Holo still looked vaguely displeased as she kicked pebbles around by the bank of the brook. She sighed. "Let me just say this," she said, facing Evan and Elsa, who were still holding hands. "If you cower in fear, I'll devour the both of you." Lawrence fought back the urge to point out that this statement itself was threatening enough. Holo was probably aware of that. She was like a child who knew her demands were unreasonable but could not help making them anyway. The two nodded, unsurprisingly taken aback by Holo's manner. Holo looked to one side, seeming somewhat embarrassed herself. "Both of you! Turn around and look the other way! And you—" "Right," said Lawrence. Holo pulled her hood back and removed her cape. She handed her clothes to Lawrence piece by piece as she removed each item. Just watching her was enough to make Lawrence feel cold. Evan looked over his shoulder, apparently unable to resist peeking at the sudden sound of clothes rustling. Holo did not have to snap at him because Elsa did it for her. Lawrence sympathized with Evan. "Truly, why is the human form so weak against cold?" Holo complained. "It makes me chilly just looking at you," said Lawrence. "Hmph." She took off her shoes and tossed them to Lawrence, then finally removed the pouch containing wheat grains that dangled from her neck. There they stood amid the bare-branched trees dimly lit by the moon. The brook reflected the moonlight like a mirror. Before that brook stood a strange girl with keen wolf ears and a fluffy tail that seemed to be the only warm part of her body. It truly was a vision from a dream before daybreak. White puffs of breath escaped from Holo's mouth. She suddenly looked at Lawrence. "Do you want words of praise now?" he asked with a shrug. Holo gave him a defeated smile in return. Lawrence turned his back to her, looking away. There beneath the sparkling moonlight, the maiden became a wolf. This world did not belong solely to the Church. The proof of that was now no farther away than the opposite bank of the babbling brook. "My fur truly is the finest." Lawrence turned and looked at the source of the low, rumbling voice and was met by a pair of red-tinged eyes shining back at him, bright as the moon. "If you ever wish to sell it, just say the word," said Lawrence. Holo curled her lips back, revealing a row of sharp teeth. He knew her well enough to understand this was a smile. Now all that remained was the test of Elsa and Evan. Holo seemed to sigh, looking at their shapes, their backs still turned in the gloom. "Hmph. Well, I cannot say my expectations were high. Come, climb upon me. 'Twill be bothersome if we're discovered." A bird stalked by a dog lacks the strength to take off and fly, and despite Holo's words, this was so of Elsa and Evan. It was not until Lawrence circled around to stand in front of Elsa and Evan and gestured with his chin that they could bring themselves to turn around. Even Lawrence had been terrified almost past the ability to stand when he had seen Holo's true form for the first time. In his mind, he applauded the couple for not fainting dead away. "This is naught but a dream before daybreak, remember?" he said, looking particularly at Elsa. They neither cried out nor tried to run, merely looking back at Lawrence for a moment before facing Holo again. "So Father Franz wasn't lying," murmured Evan, which elicited a long-fanged smile from Holo. "Come, let's get on," said Lawrence. Holo heaved a great, weary sigh, then crouched down low. Lawrence, Elsa, and Evan all climbed upon her back, each gripping her stiff, bristly fur. "If you should fall, I will pick you up with my mouth. Be prepared." Evidently this was Holo's standard warning when bearing humans on her back.

"Let us be off, then." She ran, every bit a wolf. Riding on Holo's back was like plunging into freezing water. Her feet were terrifyingly swift. She traced a wide circle around the village, then made for Enberch, arriving almost immediately at the path she and Lawrence had taken into Tereo with the wagon. Elsa and Evan were meanwhile feeling something well past mere terror. Though they shivered uncontrollably, they themselves had no sense of whether this was out of cold or fear. The path along which Holo ran was barely a path at all; her passengers would be pressed against her back one instant, only to be nearly flung off the next. They could not relax for a moment. Lawrence clung to Holo's fur with all his might, praying that Elsa and Evan behind him would not be tossed off. It was hard to know how much time had passed, but after a span that seemed at once to be a crushing eternity and a brief nap, Holo's run slowed to a stop, and she crouched down again. No one asked if they had been spotted. Holo was unquestionably the least tired of them all, despite carrying three people on her back. Lawrence's body was stiff and cramped, and he could not so much as loosen his hands' grip on Holo's fur—yet he could hear her tail brushing across the grassy ground. She did not order her passengers off. Holo no doubt understood that they could barely move. She knew that if she had continued to run, one of her three passengers would surely have given out and fallen. "...How far have we come?" It took Lawrence some time to muster the strength to ask a question. "Halfway." "So is this a break, or—," began Lawrence, when behind him, the exhausted Elsa and Evan seemed to twitch at the alternative. Holo noticed their reaction as well. "Our flight would be for naught if you die on the way. We've come far enough that it would take a horse some time to catch up. We'll rest awhile." The news of their escape from Tereo could only travel as fast as a horse could gallop. They could afford to rest until then. At Holo's words, Lawrence felt fatigue press down on him. "Don't sleep on top of me. Climb down." She sounded displeased, so Lawrence and Evan were able to somehow climb down—but Elsa was at her limit and had to be lifted off of Holo's back. Lawrence wanted to light a fire for warmth, but Holo had stopped in a small patch of woods between hills along the path that linked Enberch and Tereo—as long as they stayed quiet, they would not be discovered. Lighting a fire, however, would make them much easier to spot. In any case, the problem of warmth was quickly solved. They were, after all, right next to a giant ball of fur. "I suddenly feel like a mother." Holo's deep voice rumbled deep in Lawrence's stomach as he leaned against her. Elsa and Evan wrapped themselves in a blanket they had brought from the church, snuggling up against Holo, and Holo curled her great tail around the three of them. Her fur was so warm that Lawrence could not even remember if he'd smiled the rueful smile he felt at her words, so quickly had he fallen asleep. Though merchants can sleep under nearly any circumstances, Lawrence did not sleep especially soundly. Holo shifted slightly, and he awoke. The sky had lightened; the morning mist was thin. Lawrence stood, careful not to wake the still-sleeping Elsa and Evan who lay beside him. His body felt lighter as he slowly stretched himself out. He gave himself one final, great stretch, arms reaching high, then relaxed with a sigh. His mind was filled with what they had yet to do. No matter which town he and Holo decided to go to, they would not be able to just drop Elsa and Evan off. All they could do was return briefly to Kumersun, explain the situation to the trade guild, and obtain its protection—then use the guild's connections to negotiate with Enberch and Tereo. Next, he would reclaim the money he had deposited at the guild and make for Lenos. That was more or less the whole of it.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Let us be off, then." She ran, every bit a wolf. Riding on Holo's back was like plunging into freezing water. Her feet were terrifyingly swift. She traced a wide circle around the village, then made for Enberch, arriving almost immediately at the path she and Lawrence had taken into Tereo with the wagon. Elsa and Evan were meanwhile feeling something well past mere terror. Though they shivered uncontrollably, they themselves had no sense of whether this was out of cold or fear. The path along which Holo ran was barely a path at all; her passengers would be pressed against her back one instant, only to be nearly flung off the next. They could not relax for a moment. Lawrence clung to Holo's fur with all his might, praying that Elsa and Evan behind him would not be tossed off. It was hard to know how much time had passed, but after a span that seemed at once to be a crushing eternity and a brief nap, Holo's run slowed to a stop, and she crouched down again. No one asked if they had been spotted. Holo was unquestionably the least tired of them all, despite carrying three people on her back. Lawrence's body was stiff and cramped, and he could not so much as loosen his hands' grip on Holo's fur—yet he could hear her tail brushing across the grassy ground. She did not order her passengers off. Holo no doubt understood that they could barely move. She knew that if she had continued to run, one of her three passengers would surely have given out and fallen. "...How far have we come?" It took Lawrence some time to muster the strength to ask a question. "Halfway." "So is this a break, or—," began Lawrence, when behind him, the exhausted Elsa and Evan seemed to twitch at the alternative. Holo noticed their reaction as well. "Our flight would be for naught if you die on the way. We've come far enough that it would take a horse some time to catch up. We'll rest awhile." The news of their escape from Tereo could only travel as fast as a horse could gallop. They could afford to rest until then. At Holo's words, Lawrence felt fatigue press down on him. "Don't sleep on top of me. Climb down." She sounded displeased, so Lawrence and Evan were able to somehow climb down—but Elsa was at her limit and had to be lifted off of Holo's back. Lawrence wanted to light a fire for warmth, but Holo had stopped in a small patch of woods between hills along the path that linked Enberch and Tereo—as long as they stayed quiet, they would not be discovered. Lighting a fire, however, would make them much easier to spot. In any case, the problem of warmth was quickly solved. They were, after all, right next to a giant ball of fur. "I suddenly feel like a mother." Holo's deep voice rumbled deep in Lawrence's stomach as he leaned against her. Elsa and Evan wrapped themselves in a blanket they had brought from the church, snuggling up against Holo, and Holo curled her great tail around the three of them. Her fur was so warm that Lawrence could not even remember if he'd smiled the rueful smile he felt at her words, so quickly had he fallen asleep. Though merchants can sleep under nearly any circumstances, Lawrence did not sleep especially soundly. Holo shifted slightly, and he awoke. The sky had lightened; the morning mist was thin. Lawrence stood, careful not to wake the still-sleeping Elsa and Evan who lay beside him. His body felt lighter as he slowly stretched himself out. He gave himself one final, great stretch, arms reaching high, then relaxed with a sigh. His mind was filled with what they had yet to do. No matter which town he and Holo decided to go to, they would not be able to just drop Elsa and Evan off. All they could do was return briefly to Kumersun, explain the situation to the trade guild, and obtain its protection—then use the guild's connections to negotiate with Enberch and Tereo. Next, he would reclaim the money he had deposited at the guild and make for Lenos. That was more or less the whole of it.

Even lying down as she was, her form was huge, though he no longer found it terrifying so much as mysterious. Holo gazed at him for some time, as though she was an elaborate puppet constructed as a jest by some god. Eventually she looked away. "What is it?" Lawrence approached her, his feet rustling through the dry leaves underfoot. She gave him a weary look, then gestured with her chin. Since she was clearly not demanding to have her neck scratched, Holo must be pointing at something, Lawrence decided. Just past the hill lay the road that connected Enberch and Tereo. He soon understood. "So it's safe to look, eh?" Holo did not answer, instead yawning hugely and resting her head on her forepaws. Her ears flicked twice, three times. Lawrence took her actions as an affirmative but still made his way over the hill with his body low and his footfalls light. It was obvious who would be coming up the path at this hour. He drew close to the hill's peak, keeping his head even lower as he carefully took sight of the path. In his first quick glance, he saw no one, but when he looked farther out, Lawrence was able to hear a quiet jumble of noises coming from the direction of Enberch. Soon after he heard the sound, he caught sight of its source, hazy in the morning mist. It was the caravan returning Tereo's wheat. Which meant that Enberch's messenger had already reached Tereo, and depending on the specifics of the message, the villagers might have already forced their way into the church searching for Lawrence and company. He wondered if Iima, having aided their escape, would be safe. Her position within the village was a strong one, so she would probably be fine—but he still worried a bit for her safety. This was immaterial, though—none of them could ever return to Tereo. Just then, he heard the rustle of footsteps behind him. He looked back. It was Evan. "How is she?" Lawrence asked. Evan nodded—evidently Elsa was fine. He then crouched down next to Lawrence, looking off into the distance. "Are they from Enberch?" "Must be." "Huh." Evan wore a complicated expression, as though he both longed for a weapon with which to charge the procession and was glad he had no such weapon. Lawrence looked from Evan to Holo behind them. Holo was still lying there asleep with Elsa leaning against her. Elsa seemed to be awake, but she stared listlessly off into space. "Is Miss Elsa truly well?" Lawrence asked. She had fainted from anemia, after all, then spent the night on the move. As he considered what lay ahead of them, Elsa's condition weighed heavy on Lawrence's mind. "Hard to say," said Evan. "Her complexion is well enough, but she seems to be thinking something over." "Thinking?" Evan nodded. If this was all Evan could say, then Elsa must not have told him what was on her mind. Having been forced to suddenly leave her home, though, it was hardly surprising that she was dazed and contemplative. Evan turned and looked back at Elsa. Lawrence caught sight of his expression—he looked like a faithful dog who wanted nothing more than to rush to her side. But Evan seemed to understand that she was best left alone for a time. Evan forced his gaze back to the caravan from Enberch, which was now quite a bit closer. "It's a sizable group," he said. "They're probably returning all of the wheat purchased from Tereo. And those long sticks the men around the wagons are holding—spears surely." The spearmen were merely in case the caravan met resistance from the villagers, but they lent the procession an imposing, sinister air. "Say, Mr. Lawrence—" "Mm?" "Could we not ask your...um...the goddess that carried us here?" Though Evan lowered his voice, Holo would surely hear this. She pretended not to, though. "Ask her what?" Lawrence prompted. "To...to kill them all." When all else failed, ask the gods—humans were ever thus. And their requests were often absurd in scale.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Even lying down as she was, her form was huge, though he no longer found it terrifying so much as mysterious. Holo gazed at him for some time, as though she was an elaborate puppet constructed as a jest by some god. Eventually she looked away. "What is it?" Lawrence approached her, his feet rustling through the dry leaves underfoot. She gave him a weary look, then gestured with her chin. Since she was clearly not demanding to have her neck scratched, Holo must be pointing at something, Lawrence decided. Just past the hill lay the road that connected Enberch and Tereo. He soon understood. "So it's safe to look, eh?" Holo did not answer, instead yawning hugely and resting her head on her forepaws. Her ears flicked twice, three times. Lawrence took her actions as an affirmative but still made his way over the hill with his body low and his footfalls light. It was obvious who would be coming up the path at this hour. He drew close to the hill's peak, keeping his head even lower as he carefully took sight of the path. In his first quick glance, he saw no one, but when he looked farther out, Lawrence was able to hear a quiet jumble of noises coming from the direction of Enberch. Soon after he heard the sound, he caught sight of its source, hazy in the morning mist. It was the caravan returning Tereo's wheat. Which meant that Enberch's messenger had already reached Tereo, and depending on the specifics of the message, the villagers might have already forced their way into the church searching for Lawrence and company. He wondered if Iima, having aided their escape, would be safe. Her position within the village was a strong one, so she would probably be fine—but he still worried a bit for her safety. This was immaterial, though—none of them could ever return to Tereo. Just then, he heard the rustle of footsteps behind him. He looked back. It was Evan. "How is she?" Lawrence asked. Evan nodded—evidently Elsa was fine. He then crouched down next to Lawrence, looking off into the distance. "Are they from Enberch?" "Must be." "Huh." Evan wore a complicated expression, as though he both longed for a weapon with which to charge the procession and was glad he had no such weapon. Lawrence looked from Evan to Holo behind them. Holo was still lying there asleep with Elsa leaning against her. Elsa seemed to be awake, but she stared listlessly off into space. "Is Miss Elsa truly well?" Lawrence asked. She had fainted from anemia, after all, then spent the night on the move. As he considered what lay ahead of them, Elsa's condition weighed heavy on Lawrence's mind. "Hard to say," said Evan. "Her complexion is well enough, but she seems to be thinking something over." "Thinking?" Evan nodded. If this was all Evan could say, then Elsa must not have told him what was on her mind. Having been forced to suddenly leave her home, though, it was hardly surprising that she was dazed and contemplative. Evan turned and looked back at Elsa. Lawrence caught sight of his expression—he looked like a faithful dog who wanted nothing more than to rush to her side. But Evan seemed to understand that she was best left alone for a time. Evan forced his gaze back to the caravan from Enberch, which was now quite a bit closer. "It's a sizable group," he said. "They're probably returning all of the wheat purchased from Tereo. And those long sticks the men around the wagons are holding—spears surely." The spearmen were merely in case the caravan met resistance from the villagers, but they lent the procession an imposing, sinister air. "Say, Mr. Lawrence—" "Mm?" "Could we not ask your...um...the goddess that carried us here?" Though Evan lowered his voice, Holo would surely hear this. She pretended not to, though. "Ask her what?" Lawrence prompted. "To...to kill them all." When all else failed, ask the gods—humans were ever thus. And their requests were often absurd in scale.

Evan nodded, as though he had known what the answer would be. "I suppose." The caravan had come quite close now. The pair crouched and looked on. "So what shall we do next?" "I am planning to make for a town named Kumersun first. If we can make it there, our lives will no longer be in danger. After that, well—we'll figure that out once we're there." "I see..." "You should think about what you want to do. We've a connection, you and I—I'll do what I can to help," said Lawrence. Evan closed his eyes and smiled. "Thank you." The caravan that carried with it Tereo's undoing traveled noisily along the path, disturbing the morning peace. It included perhaps fifteen wagons with perhaps twenty spearmen to guard the caravan. However, what grabbed Lawrence's attention the most was a group at the rear of the procession, who were dressed somewhat differently from the rest. The horse carrying the last cart had blinders and saddle flaps that indicated a high-ranking member of the clergy, and it was surrounded by four men bearing shields with several lower ranking clergymen in travel clothes following behind on foot. "So that's how it is," Lawrence murmured. Ridelius's Hellfire had been mixed in with Tereo's wheat harvest, and a citizen of Enberch had died from it. But unless the poison wheat had been there from the very beginning, there could not possibly have been any similar deaths in Tereo. Enberch was going to use this to its advantage. They would claim the absence of poison victims in Tereo was proof that the village was being protected by evil spirits and that all the villagers were guilty of heresy. "Let's go back," said Lawrence. Evan nodded wordlessly, seeming to have vaguely perceived something himself. Lawrence descended the hill and returned to Holo. Elsa gave him a questioning look, which he pretended not to notice. Whatever she might ask, the answer was that Tereo's position was hopeless. "We'll go a bit farther, then take breakfast," said Lawrence. Elsa dropped her gaze, as if she had realized something. She said nothing but stood, which prompted Holo to stand up as well. Evan and Lawrence split the luggage-bearing duties, and the four started to walk with Holo in the lead. The dry leaves crunched underfoot. The first one to stop walking was Evan, followed by Lawrence. Holo proceeded a few more steps, then stopped, looking back. "Elsa?" asked Evan. Elsa stood there still, her body wrapped in a blanket. She stared at the ground. Evan exchanged looks with Lawrence, then nodded and started to approach Elsa. That very moment, Elsa spoke. "Holo..." She was not addressing Evan. "Are you...really a god?" Holo said nothing initially, merely swishing her tail once. She then turned to face Elsa. "I am Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu. Long have I been called a god," said Holo, sitting and looking directly at Elsa. The answer surprised Lawrence. Even more surprising was Holo's expression as she regarded Elsa; it was very serious but not unkind. "I dwell within the wheat and can take both wolf and human form. Humans worship me as the god of the bountiful harvest, and I am able to respond to their prayers." Holo seemed to have understood something. Elsa tightened the blanket that she had wrapped around her body and over her shoulder. Holo had discerned the thoughts that lay within the girl's breast, hidden beneath her crossed arms and blanket. Holo must have seen the girl's worry, or else she would never have called herself a god. "Bountiful harvest? Does that...Are you then Truyeo's—" "The answer to that question is already within you." Holo bared her teeth, perhaps in some approximation of a rueful grin. Elsa ducked her head in a slight nod. "Truyeo is Truyeo. You are you." Holo half laughed and half sighed, and the dry leaves at her feet danced in the air. Her amber eyes were filled with a kindness Lawrence had never seen. If gods did exist, surely they were something like this with eyes that inspired reverence but not fear.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Evan nodded, as though he had known what the answer would be. "I suppose." The caravan had come quite close now. The pair crouched and looked on. "So what shall we do next?" "I am planning to make for a town named Kumersun first. If we can make it there, our lives will no longer be in danger. After that, well—we'll figure that out once we're there." "I see..." "You should think about what you want to do. We've a connection, you and I—I'll do what I can to help," said Lawrence. Evan closed his eyes and smiled. "Thank you." The caravan that carried with it Tereo's undoing traveled noisily along the path, disturbing the morning peace. It included perhaps fifteen wagons with perhaps twenty spearmen to guard the caravan. However, what grabbed Lawrence's attention the most was a group at the rear of the procession, who were dressed somewhat differently from the rest. The horse carrying the last cart had blinders and saddle flaps that indicated a high-ranking member of the clergy, and it was surrounded by four men bearing shields with several lower ranking clergymen in travel clothes following behind on foot. "So that's how it is," Lawrence murmured. Ridelius's Hellfire had been mixed in with Tereo's wheat harvest, and a citizen of Enberch had died from it. But unless the poison wheat had been there from the very beginning, there could not possibly have been any similar deaths in Tereo. Enberch was going to use this to its advantage. They would claim the absence of poison victims in Tereo was proof that the village was being protected by evil spirits and that all the villagers were guilty of heresy. "Let's go back," said Lawrence. Evan nodded wordlessly, seeming to have vaguely perceived something himself. Lawrence descended the hill and returned to Holo. Elsa gave him a questioning look, which he pretended not to notice. Whatever she might ask, the answer was that Tereo's position was hopeless. "We'll go a bit farther, then take breakfast," said Lawrence. Elsa dropped her gaze, as if she had realized something. She said nothing but stood, which prompted Holo to stand up as well. Evan and Lawrence split the luggage-bearing duties, and the four started to walk with Holo in the lead. The dry leaves crunched underfoot. The first one to stop walking was Evan, followed by Lawrence. Holo proceeded a few more steps, then stopped, looking back. "Elsa?" asked Evan. Elsa stood there still, her body wrapped in a blanket. She stared at the ground. Evan exchanged looks with Lawrence, then nodded and started to approach Elsa. That very moment, Elsa spoke. "Holo..." She was not addressing Evan. "Are you...really a god?" Holo said nothing initially, merely swishing her tail once. She then turned to face Elsa. "I am Holo, the Wisewolf of Yoitsu. Long have I been called a god," said Holo, sitting and looking directly at Elsa. The answer surprised Lawrence. Even more surprising was Holo's expression as she regarded Elsa; it was very serious but not unkind. "I dwell within the wheat and can take both wolf and human form. Humans worship me as the god of the bountiful harvest, and I am able to respond to their prayers." Holo seemed to have understood something. Elsa tightened the blanket that she had wrapped around her body and over her shoulder. Holo had discerned the thoughts that lay within the girl's breast, hidden beneath her crossed arms and blanket. Holo must have seen the girl's worry, or else she would never have called herself a god. "Bountiful harvest? Does that...Are you then Truyeo's—" "The answer to that question is already within you." Holo bared her teeth, perhaps in some approximation of a rueful grin. Elsa ducked her head in a slight nod. "Truyeo is Truyeo. You are you." Holo half laughed and half sighed, and the dry leaves at her feet danced in the air. Her amber eyes were filled with a kindness Lawrence had never seen. If gods did exist, surely they were something like this with eyes that inspired reverence but not fear.

"...If that is true, then—" "The question you would ask...," said Holo, her tail brushing audibly across the leaves. Elsa swallowed her words but still looked up at Holo. "...It should not be asked of me," Holo finished. Instantly Elsa's face twisted, a tear rolling down her right cheek. Evan took that as a sign. He rushed to her side and embraced her. Elsa sniffed a few times, nodding her head as if to show that she was, in fact, well. She sighed, the breath escaping whitely from her mouth. "I am Father Franz's successor. That much I can say for certain." "Oh, indeed?" Elsa smiled at Holo's purely rhetorical question. It was a fresh smile, the result of tossing aside a heavy burden. Perhaps she had realized Father Franz's true aim in collecting stories of the pagan gods. No—she had probably known long ago when Father Franz had told her of his secret cellar. She had simply refused to understand. It was just as Iima had said. The world was vast, but the villagers' minds were narrow. Elsa had come to realize that vastness. Her next words came naturally. "I'm returning to the village." "Wha—," came Evan's strangled reply. Before he could say anything more, Elsa unwrapped the blanket she wore and thrust it into his hands. "I am sorry, Mr. Lawrence." While he was not sure for what precisely she was apologizing, it seemed an appropriate statement nonetheless. Lawrence nodded, saying nothing. Evan's acceptance, however, would be harder won. "What's the point in going back to the village?! Even if you do, it's already too late for—" "And yet I must." "Why?!" Evan took a step toward her, but Elsa was unmoved. "I am responsible for the church. I cannot abandon the villagers." Evan reeled as though he had been physically struck. He staggered back. "Evan—be a fine merchant, will you?" Elsa finally pushed him away, then dashed off in the direction of the village. Running at a woman's pace and taking rests, she would probably reach Tereo by evening. Though he didn't wish to think about it, Lawrence knew all too well what waited for her when she arrived. "Mr. L-Lawrence." Evan looked devastated and on the verge of tears. Lawrence was astonished by Elsa's words. "It seems she wants you to be a fine merchant." "...!" Evan's face twisted in fury; he seemed ready to fly at Lawrence. Yet Lawrence continued coolly. "A merchant must be able to logically weigh gain against loss. Can you do that?" Evan looked like a child seeing an optical illusion for the first time. He stopped in his tracks. "No matter how stout of heart she may be, no matter how firm her resolve, that doesn't mean she is never uncertain." Lawrence shrugged and continued. "Merchants must weigh gain against loss. You want to be a merchant, do you not?" Evan clenched his teeth, closing his eyes and squeezing his fists. He tossed the supplies he was carrying aside, then turned and ran. Lawrence sensed Holo approaching from behind. He turned. "So, what shall we—," he began but was unable to finish. His body was knocked to the ground as easily as a withered tree by Holo's massive paw. "Was I wrong?" Holo's paw pressed down against Lawrence's chest, two of her claws making grinding noises as they pierced the earth next to Lawrence's head. "Was I wrong?" she asked again, her eyes burning redly, her teeth bared and close. Lawrence could feel himself sinking into the soft ground. If she put even a bit more weight on him, she would crush his rib cage. Still, he managed to force a few words out. "Who...who can judge such a thing?" Holo shook her great head. "I cannot. Still, I...I..." "If you fight for your home, even against hopeless odds..." Lawrence put his hand on Holo's paw. "...At least you'll have no regrets." Lawrence felt Holo bristle. He was going to be crushed. Just as fear was about to overcome rational thought, Holo's form vanished. If someone had told Lawrence he'd been dreaming, he would have believed the person.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"...If that is true, then—" "The question you would ask...," said Holo, her tail brushing audibly across the leaves. Elsa swallowed her words but still looked up at Holo. "...It should not be asked of me," Holo finished. Instantly Elsa's face twisted, a tear rolling down her right cheek. Evan took that as a sign. He rushed to her side and embraced her. Elsa sniffed a few times, nodding her head as if to show that she was, in fact, well. She sighed, the breath escaping whitely from her mouth. "I am Father Franz's successor. That much I can say for certain." "Oh, indeed?" Elsa smiled at Holo's purely rhetorical question. It was a fresh smile, the result of tossing aside a heavy burden. Perhaps she had realized Father Franz's true aim in collecting stories of the pagan gods. No—she had probably known long ago when Father Franz had told her of his secret cellar. She had simply refused to understand. It was just as Iima had said. The world was vast, but the villagers' minds were narrow. Elsa had come to realize that vastness. Her next words came naturally. "I'm returning to the village." "Wha—," came Evan's strangled reply. Before he could say anything more, Elsa unwrapped the blanket she wore and thrust it into his hands. "I am sorry, Mr. Lawrence." While he was not sure for what precisely she was apologizing, it seemed an appropriate statement nonetheless. Lawrence nodded, saying nothing. Evan's acceptance, however, would be harder won. "What's the point in going back to the village?! Even if you do, it's already too late for—" "And yet I must." "Why?!" Evan took a step toward her, but Elsa was unmoved. "I am responsible for the church. I cannot abandon the villagers." Evan reeled as though he had been physically struck. He staggered back. "Evan—be a fine merchant, will you?" Elsa finally pushed him away, then dashed off in the direction of the village. Running at a woman's pace and taking rests, she would probably reach Tereo by evening. Though he didn't wish to think about it, Lawrence knew all too well what waited for her when she arrived. "Mr. L-Lawrence." Evan looked devastated and on the verge of tears. Lawrence was astonished by Elsa's words. "It seems she wants you to be a fine merchant." "...!" Evan's face twisted in fury; he seemed ready to fly at Lawrence. Yet Lawrence continued coolly. "A merchant must be able to logically weigh gain against loss. Can you do that?" Evan looked like a child seeing an optical illusion for the first time. He stopped in his tracks. "No matter how stout of heart she may be, no matter how firm her resolve, that doesn't mean she is never uncertain." Lawrence shrugged and continued. "Merchants must weigh gain against loss. You want to be a merchant, do you not?" Evan clenched his teeth, closing his eyes and squeezing his fists. He tossed the supplies he was carrying aside, then turned and ran. Lawrence sensed Holo approaching from behind. He turned. "So, what shall we—," he began but was unable to finish. His body was knocked to the ground as easily as a withered tree by Holo's massive paw. "Was I wrong?" Holo's paw pressed down against Lawrence's chest, two of her claws making grinding noises as they pierced the earth next to Lawrence's head. "Was I wrong?" she asked again, her eyes burning redly, her teeth bared and close. Lawrence could feel himself sinking into the soft ground. If she put even a bit more weight on him, she would crush his rib cage. Still, he managed to force a few words out. "Who...who can judge such a thing?" Holo shook her great head. "I cannot. Still, I...I..." "If you fight for your home, even against hopeless odds..." Lawrence put his hand on Holo's paw. "...At least you'll have no regrets." Lawrence felt Holo bristle. He was going to be crushed. Just as fear was about to overcome rational thought, Holo's form vanished. If someone had told Lawrence he'd been dreaming, he would have believed the person.

"My claws can crush boulders. I can defeat any number of humans." "As I well know." "None in Yoitsu can best me. Not human, wolf, deer, or boar." "What of a bear?" Lawrence did not refer to an ordinary bear. "Could I have matched the Moon-Hunting Bear?" It was not sadness that kept her from crying, but anger. Lawrence did not spare her feelings. "Surely not." At that moment, Holo raised her right hand, which had previously held Lawrence's throat. "At least it would have been a great battle. At least the tale of Yoitsu could've amounted to three pages in Father Franz's books." Her hand fell weakly against Lawrence's chest. "I don't know whether that is true. Still, this is all hypothetical. Am I wrong?" said Lawrence. "...You are not," said Holo, lightly hitting his chest yet again. "If shortly after you left Yoitsu, you had heard that the Moon-Hunting Bear was coming, I've no doubt you would have rushed back. But that is not what happened. We don't know how much time passed between when you left and disaster came to Yoitsu, but in any case it happened while you could not have known of it." Holo had seen Elsa's thoughts. Should she abandon her village? Or should she fight on despite being shunned, despite there being no chance of victory? This was the choice Elsa faced. Holo had never been given that choice—by the time she learned of her village's fate, it was all over. What would Holo have felt, seeing Elsa thus? She would have wanted Elsa to choose the path of least regret. But by doing so Elsa made Holo see with perfect clarity the path she herself had never been able to take. "I cannot abandon the villagers," Elsa had said—but to Holo, those words crossed time and space, accusing her. So it was that Lawrence came at her from the same time and place. "The fact that you're not crying shows that you yourself understand how foolish it is to feel this way." "I—!" Holo bared her sharp teeth, eyes red with anger. But Lawrence was unworried as he let Holo sit there on his chest. He brushed aside a bit of mulch that remained from when she had pushed him over. "I know that," she finished. Lawrence sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. Still straddling him, Holo looked away like a scolded child. She slid stiffly to one side, moving her legs together to sit on Lawrence's right leg, finally offering her hand. Lawrence took it and sat up, pulling his body from where it had half sunk into the soft earth. He sighed, fatigue showing on his face. "What excuse were you going to give Elsa and Evan if they'd returned?" The still-unclothed Holo turned away from Lawrence. "What do you mean, what excuse?" "For killing me." Holo gave a rare look of genuine embarrassment, then wrinkled her nose. "Were I a human female, you'd have no cause to complain if I killed you." "I'd have no ability to complain, being dead." Holo looked so cold that Lawrence wanted to hold her simply to warm her up. She looked up at his face and waited for him to continue. "What do you wish to do?" he asked. "That's what I should ask you." Holo's quick retort took him by surprise. He looked up at the sky. Even now, Holo was still Holo. She would always be grabbing the reins. Lawrence embraced her. "Just you wait," he said as payback for that ever-present rein grabbing. She shifted slightly in his embrace. "Can we not do something for them?" she asked, obviously referring to Elsa, Evan, and the village of Tereo. "Yoitsu can no longer be saved, but this village might yet be." "I'm a simple traveling merchant." Holo's tail swished audibly. "I am not a simple wolf." She was offering her complete cooperation. Yet even with that, what could possibly be done? She could not very well kill every person she didn't happen to like. "The problem is the poison wheat, yes? If it's mixed in with the good wheat, I can still tell the difference." "I've thought of that. I don't think that can help us." "So there is no way to make them believe, then."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"My claws can crush boulders. I can defeat any number of humans." "As I well know." "None in Yoitsu can best me. Not human, wolf, deer, or boar." "What of a bear?" Lawrence did not refer to an ordinary bear. "Could I have matched the Moon-Hunting Bear?" It was not sadness that kept her from crying, but anger. Lawrence did not spare her feelings. "Surely not." At that moment, Holo raised her right hand, which had previously held Lawrence's throat. "At least it would have been a great battle. At least the tale of Yoitsu could've amounted to three pages in Father Franz's books." Her hand fell weakly against Lawrence's chest. "I don't know whether that is true. Still, this is all hypothetical. Am I wrong?" said Lawrence. "...You are not," said Holo, lightly hitting his chest yet again. "If shortly after you left Yoitsu, you had heard that the Moon-Hunting Bear was coming, I've no doubt you would have rushed back. But that is not what happened. We don't know how much time passed between when you left and disaster came to Yoitsu, but in any case it happened while you could not have known of it." Holo had seen Elsa's thoughts. Should she abandon her village? Or should she fight on despite being shunned, despite there being no chance of victory? This was the choice Elsa faced. Holo had never been given that choice—by the time she learned of her village's fate, it was all over. What would Holo have felt, seeing Elsa thus? She would have wanted Elsa to choose the path of least regret. But by doing so Elsa made Holo see with perfect clarity the path she herself had never been able to take. "I cannot abandon the villagers," Elsa had said—but to Holo, those words crossed time and space, accusing her. So it was that Lawrence came at her from the same time and place. "The fact that you're not crying shows that you yourself understand how foolish it is to feel this way." "I—!" Holo bared her sharp teeth, eyes red with anger. But Lawrence was unworried as he let Holo sit there on his chest. He brushed aside a bit of mulch that remained from when she had pushed him over. "I know that," she finished. Lawrence sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. Still straddling him, Holo looked away like a scolded child. She slid stiffly to one side, moving her legs together to sit on Lawrence's right leg, finally offering her hand. Lawrence took it and sat up, pulling his body from where it had half sunk into the soft earth. He sighed, fatigue showing on his face. "What excuse were you going to give Elsa and Evan if they'd returned?" The still-unclothed Holo turned away from Lawrence. "What do you mean, what excuse?" "For killing me." Holo gave a rare look of genuine embarrassment, then wrinkled her nose. "Were I a human female, you'd have no cause to complain if I killed you." "I'd have no ability to complain, being dead." Holo looked so cold that Lawrence wanted to hold her simply to warm her up. She looked up at his face and waited for him to continue. "What do you wish to do?" he asked. "That's what I should ask you." Holo's quick retort took him by surprise. He looked up at the sky. Even now, Holo was still Holo. She would always be grabbing the reins. Lawrence embraced her. "Just you wait," he said as payback for that ever-present rein grabbing. She shifted slightly in his embrace. "Can we not do something for them?" she asked, obviously referring to Elsa, Evan, and the village of Tereo. "Yoitsu can no longer be saved, but this village might yet be." "I'm a simple traveling merchant." Holo's tail swished audibly. "I am not a simple wolf." She was offering her complete cooperation. Yet even with that, what could possibly be done? She could not very well kill every person she didn't happen to like. "The problem is the poison wheat, yes? If it's mixed in with the good wheat, I can still tell the difference." "I've thought of that. I don't think that can help us." "So there is no way to make them believe, then."

"What is it?" Lawrence's eyes moved to and fro, trying to connect the thoughts that filled his mind. He had considered that Holo would be able to distinguish poison wheat from good. What had stopped him short was how to convince others of the wheat's purity—or lack thereof. Somewhere, he had heard of a similar story. But where? He flipped through his memories rapidly. What finally emerged was an image of Elsa and her church. "That's right...a miracle..." "Mm." "What do you think is the single best way for the Church to increase its followers?" Holo made a face as though she had been made fun of. "Producing a miracle?" "Quite. But a miracle's fruit is always half-seed. They are not what they seem." Now it was Holo whose gaze darted to and fro as she chased her own frantic thoughts. "So it would need to be something that the eye can see...," she said thoughtfully. "Indeed. You—give me my wheat." Lawrence pointed at the bags he had dropped when Holo had pushed him over. "Then reach out and fetch it for me." Evidently she had no intention of moving from her place on his lap. Realizing that quibbling would be pointless, Lawrence twisted around as he was told, reaching out and grabbing the sack in question, then pulling it closer to extract the pouch of wheat from within—the pouch of wheat in which Holo dwelled. "Here," said Lawrence. "Mm. Now watch closely." She took a grain of wheat from the pouch, and placing it in the palm of her hand, she took a deep breath. The next moment— "Wha—!" Before Lawrence's eyes the grain quivered minutely, then cracked, sending a green shoot straight up, which lengthened into a white stem as it pushed skyward, its green leaves expanding outward. Soon a new ear of wheat appeared, sagging as it ripened and the once–green wheat stalk turned golden brown. The process had taken but a moment. "That is about as far as it goes, and I cannot do many at once. Also"—Holo held the wheat stalk that she had grown, tickling Lawrence's nose with the top of the wheat ear—"as you can see, this miracle, too, has seeds within it." "If I were to laugh, it would hardly sound natural." Holo frowned and thrust the stalk at Lawrence. "Well? This is all I can do that is visible to the eye. Well, this and assuming my wolf form." "No, this will be quite enough," said Lawrence. He took the wheat from Holo's hand and continued. "All that remains is to see if Elsa will accept this trick. Also—" "Is there more?" Lawrence nodded. "Still...," he muttered, shaking his head. "Then it will be time to show my skill as a merchant." Even showing beyond all doubt which of the wheat returned by Enberch was poisonous and which was safe would not instantly deliver Tereo from the danger it faced. By Sem's estimate, the funds they would owe Tereo would come to around seventy limar. Without addressing that shortfall, the villagers could still be devoured by Enberch. Even if Enberch had poisoned the wheat to seize control of Tereo, even if the townspeople recognized Holo's miracle, and even if they accepted her judgment on the good wheat and the bad, they would still not buy back the wheat they had returned. This meant that wheat would still need to be turned to cash somehow. If it came to that point, this fell within the purview of a merchant. And Lawrence was a merchant. "Right. Let us return," said Lawrence. "Hmph. And here sit I, freezing my tail off." Holo stood, blocking Lawrence's vision with a quick swish of her tail—and in that instant, she was a wolf again. "You seem disappointed," she said with a grin of bared teeth. Lawrence shrugged. "You seem happy." They caught up with Elsa and Evan very quickly. It was midday when the group arrived in Tereo. Elsa had been unexpectedly quick to accept Lawrence's proposal. Perhaps she had understood that without a plan, her resolve alone would not be enough to save the village. Even a day earlier, she would have been unable to make such a decision.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"What is it?" Lawrence's eyes moved to and fro, trying to connect the thoughts that filled his mind. He had considered that Holo would be able to distinguish poison wheat from good. What had stopped him short was how to convince others of the wheat's purity—or lack thereof. Somewhere, he had heard of a similar story. But where? He flipped through his memories rapidly. What finally emerged was an image of Elsa and her church. "That's right...a miracle..." "Mm." "What do you think is the single best way for the Church to increase its followers?" Holo made a face as though she had been made fun of. "Producing a miracle?" "Quite. But a miracle's fruit is always half-seed. They are not what they seem." Now it was Holo whose gaze darted to and fro as she chased her own frantic thoughts. "So it would need to be something that the eye can see...," she said thoughtfully. "Indeed. You—give me my wheat." Lawrence pointed at the bags he had dropped when Holo had pushed him over. "Then reach out and fetch it for me." Evidently she had no intention of moving from her place on his lap. Realizing that quibbling would be pointless, Lawrence twisted around as he was told, reaching out and grabbing the sack in question, then pulling it closer to extract the pouch of wheat from within—the pouch of wheat in which Holo dwelled. "Here," said Lawrence. "Mm. Now watch closely." She took a grain of wheat from the pouch, and placing it in the palm of her hand, she took a deep breath. The next moment— "Wha—!" Before Lawrence's eyes the grain quivered minutely, then cracked, sending a green shoot straight up, which lengthened into a white stem as it pushed skyward, its green leaves expanding outward. Soon a new ear of wheat appeared, sagging as it ripened and the once–green wheat stalk turned golden brown. The process had taken but a moment. "That is about as far as it goes, and I cannot do many at once. Also"—Holo held the wheat stalk that she had grown, tickling Lawrence's nose with the top of the wheat ear—"as you can see, this miracle, too, has seeds within it." "If I were to laugh, it would hardly sound natural." Holo frowned and thrust the stalk at Lawrence. "Well? This is all I can do that is visible to the eye. Well, this and assuming my wolf form." "No, this will be quite enough," said Lawrence. He took the wheat from Holo's hand and continued. "All that remains is to see if Elsa will accept this trick. Also—" "Is there more?" Lawrence nodded. "Still...," he muttered, shaking his head. "Then it will be time to show my skill as a merchant." Even showing beyond all doubt which of the wheat returned by Enberch was poisonous and which was safe would not instantly deliver Tereo from the danger it faced. By Sem's estimate, the funds they would owe Tereo would come to around seventy limar. Without addressing that shortfall, the villagers could still be devoured by Enberch. Even if Enberch had poisoned the wheat to seize control of Tereo, even if the townspeople recognized Holo's miracle, and even if they accepted her judgment on the good wheat and the bad, they would still not buy back the wheat they had returned. This meant that wheat would still need to be turned to cash somehow. If it came to that point, this fell within the purview of a merchant. And Lawrence was a merchant. "Right. Let us return," said Lawrence. "Hmph. And here sit I, freezing my tail off." Holo stood, blocking Lawrence's vision with a quick swish of her tail—and in that instant, she was a wolf again. "You seem disappointed," she said with a grin of bared teeth. Lawrence shrugged. "You seem happy." They caught up with Elsa and Evan very quickly. It was midday when the group arrived in Tereo. Elsa had been unexpectedly quick to accept Lawrence's proposal. Perhaps she had understood that without a plan, her resolve alone would not be enough to save the village. Even a day earlier, she would have been unable to make such a decision.

She displayed no fear in the face of a being that could swallow her in one bite or rip her to shreds with a wave of its paw. Holo glared at Elsa wordlessly, showing her rows of sharp teeth. Evan swallowed and looked on, but Holo knew the world well enough to understand that she did not stand at its peak. She soon closed her terrible jaws and turned away indignantly. "Now we must determine just how we will show this to the villagers." "Have you any ideas?" They were gathered at the peak of a hill outside Tereo, near Evan's millhouse. Holo stood watch. "No matter the product, purchasing it at the source yields the greatest gain," said Lawrence. "So, once the village has been cornered—?" asked Evan. Lawrence nodded. Evan continued. "Based on what we saw this morning, it looks like Bishop Van has come as well." "Bishop Van, eh?" The bishop's arrival meant that Enberch planned to corner Tereo both financially and religiously, but it also meant that there might be an opportunity to turn the situation around—a situation that earlier in the morning had seemed utterly hopeless. It was even better, in fact, if the Church leader of Enberch was present. No one was more qualified to witness a miracle than Bishop Van, after all. "The group from Enberch brought spearmen with them—they will have no patience for any objections from Tereo. I highly doubt the negotiations will happen in a civilized fashion," said Lawrence. "I do not think Elder Sem will incite the villagers to take up arms, either," said Elsa. "Not that the villagers would have courage enough to do that anyway," added Evan. His criticism was not inaccurate. Given all that, the best time for Lawrence and company to make their appearance was clear. "Then we should go in after Sem has bowed to Enberch's demands," said Elsa. "The miracle will happen as I've just explained," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded, looking at Evan. "Evan, will you be all right?" She referred to the task that had fallen to him. More than anyone else's, his life was at risk. And more than anyone else, he had to trust Holo. He looked at Holo. "Why, it's nothing—if I should eat the poisoned wheat, you have but to kill me before I die of the poison." His fingers trembled slightly. He had no doubt said this to appear strong before Elsa, but Holo did not fault him for that. "I shall swallow you in a single bite. It won't hurt a bit," she answered gleefully. "Then once we've produced this miracle, we'll leave the financial dealings to you, Mr. Lawrence," said Elsa. "Obviously we hope they will simply take the wheat back on the spot, but yes—I'll handle it." Elsa nodded and put her hands together. "May God's blessing go with us." Holo then spoke quietly. "They have come." *** In total, sixteen horse-drawn wagons rolled into Tereo, each one carrying three or four large burlap sacks. There were twenty-three spearmen, along with men equipped with shields and gauntlets who looked very much like foot soldiers in the company of knights. There were four clergymen on foot near a wagon. It was impossible to know how many were within their covered carriage, though Elsa said it probably contained Bishop Van and his assistant. Also traveling with the procession was a pudgy man who appeared to be a merchant. "Ah," Lawrence muttered to himself upon recognizing him. Riendott was the most successful flour merchant in Enberch. It was hardly a surprise that he had been the one to purchase all of Tereo's wheat. If that was so, then it would be easy to point to Tereo as the source for the wheat when someone died after eating bread made from it. If Riendott was truly the man at the center of this plan, then he had purposely avoided buying Lawrence's wheat when Lawrence passed through Enberch. In fact, that might have been the precise moment Riendott had decided to set his plan in motion. Darkness lay but a step ahead, and none could say where human malice might be hidden. Lawrence sighed slowly.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

She displayed no fear in the face of a being that could swallow her in one bite or rip her to shreds with a wave of its paw. Holo glared at Elsa wordlessly, showing her rows of sharp teeth. Evan swallowed and looked on, but Holo knew the world well enough to understand that she did not stand at its peak. She soon closed her terrible jaws and turned away indignantly. "Now we must determine just how we will show this to the villagers." "Have you any ideas?" They were gathered at the peak of a hill outside Tereo, near Evan's millhouse. Holo stood watch. "No matter the product, purchasing it at the source yields the greatest gain," said Lawrence. "So, once the village has been cornered—?" asked Evan. Lawrence nodded. Evan continued. "Based on what we saw this morning, it looks like Bishop Van has come as well." "Bishop Van, eh?" The bishop's arrival meant that Enberch planned to corner Tereo both financially and religiously, but it also meant that there might be an opportunity to turn the situation around—a situation that earlier in the morning had seemed utterly hopeless. It was even better, in fact, if the Church leader of Enberch was present. No one was more qualified to witness a miracle than Bishop Van, after all. "The group from Enberch brought spearmen with them—they will have no patience for any objections from Tereo. I highly doubt the negotiations will happen in a civilized fashion," said Lawrence. "I do not think Elder Sem will incite the villagers to take up arms, either," said Elsa. "Not that the villagers would have courage enough to do that anyway," added Evan. His criticism was not inaccurate. Given all that, the best time for Lawrence and company to make their appearance was clear. "Then we should go in after Sem has bowed to Enberch's demands," said Elsa. "The miracle will happen as I've just explained," said Lawrence. Elsa nodded, looking at Evan. "Evan, will you be all right?" She referred to the task that had fallen to him. More than anyone else's, his life was at risk. And more than anyone else, he had to trust Holo. He looked at Holo. "Why, it's nothing—if I should eat the poisoned wheat, you have but to kill me before I die of the poison." His fingers trembled slightly. He had no doubt said this to appear strong before Elsa, but Holo did not fault him for that. "I shall swallow you in a single bite. It won't hurt a bit," she answered gleefully. "Then once we've produced this miracle, we'll leave the financial dealings to you, Mr. Lawrence," said Elsa. "Obviously we hope they will simply take the wheat back on the spot, but yes—I'll handle it." Elsa nodded and put her hands together. "May God's blessing go with us." Holo then spoke quietly. "They have come." *** In total, sixteen horse-drawn wagons rolled into Tereo, each one carrying three or four large burlap sacks. There were twenty-three spearmen, along with men equipped with shields and gauntlets who looked very much like foot soldiers in the company of knights. There were four clergymen on foot near a wagon. It was impossible to know how many were within their covered carriage, though Elsa said it probably contained Bishop Van and his assistant. Also traveling with the procession was a pudgy man who appeared to be a merchant. "Ah," Lawrence muttered to himself upon recognizing him. Riendott was the most successful flour merchant in Enberch. It was hardly a surprise that he had been the one to purchase all of Tereo's wheat. If that was so, then it would be easy to point to Tereo as the source for the wheat when someone died after eating bread made from it. If Riendott was truly the man at the center of this plan, then he had purposely avoided buying Lawrence's wheat when Lawrence passed through Enberch. In fact, that might have been the precise moment Riendott had decided to set his plan in motion. Darkness lay but a step ahead, and none could say where human malice might be hidden. Lawrence sighed slowly.

Then the four of them took the long way around the village to Truyeo's den. While it was possible that Iima had locked the cellar door, it was also just as possible that she had merely closed it, leaving it unlocked. They were betting on the latter. "Is this what you meant by God's blessing?" Holo asked. They had won the bet. "Is there anyone inside?" "Nay. It's deserted," said Holo. Since Elsa and Evan had escaped, the villagers had no further business with the church, and it was empty. Lawrence pushed up against the pedestal. The statue of the Holy Mother tipped over and onto the floor with a clunk. The sound gave him a thrill of fear, but it was followed only by silence. He gave the pedestal a firm shove. Evan slipped through the gap that opened, and lifted the door properly open from the outside. "Right, now...Yes, we'll need a sickle and a chalice," said Lawrence. These were the tools needed for the plan the group was about to execute. Now out of the cellar, Elsa gave a quick nod and ran off with Evan in tow. Lawrence gave Holo, who remained in the basement, a small smile. "If everything goes well, you'll have all the time you want to read." Holo seemed to give up and finally climbed the steps out of the cellar. "So...how does it look outside?" "The window wasn't broken fortunately. We'll be able to see clearly." Once Lawrence and company had made their escape, Iima had found an opportunity to open the front door. The bar that had hung on the tightly closed door now leaned against a wall, unbroken. Lawrence peered out through a crack in the window and saw that the procession had already arrived in the village square, where a man in the garments of a high-ranking clergyman—surely Bishop Van—and Riendott, the flour merchant, both confronted Elder Sem. "Mr. Lawrence," said Elsa. She and Evan approached from behind him as quietly as they could. They brought a chalice that on its best day hadn't been made of pure silver, along with a rusty old sickle. But for demonstrating a miracle, the older and dingier the instruments, the better. "Good. Now we just wait for the right moment." Elsa and Evan swallowed nervously and nodded. Lawrence couldn't hear what the men were saying, but given Sem's frantic gestures, it looked like he was desperately trying to explain something to Bishop Van. Sem would occasionally point at the church, causing everyone gathered in the square to look in its direction, which Lawrence found unnerving. But no one approached the church since they seemed to assume it was completely empty. Bishop Van responded to Sem calmly, occasionally pausing to consult with the elderly assistant priest at his side. It seemed as though he considered the feelings of Elder Sem and the assembled villagers to be no more important than the wings of a fly that buzzed around his head. When Bishop Van produced a few sheets of parchment, Elder Sem was stunned into silence. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Lawrence asked Holo. "They are demanding money," came the answer. Just then a great clamor arose—Lawrence could see a spearman subduing a villager who had charged the proceedings. Seeing this, several other villagers charged, though the outcome was no different. Though their clothes were not uniform and they seemed little more than an impromptu militia, the spearmen seemed to have some discipline. They formed a ragged circle, spears out and at the ready. "Mm. The man Sem has stopped resisting. He is beginning to yield." If he gave an inch, Bishop Van and Riendott would take a mile. Bishop Van would corner Sem until nothing could help him. "Who's that?" Another villager had joined the discussion. He exchanged some words with Riendott, then soon became enraged and had to be restrained by Sem. Evan answered Lawrence's question. "That's the baker. He speaks ill of me the most." Riendott, like Bishop Van, produced a sheet of parchment from his pocket and held it up proudly, causing the villagers to fall silent.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Then the four of them took the long way around the village to Truyeo's den. While it was possible that Iima had locked the cellar door, it was also just as possible that she had merely closed it, leaving it unlocked. They were betting on the latter. "Is this what you meant by God's blessing?" Holo asked. They had won the bet. "Is there anyone inside?" "Nay. It's deserted," said Holo. Since Elsa and Evan had escaped, the villagers had no further business with the church, and it was empty. Lawrence pushed up against the pedestal. The statue of the Holy Mother tipped over and onto the floor with a clunk. The sound gave him a thrill of fear, but it was followed only by silence. He gave the pedestal a firm shove. Evan slipped through the gap that opened, and lifted the door properly open from the outside. "Right, now...Yes, we'll need a sickle and a chalice," said Lawrence. These were the tools needed for the plan the group was about to execute. Now out of the cellar, Elsa gave a quick nod and ran off with Evan in tow. Lawrence gave Holo, who remained in the basement, a small smile. "If everything goes well, you'll have all the time you want to read." Holo seemed to give up and finally climbed the steps out of the cellar. "So...how does it look outside?" "The window wasn't broken fortunately. We'll be able to see clearly." Once Lawrence and company had made their escape, Iima had found an opportunity to open the front door. The bar that had hung on the tightly closed door now leaned against a wall, unbroken. Lawrence peered out through a crack in the window and saw that the procession had already arrived in the village square, where a man in the garments of a high-ranking clergyman—surely Bishop Van—and Riendott, the flour merchant, both confronted Elder Sem. "Mr. Lawrence," said Elsa. She and Evan approached from behind him as quietly as they could. They brought a chalice that on its best day hadn't been made of pure silver, along with a rusty old sickle. But for demonstrating a miracle, the older and dingier the instruments, the better. "Good. Now we just wait for the right moment." Elsa and Evan swallowed nervously and nodded. Lawrence couldn't hear what the men were saying, but given Sem's frantic gestures, it looked like he was desperately trying to explain something to Bishop Van. Sem would occasionally point at the church, causing everyone gathered in the square to look in its direction, which Lawrence found unnerving. But no one approached the church since they seemed to assume it was completely empty. Bishop Van responded to Sem calmly, occasionally pausing to consult with the elderly assistant priest at his side. It seemed as though he considered the feelings of Elder Sem and the assembled villagers to be no more important than the wings of a fly that buzzed around his head. When Bishop Van produced a few sheets of parchment, Elder Sem was stunned into silence. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Lawrence asked Holo. "They are demanding money," came the answer. Just then a great clamor arose—Lawrence could see a spearman subduing a villager who had charged the proceedings. Seeing this, several other villagers charged, though the outcome was no different. Though their clothes were not uniform and they seemed little more than an impromptu militia, the spearmen seemed to have some discipline. They formed a ragged circle, spears out and at the ready. "Mm. The man Sem has stopped resisting. He is beginning to yield." If he gave an inch, Bishop Van and Riendott would take a mile. Bishop Van would corner Sem until nothing could help him. "Who's that?" Another villager had joined the discussion. He exchanged some words with Riendott, then soon became enraged and had to be restrained by Sem. Evan answered Lawrence's question. "That's the baker. He speaks ill of me the most." Riendott, like Bishop Van, produced a sheet of parchment from his pocket and held it up proudly, causing the villagers to fall silent.

"I suppose Father Franz was just too good," said Lawrence vaguely, which elicited a slight nod from Elsa. Finally Sem fell to his knees on the stone. The villagers who had been glaring at Bishop Van now hurried to help him. Watching this, Lawrence heard a fist being clenched. When he looked, he saw it was Elsa. Though her face was calm, her feelings were all too evident. No villager had ever reached out to help her. "They are finished. A final decision has been given," said Holo suddenly. Lawrence knew immediately what she meant. All at once, Sem and the other villagers looked at the building opposite the church—Sem's house. Lawrence needed only to look at their backs to know what they were thinking. Next, two guards climbed atop the large, flat meeting stone. In their hands, they held the idol of Truyeo that Lawrence had seen in Sem's house. "If you but burn this abomination and embrace the true faith, all shall be resolved. If not, Tereo will be guilty of heresy," Holo said—no doubt repeating Bishop Van's words. Sem and the rest of the people looked at the church, as though they could hear her speak. "Humans—always depending on others in times of need," said Holo with a sigh, stepping back from the window. "Still, I have depended on humans in my time. Shall we?" Evan's face made it plain that he could barely stand to forgive the selfishness of the villagers. But he swallowed his anger and looked at Elsa. Elsa stood quickly. "As a servant of righteousness, I cannot abandon the village," she said shortly. Lawrence nodded. "Let's go." On that cue, the four of them opened the church's front door. Apparently silence could indeed descend. That was what struck Lawrence about this particular silence. He would never forget the imploring look that Sem gave him as he stood before the stuffed snakeskin totem of Truyeo. "Elsa!" It was Iima who broke the silence. Iima was not standing on the meeting stone—perhaps because she had aided Elsa—but instead watched the proceedings with the rest of the villagers. Unconcerned with the villagers' questioning glances, she ran toward the people she had tried to protect. "Elsa, why—" "I'm sorry, Mrs. Iima." Iima turned to Lawrence, her face uncomprehending. Before Lawrence could reply, Bishop Van spoke from his place on the stone. "Goodness, what have we here? None other than Miss Elsa, the successor to Father Franz!" "It has been some time, Bishop Van," said Elsa. "I was led to believe that you had snuck out of Tereo. Was the weight of your sin too much for your conscience to bear?" "God is always forgiving." Bishop Van seemed momentarily cowed by Elsa's firm answer, but he composed himself quickly and whispered something into the ear of the priest who stood next to him. The priest cleared his throat, then produced a sheet of parchment, and holding it up, read it aloud. "We, the Enberch Church of St. Rio, believe and declare that the village of Tereo has prayed to pagan deities and has moreover added the liquor of Khepas to their wheat in order to harm the believers of the one true faith. While believers of the one true faith suffer and die, not a single citizen of Tereo has fallen ill. As they eat of the same wheat, this can be nothing but proof that the village is protected by the evil deities they worship." When the priest finished his pronouncement, Bishop Van continued. "As stipulated in the contract signed with Father Franz, we will first return this wheat. Moreover, we shall reestablish a righteous holy church. As for the false servant of God, who wears the skin of a lamb but underneath is a lying serpent, she shall face the judgment of the most high God." When he finished, the soldiers with shields drew their swords and pointed them at Lawrence and company.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"I suppose Father Franz was just too good," said Lawrence vaguely, which elicited a slight nod from Elsa. Finally Sem fell to his knees on the stone. The villagers who had been glaring at Bishop Van now hurried to help him. Watching this, Lawrence heard a fist being clenched. When he looked, he saw it was Elsa. Though her face was calm, her feelings were all too evident. No villager had ever reached out to help her. "They are finished. A final decision has been given," said Holo suddenly. Lawrence knew immediately what she meant. All at once, Sem and the other villagers looked at the building opposite the church—Sem's house. Lawrence needed only to look at their backs to know what they were thinking. Next, two guards climbed atop the large, flat meeting stone. In their hands, they held the idol of Truyeo that Lawrence had seen in Sem's house. "If you but burn this abomination and embrace the true faith, all shall be resolved. If not, Tereo will be guilty of heresy," Holo said—no doubt repeating Bishop Van's words. Sem and the rest of the people looked at the church, as though they could hear her speak. "Humans—always depending on others in times of need," said Holo with a sigh, stepping back from the window. "Still, I have depended on humans in my time. Shall we?" Evan's face made it plain that he could barely stand to forgive the selfishness of the villagers. But he swallowed his anger and looked at Elsa. Elsa stood quickly. "As a servant of righteousness, I cannot abandon the village," she said shortly. Lawrence nodded. "Let's go." On that cue, the four of them opened the church's front door. Apparently silence could indeed descend. That was what struck Lawrence about this particular silence. He would never forget the imploring look that Sem gave him as he stood before the stuffed snakeskin totem of Truyeo. "Elsa!" It was Iima who broke the silence. Iima was not standing on the meeting stone—perhaps because she had aided Elsa—but instead watched the proceedings with the rest of the villagers. Unconcerned with the villagers' questioning glances, she ran toward the people she had tried to protect. "Elsa, why—" "I'm sorry, Mrs. Iima." Iima turned to Lawrence, her face uncomprehending. Before Lawrence could reply, Bishop Van spoke from his place on the stone. "Goodness, what have we here? None other than Miss Elsa, the successor to Father Franz!" "It has been some time, Bishop Van," said Elsa. "I was led to believe that you had snuck out of Tereo. Was the weight of your sin too much for your conscience to bear?" "God is always forgiving." Bishop Van seemed momentarily cowed by Elsa's firm answer, but he composed himself quickly and whispered something into the ear of the priest who stood next to him. The priest cleared his throat, then produced a sheet of parchment, and holding it up, read it aloud. "We, the Enberch Church of St. Rio, believe and declare that the village of Tereo has prayed to pagan deities and has moreover added the liquor of Khepas to their wheat in order to harm the believers of the one true faith. While believers of the one true faith suffer and die, not a single citizen of Tereo has fallen ill. As they eat of the same wheat, this can be nothing but proof that the village is protected by the evil deities they worship." When the priest finished his pronouncement, Bishop Van continued. "As stipulated in the contract signed with Father Franz, we will first return this wheat. Moreover, we shall reestablish a righteous holy church. As for the false servant of God, who wears the skin of a lamb but underneath is a lying serpent, she shall face the judgment of the most high God." When he finished, the soldiers with shields drew their swords and pointed them at Lawrence and company.

Bishop Van flinched, then glanced to the priest at his side, his brow furrowed. The priest said something to him quietly and briefly. Van raised one hand. "That you would claim so readily to have encountered a divine messenger is merely proof of your heresy! If I am wrong, then bring the proof before me!" The fish had swallowed the bait. Elsa looked first at Evan, then Holo. The miller and the wolf girl both nodded. "If you have doubts, let us show you!" Evan and Holo headed straight for the wagons that were loaded with wheat, but as they approached, the spearmen prepared to stave them off. Van gave a derisive snort. "Let them through!" he said. Evan held in his hand a grain of wheat he had received from Holo. Elsa watch the two of them go, then made her way to the gathering stone, ignoring Iima's protests. "Worship of Truyeo the serpent god is indeed a mistake," she said. The villagers that stood atop the meeting stone glared at Elsa as though she had forced them to swallow a rock. "However, that mistake is not itself a fundamental one." She climbed the steps that led to the stone, walked directly past Bishop Van, and knelt down before the totem of Truyeo. In the church, she had been unwilling to lie even after having been trapped by Lawrence and Holo. She was still that girl, every inch a clergywoman. So why did she not denounce the snake totem as a false idol, and why was she kneeling before it? "It is my belief that Truyeo itself is one of God's miracles." Sem's eyes widened, and the villagers were visibly disturbed. Elsa's words neither denied nor acknowledged Truyeo. But Van smiled. "The words of men do not keep close company with the truth. Can you prove that your words were not whispered into your ears by a demon?" he sneered. "The divine messenger has promised to reveal a sign that will guide the wayward lambs back to the true path." Holo and Evan looked to Elsa. It was the signal that their preparations were done. Even though he knew all was well, Lawrence was keenly aware of his own nervousness. Elsa, too, must have felt the overwhelming pressure of all those gazes—the villagers' and Bishop Van's. But her voice was still clear and strong. She had inherited the teachings of Father Franz and trusted in Holo's supernatural power, which gave her new faith in the righteousness of the God that had created the world. "Hmph, you would presume to display the power of God...," began Van, but his voice was drowned out by the cries of fear and surprise that arose from the people who surrounded the wagons. "Th-the wheat, it's—!" The crowd's cries crew louder. From within the bags of wheat loaded on the wagons, ears of wheat began to sprout and grow skyward. Sem and the rest looked on, their faces as expressionless as badly made dolls, and Van was stunned into silence by the miracle before him. As the wheat stalks continued to grow, the people's cries echoed throughout the square, at times sounding almost dismayed. "It's God! God has created a miracle!" The shouting spread like wildfire, and in the end, even the clergymen bowed down. Only Bishop Van remained standing stock-still as he took in the sight. Another cry arose as one of the green stalks of wheat matured. Of the wheat that sprouted in the sixteen wagons, only one wagon's wheat was different. Instead of ripening honey brown, it withered and turned to dust. All who saw knew exactly what that meant. Everyone's attention was focused entirely on the wheat, save Lawrence's. He looked at the ashen-faced Riendott and at Bishop Van. The ones responsible for poisoning the wheat could hardly laugh this miracle off. "God has shown us the correct path," said Elsa, focusing the gaze of the crowd on herself. "This...can't be...It's absurd...!" "Bishop Van," said Elsa, cool and logical. "I would like you to confirm that this is not the work of a demon." "H-how—" "Use this," said Elsa, producing a dull metal chalice and holding it out to Van.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Bishop Van flinched, then glanced to the priest at his side, his brow furrowed. The priest said something to him quietly and briefly. Van raised one hand. "That you would claim so readily to have encountered a divine messenger is merely proof of your heresy! If I am wrong, then bring the proof before me!" The fish had swallowed the bait. Elsa looked first at Evan, then Holo. The miller and the wolf girl both nodded. "If you have doubts, let us show you!" Evan and Holo headed straight for the wagons that were loaded with wheat, but as they approached, the spearmen prepared to stave them off. Van gave a derisive snort. "Let them through!" he said. Evan held in his hand a grain of wheat he had received from Holo. Elsa watch the two of them go, then made her way to the gathering stone, ignoring Iima's protests. "Worship of Truyeo the serpent god is indeed a mistake," she said. The villagers that stood atop the meeting stone glared at Elsa as though she had forced them to swallow a rock. "However, that mistake is not itself a fundamental one." She climbed the steps that led to the stone, walked directly past Bishop Van, and knelt down before the totem of Truyeo. In the church, she had been unwilling to lie even after having been trapped by Lawrence and Holo. She was still that girl, every inch a clergywoman. So why did she not denounce the snake totem as a false idol, and why was she kneeling before it? "It is my belief that Truyeo itself is one of God's miracles." Sem's eyes widened, and the villagers were visibly disturbed. Elsa's words neither denied nor acknowledged Truyeo. But Van smiled. "The words of men do not keep close company with the truth. Can you prove that your words were not whispered into your ears by a demon?" he sneered. "The divine messenger has promised to reveal a sign that will guide the wayward lambs back to the true path." Holo and Evan looked to Elsa. It was the signal that their preparations were done. Even though he knew all was well, Lawrence was keenly aware of his own nervousness. Elsa, too, must have felt the overwhelming pressure of all those gazes—the villagers' and Bishop Van's. But her voice was still clear and strong. She had inherited the teachings of Father Franz and trusted in Holo's supernatural power, which gave her new faith in the righteousness of the God that had created the world. "Hmph, you would presume to display the power of God...," began Van, but his voice was drowned out by the cries of fear and surprise that arose from the people who surrounded the wagons. "Th-the wheat, it's—!" The crowd's cries crew louder. From within the bags of wheat loaded on the wagons, ears of wheat began to sprout and grow skyward. Sem and the rest looked on, their faces as expressionless as badly made dolls, and Van was stunned into silence by the miracle before him. As the wheat stalks continued to grow, the people's cries echoed throughout the square, at times sounding almost dismayed. "It's God! God has created a miracle!" The shouting spread like wildfire, and in the end, even the clergymen bowed down. Only Bishop Van remained standing stock-still as he took in the sight. Another cry arose as one of the green stalks of wheat matured. Of the wheat that sprouted in the sixteen wagons, only one wagon's wheat was different. Instead of ripening honey brown, it withered and turned to dust. All who saw knew exactly what that meant. Everyone's attention was focused entirely on the wheat, save Lawrence's. He looked at the ashen-faced Riendott and at Bishop Van. The ones responsible for poisoning the wheat could hardly laugh this miracle off. "God has shown us the correct path," said Elsa, focusing the gaze of the crowd on herself. "This...can't be...It's absurd...!" "Bishop Van," said Elsa, cool and logical. "I would like you to confirm that this is not the work of a demon." "H-how—" "Use this," said Elsa, producing a dull metal chalice and holding it out to Van.

Bishop Van did as he was asked, taking the chalice, then speaking hurriedly. "Wh-what exactly do you plan to do with this?" "Even the poor may be baptized in God. I would have you, Bishop Van, cleanse this cup." Van was overwhelmed and unable to protest further. He gave the assistant priest a look of anguish. The priest in turn ordered the other clergymen to fetch some water. They soon returned bearing water, which they handed over to Van. Any water poured by a clergyman of the Church became holy and pure. The chalice, now filled with holy water, shone dully in Bishop Van's hands. "Take the water now to the miller there," said Elsa. She refrained from doing it herself so as to make sure he could find no fault with her. This way, the purported righteousness of the clergy would be transferred to Evan in the very act of giving him the water. "Watch closely," said Elsa. She turned to Evan and nodded. He nodded back firmly. Evan produced a small knife and climbed atop each of the wagons, cutting open a burlap sack in each one, taking a bit of flour out of the sack, and putting it into the chalice as he went. It was obvious to everyone what he planned to do. All eyes were on the young wheat grinder. The villagers' nervous gulps were almost audible. Once he had taken flour from fifteen of the sixteen wagons, Evan took the cup, now filled with a mixture of flour and water, and raised it high. As if pulled by strings, the eyes of the clergymen followed the chalice. They murmured something—perhaps their last prayers to God. Evan slowly lowered the chalice, peering at its contents. He had seen Holo's true form and knew that she was no ordinary being. He had seen stalks of wheat complete a full year's growth in but a few moments. Evan looked suddenly away from the chalice. His gaze fell upon none other than Elsa. The next instant, he drank the contents of the chalice down in one great gulp. "This is the truth of the miracle that God's messenger has revealed to us." Evan jumped down and thrust the chalice back into the hands of the clergymen, flour still clinging to the corners of his mouth. The clergy then poured fresh water out from a water skin to purify the cup anew. Next, Evan climbed atop the one wagon from which he had taken no flour, and removed a small amount from one of the burlap sacks, placing it in the chalice. Elsa turned to the bishop, who was now trembling. "If this is a false miracle, then surely you will be able to demonstrate a true one." If one had lied and claimed the wheat was poisoned, the only way to prove whether it truly was or not would be to eat all of the wheat. However, that was speaking in purely logical terms, and miracles went beyond the purview of logic. Only a miracle could oppose another miracle. To prove this was not a false miracle created by a demon, the bishop would have to produce a true miracle from God. "Bishop Van." Elsa took the chalice from Evan and held it out to Van. Riendott fell backward on the spot. Van was frozen, unable to move. He could not accept the chalice before him. "V-very well. This...this is a miracle. A true miracle." "And the church of this village?" came Elsa's quick demand. Van had neither the words nor the miracle he needed to respond. "It's...legitimate," he growled. "A legitimate church." "I'll ask you to put that in writing," said Elsa. She finally showed a smile as she addressed Elder Sem and the villagers and reverently gathered up the totem of Truyeo. Bishop Van could neither complain nor demand that the villagers cease their worship of Truyeo, a condition they welcomed gladly. Elsa had performed admirably. Though beneath the thin layer of courage that had let her confront Bishop Van without hesitation, uncertainty and fear surely swirled within her. She took a deep, deep breath; wiped the corners of her eyes; and bowed her head, her hands clasped in prayer.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Bishop Van did as he was asked, taking the chalice, then speaking hurriedly. "Wh-what exactly do you plan to do with this?" "Even the poor may be baptized in God. I would have you, Bishop Van, cleanse this cup." Van was overwhelmed and unable to protest further. He gave the assistant priest a look of anguish. The priest in turn ordered the other clergymen to fetch some water. They soon returned bearing water, which they handed over to Van. Any water poured by a clergyman of the Church became holy and pure. The chalice, now filled with holy water, shone dully in Bishop Van's hands. "Take the water now to the miller there," said Elsa. She refrained from doing it herself so as to make sure he could find no fault with her. This way, the purported righteousness of the clergy would be transferred to Evan in the very act of giving him the water. "Watch closely," said Elsa. She turned to Evan and nodded. He nodded back firmly. Evan produced a small knife and climbed atop each of the wagons, cutting open a burlap sack in each one, taking a bit of flour out of the sack, and putting it into the chalice as he went. It was obvious to everyone what he planned to do. All eyes were on the young wheat grinder. The villagers' nervous gulps were almost audible. Once he had taken flour from fifteen of the sixteen wagons, Evan took the cup, now filled with a mixture of flour and water, and raised it high. As if pulled by strings, the eyes of the clergymen followed the chalice. They murmured something—perhaps their last prayers to God. Evan slowly lowered the chalice, peering at its contents. He had seen Holo's true form and knew that she was no ordinary being. He had seen stalks of wheat complete a full year's growth in but a few moments. Evan looked suddenly away from the chalice. His gaze fell upon none other than Elsa. The next instant, he drank the contents of the chalice down in one great gulp. "This is the truth of the miracle that God's messenger has revealed to us." Evan jumped down and thrust the chalice back into the hands of the clergymen, flour still clinging to the corners of his mouth. The clergy then poured fresh water out from a water skin to purify the cup anew. Next, Evan climbed atop the one wagon from which he had taken no flour, and removed a small amount from one of the burlap sacks, placing it in the chalice. Elsa turned to the bishop, who was now trembling. "If this is a false miracle, then surely you will be able to demonstrate a true one." If one had lied and claimed the wheat was poisoned, the only way to prove whether it truly was or not would be to eat all of the wheat. However, that was speaking in purely logical terms, and miracles went beyond the purview of logic. Only a miracle could oppose another miracle. To prove this was not a false miracle created by a demon, the bishop would have to produce a true miracle from God. "Bishop Van." Elsa took the chalice from Evan and held it out to Van. Riendott fell backward on the spot. Van was frozen, unable to move. He could not accept the chalice before him. "V-very well. This...this is a miracle. A true miracle." "And the church of this village?" came Elsa's quick demand. Van had neither the words nor the miracle he needed to respond. "It's...legitimate," he growled. "A legitimate church." "I'll ask you to put that in writing," said Elsa. She finally showed a smile as she addressed Elder Sem and the villagers and reverently gathered up the totem of Truyeo. Bishop Van could neither complain nor demand that the villagers cease their worship of Truyeo, a condition they welcomed gladly. Elsa had performed admirably. Though beneath the thin layer of courage that had let her confront Bishop Van without hesitation, uncertainty and fear surely swirled within her. She took a deep, deep breath; wiped the corners of her eyes; and bowed her head, her hands clasped in prayer.

Holo came running to Lawrence's side. He had been watching her as a spectator would. "What say you? Impressive, no?" prodded Holo proudly, standing in stark contrast to Elsa, who remained humble despite having served Bishop Van his comeuppance. But their differences corresponded exactly to the differences between Lawrence and Evan. Evan shoved the chalice into the hands of one of the clergymen before running over to Elsa and embracing her tightly. Lawrence's gaze, along with the villagers', was drawn in by the sight. Holo sniffed her displeasure. "You seem quite envious." Lawrence saw the challenge in Holo's smile as she said this. Afraid, he could only shrug. "Aye, quite envious." Holo appeared taken aback by the unexpected reply. "Envious because I was behind the scenes the whole time. Elsa and Evan were onstage. You sprung the trap." This was a successful diversion. Holo sighed, her expression one of disappointment. "Still, the issue of coin has not yet been settled. That job falls to you, does it not?" "It does. Although..." Lawrence took the situation in and thought it over. The tables had been turned. The mouse had managed to bite the cat. It might as well try to come away with some meat, Lawrence felt. As the scene changed before his eyes so did his ideas. In his mind, Lawrence put together a plan that he would never dare try in any other town. It made him feel slightly sadistic. "Indeed. I suppose this might be worth trying," he said to himself, unconsciously stroking his beard. He became aware of Holo's gaze on him. She was looking up at him, clearly surprised. It was rare to see her genuinely surprised. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Heh...are you sure you are not a wolf yourself?" The statement was so disconnected to anything that he couldn't help looking dumbfounded. "Huh?" Holo chuckled, her fangs showing. "That face might suit you a bit better." *** Lawrence withdrew at this point, worried that continuing would only lead him to fall into yet another of Holo's traps. Holo did not push the subject, evidently satisfied with just a bit of teasing. In any case, their usual banter would have to wait. There was still business to take care of and revenge to be had. Bishop Van and the rest of the people from Enberch were descending from the meeting stone, heading over to Sem's house to draw up some documents. Lawrence jogged over to them. "They may go with Sem to settle matters of religion, but you, Mr. Riendott—you have matters of coin to attend to," he said. Riendott looked like a criminal who had been unable to escape capture. Bishop Van did not know Lawrence and was about to demand to know who he was when Sem, having listened to a short whispered comment from Elsa, spoke softly to him. A surprised "ah" was all the bishop could manage. Likewise, the villagers regarded Lawrence with suspicion until hearing Sem's explanation. Their expressions of surprise were different from Van's, but eventually they nodded begrudgingly. Holo whispered in Lawrence's ear, "It seems he is willing to leave everything to you." Lawrence had gone from being suspected as the villain who'd poisoned the village's wheat to the man responsible for negotiating on that same village's behalf. Remaining there on the meeting stone, Riendott seemed painfully aware of the fact that he had set Lawrence up. He looked like he was about to cry. The stone was still surrounded by villagers, and even the people from Enberch discussed the miracle in excited tones. In this atmosphere, the negotiations would be simple. "Well then, Mr. Riendott." "Er, yes!" came his hoarse reply. It was hard to tell whether he was deliberately trying to elicit sympathy or not. By the way Holo coughed and glared at the man, his actions were probably an act. "I have been asked by Miss Elsa and the village elder to conduct all financial negotiations. I would first ask whether every villager here can accept those terms."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo came running to Lawrence's side. He had been watching her as a spectator would. "What say you? Impressive, no?" prodded Holo proudly, standing in stark contrast to Elsa, who remained humble despite having served Bishop Van his comeuppance. But their differences corresponded exactly to the differences between Lawrence and Evan. Evan shoved the chalice into the hands of one of the clergymen before running over to Elsa and embracing her tightly. Lawrence's gaze, along with the villagers', was drawn in by the sight. Holo sniffed her displeasure. "You seem quite envious." Lawrence saw the challenge in Holo's smile as she said this. Afraid, he could only shrug. "Aye, quite envious." Holo appeared taken aback by the unexpected reply. "Envious because I was behind the scenes the whole time. Elsa and Evan were onstage. You sprung the trap." This was a successful diversion. Holo sighed, her expression one of disappointment. "Still, the issue of coin has not yet been settled. That job falls to you, does it not?" "It does. Although..." Lawrence took the situation in and thought it over. The tables had been turned. The mouse had managed to bite the cat. It might as well try to come away with some meat, Lawrence felt. As the scene changed before his eyes so did his ideas. In his mind, Lawrence put together a plan that he would never dare try in any other town. It made him feel slightly sadistic. "Indeed. I suppose this might be worth trying," he said to himself, unconsciously stroking his beard. He became aware of Holo's gaze on him. She was looking up at him, clearly surprised. It was rare to see her genuinely surprised. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Heh...are you sure you are not a wolf yourself?" The statement was so disconnected to anything that he couldn't help looking dumbfounded. "Huh?" Holo chuckled, her fangs showing. "That face might suit you a bit better." *** Lawrence withdrew at this point, worried that continuing would only lead him to fall into yet another of Holo's traps. Holo did not push the subject, evidently satisfied with just a bit of teasing. In any case, their usual banter would have to wait. There was still business to take care of and revenge to be had. Bishop Van and the rest of the people from Enberch were descending from the meeting stone, heading over to Sem's house to draw up some documents. Lawrence jogged over to them. "They may go with Sem to settle matters of religion, but you, Mr. Riendott—you have matters of coin to attend to," he said. Riendott looked like a criminal who had been unable to escape capture. Bishop Van did not know Lawrence and was about to demand to know who he was when Sem, having listened to a short whispered comment from Elsa, spoke softly to him. A surprised "ah" was all the bishop could manage. Likewise, the villagers regarded Lawrence with suspicion until hearing Sem's explanation. Their expressions of surprise were different from Van's, but eventually they nodded begrudgingly. Holo whispered in Lawrence's ear, "It seems he is willing to leave everything to you." Lawrence had gone from being suspected as the villain who'd poisoned the village's wheat to the man responsible for negotiating on that same village's behalf. Remaining there on the meeting stone, Riendott seemed painfully aware of the fact that he had set Lawrence up. He looked like he was about to cry. The stone was still surrounded by villagers, and even the people from Enberch discussed the miracle in excited tones. In this atmosphere, the negotiations would be simple. "Well then, Mr. Riendott." "Er, yes!" came his hoarse reply. It was hard to tell whether he was deliberately trying to elicit sympathy or not. By the way Holo coughed and glared at the man, his actions were probably an act. "I have been asked by Miss Elsa and the village elder to conduct all financial negotiations. I would first ask whether every villager here can accept those terms."

The baker piped up next, scratching his head. "We've always left everything to do with coin to the elder." Lawrence nodded. "There it is, then. I shall begin with the greatest demand. I would have you keep the wheat." Riendott sputtered, "Th-that's preposterous! I couldn't possibly!" "Why is that?" "Th-the reputation of the wheat! After all, a man has died! My shop's reputation has been damaged!" Given everything else, the story of a death had also probably been a lie. Lawrence looked at Holo. Her eyes asked him what he wanted to do. Yes, the dead man was a lie surely. But there was nothing to be gained in exposing it. That could even prove fatal. "And besides—besides!" continued Riendott. "It's written in the contract with Father Franz that any wheat touched by Khepas liquor will be returned!" This was an obvious position for him to take, and the villagers could hardly argue this point. Even if they suspected Riendott himself of planting the poison in the wheat, they could prove nothing. "Very well, then. Suppose we accept the returned wheat. What would the price be?" Riendott took a deep breath upon hearing Lawrence's concession, as though he was finally breaking the surface after having been trapped underwater. "T-two hundred lim—" "That's absurd!" cried the baker, grabbing Riendott by his collar. "That's the price you paid us originally, you bastard!" It was true—Riendott must have sold off at least some of the wheat already, so he could hardly demand the same amount back. Moreover, if that was the amount the village truly owed, the people would still be short a full seventy limar. Lawrence couldn't help admiring Riendott's sheer nerve, quoting the highest possible price even in these circumstances. "F-f-fine then...O-one hundred ninety—" The baker tightened his grip, but Lawrence stopped him. His intention was not, however, to save Riendott. "Mr. Riendott, if another miracle was to happen, that would be quite disadvantageous for you, would it not?" The villagers did not understand the true meaning behind these words, but thanks to Holo seeing through Riendott's lie, Lawrence knew what worried the man most. What he feared most was that Enberch's lie would be exposed. Riendott's face looked like a drowning pig's. "O-one h-hundred...six...ty..." In trenni silver, this came to a concession of eight hundred pieces. The baker loosened his grip. Lawrence watched Riendott cough; this was probably the limit of how much the man could afford to concede. Pushing further would only serve to create more resentment. After all, the contract between Tereo and Enberch had been abnormal to begin with. "In that case, let us settle the return at that amount. Let all present bear witness." Each villager nodded, and Riendott finally looked up. Now came the crux of the matter. Though Lawrence had extracted a significant concession, it still was not a sum that the village could afford to repay. In order to prevent this whole farce from repeating itself, a more proper contract needed to be established. "Incidentally Mr. Riendott," said Lawrence. "Y-yes?" "Regarding this returned wheat—I presume it would not be possible to persuade you to repurchase it." Riendott immediately shook his head. He would ruin his business in such a transaction. "Understood. However, according to Elder Sem, the village does not have enough cash to buy back the wheat. Even at one hundred sixty limar, there is still not enough." The villagers raised their voices in surprise. Evidently the elder had hidden this truth from them in order to avoid a panic. "Thus I have a proposal for you," continued Lawrence before the villagers could pounce on Riendott. "Wh-what do you...?" "It is but a simple thing. I would ask that you persuade the bishop to allow the village to sell wheat under his name." Riendott thought hard, obviously trying to see what Lawrence hoped to gain in such a deal. He would not figure it out, though, Lawrence was confident.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

The baker piped up next, scratching his head. "We've always left everything to do with coin to the elder." Lawrence nodded. "There it is, then. I shall begin with the greatest demand. I would have you keep the wheat." Riendott sputtered, "Th-that's preposterous! I couldn't possibly!" "Why is that?" "Th-the reputation of the wheat! After all, a man has died! My shop's reputation has been damaged!" Given everything else, the story of a death had also probably been a lie. Lawrence looked at Holo. Her eyes asked him what he wanted to do. Yes, the dead man was a lie surely. But there was nothing to be gained in exposing it. That could even prove fatal. "And besides—besides!" continued Riendott. "It's written in the contract with Father Franz that any wheat touched by Khepas liquor will be returned!" This was an obvious position for him to take, and the villagers could hardly argue this point. Even if they suspected Riendott himself of planting the poison in the wheat, they could prove nothing. "Very well, then. Suppose we accept the returned wheat. What would the price be?" Riendott took a deep breath upon hearing Lawrence's concession, as though he was finally breaking the surface after having been trapped underwater. "T-two hundred lim—" "That's absurd!" cried the baker, grabbing Riendott by his collar. "That's the price you paid us originally, you bastard!" It was true—Riendott must have sold off at least some of the wheat already, so he could hardly demand the same amount back. Moreover, if that was the amount the village truly owed, the people would still be short a full seventy limar. Lawrence couldn't help admiring Riendott's sheer nerve, quoting the highest possible price even in these circumstances. "F-f-fine then...O-one hundred ninety—" The baker tightened his grip, but Lawrence stopped him. His intention was not, however, to save Riendott. "Mr. Riendott, if another miracle was to happen, that would be quite disadvantageous for you, would it not?" The villagers did not understand the true meaning behind these words, but thanks to Holo seeing through Riendott's lie, Lawrence knew what worried the man most. What he feared most was that Enberch's lie would be exposed. Riendott's face looked like a drowning pig's. "O-one h-hundred...six...ty..." In trenni silver, this came to a concession of eight hundred pieces. The baker loosened his grip. Lawrence watched Riendott cough; this was probably the limit of how much the man could afford to concede. Pushing further would only serve to create more resentment. After all, the contract between Tereo and Enberch had been abnormal to begin with. "In that case, let us settle the return at that amount. Let all present bear witness." Each villager nodded, and Riendott finally looked up. Now came the crux of the matter. Though Lawrence had extracted a significant concession, it still was not a sum that the village could afford to repay. In order to prevent this whole farce from repeating itself, a more proper contract needed to be established. "Incidentally Mr. Riendott," said Lawrence. "Y-yes?" "Regarding this returned wheat—I presume it would not be possible to persuade you to repurchase it." Riendott immediately shook his head. He would ruin his business in such a transaction. "Understood. However, according to Elder Sem, the village does not have enough cash to buy back the wheat. Even at one hundred sixty limar, there is still not enough." The villagers raised their voices in surprise. Evidently the elder had hidden this truth from them in order to avoid a panic. "Thus I have a proposal for you," continued Lawrence before the villagers could pounce on Riendott. "Wh-what do you...?" "It is but a simple thing. I would ask that you persuade the bishop to allow the village to sell wheat under his name." Riendott thought hard, obviously trying to see what Lawrence hoped to gain in such a deal. He would not figure it out, though, Lawrence was confident.

"Why?!" shouted the baker, causing Riendott to recoil in fear briefly. His look made it clear that this was not something under his control. "It's been a good harvest this year...There's a surplus of rye. No matter where you look, no town can possibly buy the amount this village is looking to sell. To preserve trust, we've already bought all we could..." Despite its purported poisoning being a lie, the wheat now had a history. Merchants would avoid it if they could. "No, even if that's true, it will not matter," said Lawrence. "So, will you do us this favor?" Riendott looked at Lawrence beseechingly, then nodded slowly. He seemed at once to be begging for God's grace and praying that a miracle would not occur. It was a strange sight. "I-I s-suppose that would be a-acceptable..." "One more thing." "Wha—" "It is possible that the people of Enberch may try to cause trouble with the business I am planning. I would ask that you be our ally in such a case." Riendott's mouth dropped open. "Ah—surely you don't plan to make bread!" "Close, but no. The bakers would never allow such a thing, would they?" Riendott managed to nod despite his fleshy chin. Still, it was true that Lawrence's plan was very near to a bread baker's business. "Also, regarding payment, it will have to wait until the business is moving along well," said Lawrence. "What—what are you—" "I certainly won't force anything upon you. I'll even add a condition you may well find attractive." Lawrence looked over at the assembled villagers, then back to Riendott. "What would you say to dissolving Father Franz's contract—the contract that requires Enberch to unconditionally purchase Tereo's wheat?" The villagers instantly raised their voices in protest. "Hey, you can't do that just because you're negotiating for us!" said one. "Ah, but so long as this condition remains, it will be a source of resentment on Enberch's part, is that not so?" It was a difficult question to answer, but Riendott, the largest wheat merchant in all of Enberch, finally nodded. "This was never a normal contract to begin with. Normally a village has one of its citizens who's good with money take charge of such things—that's business," said Lawrence. Riendott nodded emphatically but soon shrank back at the angry glares he received. "What say you, Mr. Riendott? Will you agree?" "Hey! You can't just—!" came the protests, but Lawrence did not back down. He was confident that he would be able to turn a large profit here. "If Mr. Riendott and Bishop Van are on our side, I can tell you a way for this village to create a business that will turn wonderful profits," said Lawrence with a smile. His confidence was disarming; the villagers backed down. "What-what kind of business...?" asked one. Lawrence enjoyed the moment of superiority and then explained. "I suppose I'll tell you. You'll need some cooperation from the baker." A bit surprised, the baker nodded. "Then can you make ready some eggs and butter? And honey if you have it." All present looked at once amazed and confused. It was Holo alone who spoke. "It sounds like something rather tasty shall come from all this." *** After finishing the packing of their traveling gear and returning to the church's living quarters, Lawrence could hear a loud crunching sound. The sound, like footsteps upon a gravel path, was probably Holo eating. He didn't know how many times he had told her not to eat while reading, but she never listened. Elsa, too, would scold Evan any time she caught him eating and dropping crumbs everywhere, shaking her head with a sigh. Occasionally during such times, Elsa and Lawrence's eyes would meet, and they would share a long-suffering smile. It had been three days since the conflict between Enberch and Tereo ended. Given the outcome, the deal Lawrence had struck was a great success.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Why?!" shouted the baker, causing Riendott to recoil in fear briefly. His look made it clear that this was not something under his control. "It's been a good harvest this year...There's a surplus of rye. No matter where you look, no town can possibly buy the amount this village is looking to sell. To preserve trust, we've already bought all we could..." Despite its purported poisoning being a lie, the wheat now had a history. Merchants would avoid it if they could. "No, even if that's true, it will not matter," said Lawrence. "So, will you do us this favor?" Riendott looked at Lawrence beseechingly, then nodded slowly. He seemed at once to be begging for God's grace and praying that a miracle would not occur. It was a strange sight. "I-I s-suppose that would be a-acceptable..." "One more thing." "Wha—" "It is possible that the people of Enberch may try to cause trouble with the business I am planning. I would ask that you be our ally in such a case." Riendott's mouth dropped open. "Ah—surely you don't plan to make bread!" "Close, but no. The bakers would never allow such a thing, would they?" Riendott managed to nod despite his fleshy chin. Still, it was true that Lawrence's plan was very near to a bread baker's business. "Also, regarding payment, it will have to wait until the business is moving along well," said Lawrence. "What—what are you—" "I certainly won't force anything upon you. I'll even add a condition you may well find attractive." Lawrence looked over at the assembled villagers, then back to Riendott. "What would you say to dissolving Father Franz's contract—the contract that requires Enberch to unconditionally purchase Tereo's wheat?" The villagers instantly raised their voices in protest. "Hey, you can't do that just because you're negotiating for us!" said one. "Ah, but so long as this condition remains, it will be a source of resentment on Enberch's part, is that not so?" It was a difficult question to answer, but Riendott, the largest wheat merchant in all of Enberch, finally nodded. "This was never a normal contract to begin with. Normally a village has one of its citizens who's good with money take charge of such things—that's business," said Lawrence. Riendott nodded emphatically but soon shrank back at the angry glares he received. "What say you, Mr. Riendott? Will you agree?" "Hey! You can't just—!" came the protests, but Lawrence did not back down. He was confident that he would be able to turn a large profit here. "If Mr. Riendott and Bishop Van are on our side, I can tell you a way for this village to create a business that will turn wonderful profits," said Lawrence with a smile. His confidence was disarming; the villagers backed down. "What-what kind of business...?" asked one. Lawrence enjoyed the moment of superiority and then explained. "I suppose I'll tell you. You'll need some cooperation from the baker." A bit surprised, the baker nodded. "Then can you make ready some eggs and butter? And honey if you have it." All present looked at once amazed and confused. It was Holo alone who spoke. "It sounds like something rather tasty shall come from all this." *** After finishing the packing of their traveling gear and returning to the church's living quarters, Lawrence could hear a loud crunching sound. The sound, like footsteps upon a gravel path, was probably Holo eating. He didn't know how many times he had told her not to eat while reading, but she never listened. Elsa, too, would scold Evan any time she caught him eating and dropping crumbs everywhere, shaking her head with a sigh. Occasionally during such times, Elsa and Lawrence's eyes would meet, and they would share a long-suffering smile. It had been three days since the conflict between Enberch and Tereo ended. Given the outcome, the deal Lawrence had struck was a great success.

Lawrence had used the village's wheat and the baker's assistance to make cookies. They were not dissimilar to unleavened bread, which was made with flour and water but without the yeast that caused regular bread to rise. Adding butter and eggs to this unleavened bread mixture, however, created something surprisingly delicious. Cookies were common in the south, but for whatever reason, Lawrence had never seen them in the north. Having discovered during a dinner with Elsa and Evan that they were unfamiliar with the different types of bread in the world, Lawrence had been convinced that the villagers would not know of cookies—and he had been right. Cookies looked nothing like bread. While the baker's guild strictly prohibited other businesses from baking and selling bread, foodstuffs aside from bread fell outside the scope of its rule. Though the baker's guild would surely protest, as long as the villagers had the support of Riendott and Bishop Van, theirs would remain a mutually beneficial relationship. Cookies being a rare and delicious product, they sold well in Enberch. They sold so well that it seemed possible for the purported surplus of rye wheat to be insufficient for demand. However, business of this sort could easily be copied, so it was only in the beginning that large profits would come with relative ease. So it was that Lawrence had not demanded a share of the profits. Instead he had asked the villagers to buy the wheat he carried in his cart with a bit of extra coin included by way of apology. If the people of Tereo planned to turn the cookies into a local specialty, they had a lot of hard work before them. But the cookies' deliciousness, at least, was guaranteed. After all, in the three days since the end of the dispute, Holo had eaten nothing else. To any who ate the cookies for the first time, their taste and texture could be addictive. "Well then, it's about time to be off," said Lawrence. Holo was happily spilling crumbs all over the pages of one of Father Franz's books. She looked up, annoyed at the light tap Lawrence had given her. Elsa was right outside the church, praying intensely over Lawrence's cart for a safe journey while Elder Sem and the villagers had decided on their own to pray to Truyeo that Lawrence's business would thrive. The villagers' attitude toward the church had changed. Some had even begun attending services out of gratitude. No doubt in the future, Tereo would worship two gods. Holo stood up from the chair in which she sat, grabbing a cookie from a mountain of the same on the table and holding it between her teeth. "You know we have piles of those things in the cart. If this is like when you bought so many apples we could hardly eat them all, you'll have naught but cookies for every meal," warned Lawrence. Holo took a bite out of the cookie with a loud crunch, regarding Lawrence with irritation. "Uh, just who was it, I wonder, that separated the good wheat from the bad and created that miracle? Had I not been there, you would've been tossed naked into a cauldron and boiled alive." It pained Lawrence to hear it, but Holo had been eating cookies at an absurd rate—even the villagers, who felt they owed her a great debt, were stunned into silence by the sight of her devouring the treats. He felt he could warn her a bit without risking retribution. "Mmph," Holo continued. "We surely met with calamity this time around." It was a forced change of subject, but she was not wrong. "Well, at least we turned a profit in the end." "Is that all you care about?" laughed Holo, her cheeks stuffed with cookie. "For my part, I cannot say that my hopes were met, but I did well enough. I suppose it was worth the effort." She looked at the book that recorded the tales of the Moon-Hunting Bear—which she had now read fully three times—and sighed. "So, where are we going next?" "Lenos. There's a legend there in which you personally appear."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence had used the village's wheat and the baker's assistance to make cookies. They were not dissimilar to unleavened bread, which was made with flour and water but without the yeast that caused regular bread to rise. Adding butter and eggs to this unleavened bread mixture, however, created something surprisingly delicious. Cookies were common in the south, but for whatever reason, Lawrence had never seen them in the north. Having discovered during a dinner with Elsa and Evan that they were unfamiliar with the different types of bread in the world, Lawrence had been convinced that the villagers would not know of cookies—and he had been right. Cookies looked nothing like bread. While the baker's guild strictly prohibited other businesses from baking and selling bread, foodstuffs aside from bread fell outside the scope of its rule. Though the baker's guild would surely protest, as long as the villagers had the support of Riendott and Bishop Van, theirs would remain a mutually beneficial relationship. Cookies being a rare and delicious product, they sold well in Enberch. They sold so well that it seemed possible for the purported surplus of rye wheat to be insufficient for demand. However, business of this sort could easily be copied, so it was only in the beginning that large profits would come with relative ease. So it was that Lawrence had not demanded a share of the profits. Instead he had asked the villagers to buy the wheat he carried in his cart with a bit of extra coin included by way of apology. If the people of Tereo planned to turn the cookies into a local specialty, they had a lot of hard work before them. But the cookies' deliciousness, at least, was guaranteed. After all, in the three days since the end of the dispute, Holo had eaten nothing else. To any who ate the cookies for the first time, their taste and texture could be addictive. "Well then, it's about time to be off," said Lawrence. Holo was happily spilling crumbs all over the pages of one of Father Franz's books. She looked up, annoyed at the light tap Lawrence had given her. Elsa was right outside the church, praying intensely over Lawrence's cart for a safe journey while Elder Sem and the villagers had decided on their own to pray to Truyeo that Lawrence's business would thrive. The villagers' attitude toward the church had changed. Some had even begun attending services out of gratitude. No doubt in the future, Tereo would worship two gods. Holo stood up from the chair in which she sat, grabbing a cookie from a mountain of the same on the table and holding it between her teeth. "You know we have piles of those things in the cart. If this is like when you bought so many apples we could hardly eat them all, you'll have naught but cookies for every meal," warned Lawrence. Holo took a bite out of the cookie with a loud crunch, regarding Lawrence with irritation. "Uh, just who was it, I wonder, that separated the good wheat from the bad and created that miracle? Had I not been there, you would've been tossed naked into a cauldron and boiled alive." It pained Lawrence to hear it, but Holo had been eating cookies at an absurd rate—even the villagers, who felt they owed her a great debt, were stunned into silence by the sight of her devouring the treats. He felt he could warn her a bit without risking retribution. "Mmph," Holo continued. "We surely met with calamity this time around." It was a forced change of subject, but she was not wrong. "Well, at least we turned a profit in the end." "Is that all you care about?" laughed Holo, her cheeks stuffed with cookie. "For my part, I cannot say that my hopes were met, but I did well enough. I suppose it was worth the effort." She looked at the book that recorded the tales of the Moon-Hunting Bear—which she had now read fully three times—and sighed. "So, where are we going next?" "Lenos. There's a legend there in which you personally appear."

Lawrence knew that Holo's true desire was to head north as soon as possible, but when he considered the journey that lay ahead, it was no wonder that the idea of lounging about in a suddenly comfortable village was appealing. He was somewhat surprised that she was ready to go after just three days. "Shall we?" she said. "Quite." As soon as Lawrence and Holo emerged from the church, the villagers gathered to send them off. Gloomy apologies like "Sorry we doubted you" were long since done with. All that remained were happy wishes for safe travel. "May God's blessing go with you," said Elsa, a gentle smile on her face. This was enough to make a man happy—which Lawrence was despite the foot stomp he received from Holo. "Mr. Lawrence," said Evan, holding Elsa's hand. "Thank you for teaching me so much. I'll work hard here." It was the constant suspicion of the villagers that had made Evan want to leave the village to become a merchant. Things had changed now, though, and Evan chose to stay in the village and take responsibility for future negotiations with Enberch. Elsa and Evan's hands were tightly clasped together. His decision to stay had obviously been the right one as anyone could tell. "A traveler does not leave regret behind in a village, but good memories. Farewell!" Lawrence gripped the reins, and the horse began its amble. Wrapped in the faint sunlight of winter, the wagon clattered its way out of the small village of Tereo. Elsa, Evan, and Sem all waved from where they stood in front of the church, and even Lawrence looked back twice to wave. But their forms soon shrank and disappeared. Lawrence's travels with Holo had begun again. Their destination was Lenos. From there, they would head northeast. It would be just around the end of spring at the opening of summer, Lawrence mused, when they would finally arrive in Yoitsu. As Lawrence thought this over, Holo immediately took a bag of cookies out and dug in. The solemn, contemplative atmosphere that came with newly begun travel was shattered by the crunching of cookies. "Hm?" Holo looked up questioningly, her mouth full of cookies, and Lawrence decided her blank face had its own charms. The smile he had upon seeing her innocent face soon evaporated. "Summer," he murmured to himself. Immediately thereafter, he noticed something approaching his face. He looked to find it was a cookie. "Don't look at me so desirously," she said sourly. "I've had plenty, thanks," said Lawrence. Holo did not relent. "Your face says otherwise." She shoved the cookie at him again. Lawrence gave up and accepted it, taking a bite. A particularly large amount of honey had been added to the cookies that the village had given Holo so they were quite sweet. Such things were not at all bad once in a while, he mused. Yet Holo still looked at him, somehow dissatisfied. "What?" "Nothing," said Holo, looking ahead and taking another bite of her cookie. She obviously wanted to say something—but what? Lawrence thought this over, and it came to him. Oh, but that—that was too unfair. She wanted to make him say it—it was a trap. And yet if he did not fall into the trap, she was sure to be angry. There was nothing to be done. Lawrence made his decision, popped the last piece of cookie into his mouth, and spoke. "Hey." "Mm?" Holo turned toward him, the picture of innocence. Her tail swished expectantly beneath her robes. Lawrence played along with her ridiculous farce. "There's some business where there's good money to be made," he said. "Oh?" "It'll take us out of our way, though." Holo made an exaggeratedly irritated face and sighed. Yet she did not ask for any further details, simply smiling in a vaguely resigned fashion. "I suppose it cannot be helped. I shall accompany you." Holo did not want their journey to end. Lawrence believed this—and it was precisely because she didn't want it to end that she affected this attitude. She would never have admitted this, though. What a charmless girl.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence knew that Holo's true desire was to head north as soon as possible, but when he considered the journey that lay ahead, it was no wonder that the idea of lounging about in a suddenly comfortable village was appealing. He was somewhat surprised that she was ready to go after just three days. "Shall we?" she said. "Quite." As soon as Lawrence and Holo emerged from the church, the villagers gathered to send them off. Gloomy apologies like "Sorry we doubted you" were long since done with. All that remained were happy wishes for safe travel. "May God's blessing go with you," said Elsa, a gentle smile on her face. This was enough to make a man happy—which Lawrence was despite the foot stomp he received from Holo. "Mr. Lawrence," said Evan, holding Elsa's hand. "Thank you for teaching me so much. I'll work hard here." It was the constant suspicion of the villagers that had made Evan want to leave the village to become a merchant. Things had changed now, though, and Evan chose to stay in the village and take responsibility for future negotiations with Enberch. Elsa and Evan's hands were tightly clasped together. His decision to stay had obviously been the right one as anyone could tell. "A traveler does not leave regret behind in a village, but good memories. Farewell!" Lawrence gripped the reins, and the horse began its amble. Wrapped in the faint sunlight of winter, the wagon clattered its way out of the small village of Tereo. Elsa, Evan, and Sem all waved from where they stood in front of the church, and even Lawrence looked back twice to wave. But their forms soon shrank and disappeared. Lawrence's travels with Holo had begun again. Their destination was Lenos. From there, they would head northeast. It would be just around the end of spring at the opening of summer, Lawrence mused, when they would finally arrive in Yoitsu. As Lawrence thought this over, Holo immediately took a bag of cookies out and dug in. The solemn, contemplative atmosphere that came with newly begun travel was shattered by the crunching of cookies. "Hm?" Holo looked up questioningly, her mouth full of cookies, and Lawrence decided her blank face had its own charms. The smile he had upon seeing her innocent face soon evaporated. "Summer," he murmured to himself. Immediately thereafter, he noticed something approaching his face. He looked to find it was a cookie. "Don't look at me so desirously," she said sourly. "I've had plenty, thanks," said Lawrence. Holo did not relent. "Your face says otherwise." She shoved the cookie at him again. Lawrence gave up and accepted it, taking a bite. A particularly large amount of honey had been added to the cookies that the village had given Holo so they were quite sweet. Such things were not at all bad once in a while, he mused. Yet Holo still looked at him, somehow dissatisfied. "What?" "Nothing," said Holo, looking ahead and taking another bite of her cookie. She obviously wanted to say something—but what? Lawrence thought this over, and it came to him. Oh, but that—that was too unfair. She wanted to make him say it—it was a trap. And yet if he did not fall into the trap, she was sure to be angry. There was nothing to be done. Lawrence made his decision, popped the last piece of cookie into his mouth, and spoke. "Hey." "Mm?" Holo turned toward him, the picture of innocence. Her tail swished expectantly beneath her robes. Lawrence played along with her ridiculous farce. "There's some business where there's good money to be made," he said. "Oh?" "It'll take us out of our way, though." Holo made an exaggeratedly irritated face and sighed. Yet she did not ask for any further details, simply smiling in a vaguely resigned fashion. "I suppose it cannot be helped. I shall accompany you." Holo did not want their journey to end. Lawrence believed this—and it was precisely because she didn't want it to end that she affected this attitude. She would never have admitted this, though. What a charmless girl.

Lawrence chewed his last piece of cookie and thanked whatever god had given him this bittersweet sensation. *** Hello! It has been quite a while. I am Isuna Hasekura, and this is the fourth volume. What's more, this makes it a full year since Spice and Wolf debuted. Time certainly does fly. It seems like just the other day I was going to the Twelfth Dengeki Novel Prize party, dressed in a suit and desperately nervous— and just recently I attended the Thirteenth. Time has moved so fast, in fact, that I didn't have time to get my suit cleaned and wound up going in my civvies. That's the reason why there in the sea of suits and ties was me, wandering around in my dingy jeans. The roast beef was excellent. Speaking of which, the year-end party for Dengeki Publishing is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I cannot wait to see what delicious things they'll serve. I really want to bring along some Tupperware to take leftovers home with me, but it's been only a year since my debut, and I'm thinking that's the kind of thing I shouldn't do until I'm a more established veteran. It's so beautiful in my mind: I'll grow a beard, smoke a pipe, and wave my cane around as I swagger into the hall, making for the sushi table and taking it home with me. Part of me says that my idea of a veteran author is a little off, but I've decided not to worry about it. Oh yeah—I can't forget to bring some pickled ginger back with the sushi. I'd be a failure as a gentleman otherwise. Now that I've filled some space, some thanks are due. To Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, whose illustrations have once again turned out just as I have imagined them, my sincere thanks. When I was looking at the roughs, there would be a single character who would look too much like I imagined him, and I would have to laugh. My deep thanks likewise go to my esteemed editor, Koetsu-sama, for carefully checking my shaky manuscripts. If they made me do that job myself, I'd probably give up halfway through. Thank you so much. And to all of you who now hold this book in your hands, my deepest thanks. I hope that you also enjoy the next volume. I shall see you then. Isuna Hasekura *** It was a quiet journey. There was no conversation—only the clattering of the wagon. They woke, they rattled around in the wagon, they ate—only that. Kraft Lawrence sat in the driver's seat, gripping the reins. It was his seventh year as a traveling merchant since setting out at the age of eighteen. Loneliness was the constant companion of the traveling merchant, and he'd often found himself talking to his cart horse. There had been a time when these episodes were frequent. These last few days his quiet travels had continued, and he'd spoken no words worthy of the term. Yet if asked if he was lonely, Lawrence's reply would have been negative, which was unmistakably thanks to his companion, who sat next to him in the driver's box. Though she now had a blanket wrapped around herself so thoroughly that it was hard to tell if she was a boy or a girl, the beauty of her features would turn any head, and her long, chestnut-brown hair, fine enough to be the pride of any nobleman's daughter, easily holding the attention of male passersby. If she stayed quiet and polite, surely she could have entered the grandest of functions without so much as a hint of shame—yet there was a reason things were not so simple for Lawrence's companion. After all, she had the beast ears and tail that marked her as an evildoer. His companion's name was Holo. Her true form was that of a giant wolf so great it could swallow a human in one bite. She was the wolf-god of the harvest, who dwelled within the wheat. *** For a moment, Lawrence wondered if Holo had said something, but perhaps she had simply opened her eyes. Her reasons for doing so were generally obvious. She had shifted her tail a moment ago, so next it would be her ears. With a deerskin-gloved hand, Lawrence took hold of Holo's hood, pulling it slightly up off her head.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence chewed his last piece of cookie and thanked whatever god had given him this bittersweet sensation. *** Hello! It has been quite a while. I am Isuna Hasekura, and this is the fourth volume. What's more, this makes it a full year since Spice and Wolf debuted. Time certainly does fly. It seems like just the other day I was going to the Twelfth Dengeki Novel Prize party, dressed in a suit and desperately nervous— and just recently I attended the Thirteenth. Time has moved so fast, in fact, that I didn't have time to get my suit cleaned and wound up going in my civvies. That's the reason why there in the sea of suits and ties was me, wandering around in my dingy jeans. The roast beef was excellent. Speaking of which, the year-end party for Dengeki Publishing is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I cannot wait to see what delicious things they'll serve. I really want to bring along some Tupperware to take leftovers home with me, but it's been only a year since my debut, and I'm thinking that's the kind of thing I shouldn't do until I'm a more established veteran. It's so beautiful in my mind: I'll grow a beard, smoke a pipe, and wave my cane around as I swagger into the hall, making for the sushi table and taking it home with me. Part of me says that my idea of a veteran author is a little off, but I've decided not to worry about it. Oh yeah—I can't forget to bring some pickled ginger back with the sushi. I'd be a failure as a gentleman otherwise. Now that I've filled some space, some thanks are due. To Jyuu Ayakura-sensei, whose illustrations have once again turned out just as I have imagined them, my sincere thanks. When I was looking at the roughs, there would be a single character who would look too much like I imagined him, and I would have to laugh. My deep thanks likewise go to my esteemed editor, Koetsu-sama, for carefully checking my shaky manuscripts. If they made me do that job myself, I'd probably give up halfway through. Thank you so much. And to all of you who now hold this book in your hands, my deepest thanks. I hope that you also enjoy the next volume. I shall see you then. Isuna Hasekura *** It was a quiet journey. There was no conversation—only the clattering of the wagon. They woke, they rattled around in the wagon, they ate—only that. Kraft Lawrence sat in the driver's seat, gripping the reins. It was his seventh year as a traveling merchant since setting out at the age of eighteen. Loneliness was the constant companion of the traveling merchant, and he'd often found himself talking to his cart horse. There had been a time when these episodes were frequent. These last few days his quiet travels had continued, and he'd spoken no words worthy of the term. Yet if asked if he was lonely, Lawrence's reply would have been negative, which was unmistakably thanks to his companion, who sat next to him in the driver's box. Though she now had a blanket wrapped around herself so thoroughly that it was hard to tell if she was a boy or a girl, the beauty of her features would turn any head, and her long, chestnut-brown hair, fine enough to be the pride of any nobleman's daughter, easily holding the attention of male passersby. If she stayed quiet and polite, surely she could have entered the grandest of functions without so much as a hint of shame—yet there was a reason things were not so simple for Lawrence's companion. After all, she had the beast ears and tail that marked her as an evildoer. His companion's name was Holo. Her true form was that of a giant wolf so great it could swallow a human in one bite. She was the wolf-god of the harvest, who dwelled within the wheat. *** For a moment, Lawrence wondered if Holo had said something, but perhaps she had simply opened her eyes. Her reasons for doing so were generally obvious. She had shifted her tail a moment ago, so next it would be her ears. With a deerskin-gloved hand, Lawrence took hold of Holo's hood, pulling it slightly up off her head.

Perhaps it was her way of expressing her thanks. Lawrence returned his gaze to the road, and the quiet journey continued. They no longer failed to understand each other. Even without words, their travels were no longer lonely. *** It had been a week since the incidents in the village of Tereo, where they'd very nearly been executed as criminals. Lawrence and Holo now made for Lenos, a town where tales of Holo's exploits in the distant past were said to still exist. Lenos was a largish town for the northlands known for its lumber and furs. It received its share of visitors, so Lawrence and Holo passed many other merchants who came and went on the road to the town. Lawrence himself had visited it many times in the past, though this time he did not come for business. He instead sought information about the ancient home of his companion. Thus his wagon bed held none of the trade goods that usually filled it. Lawrence had originally planned to sell some of the mountains of cookies the villagers of Tereo had given him as thanks, but they had all been eaten by the wolf who now slept next to him. If there was something tasty to eat, she would devour as much of it as was there, becoming angry when there was no more to be had. She ate, drank, and slept a truly stunning amount. Lawrence had to admit, though, that between the cold and the boredom, he would fall asleep, too, if he didn't have to hold the reins. In any case, her ability to sleep all night after drowsing all day was impressive. More than once he wondered if she was waking in the wee hours to sneak off and howl at the moon. They had journeyed thus uneventfully for a week before the rain came. Holo somehow contrived to predict the bad weather's arrival two days in advance, so perhaps it was that memory or perhaps it was the falling rain...Either way, she stirred beneath the blanket and gave Lawrence a wordless, resentful glare. Lawrence turned away. No matter how accusatory her gaze, it was not as if he could do anything about the rain. It had been falling steadily since midday—not in big drops but rather in thin, misty sheets—which was nice enough as far as that went, but given the cold, it was hardly different from being sprinkled with ice shavings. Lawrence's hands had immediately gone numb, and just as he was beginning to ponder the possibility of hiding himself beneath the wagon bed, some god evidently noticed his good behavior. Holo, too, noticed and popped her head out from underneath the blanket. She yawned hugely. "...At this rate, it looks like we'll make it through without being frozen." "That's easy for you to say bundled up in that blanket while I shiver away here, reins in hand." "Hmph. 'Tis my cold heart. It needs must be kept warm," she said with a grin. Lawrence found himself unable to be angry. Ahead of them on the road stood their destination, a dark shadow that loomed in the otherwise pale white scenery. "There 'tis. Like a piece of burnt rice floating in stew," said Holo, her empty stomach making a ridiculous growling noise. Evidently, even this displeased wisewolf had not expected her stomach to growl at such an inopportune moment. After a stunned moment, she smiled sweetly, having forgotten her teasing entirely. Lenos was a large port town built alongside the broad, slow Roam River, which meant that if they could see the town, the river should likewise be visible. At the moment, though, it was blurred from sight by the falling mist. Had it been clear, they would no doubt have seen the many boats that plied the river's surface. Upon entering the town, it was clear that there were many boats tied up at their moorings in addition to the constant traffic on the river. Holo's beloved food stalls were abundant as was strong liquor. If the coming winter's snow was going to delay their progress, they would at least make certain to enjoy their time here. Lawrence did have one worry, though. "There's something I should say, just to make sure you understand."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Perhaps it was her way of expressing her thanks. Lawrence returned his gaze to the road, and the quiet journey continued. They no longer failed to understand each other. Even without words, their travels were no longer lonely. *** It had been a week since the incidents in the village of Tereo, where they'd very nearly been executed as criminals. Lawrence and Holo now made for Lenos, a town where tales of Holo's exploits in the distant past were said to still exist. Lenos was a largish town for the northlands known for its lumber and furs. It received its share of visitors, so Lawrence and Holo passed many other merchants who came and went on the road to the town. Lawrence himself had visited it many times in the past, though this time he did not come for business. He instead sought information about the ancient home of his companion. Thus his wagon bed held none of the trade goods that usually filled it. Lawrence had originally planned to sell some of the mountains of cookies the villagers of Tereo had given him as thanks, but they had all been eaten by the wolf who now slept next to him. If there was something tasty to eat, she would devour as much of it as was there, becoming angry when there was no more to be had. She ate, drank, and slept a truly stunning amount. Lawrence had to admit, though, that between the cold and the boredom, he would fall asleep, too, if he didn't have to hold the reins. In any case, her ability to sleep all night after drowsing all day was impressive. More than once he wondered if she was waking in the wee hours to sneak off and howl at the moon. They had journeyed thus uneventfully for a week before the rain came. Holo somehow contrived to predict the bad weather's arrival two days in advance, so perhaps it was that memory or perhaps it was the falling rain...Either way, she stirred beneath the blanket and gave Lawrence a wordless, resentful glare. Lawrence turned away. No matter how accusatory her gaze, it was not as if he could do anything about the rain. It had been falling steadily since midday—not in big drops but rather in thin, misty sheets—which was nice enough as far as that went, but given the cold, it was hardly different from being sprinkled with ice shavings. Lawrence's hands had immediately gone numb, and just as he was beginning to ponder the possibility of hiding himself beneath the wagon bed, some god evidently noticed his good behavior. Holo, too, noticed and popped her head out from underneath the blanket. She yawned hugely. "...At this rate, it looks like we'll make it through without being frozen." "That's easy for you to say bundled up in that blanket while I shiver away here, reins in hand." "Hmph. 'Tis my cold heart. It needs must be kept warm," she said with a grin. Lawrence found himself unable to be angry. Ahead of them on the road stood their destination, a dark shadow that loomed in the otherwise pale white scenery. "There 'tis. Like a piece of burnt rice floating in stew," said Holo, her empty stomach making a ridiculous growling noise. Evidently, even this displeased wisewolf had not expected her stomach to growl at such an inopportune moment. After a stunned moment, she smiled sweetly, having forgotten her teasing entirely. Lenos was a large port town built alongside the broad, slow Roam River, which meant that if they could see the town, the river should likewise be visible. At the moment, though, it was blurred from sight by the falling mist. Had it been clear, they would no doubt have seen the many boats that plied the river's surface. Upon entering the town, it was clear that there were many boats tied up at their moorings in addition to the constant traffic on the river. Holo's beloved food stalls were abundant as was strong liquor. If the coming winter's snow was going to delay their progress, they would at least make certain to enjoy their time here. Lawrence did have one worry, though. "There's something I should say, just to make sure you understand."

"I know you visited this place long ago, but you may have forgotten, so I'll say it again: Lenos is a town of lumber and fur." "Quite." It was admittedly rather late to be bringing this up, but the treatment he could reasonably give her still depended on whether or not he'd made this point clear. "Will you be angry if some of those furs are wolf pelts?" Holo's expression was maddeningly ambiguous as she pulled at her collar, unwrapping the fox fur muffler that she wore. It was a gift from Amati, the youth who had courted her in the town of Kumersun. There was nothing inherently wrong about her wearing it, and the muffler was admittedly very useful in the cold weather, so Lawrence had kept silent. Seeing it now, however, made him shift uncomfortably. No doubt aware of this, Holo wore the muffler in an especially warm-looking fashion, but she now removed it and pointed the fox's head at Lawrence. "I've eaten mice, me, and been eaten by wolves!" she squeaked, her voice changing in a mockery of what he supposed was a fox. Lawrence sighed. He was up against Holo the Wisewolf. "Hmph," Holo continued. "There is the hunter, and the hunted. And besides, you humans do far worse things. Do you not even buy and sell your fellow man?" "This is true. The slave trade is both necessary and very profitable." "Just as you can accept that as the custom of your world, we can be calm toward those who are hunted. And besides, what if the position was switched?" Holo narrowed her red-brown eyes. Lawrence thought back to the exchange he'd had with Holo not long after they'd met—when she'd said that a wolf's cleverness came from devouring humans. Even Lawrence felt that if a traveler strayed into wolf territory and failed to escape, the blame lay with the traveler. It was one thing to fear wolves, but actually hating them for this was a mistake, he felt. This much was obvious to Lawrence. "Still, I suppose seeing one's fellows hunted before one's very eyes is hardly an easy thing," said Holo. Lawrence nodded his understanding. Holo continued. "And you were nice enough to get flustered when I was hunted by another man," she said coyly, her mood now totally different from the state she had been in a few moments ago. "Ah, yes, I certainly did," said Lawrence perfunctorily, returning his gaze to the cart horse ahead of him. "Whence this uncaring affect?" "Well...," began Lawrence, his eyes fixed steadily ahead. "It's embarrassing." It is a wholly embarrassing admission, Lawrence thought to himself. But to the wolf who sat beside him, such morsels were a delicacy, so it could hardly be helped. Holo laughed hard enough that in the cold air, the white fog of her exhalations blurred her face. "Embarrassing, eh?" "Entirely." Conversation tended to naturally die down in the cold monotony of the long journey. Though knowing each other's dispositions as well as they did meant wordless exchanges could set Lawrence's mind at ease, they were still no substitute for real conversation like this. The two laughed at each other. The cart horse flicked its tail, as if to say, "Enough!" which only triggered another wave of laughter from its passengers. Holo rewrapped the fox fur muffler around her neck as she giggled while Lawrence turned his gaze back to the panorama of Lenos that now came into focus. It might have been twice the size of the pagan town of Kumersun. Surrounded by walls constructed perhaps a century earlier, the houses within the walls had long since filled the enclosed area. With no more room to build outward, buildings instead became more concentrated—and taller, always taller. The scene spread out now before Lawrence made it look for a moment as though the town had finally overflowed its own walls. Dozens of tents flanked the road on both sides as they made their way to Lenos through the misting rain. "Is this what they call a gate-front town, then?" asked Holo.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"I know you visited this place long ago, but you may have forgotten, so I'll say it again: Lenos is a town of lumber and fur." "Quite." It was admittedly rather late to be bringing this up, but the treatment he could reasonably give her still depended on whether or not he'd made this point clear. "Will you be angry if some of those furs are wolf pelts?" Holo's expression was maddeningly ambiguous as she pulled at her collar, unwrapping the fox fur muffler that she wore. It was a gift from Amati, the youth who had courted her in the town of Kumersun. There was nothing inherently wrong about her wearing it, and the muffler was admittedly very useful in the cold weather, so Lawrence had kept silent. Seeing it now, however, made him shift uncomfortably. No doubt aware of this, Holo wore the muffler in an especially warm-looking fashion, but she now removed it and pointed the fox's head at Lawrence. "I've eaten mice, me, and been eaten by wolves!" she squeaked, her voice changing in a mockery of what he supposed was a fox. Lawrence sighed. He was up against Holo the Wisewolf. "Hmph," Holo continued. "There is the hunter, and the hunted. And besides, you humans do far worse things. Do you not even buy and sell your fellow man?" "This is true. The slave trade is both necessary and very profitable." "Just as you can accept that as the custom of your world, we can be calm toward those who are hunted. And besides, what if the position was switched?" Holo narrowed her red-brown eyes. Lawrence thought back to the exchange he'd had with Holo not long after they'd met—when she'd said that a wolf's cleverness came from devouring humans. Even Lawrence felt that if a traveler strayed into wolf territory and failed to escape, the blame lay with the traveler. It was one thing to fear wolves, but actually hating them for this was a mistake, he felt. This much was obvious to Lawrence. "Still, I suppose seeing one's fellows hunted before one's very eyes is hardly an easy thing," said Holo. Lawrence nodded his understanding. Holo continued. "And you were nice enough to get flustered when I was hunted by another man," she said coyly, her mood now totally different from the state she had been in a few moments ago. "Ah, yes, I certainly did," said Lawrence perfunctorily, returning his gaze to the cart horse ahead of him. "Whence this uncaring affect?" "Well...," began Lawrence, his eyes fixed steadily ahead. "It's embarrassing." It is a wholly embarrassing admission, Lawrence thought to himself. But to the wolf who sat beside him, such morsels were a delicacy, so it could hardly be helped. Holo laughed hard enough that in the cold air, the white fog of her exhalations blurred her face. "Embarrassing, eh?" "Entirely." Conversation tended to naturally die down in the cold monotony of the long journey. Though knowing each other's dispositions as well as they did meant wordless exchanges could set Lawrence's mind at ease, they were still no substitute for real conversation like this. The two laughed at each other. The cart horse flicked its tail, as if to say, "Enough!" which only triggered another wave of laughter from its passengers. Holo rewrapped the fox fur muffler around her neck as she giggled while Lawrence turned his gaze back to the panorama of Lenos that now came into focus. It might have been twice the size of the pagan town of Kumersun. Surrounded by walls constructed perhaps a century earlier, the houses within the walls had long since filled the enclosed area. With no more room to build outward, buildings instead became more concentrated—and taller, always taller. The scene spread out now before Lawrence made it look for a moment as though the town had finally overflowed its own walls. Dozens of tents flanked the road on both sides as they made their way to Lenos through the misting rain. "Is this what they call a gate-front town, then?" asked Holo.

For a town to prosper, it had to collect taxes, and to collect those taxes, it had to make people pass through its gates. Of course, there were cramped towns that held their markets outside of the town, but even those were enclosed by temporary fences. "Hmm. It hardly seems as though these people are engaging in trade." Just as Holo said this, they drew closer to the tents and could see that the people beneath them wore traveling clothes and were busy cooking or chatting. And though they all wore traveling garments, the styles were from far and wide. Some seemed to be from even farther north than here while others were from the west or the south. At quick count, there seemed to be around twenty tents, each sheltering perhaps three or four people. The one commonality was that they all seemed to be merchants who specialized in this or that commodity. Roughly half of them seemed to be hauling large loads with a few wagons even carrying giant barrels. All the merchants' faces were tinged with dust and travel fatigue, and the occasional flash of irritation showed in their eyes. Lawrence wondered if there'd been some kind of a coup in Lenos, but that didn't make sense given that only some of the people gathered there seemed to be quartered in tents. There were also farmers with donkeys in tow and merchantlike people carrying loads on their backs, all hurrying toward Lenos to get out of the rain or setting out toward any number of other destinations. As far as Lawrence could tell, the town seemed more or less as it always had. "Some kind of trouble again, perhaps?" mused Holo, emphasizing the "again" and grinning beneath her hood. Lawrence glanced at Holo out of the corner of his eye, as if to ask, "And precisely whose fault has that been?" but she simply shot the same look back at him. "It may be true that since meeting me you've had a few scrapes, but one can hardly claim that they were directly my fault." *** "I will grant the first one—well, part of that might have been owing to me, but its true cause was your avarice, which was wholly to blame for the next disaster. And our last problem was simple bad luck. Am I wrong?" Holo was nothing if not precise. Lawrence stroked his beard, which was longer of late, given his reluctance to shave without hot water, but still he did not give in and agree with her. "I suppose I understand what you're saying..." "Mm." "But I simply cannot agree. It's true that you weren't necessarily there to trigger our troubles, but..." Lawrence couldn't bring himself to agree with Holo's assessment. He wanted to tell her that it was her fault. As his grumble trailed off, Holo gave him a look as if she couldn't even believe they were having the conversation. "I can see all too clearly how you don't want to agree with me, even though I am hardly the root cause of all these troubles." Lawrence knitted his brows, wondering what trickery she was up to. She noted this and giggled. Holo continued. "'Tis because you always use me as the basis for your actions—hence you always feel I'm pulling you this way and that." Lawrence's left eyebrow twitched involuntarily. She was right. But admitting it would mean the wolf had gotten the best of him. In other words— "Heh. Always stubborn," said Holo, her voice as grating as the chill mist that fell from the sky. Her smile was every bit as pure and fickle and cold as though she was about to run away forever. He had to catch her. In defiance of all reason, Holo's smile made him want to shout out loud. The next moment, her small body would be in his arms. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. "Mmph." The urge lasted no more than four of the cart horse's steps. Lawrence managed to keep his cool as he guided the wagon into the line for the checkpoint into town. The reason for his restraint was simple. There was a crowd of people around them.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

For a town to prosper, it had to collect taxes, and to collect those taxes, it had to make people pass through its gates. Of course, there were cramped towns that held their markets outside of the town, but even those were enclosed by temporary fences. "Hmm. It hardly seems as though these people are engaging in trade." Just as Holo said this, they drew closer to the tents and could see that the people beneath them wore traveling clothes and were busy cooking or chatting. And though they all wore traveling garments, the styles were from far and wide. Some seemed to be from even farther north than here while others were from the west or the south. At quick count, there seemed to be around twenty tents, each sheltering perhaps three or four people. The one commonality was that they all seemed to be merchants who specialized in this or that commodity. Roughly half of them seemed to be hauling large loads with a few wagons even carrying giant barrels. All the merchants' faces were tinged with dust and travel fatigue, and the occasional flash of irritation showed in their eyes. Lawrence wondered if there'd been some kind of a coup in Lenos, but that didn't make sense given that only some of the people gathered there seemed to be quartered in tents. There were also farmers with donkeys in tow and merchantlike people carrying loads on their backs, all hurrying toward Lenos to get out of the rain or setting out toward any number of other destinations. As far as Lawrence could tell, the town seemed more or less as it always had. "Some kind of trouble again, perhaps?" mused Holo, emphasizing the "again" and grinning beneath her hood. Lawrence glanced at Holo out of the corner of his eye, as if to ask, "And precisely whose fault has that been?" but she simply shot the same look back at him. "It may be true that since meeting me you've had a few scrapes, but one can hardly claim that they were directly my fault." *** "I will grant the first one—well, part of that might have been owing to me, but its true cause was your avarice, which was wholly to blame for the next disaster. And our last problem was simple bad luck. Am I wrong?" Holo was nothing if not precise. Lawrence stroked his beard, which was longer of late, given his reluctance to shave without hot water, but still he did not give in and agree with her. "I suppose I understand what you're saying..." "Mm." "But I simply cannot agree. It's true that you weren't necessarily there to trigger our troubles, but..." Lawrence couldn't bring himself to agree with Holo's assessment. He wanted to tell her that it was her fault. As his grumble trailed off, Holo gave him a look as if she couldn't even believe they were having the conversation. "I can see all too clearly how you don't want to agree with me, even though I am hardly the root cause of all these troubles." Lawrence knitted his brows, wondering what trickery she was up to. She noted this and giggled. Holo continued. "'Tis because you always use me as the basis for your actions—hence you always feel I'm pulling you this way and that." Lawrence's left eyebrow twitched involuntarily. She was right. But admitting it would mean the wolf had gotten the best of him. In other words— "Heh. Always stubborn," said Holo, her voice as grating as the chill mist that fell from the sky. Her smile was every bit as pure and fickle and cold as though she was about to run away forever. He had to catch her. In defiance of all reason, Holo's smile made him want to shout out loud. The next moment, her small body would be in his arms. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. "Mmph." The urge lasted no more than four of the cart horse's steps. Lawrence managed to keep his cool as he guided the wagon into the line for the checkpoint into town. The reason for his restraint was simple. There was a crowd of people around them.

Holo looked aside, seeming bored. No doubt she was bored. Despite the fact that Lawrence had always perceived all women's smiles to be the same, he could now follow the slightest changes of expression on Holo's face. In addition to her boredom, there was a flicker of unease. He saw this and realized something. There were two basic motivations for his actions. One was Holo. The other was business. Holo feared loneliness even more than Lawrence did. No doubt she was sometimes frightened by the prospect of being weighed against business. In the end, only the gods could know which way the balance would tip in the end—or how close it might be. And the end of their journey was not far away. Would she venture to cause trouble just when Lawrence had to put on his merchant face, just to test which way he would choose, forcing the issue of whether she was more important than his ledger's balance? Not that she was so insignificant as to warrant that kind of worry, Lawrence found himself thinking. The wagon inched forward in the slow-moving line, and a great puff of white fog issued from beneath Holo's hood as she looked at him irritably. "Some stew would be nice," she said. No doubt she was talking about dinner. Evidently the time for affirmations had passed. "Aye, with this cold. Depending on the price, I'd take a stew with a proper thick flour broth." "Ho, ho! Sometimes the sweet smell of milk surpasses that of the finest wine." Seeing her like this, face half-wrapped in the fox fur muffler as she nodded her delighted agreement, erased the past several days of irritated remarks he'd endured. Sometimes it was good to order something full of tasty ingredients. "A stew made with the vegetables of the season would be especially good," said Lawrence. "Vegetables? Do you not understand the flavor of delicious stewed meat floating in the creamy broth?" Despite having spent centuries in the wheat fields, Holo's tastes were more aristocratic than any noble's. There before the walls of Lenos, Lawrence made one last counterattack. He regretted having indulged her. "They say fine foods can be bad for the eye and bad for the tongue." "Oh? And how bad for my heart do you think it was to go so many centuries without so much as a taste?" Holo glared up at him sharply. She was completely unmoved, her red-tinged chestnut eyes glinting like polished jewels. In front of such shining gems, the only thing to do was fall to your knees. But Lawrence was a merchant, not some jewel-crazed noblewoman. If the price wasn't right, there was only one thing to say, even in the face of the most precious gem. "Perhaps once I've consulted my coin purse." Holo looked away like a stubborn child. Even after this exchange, Lawrence knew it was likely that they would wind up having a meat stew. No doubt Holo was confident of this as well. And yet still they played at arguing. Lawrence flicked the reins and eased the wagon forward. As they passed through the checkpoint, Lawrence looked up at the stone wall, which was moss colored from the rain. He looked down again shortly, though it was not to hide any of his goods from the import tax. No, he wanted only to hide the smile that spread under his beard. Perhaps it was because of the cold winter rain that there were so few people in the town's streets. What few were there were mostly children, the mist of their exhalations trailing behind them as they ran here and there with hands clasped tight to their breasts—no doubt on errands for the town's shopkeepers and craftsmen. The phantomlike forms with their bundles of rags were surely doing the same job. The stalls that faced the street were largely unattended as the light mist gathered and dribbled from their eaves. Without any shopkeepers to chase them away, a few beggars gathered under a handful of the stalls. It was the very image of a rainy day.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo looked aside, seeming bored. No doubt she was bored. Despite the fact that Lawrence had always perceived all women's smiles to be the same, he could now follow the slightest changes of expression on Holo's face. In addition to her boredom, there was a flicker of unease. He saw this and realized something. There were two basic motivations for his actions. One was Holo. The other was business. Holo feared loneliness even more than Lawrence did. No doubt she was sometimes frightened by the prospect of being weighed against business. In the end, only the gods could know which way the balance would tip in the end—or how close it might be. And the end of their journey was not far away. Would she venture to cause trouble just when Lawrence had to put on his merchant face, just to test which way he would choose, forcing the issue of whether she was more important than his ledger's balance? Not that she was so insignificant as to warrant that kind of worry, Lawrence found himself thinking. The wagon inched forward in the slow-moving line, and a great puff of white fog issued from beneath Holo's hood as she looked at him irritably. "Some stew would be nice," she said. No doubt she was talking about dinner. Evidently the time for affirmations had passed. "Aye, with this cold. Depending on the price, I'd take a stew with a proper thick flour broth." "Ho, ho! Sometimes the sweet smell of milk surpasses that of the finest wine." Seeing her like this, face half-wrapped in the fox fur muffler as she nodded her delighted agreement, erased the past several days of irritated remarks he'd endured. Sometimes it was good to order something full of tasty ingredients. "A stew made with the vegetables of the season would be especially good," said Lawrence. "Vegetables? Do you not understand the flavor of delicious stewed meat floating in the creamy broth?" Despite having spent centuries in the wheat fields, Holo's tastes were more aristocratic than any noble's. There before the walls of Lenos, Lawrence made one last counterattack. He regretted having indulged her. "They say fine foods can be bad for the eye and bad for the tongue." "Oh? And how bad for my heart do you think it was to go so many centuries without so much as a taste?" Holo glared up at him sharply. She was completely unmoved, her red-tinged chestnut eyes glinting like polished jewels. In front of such shining gems, the only thing to do was fall to your knees. But Lawrence was a merchant, not some jewel-crazed noblewoman. If the price wasn't right, there was only one thing to say, even in the face of the most precious gem. "Perhaps once I've consulted my coin purse." Holo looked away like a stubborn child. Even after this exchange, Lawrence knew it was likely that they would wind up having a meat stew. No doubt Holo was confident of this as well. And yet still they played at arguing. Lawrence flicked the reins and eased the wagon forward. As they passed through the checkpoint, Lawrence looked up at the stone wall, which was moss colored from the rain. He looked down again shortly, though it was not to hide any of his goods from the import tax. No, he wanted only to hide the smile that spread under his beard. Perhaps it was because of the cold winter rain that there were so few people in the town's streets. What few were there were mostly children, the mist of their exhalations trailing behind them as they ran here and there with hands clasped tight to their breasts—no doubt on errands for the town's shopkeepers and craftsmen. The phantomlike forms with their bundles of rags were surely doing the same job. The stalls that faced the street were largely unattended as the light mist gathered and dribbled from their eaves. Without any shopkeepers to chase them away, a few beggars gathered under a handful of the stalls. It was the very image of a rainy day.

Lawrence held in his hand the wooden plaque he'd received at the checkpoint that was proof of his status as a foreign merchant, and listened vaguely as Holo voiced her displeasure. "'Tis not as though I would place it at the very pinnacle of creation, but is that not an unreachable state, not some matter of relative merit? What say you?" "Oh, indeed." "If we are to talk of that which falls short of being inherently superior and that which exceeds its humble origins to become great, I should think the latter more worthy of respect. Am I wrong?" "...Not at all." Perhaps it was the fatigue of the long journey. Holo's anger was not the complete rage it normally seemed to be. She expressed her displeasure as a lower, more constant grumble. In his mind, Lawrence cursed the loudmouthed checkpoint guard whose careless words had brought this upon him—but then he realized that if his replies to Holo were too perfunctory, she'd turn her anger upon him. "Yes, well, if the choice is between a nobleman with no fame, no charisma, no assets, naught but his lineage, and a canny commoner who's amassed wealth and fame, then surely it's the latter whom I'd respect," agreed Lawrence. Normally such obsequiousness would only worsen Holo's mood, but at the moment it seemed to be good enough. She gave an exaggerated, almost drunken nod, then sniffed like an angry bull. At the checkpoint, they'd been subjected to an extremely thorough search, and the guard had discovered Holo's tail. Of course, Holo was nonchalant as always and easily passed it off as an underskirt, which the guard seemed to believe, but then he had said this: "Oh, just a cheap wolf skin." Being a guard at a town that was a hub for lumber and fur, he'd known how to tell a wolf pelt from a dog or a fox. And he was not wrong about the value. Wolf pelts were ranked below dog. No matter how fine the quality, no matter how much it made a fur trader drool, the simple fact was that it would never be worth as much as a good deerskin. The problem arose when that wolf's pride was not so cheap as its fur—and on that count, Holo was expensive indeed. This explained her angry, childish muttering. Lawrence felt so bad for her that he wanted to stroke her head to comfort her. Had they still been midjourney, he might have simply held the reins and exchanged snippy remarks with her, but now he only looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He scratched his chin with the corner of the foreign merchant plaque, wondering if some food would help her feel better. In truth, Lawrence was more concerned with the significance of that plaque. It appeared hastily made without any kind of official seal on it. He'd been told that if he wanted to buy commodities in the village, no one would sell to him unless he displayed the plaque. That was the only explanation he had received. He'd been quickly shooed through the checkpoint, through which a string of travelers passed like an eel wriggling through a trap. It was a situation no merchant could abide. This was the first time he'd encountered something like this—not just in Lenos, but in any town. "So then," said Holo. "Oh, uh, yes?" A poke at his leg jerked Lawrence out of his reverie, and he met Holo's sharp gaze. For a moment he wondered if he'd missed her saying something, but before he could ask, Holo continued. "Will we make the inn soon?" No doubt she was cold and hungry and could not tolerate riding in the wagon any longer than she had to. "Just ahead around that corner," Lawrence told her. She gave an irritated sigh at the fact that the inn was not immediately in front of her, sinking deeper into her hood. He would have to be very careful about the amount of meat in tonight's stew. Lawrence thought the matter over as he drove the wagon, and soon enough they arrived at their destination. It was an ordinary four-story building that somehow fell short of striking one as elegant.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence held in his hand the wooden plaque he'd received at the checkpoint that was proof of his status as a foreign merchant, and listened vaguely as Holo voiced her displeasure. "'Tis not as though I would place it at the very pinnacle of creation, but is that not an unreachable state, not some matter of relative merit? What say you?" "Oh, indeed." "If we are to talk of that which falls short of being inherently superior and that which exceeds its humble origins to become great, I should think the latter more worthy of respect. Am I wrong?" "...Not at all." Perhaps it was the fatigue of the long journey. Holo's anger was not the complete rage it normally seemed to be. She expressed her displeasure as a lower, more constant grumble. In his mind, Lawrence cursed the loudmouthed checkpoint guard whose careless words had brought this upon him—but then he realized that if his replies to Holo were too perfunctory, she'd turn her anger upon him. "Yes, well, if the choice is between a nobleman with no fame, no charisma, no assets, naught but his lineage, and a canny commoner who's amassed wealth and fame, then surely it's the latter whom I'd respect," agreed Lawrence. Normally such obsequiousness would only worsen Holo's mood, but at the moment it seemed to be good enough. She gave an exaggerated, almost drunken nod, then sniffed like an angry bull. At the checkpoint, they'd been subjected to an extremely thorough search, and the guard had discovered Holo's tail. Of course, Holo was nonchalant as always and easily passed it off as an underskirt, which the guard seemed to believe, but then he had said this: "Oh, just a cheap wolf skin." Being a guard at a town that was a hub for lumber and fur, he'd known how to tell a wolf pelt from a dog or a fox. And he was not wrong about the value. Wolf pelts were ranked below dog. No matter how fine the quality, no matter how much it made a fur trader drool, the simple fact was that it would never be worth as much as a good deerskin. The problem arose when that wolf's pride was not so cheap as its fur—and on that count, Holo was expensive indeed. This explained her angry, childish muttering. Lawrence felt so bad for her that he wanted to stroke her head to comfort her. Had they still been midjourney, he might have simply held the reins and exchanged snippy remarks with her, but now he only looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He scratched his chin with the corner of the foreign merchant plaque, wondering if some food would help her feel better. In truth, Lawrence was more concerned with the significance of that plaque. It appeared hastily made without any kind of official seal on it. He'd been told that if he wanted to buy commodities in the village, no one would sell to him unless he displayed the plaque. That was the only explanation he had received. He'd been quickly shooed through the checkpoint, through which a string of travelers passed like an eel wriggling through a trap. It was a situation no merchant could abide. This was the first time he'd encountered something like this—not just in Lenos, but in any town. "So then," said Holo. "Oh, uh, yes?" A poke at his leg jerked Lawrence out of his reverie, and he met Holo's sharp gaze. For a moment he wondered if he'd missed her saying something, but before he could ask, Holo continued. "Will we make the inn soon?" No doubt she was cold and hungry and could not tolerate riding in the wagon any longer than she had to. "Just ahead around that corner," Lawrence told her. She gave an irritated sigh at the fact that the inn was not immediately in front of her, sinking deeper into her hood. He would have to be very careful about the amount of meat in tonight's stew. Lawrence thought the matter over as he drove the wagon, and soon enough they arrived at their destination. It was an ordinary four-story building that somehow fell short of striking one as elegant.

Holo's expression only darkened. Perhaps she expected to be taken to an inn with a properly maintained facade. Lawrence avoided explaining to her that even should they spend more money, it did not guarantee a restful inn. He climbed down from the driver's box to avoid her baleful gaze and trotted over to the inn's front door, giving it a knock. The inn did not have so much as a sign out front, so it was very unlikely to be full, but there was a real possibility that the owner could have closed up because of the cold weather. So when Lawrence heard the shuffling of someone behind the door just before it opened a crack, he felt a certain amount of relief. "You staying or selling goods?" a gruff, whitebearded old man brusquely demanded through the barely opened door. "Staying. Two of us." The old man gave only a quick nod, then retreated back into the building. The door was left open, so apparently there were vacancies. Lawrence glanced back at the wagon. "Which do you want, a bright room or a warm room?" he asked. The question was unexpected. A crease appeared on Holo's brow. "What else is there but a warm room?" "Right, I'll take the horse around to the stables. You go on in and talk to the innkeeper—that older gentleman—and tell him that. He'll show you to a room." "Mm." Lawrence climbed back into the driver's box and took the reins, trading places with Holo, who got off. The horse, seeming to realize that he was finally about to get out of the driving winter wind and into a warm stable, shook his head as if to hurry them up. With a flick of the reins, Lawrence set the horse to walking, watching Holo enter the inn out of the corner of his eye. He'd be able to pick her dusty, multilayered robe out of a crowd of a hundred people with no problem. After all, no matter how many layers she wore, he'd recognize the movements of her swishing tail anywhere. Smiling to himself, Lawrence guided the horse into the barn, wherein there were two beggars doing lookout duty. They gave Lawrence an appraising glance. The lookouts never forgot a face, so naturally they remembered Lawrence, and with a gesture of their chins, pointed to where they wanted him to leave his horse. With no reason to refuse, Lawrence complied. In doing so, he noticed that next to his space was a wide-hooved mountain horse, which gave him a flinty glare from beneath its long, shaggy hair. No doubt it had hauled furs into town from the northlands. "You two get along now," said Lawrence, patting his own horse on its flank as he climbed down from the wagon, leaving the two beggars with two copper coins before gathering his belongings and heading into the inn. This particular inn had once been the living quarters of a tannery. The first floor had been the leather strap makers' workshop, and so it was mostly open with few walls and a stone floor. Now it was used to store things, and here and there were goods that various merchants had the inn keep under long-term storage. Slipping past the jumbled piles of goods that were taller than he was, Lawrence arrived at the only orderly place on the first floor—the innkeeper's room. On a small table was an iron bowl held up in a three-legged iron brace. The innkeeper burned charcoal in the bowl and drank mulled wine all day, daydreaming of far-off lands. "Next year, I'm going south on pilgrimage," he would frequently say. The innkeeper noticed Lawrence, looking at him with keen blue eyes beneath bushy brows. "Third floor. Window side." "Right, third floor—wait, window side?" Though inn patrons could either pay in advance or at the end of their stay, the stoic innkeeper's mood was improved by pay in advance. Lawrence had thus placed a moderately generous fee on the table, but the innkeeper's words came as a surprise, making him turn around. "Window side," said the innkeeper again in a low voice, closing his eyes. The old man did not want to discuss the matter.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo's expression only darkened. Perhaps she expected to be taken to an inn with a properly maintained facade. Lawrence avoided explaining to her that even should they spend more money, it did not guarantee a restful inn. He climbed down from the driver's box to avoid her baleful gaze and trotted over to the inn's front door, giving it a knock. The inn did not have so much as a sign out front, so it was very unlikely to be full, but there was a real possibility that the owner could have closed up because of the cold weather. So when Lawrence heard the shuffling of someone behind the door just before it opened a crack, he felt a certain amount of relief. "You staying or selling goods?" a gruff, whitebearded old man brusquely demanded through the barely opened door. "Staying. Two of us." The old man gave only a quick nod, then retreated back into the building. The door was left open, so apparently there were vacancies. Lawrence glanced back at the wagon. "Which do you want, a bright room or a warm room?" he asked. The question was unexpected. A crease appeared on Holo's brow. "What else is there but a warm room?" "Right, I'll take the horse around to the stables. You go on in and talk to the innkeeper—that older gentleman—and tell him that. He'll show you to a room." "Mm." Lawrence climbed back into the driver's box and took the reins, trading places with Holo, who got off. The horse, seeming to realize that he was finally about to get out of the driving winter wind and into a warm stable, shook his head as if to hurry them up. With a flick of the reins, Lawrence set the horse to walking, watching Holo enter the inn out of the corner of his eye. He'd be able to pick her dusty, multilayered robe out of a crowd of a hundred people with no problem. After all, no matter how many layers she wore, he'd recognize the movements of her swishing tail anywhere. Smiling to himself, Lawrence guided the horse into the barn, wherein there were two beggars doing lookout duty. They gave Lawrence an appraising glance. The lookouts never forgot a face, so naturally they remembered Lawrence, and with a gesture of their chins, pointed to where they wanted him to leave his horse. With no reason to refuse, Lawrence complied. In doing so, he noticed that next to his space was a wide-hooved mountain horse, which gave him a flinty glare from beneath its long, shaggy hair. No doubt it had hauled furs into town from the northlands. "You two get along now," said Lawrence, patting his own horse on its flank as he climbed down from the wagon, leaving the two beggars with two copper coins before gathering his belongings and heading into the inn. This particular inn had once been the living quarters of a tannery. The first floor had been the leather strap makers' workshop, and so it was mostly open with few walls and a stone floor. Now it was used to store things, and here and there were goods that various merchants had the inn keep under long-term storage. Slipping past the jumbled piles of goods that were taller than he was, Lawrence arrived at the only orderly place on the first floor—the innkeeper's room. On a small table was an iron bowl held up in a three-legged iron brace. The innkeeper burned charcoal in the bowl and drank mulled wine all day, daydreaming of far-off lands. "Next year, I'm going south on pilgrimage," he would frequently say. The innkeeper noticed Lawrence, looking at him with keen blue eyes beneath bushy brows. "Third floor. Window side." "Right, third floor—wait, window side?" Though inn patrons could either pay in advance or at the end of their stay, the stoic innkeeper's mood was improved by pay in advance. Lawrence had thus placed a moderately generous fee on the table, but the innkeeper's words came as a surprise, making him turn around. "Window side," said the innkeeper again in a low voice, closing his eyes. The old man did not want to discuss the matter.

Holding the handrails stained with age and use, he went up the stairs. Just like the living quarters of any other workshop, on the second floor was a living room with a fireplace, a kitchen, and the master's bedroom. This building was a bit different in that the fireplace was in the center of the living room, and the rooms on the third and fourth floors were built to get as much heat as possible from the chimney that led upwards through the inn. In addition to the somewhat strange layout that this necessitated, the maintenance necessary to ensure that smoke didn't leak from the chimney and into the rooms was often troublesome. The master of this building, however, had chosen the comfort of the apprentices that would live on the third and fourth floors. The current innkeeper was a kind, if quiet man. His name was Arold Ecklund, and he had been the head craftsman of the tannery. When night fell, the odd downstairs living room would be filled with friendly chatter as the guests each came bearing various wines. Now, though, all that could be heard was the quietly crackling fire. There were four rooms on the third floor. Back when the building had been a workshop, the fourth floor was used for new apprentices and as storage for odds and ends, so the third-floor rooms were larger. But not all of those rooms received the benefit of the warmth from the chimney. Only one of the third-floor rooms faced the street, and in order to accommodate a window to let in light, it sacrificed access to the chimney. In other words, having a window meant sacrificing heat. Lawrence was sure that Holo had said she preferred a warm room. As he entered their quarters, he saw that she'd already taken off and scattered all her wet clothes everywhere and was huddled beneath the covers of her bed. He wondered if she was crying from the indignity of it all, but looking at the way she lay curled up in the blanket, she seemed to have fallen asleep. Staying angry for so long must have tired her out, Lawrence supposed. He gathered up her discarded clothes, draping them temporarily over the back of a chair, and he removed his own traveling garb. This was the most relieving part of any journey—the moment when he could remove his wet things at an inn. They felt like damp clay as he peeled them off, set them aside, and changed into his normal clothes, which hadn't yet been soaked with rain. His standard outfit was admittedly cold, but it was still better than staying wet. Without a fireplace, the room would be no warmer than a campsite once night fell. A mere blanket wouldn't be enough to stave off the chill. He realized this as he bundled up Holo's heavy, rain-soaked clothing like a manservant. Holo's tail stuck out from underneath the blanket, which otherwise looked as if it had been thrown over a pile of bread, cheese, or bacon. She really didn't play fair, thought Lawrence. It wasn't quite the same thing as a nobleman's daughter flashing her long, beautiful hair out the window of her chamber to catch the eye of a passing knight—but nonetheless, Lawrence felt compelled to respond. "I think your tail is lovely; it's warm with fine fur." A moment passed, and Holo pulled her tail in underneath the blanket. Lawrence could only heave a sigh. Holo was hardly the sort of sensitive girl whose wounded feelings could be soothed with a single compliment from him. Even at this very moment, she surely still harbored a smoldering grudge. And yet she had gotten Lawrence to praise her tail. Lawrence smiled ruefully to himself as he descended the stairs, sighing again. In her own way, Holo relied on him. That was all the reason he needed. It could be one of her clever traps, but being caught in them wasn't such a bad feeling. He took advantage of the fact that a mind-reading wolf wasn't planted next to him to mull over such thoughts as he entered the living room, which housed the fireplace. There was no one there. His only company was the echoes of the crackling firewood.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holding the handrails stained with age and use, he went up the stairs. Just like the living quarters of any other workshop, on the second floor was a living room with a fireplace, a kitchen, and the master's bedroom. This building was a bit different in that the fireplace was in the center of the living room, and the rooms on the third and fourth floors were built to get as much heat as possible from the chimney that led upwards through the inn. In addition to the somewhat strange layout that this necessitated, the maintenance necessary to ensure that smoke didn't leak from the chimney and into the rooms was often troublesome. The master of this building, however, had chosen the comfort of the apprentices that would live on the third and fourth floors. The current innkeeper was a kind, if quiet man. His name was Arold Ecklund, and he had been the head craftsman of the tannery. When night fell, the odd downstairs living room would be filled with friendly chatter as the guests each came bearing various wines. Now, though, all that could be heard was the quietly crackling fire. There were four rooms on the third floor. Back when the building had been a workshop, the fourth floor was used for new apprentices and as storage for odds and ends, so the third-floor rooms were larger. But not all of those rooms received the benefit of the warmth from the chimney. Only one of the third-floor rooms faced the street, and in order to accommodate a window to let in light, it sacrificed access to the chimney. In other words, having a window meant sacrificing heat. Lawrence was sure that Holo had said she preferred a warm room. As he entered their quarters, he saw that she'd already taken off and scattered all her wet clothes everywhere and was huddled beneath the covers of her bed. He wondered if she was crying from the indignity of it all, but looking at the way she lay curled up in the blanket, she seemed to have fallen asleep. Staying angry for so long must have tired her out, Lawrence supposed. He gathered up her discarded clothes, draping them temporarily over the back of a chair, and he removed his own traveling garb. This was the most relieving part of any journey—the moment when he could remove his wet things at an inn. They felt like damp clay as he peeled them off, set them aside, and changed into his normal clothes, which hadn't yet been soaked with rain. His standard outfit was admittedly cold, but it was still better than staying wet. Without a fireplace, the room would be no warmer than a campsite once night fell. A mere blanket wouldn't be enough to stave off the chill. He realized this as he bundled up Holo's heavy, rain-soaked clothing like a manservant. Holo's tail stuck out from underneath the blanket, which otherwise looked as if it had been thrown over a pile of bread, cheese, or bacon. She really didn't play fair, thought Lawrence. It wasn't quite the same thing as a nobleman's daughter flashing her long, beautiful hair out the window of her chamber to catch the eye of a passing knight—but nonetheless, Lawrence felt compelled to respond. "I think your tail is lovely; it's warm with fine fur." A moment passed, and Holo pulled her tail in underneath the blanket. Lawrence could only heave a sigh. Holo was hardly the sort of sensitive girl whose wounded feelings could be soothed with a single compliment from him. Even at this very moment, she surely still harbored a smoldering grudge. And yet she had gotten Lawrence to praise her tail. Lawrence smiled ruefully to himself as he descended the stairs, sighing again. In her own way, Holo relied on him. That was all the reason he needed. It could be one of her clever traps, but being caught in them wasn't such a bad feeling. He took advantage of the fact that a mind-reading wolf wasn't planted next to him to mull over such thoughts as he entered the living room, which housed the fireplace. There was no one there. His only company was the echoes of the crackling firewood.

Here and there on the walls of the living room were nails that had been only half pounded in, their heads turned up to act as hooks. A leather strap dangled from one of them, long enough to be connected to a hook on the opposite wall. On rainy days, this was excellent for drying the clothes of sodden travelers, and on clear days, it worked well for drying vegetables and meat to serve as supplies for people resuming their journeys. Lawrence quickly set up the line and hung the wet clothes across it. The robes were larger than he'd reckoned, and he wound up having to use the entirety of the line. "Just so long as no one else comes to dry their clothes," Lawrence murmured to himself as he sat down on the single chair before the fireplace. The next moment, he heard the creaking sound of the staircase. *** Apparently the creak had actually come from the hallway. Lawrence turned his gaze toward the sound and met the eyes of a figure who had climbed up the stairs and now peered into the living room. His head was wrapped in a cowl, which also covered most of his face, obscuring whatever expression he might have had, but his gaze was keen and steady. He was not especially tall, but neither short—perhaps a bit taller than Holo. His traveling clothes were heavy and squared his figure. The most outstanding feature of the fellow's attire were his leather boots with thick, leather strap work that bound them to his calves. They were proof of a traveler who eschewed horseback in favor of his own two feet, and the tightness with which the straps were tied was evidence of the severity of the season. The pale blue eyes that regarded Lawrence through the gap in those heavy layers of clothing were pure and keen—and unsympathetic. After giving Lawrence a long, appraising look, the figure continued wordlessly up the stairs. Despite carrying a heavy load, his footsteps were nearly silent. The stranger also seemed to have secured a third-floor room. From above his head, Lawrence heard a door open, then close. Arold mostly left his guests alone, which made his inn particularly prized among those who weren't interested in being sociable. Even among merchants, not all of them were extroverts. Lawrence used this inn when he was in Lenos because the price and facilities were good and because Arold had been a member of the Rowen Trade Guild. Once Arold had been a traveling fur merchant, but he'd married into the tannery and taken over as its master. Since the town didn't have a Rowen guild house, many guild members used this inn when passing through. Arold's tendency to leave his guests alone was especially convenient now with Holo along. In reality, the foremost issue on Lawrence's mind was securing the meat stew that would hopefully improve Holo's mood. If it would make her feel better, a bowl or two of stew was nothing, but the total cost of staying in this town could skyrocket if he let his guard down. The fatigue of his long journey crept up on him as he pondered the problem there before the fireplace, and soon he dozed off. He woke once when Arold came to add fuel to the fire, but Arold of course said nothing and in fact was rather generous in his use of firewood, prompting Lawrence to decide to enjoy the old man's courtesy. Lawrence woke again after the sun had set, when but for the firelight, the darkness in the room was so thick it seemed one could easily ladle cupfuls of it. Realizing he had overslept, Lawrence scrambled to his feet, but he could not turn back time. No doubt the selfish Holo had long since awoken and was nursing a fine temper back in their room, unable to leave until Lawrence returned with her clothes. Lawrence sighed, and after checking to see that the clothes were in fact dry, he quickly collected them and returned to the third-floor room. It went without saying that Holo was fit to be tied. The stew Lawrence finally ordered at the tavern he chose at random was a luxuriously meaty one indeed.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Here and there on the walls of the living room were nails that had been only half pounded in, their heads turned up to act as hooks. A leather strap dangled from one of them, long enough to be connected to a hook on the opposite wall. On rainy days, this was excellent for drying the clothes of sodden travelers, and on clear days, it worked well for drying vegetables and meat to serve as supplies for people resuming their journeys. Lawrence quickly set up the line and hung the wet clothes across it. The robes were larger than he'd reckoned, and he wound up having to use the entirety of the line. "Just so long as no one else comes to dry their clothes," Lawrence murmured to himself as he sat down on the single chair before the fireplace. The next moment, he heard the creaking sound of the staircase. *** Apparently the creak had actually come from the hallway. Lawrence turned his gaze toward the sound and met the eyes of a figure who had climbed up the stairs and now peered into the living room. His head was wrapped in a cowl, which also covered most of his face, obscuring whatever expression he might have had, but his gaze was keen and steady. He was not especially tall, but neither short—perhaps a bit taller than Holo. His traveling clothes were heavy and squared his figure. The most outstanding feature of the fellow's attire were his leather boots with thick, leather strap work that bound them to his calves. They were proof of a traveler who eschewed horseback in favor of his own two feet, and the tightness with which the straps were tied was evidence of the severity of the season. The pale blue eyes that regarded Lawrence through the gap in those heavy layers of clothing were pure and keen—and unsympathetic. After giving Lawrence a long, appraising look, the figure continued wordlessly up the stairs. Despite carrying a heavy load, his footsteps were nearly silent. The stranger also seemed to have secured a third-floor room. From above his head, Lawrence heard a door open, then close. Arold mostly left his guests alone, which made his inn particularly prized among those who weren't interested in being sociable. Even among merchants, not all of them were extroverts. Lawrence used this inn when he was in Lenos because the price and facilities were good and because Arold had been a member of the Rowen Trade Guild. Once Arold had been a traveling fur merchant, but he'd married into the tannery and taken over as its master. Since the town didn't have a Rowen guild house, many guild members used this inn when passing through. Arold's tendency to leave his guests alone was especially convenient now with Holo along. In reality, the foremost issue on Lawrence's mind was securing the meat stew that would hopefully improve Holo's mood. If it would make her feel better, a bowl or two of stew was nothing, but the total cost of staying in this town could skyrocket if he let his guard down. The fatigue of his long journey crept up on him as he pondered the problem there before the fireplace, and soon he dozed off. He woke once when Arold came to add fuel to the fire, but Arold of course said nothing and in fact was rather generous in his use of firewood, prompting Lawrence to decide to enjoy the old man's courtesy. Lawrence woke again after the sun had set, when but for the firelight, the darkness in the room was so thick it seemed one could easily ladle cupfuls of it. Realizing he had overslept, Lawrence scrambled to his feet, but he could not turn back time. No doubt the selfish Holo had long since awoken and was nursing a fine temper back in their room, unable to leave until Lawrence returned with her clothes. Lawrence sighed, and after checking to see that the clothes were in fact dry, he quickly collected them and returned to the third-floor room. It went without saying that Holo was fit to be tied. The stew Lawrence finally ordered at the tavern he chose at random was a luxuriously meaty one indeed.

Either way, given this warmth, Lawrence could understand why Holo had chosen the brighter room. The morning sun certainly earned its adoration. In a rare turn of events, Lawrence was awake before Holo, whose head protruded from the blanket under which she slept. Normally she slept curled up like a proper wolf, so to see her slumbering more like the maiden she appeared to be was novel. The few previous occasions when Holo had overslept were all the results of hangovers, but her complexion looked healthy this morning. Given the guileless expression on her exposed face, Lawrence supposed she was simply sleeping late. "Well then," he murmured. It was all well and good to stare at Holo's face for a while, but if the irritable wisewolf noticed him, he would hear no end of it. What he needed to be doing was preparing to venture out into the town. He stroked his beard. Naturally longer beards were commonplace in the north country, but his was still a bit too long, and a self-indulgently long beard was hardly attractive. As he retrieved a washcloth and blade from his things in preparation for borrowing some hot water from Arold, the keen-eared wolf on the bed stirred, seemingly wakened by the sound. After hearing her utter a displeased groan, Lawrence became aware of her gaze upon his back. "I'm off to tend to my pelt," said Lawrence, putting the sheathed blade to his chin. Holo yawned, then smiled wordlessly, narrowing her eyes. She seemed to be in a good temper. "Have to make sure it'll fetch a good price, after all," Lawrence added. Holo hid her mouth behind the blanket. "I'm sure 'tis worth a king's ransom." Perhaps it was because she had just woken. Her eyes were gentle despite their drowsiness. No doubt she was at least half teasing him, but he couldn't help but be a little pleased at her honest, straightforward words. He shrugged to hide his embarrassment. Holo continued. "Aye, a price so high none will buy it," she said with a glitter of malice in her eyes now as she shifted from lying on her stomach to her back. "Has anyone so far?" She certainly had a talent for luring people into premature happiness, Lawrence thought to himself. He waggled the tip of the blade he held to signal his surrender, at which Holo giggled, snuggling back underneath the blanket and rolling over as if going back to sleep. Lawrence sighed. It was both frustrating and strangely amusing to be constantly toyed with like this. He left the room and headed down the stairs, hand on the banister, as he smiled ruefully to himself. But that smile vanished when he noticed someone else there before him. "Good morning," said Lawrence pleasantly to the fellow lodger who appeared at the bottom of the stairs. It was the same hooded stranger he'd glimpsed briefly while drying his clothes the previous night. The stranger wore the same cowl, but his robes were somewhat looser now, and his feet were shod in sandals. Having perhaps bought a pastry for breakfast, he held a faintly steaming package in his right hand. "...Aye," replied the stranger in a near whisper as they passed, glancing at Lawrence with blue eyes through the gap in his cowl. The voice was hoarse, the voice of a traveler well suited to dry sand and rocky terrain. Despite the stranger's unsociability, Lawrence felt a certain kinship. In any case, once he smelled the scent of the meat pie that issued up from the lodger's package, he knew for a certainty that Holo would soon be demanding one for herself. "What comes next, then?" asked Holo, a scrap of meat clinging to the corner of her mouth and a meat pie in one hand. "Well, first we've got to collect whatever stories about you we can find." "Mm. Stories of me and of the whereabouts of Yoitsu...." Munch, munch, munch. Three bites were all it took to polish off the hand-sized remnants of the meat pie. They were swallowed and gone in a twinkling. "Just like in Kumersun, we need to find a chronicler," said Lawrence.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Either way, given this warmth, Lawrence could understand why Holo had chosen the brighter room. The morning sun certainly earned its adoration. In a rare turn of events, Lawrence was awake before Holo, whose head protruded from the blanket under which she slept. Normally she slept curled up like a proper wolf, so to see her slumbering more like the maiden she appeared to be was novel. The few previous occasions when Holo had overslept were all the results of hangovers, but her complexion looked healthy this morning. Given the guileless expression on her exposed face, Lawrence supposed she was simply sleeping late. "Well then," he murmured. It was all well and good to stare at Holo's face for a while, but if the irritable wisewolf noticed him, he would hear no end of it. What he needed to be doing was preparing to venture out into the town. He stroked his beard. Naturally longer beards were commonplace in the north country, but his was still a bit too long, and a self-indulgently long beard was hardly attractive. As he retrieved a washcloth and blade from his things in preparation for borrowing some hot water from Arold, the keen-eared wolf on the bed stirred, seemingly wakened by the sound. After hearing her utter a displeased groan, Lawrence became aware of her gaze upon his back. "I'm off to tend to my pelt," said Lawrence, putting the sheathed blade to his chin. Holo yawned, then smiled wordlessly, narrowing her eyes. She seemed to be in a good temper. "Have to make sure it'll fetch a good price, after all," Lawrence added. Holo hid her mouth behind the blanket. "I'm sure 'tis worth a king's ransom." Perhaps it was because she had just woken. Her eyes were gentle despite their drowsiness. No doubt she was at least half teasing him, but he couldn't help but be a little pleased at her honest, straightforward words. He shrugged to hide his embarrassment. Holo continued. "Aye, a price so high none will buy it," she said with a glitter of malice in her eyes now as she shifted from lying on her stomach to her back. "Has anyone so far?" She certainly had a talent for luring people into premature happiness, Lawrence thought to himself. He waggled the tip of the blade he held to signal his surrender, at which Holo giggled, snuggling back underneath the blanket and rolling over as if going back to sleep. Lawrence sighed. It was both frustrating and strangely amusing to be constantly toyed with like this. He left the room and headed down the stairs, hand on the banister, as he smiled ruefully to himself. But that smile vanished when he noticed someone else there before him. "Good morning," said Lawrence pleasantly to the fellow lodger who appeared at the bottom of the stairs. It was the same hooded stranger he'd glimpsed briefly while drying his clothes the previous night. The stranger wore the same cowl, but his robes were somewhat looser now, and his feet were shod in sandals. Having perhaps bought a pastry for breakfast, he held a faintly steaming package in his right hand. "...Aye," replied the stranger in a near whisper as they passed, glancing at Lawrence with blue eyes through the gap in his cowl. The voice was hoarse, the voice of a traveler well suited to dry sand and rocky terrain. Despite the stranger's unsociability, Lawrence felt a certain kinship. In any case, once he smelled the scent of the meat pie that issued up from the lodger's package, he knew for a certainty that Holo would soon be demanding one for herself. "What comes next, then?" asked Holo, a scrap of meat clinging to the corner of her mouth and a meat pie in one hand. "Well, first we've got to collect whatever stories about you we can find." "Mm. Stories of me and of the whereabouts of Yoitsu...." Munch, munch, munch. Three bites were all it took to polish off the hand-sized remnants of the meat pie. They were swallowed and gone in a twinkling. "Just like in Kumersun, we need to find a chronicler," said Lawrence.

Lawrence waved his hand lightly at Holo's questioning look, smiling. "So if I know how to accomplish the thing, what do you know?" He returned her blank gaze. "There's a saying that goes: 'He who knows how to do something is the servant of he who knows why that thing must be done.'" "Mm. I see. And I do know why it is that you work so gallantly." "The men of old spoke true," said Lawrence, biting into his own pie. Holo sat cross-legged on the bed and continued. "If I'm your master, then I suppose I should give you a reward." "A reward?" "Aye. Such as, hmm...," began Holo with a smile that felt to Lawrence as if fairly painted with something bewitching. "What is it you desire?" The room was seductively dim, and Lawrence would have felt his heart skip a beat but for the scrap of meat that still clung to the corner of Holo's mouth. Lawrence finished his own meat pie, then pointed at the corner of his own mouth. "Nothing in particular," he told Holo. "Hmph," said Holo, vaguely frustrated as she plucked the meat scrap from her mouth. "It would be nice if you were a bit more pleasant," added Lawrence. Holo's hand froze and her lip twitched. She flicked her finger, sending the scrap of food flying. "So now you treat me like a child?" "Not at all. Children actually do as they're told, for one." Lawrence took hold of a jug of chilled water, taking a swig, then paused. "Anyway, first I suppose we'll ask the innkeeper here. He may be old, but he's still the master of an inn." Lawrence stood and put on his coat by way of preparation. For Holo's part, she crawled off the bed. "You're coming along, right?" asked Lawrence. "Aye, even if you slapped my wrist," said Holo. As she bantered, she quickly put on her waistcloth, robe, and cape with such practiced ease that Lawrence looked on as though enchanted. The wolf twirled theatrically and spoke. "Should I clap my hands now, the spell I've cast upon you may well be broken!" So that's what she was doing. Lawrence decided to play along. "Huh? What am I doing here? Oh, that's right—this is Lenos, city of lumber and fur. I should stock up on furs and head to the next town," he said, using exaggerated gesticulations. He'd seen his share of traveling theatrical troupes. Holo put her hands to her midriff and laughed as though watching a grand comedy. After giggling for a moment, she scampered over to Lawrence, whose hand was on the room's door, ready to open it. "Oh, la, are you a traveling merchant? I've a good eye, me, for judging the quality of furs," she said. Lawrence took her hand, then opened the door, answering, "Oh ho! You've a discerning eye, 'tis true. But can you judge the quality of a person?" The stairs creaked in the morning quiet of the inn. When they reached the second floor, Holo fixed Lawrence with her gaze. "I've an evil spell cast upon me." Lawrence flashed a quick smile, as if to ask what she was getting at. "I suppose I'd best not clap, so as to avoid breaking it," he said. "You've already clapped once." "So you're saying the spell's coming undone?" There was no telling where the trap in this conversation was. This was how Holo would extort him into buying her treats. He pondered how to avoid that particular eventuality as they passed the second floor where he saw a pair of travelers who had evidently fallen asleep while chatting in front of the fireplace. As they continued down to the first floor, a tug at Lawrence's hand pulled him out of his reverie. To be precise, Holo, who had been holding his hand the entire time, stopped descending the stairs. She looked down at him, smiling softly from underneath her hood. "So then, will you cast another spell upon me so that I do not wake?" It was a devilish play. No doubt Holo would be satisfied if Lawrence was unable to answer. But Lawrence wanted to get the best of her every once in a while, so he turned around and took her hand again in his. In all the world, there was only one reason a man would take a woman's hand in this way.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence waved his hand lightly at Holo's questioning look, smiling. "So if I know how to accomplish the thing, what do you know?" He returned her blank gaze. "There's a saying that goes: 'He who knows how to do something is the servant of he who knows why that thing must be done.'" "Mm. I see. And I do know why it is that you work so gallantly." "The men of old spoke true," said Lawrence, biting into his own pie. Holo sat cross-legged on the bed and continued. "If I'm your master, then I suppose I should give you a reward." "A reward?" "Aye. Such as, hmm...," began Holo with a smile that felt to Lawrence as if fairly painted with something bewitching. "What is it you desire?" The room was seductively dim, and Lawrence would have felt his heart skip a beat but for the scrap of meat that still clung to the corner of Holo's mouth. Lawrence finished his own meat pie, then pointed at the corner of his own mouth. "Nothing in particular," he told Holo. "Hmph," said Holo, vaguely frustrated as she plucked the meat scrap from her mouth. "It would be nice if you were a bit more pleasant," added Lawrence. Holo's hand froze and her lip twitched. She flicked her finger, sending the scrap of food flying. "So now you treat me like a child?" "Not at all. Children actually do as they're told, for one." Lawrence took hold of a jug of chilled water, taking a swig, then paused. "Anyway, first I suppose we'll ask the innkeeper here. He may be old, but he's still the master of an inn." Lawrence stood and put on his coat by way of preparation. For Holo's part, she crawled off the bed. "You're coming along, right?" asked Lawrence. "Aye, even if you slapped my wrist," said Holo. As she bantered, she quickly put on her waistcloth, robe, and cape with such practiced ease that Lawrence looked on as though enchanted. The wolf twirled theatrically and spoke. "Should I clap my hands now, the spell I've cast upon you may well be broken!" So that's what she was doing. Lawrence decided to play along. "Huh? What am I doing here? Oh, that's right—this is Lenos, city of lumber and fur. I should stock up on furs and head to the next town," he said, using exaggerated gesticulations. He'd seen his share of traveling theatrical troupes. Holo put her hands to her midriff and laughed as though watching a grand comedy. After giggling for a moment, she scampered over to Lawrence, whose hand was on the room's door, ready to open it. "Oh, la, are you a traveling merchant? I've a good eye, me, for judging the quality of furs," she said. Lawrence took her hand, then opened the door, answering, "Oh ho! You've a discerning eye, 'tis true. But can you judge the quality of a person?" The stairs creaked in the morning quiet of the inn. When they reached the second floor, Holo fixed Lawrence with her gaze. "I've an evil spell cast upon me." Lawrence flashed a quick smile, as if to ask what she was getting at. "I suppose I'd best not clap, so as to avoid breaking it," he said. "You've already clapped once." "So you're saying the spell's coming undone?" There was no telling where the trap in this conversation was. This was how Holo would extort him into buying her treats. He pondered how to avoid that particular eventuality as they passed the second floor where he saw a pair of travelers who had evidently fallen asleep while chatting in front of the fireplace. As they continued down to the first floor, a tug at Lawrence's hand pulled him out of his reverie. To be precise, Holo, who had been holding his hand the entire time, stopped descending the stairs. She looked down at him, smiling softly from underneath her hood. "So then, will you cast another spell upon me so that I do not wake?" It was a devilish play. No doubt Holo would be satisfied if Lawrence was unable to answer. But Lawrence wanted to get the best of her every once in a while, so he turned around and took her hand again in his. In all the world, there was only one reason a man would take a woman's hand in this way.

"Will this do, milady?" he asked, his pronunciation appropriately archaic. If he wasn't careful, blood would rush up to his face, ruining the effect. But he kept his composure and looked up into Holo's eyes, which were wide and round as saucers. "Come, let's go," he said, a smile finally appearing on his lips—a smile both of recognition that he had done something ridiculous and of victory at having gotten the best of Holo. He pulled lightly on her hand, and she came down the steps like a slack-stringed puppet. Her face was downcast, and he could not clearly make out her expression, but she seemed to be irritated. Lawrence chuckled inwardly. Restraining his embarrassment had been worth the trouble. He felt a swell of triumph, but then Holo stumbled forward as if having missed a step, and he hurried to catch her. Just as he began to laugh, wondering if she was too frustrated to stand, she hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "That's a spell too strong, foolish boy." The voice was peevish, irritated. If Lawrence had been the person he was when they first met, either his mind would have gone blank or he would have simply returned her embrace. As it was he did neither and simply smiled, which he thought would only be more frustrating for her. Back in the village of Tereo, Lawrence had begun to open a box that contained an uncomfortable truth—the truth that these halcyon days with Holo might soon be coming to an end. But he did not want to open the box himself. Holo, too, had put her hand on it. But at the time, neither of them wanted to confront its contents, so for now the box remained closed. Yet there were some things he understood. Holo did not want to confront the issue unless she had to. Though he could now maintain his composure as she clung to him and whispered in his ear, he would never have imagined he could be of such help to her. Her uncombed bangs against his cheek were still straight and smooth and smelled sweet though untouched by any perfume. They were so fine he didn't even bother to start counting the strands. Holo eventually realized that Lawrence had shown no reaction at all. She pulled away and looked up at him. "Just when are you going to become properly flustered?" she asked. "Mm, indeed. When you stop doing such things, I suppose." Holo was extremely quick. She soon divined the meaning of his words and affected frustration. "You've become quite clever, you have." "Mm, perhaps," said Lawrence, at which Holo let go of him entirely, gave a soft sigh through her nose, and began descending the stairs. If she enjoyed seeing Lawrence flustered, then she would have to tease him, but if what truly flustered him was when she stopped doing so, then her only recourse was to behave herself. Lawrence allowed himself a bit of self-satisfaction at his skillful turnaround as he followed Holo down the stairs, but when she reached the bottom, she spun around. "Yes, you've certainly developed a way with words. Whoever has been teaching you, I wonder?" What surprised Lawrence most was her smile. It was strangely good-natured and warm enough to thaw a chilled hand. He'd thought for sure she was irritated with him, so this sudden change put him on his guard as he stood before her. "No—it just came to me in the moment, that's all." "In the moment?" Holo giggled. "That's even better." She seemed so pleased that if she had been a puppy, her tail would've been wagging rapidly. Uncomprehending, Lawrence looked at Holo as she took his left hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "When I stop doing such things, eh?" she murmured again, drawing flirtatiously close to him. When she stops doing such things...? A strange feeling came over Lawrence when he heard the words again. The moment he realized the other meaning they held, he froze in his tracks. Holo giggled. "Whatever is the matter?" The melted-snow clarity of her high spirits clashed with the swamplike stickiness of her wit.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Will this do, milady?" he asked, his pronunciation appropriately archaic. If he wasn't careful, blood would rush up to his face, ruining the effect. But he kept his composure and looked up into Holo's eyes, which were wide and round as saucers. "Come, let's go," he said, a smile finally appearing on his lips—a smile both of recognition that he had done something ridiculous and of victory at having gotten the best of Holo. He pulled lightly on her hand, and she came down the steps like a slack-stringed puppet. Her face was downcast, and he could not clearly make out her expression, but she seemed to be irritated. Lawrence chuckled inwardly. Restraining his embarrassment had been worth the trouble. He felt a swell of triumph, but then Holo stumbled forward as if having missed a step, and he hurried to catch her. Just as he began to laugh, wondering if she was too frustrated to stand, she hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "That's a spell too strong, foolish boy." The voice was peevish, irritated. If Lawrence had been the person he was when they first met, either his mind would have gone blank or he would have simply returned her embrace. As it was he did neither and simply smiled, which he thought would only be more frustrating for her. Back in the village of Tereo, Lawrence had begun to open a box that contained an uncomfortable truth—the truth that these halcyon days with Holo might soon be coming to an end. But he did not want to open the box himself. Holo, too, had put her hand on it. But at the time, neither of them wanted to confront its contents, so for now the box remained closed. Yet there were some things he understood. Holo did not want to confront the issue unless she had to. Though he could now maintain his composure as she clung to him and whispered in his ear, he would never have imagined he could be of such help to her. Her uncombed bangs against his cheek were still straight and smooth and smelled sweet though untouched by any perfume. They were so fine he didn't even bother to start counting the strands. Holo eventually realized that Lawrence had shown no reaction at all. She pulled away and looked up at him. "Just when are you going to become properly flustered?" she asked. "Mm, indeed. When you stop doing such things, I suppose." Holo was extremely quick. She soon divined the meaning of his words and affected frustration. "You've become quite clever, you have." "Mm, perhaps," said Lawrence, at which Holo let go of him entirely, gave a soft sigh through her nose, and began descending the stairs. If she enjoyed seeing Lawrence flustered, then she would have to tease him, but if what truly flustered him was when she stopped doing so, then her only recourse was to behave herself. Lawrence allowed himself a bit of self-satisfaction at his skillful turnaround as he followed Holo down the stairs, but when she reached the bottom, she spun around. "Yes, you've certainly developed a way with words. Whoever has been teaching you, I wonder?" What surprised Lawrence most was her smile. It was strangely good-natured and warm enough to thaw a chilled hand. He'd thought for sure she was irritated with him, so this sudden change put him on his guard as he stood before her. "No—it just came to me in the moment, that's all." "In the moment?" Holo giggled. "That's even better." She seemed so pleased that if she had been a puppy, her tail would've been wagging rapidly. Uncomprehending, Lawrence looked at Holo as she took his left hand, intertwining her fingers with his. "When I stop doing such things, eh?" she murmured again, drawing flirtatiously close to him. When she stops doing such things...? A strange feeling came over Lawrence when he heard the words again. The moment he realized the other meaning they held, he froze in his tracks. Holo giggled. "Whatever is the matter?" The melted-snow clarity of her high spirits clashed with the swamplike stickiness of her wit.

It was when she didn't toy with him that he became flustered. What have I said, he wanted to cry out. Why, it was tantamount to outrightly declaring that he wanted her attention above all else! "What's this? Your circulation seems to have improved," said Holo. Indeed, Lawrence could not stop the flush that rose to his face. He covered his eyes with his free hand, wanting to at least show some shame that he'd not realized the true implications of what he was saying. Holo, however, had no intention of letting him do so. "Goodness, there's no need to be ashamed of such sweet, childish words." Swish, swish came the sound of her tail. Getting the best of a wisewolf in a duel of words was truly an impossible dream. Holo chuckled. "You surely are adorable, you are." Through the spaces between his fingers, Lawrence caught sight of Holo's face—cupped in her hands, sporting an infinitely malicious grin. Arold had evidently been busy with something in the stables, so fortunately he hadn't overheard Lawrence's foolish exchange with Holo. There was no question that Holo had been aware of this as she'd toyed with Lawrence. "A chronicler, you say?" asked Arold. "Aye. Or someone else who would know the old tales of the town." Arold sat in his usual chair and poured some mulled wine into a cup fashioned from a sheet of thin, beaten metal. He raised his left eyebrow in curiosity. It was clear he never expected to hear this kind of question from a guest. But where other innkeepers would certainly begin inquiring about a guest's background, Arold did no such thing. He merely stroked his snow-white beard for a moment before answering. "There's a man named Rigolo who does such things...but unfortunately he's at the Council of Fifty right now. I surely doubt he'll take visitors." "The Council of Fifty?" asked Lawrence. Arold poured mulled wine into two small earthenware cups, offering them to Lawrence and Holo. Just as the name suggested, the Council of Fifty was a council of fifty members—representatives of the town's tradesmen, merchants, and noblemen. Each of them represented their own clan or trade guild and advocated that organization's interests in vigorous debates. The outcome of those debates decided the fate of the town, so each representative carried a heavy burden of responsibility. Once there had been significant political jockeying around seats on the council, but a great plague some years previous had evidently left many seats empty. "Did you not see the state of things outside the town...?" asked Arold. "We saw. The merchant encampment, yes? If that's connected with the Council of Fifty, then is there some trouble within the town?" Holo put the proffered wine to her lips but froze shortly thereafter. No doubt her tail was puffing up at the same instant. There was no telling the quality of a drink from a new region, after all. "It's the furs, you see," said Arold. "The furs?" Lawrence asked, suddenly excited. A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the word. It wasn't because he was concerned about Holo—far from it. The word was so familiar to him that he felt a visceral reaction at the sudden remembrance of what he'd spent so much time pursuing—profit. But Arold continued as if he hadn't heard the question. "Rigolo's the secretary of the council," he said. Apparently he didn't want to discuss the council meeting, and Arold wasn't a particularly loquacious person to begin with. "And you're looking for people who know old tales, then," he finished. "Er, yes. That would be fine. Do you know of any?" He couldn't let the anticipation show on his face. Lawrence's self-discipline seemed to have worked. Arold's blue eyes, nearly buried in the wrinkles of his face, squinted off into the distance. "Bolta the tanner's grandmother was a wise old woman...but she died in the plague four years gone." "And there are no others?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

It was when she didn't toy with him that he became flustered. What have I said, he wanted to cry out. Why, it was tantamount to outrightly declaring that he wanted her attention above all else! "What's this? Your circulation seems to have improved," said Holo. Indeed, Lawrence could not stop the flush that rose to his face. He covered his eyes with his free hand, wanting to at least show some shame that he'd not realized the true implications of what he was saying. Holo, however, had no intention of letting him do so. "Goodness, there's no need to be ashamed of such sweet, childish words." Swish, swish came the sound of her tail. Getting the best of a wisewolf in a duel of words was truly an impossible dream. Holo chuckled. "You surely are adorable, you are." Through the spaces between his fingers, Lawrence caught sight of Holo's face—cupped in her hands, sporting an infinitely malicious grin. Arold had evidently been busy with something in the stables, so fortunately he hadn't overheard Lawrence's foolish exchange with Holo. There was no question that Holo had been aware of this as she'd toyed with Lawrence. "A chronicler, you say?" asked Arold. "Aye. Or someone else who would know the old tales of the town." Arold sat in his usual chair and poured some mulled wine into a cup fashioned from a sheet of thin, beaten metal. He raised his left eyebrow in curiosity. It was clear he never expected to hear this kind of question from a guest. But where other innkeepers would certainly begin inquiring about a guest's background, Arold did no such thing. He merely stroked his snow-white beard for a moment before answering. "There's a man named Rigolo who does such things...but unfortunately he's at the Council of Fifty right now. I surely doubt he'll take visitors." "The Council of Fifty?" asked Lawrence. Arold poured mulled wine into two small earthenware cups, offering them to Lawrence and Holo. Just as the name suggested, the Council of Fifty was a council of fifty members—representatives of the town's tradesmen, merchants, and noblemen. Each of them represented their own clan or trade guild and advocated that organization's interests in vigorous debates. The outcome of those debates decided the fate of the town, so each representative carried a heavy burden of responsibility. Once there had been significant political jockeying around seats on the council, but a great plague some years previous had evidently left many seats empty. "Did you not see the state of things outside the town...?" asked Arold. "We saw. The merchant encampment, yes? If that's connected with the Council of Fifty, then is there some trouble within the town?" Holo put the proffered wine to her lips but froze shortly thereafter. No doubt her tail was puffing up at the same instant. There was no telling the quality of a drink from a new region, after all. "It's the furs, you see," said Arold. "The furs?" Lawrence asked, suddenly excited. A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the word. It wasn't because he was concerned about Holo—far from it. The word was so familiar to him that he felt a visceral reaction at the sudden remembrance of what he'd spent so much time pursuing—profit. But Arold continued as if he hadn't heard the question. "Rigolo's the secretary of the council," he said. Apparently he didn't want to discuss the council meeting, and Arold wasn't a particularly loquacious person to begin with. "And you're looking for people who know old tales, then," he finished. "Er, yes. That would be fine. Do you know of any?" He couldn't let the anticipation show on his face. Lawrence's self-discipline seemed to have worked. Arold's blue eyes, nearly buried in the wrinkles of his face, squinted off into the distance. "Bolta the tanner's grandmother was a wise old woman...but she died in the plague four years gone." "And there are no others?"

Lawrence noticed Holo look over at Arold, probably at the sound he had just made. "I suppose the town's old wisdom only exists as written word now," said Arold, aghast at the realization as he continued to gaze somewhere far away, stroking his beard. Lawrence could tell that, beneath her robes, Holo's body twitched in surprise. There was no one who had direct knowledge of her. Holo herself was that forgotten wisdom. Lawrence immediately forgot the thrill he had felt only a moment ago and wordlessly put his hand on Holo's back. "So that means we've no course but to go to Mr. Rigolo and have him show us the chronicles?" "I suppose so...The months and years weather even stone buildings, to say nothing of the writings of men. 'Tis a dreadful thing..." Arold shook his head, closing his eyes and falling silent. The old man had been a recluse when Lawrence had first met him, and it seemed that tendency had only deepened with time. Lawrence couldn't help but wonder whether it was the ever-clearer sound of death's approach that drove this. Deciding that further conversation would only bring trouble, Lawrence finished his remaining wine in a single draught, and inviting Holo to go ahead of him, he went outside. In a sudden turnabout from the previous day, the street was busy, and the sun that shone down from Lawrence's left was bright enough to make him briefly dizzy. He stood there on the still slick cobblestone street and looked at Holo. She seemed dejected. "Shall we find something to eat?" Even Lawrence thought that was roughly the worst thing he could have said, but things were so difficult at the moment that everything was turned inside out. Beneath her hood, Holo gave a long-suffering sigh, then smiled. "You ought to build your vocabulary," she said, pulling on Lawrence's hand. Apparently it was premature to worry that she was going to start something here in the crowds. Just as Lawrence was pulled away, the door to the inn opened once again. *** It was the stranger from before that emerged. The man was the very image of a busy traveler, but when he looked at Lawrence and Holo, he froze, visibly surprised. "...Pardon" was all he said in a high, hoarse voice after a moment and then immediately melted into the crowd. Lawrence looked at Holo just to be sure that her ears and tail weren't visible. She cocked her head slightly. "Seemed a bit surprised to see me," said Holo. "Surely he doesn't suspect you're not human." "I did not get that sense from her. Perhaps she was merely taken aback by my comeliness." "Surely not," replied a smiling Lawrence to Holo, whose chest was thrust out with exaggerated pride. "Wait," he added. "She?" "Hmm?" "That was a woman?" The well-traveled look and hoarse voice of the stranger had made him assume otherwise, but Holo could hardly be wrong about such things. Lawrence looked in the direction in which she had disappeared and wondered what a female traveling merchant could possibly be trading in when he felt another tug at his hand. "What exactly makes you think it is acceptable to be standing beside me and staring thus at another female?" "Must you be so direct? A more roundabout complaint would be far more charming." "You're such a dunce you'd never catch on unless I spoke plainly," Holo shot back without flinching, scorn in her voice. Given their earlier conversation, it was sad indeed that Lawrence was unable to refute her. "So, what shall we do next?" Lawrence asked, putting an end to the foolish exchange. They needed to plan their day. "Will it be difficult to meet that man—whatever was his name?" "Rigolo or some such. If he's the secretary of the council, it may well be difficult, though that may depend on exactly what the council is doing...," said Lawrence, scratching his just-tidied beard. Holo took a step forward. "'Tis clear enough from your face that you're desperate to know what that meeting is about."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence noticed Holo look over at Arold, probably at the sound he had just made. "I suppose the town's old wisdom only exists as written word now," said Arold, aghast at the realization as he continued to gaze somewhere far away, stroking his beard. Lawrence could tell that, beneath her robes, Holo's body twitched in surprise. There was no one who had direct knowledge of her. Holo herself was that forgotten wisdom. Lawrence immediately forgot the thrill he had felt only a moment ago and wordlessly put his hand on Holo's back. "So that means we've no course but to go to Mr. Rigolo and have him show us the chronicles?" "I suppose so...The months and years weather even stone buildings, to say nothing of the writings of men. 'Tis a dreadful thing..." Arold shook his head, closing his eyes and falling silent. The old man had been a recluse when Lawrence had first met him, and it seemed that tendency had only deepened with time. Lawrence couldn't help but wonder whether it was the ever-clearer sound of death's approach that drove this. Deciding that further conversation would only bring trouble, Lawrence finished his remaining wine in a single draught, and inviting Holo to go ahead of him, he went outside. In a sudden turnabout from the previous day, the street was busy, and the sun that shone down from Lawrence's left was bright enough to make him briefly dizzy. He stood there on the still slick cobblestone street and looked at Holo. She seemed dejected. "Shall we find something to eat?" Even Lawrence thought that was roughly the worst thing he could have said, but things were so difficult at the moment that everything was turned inside out. Beneath her hood, Holo gave a long-suffering sigh, then smiled. "You ought to build your vocabulary," she said, pulling on Lawrence's hand. Apparently it was premature to worry that she was going to start something here in the crowds. Just as Lawrence was pulled away, the door to the inn opened once again. *** It was the stranger from before that emerged. The man was the very image of a busy traveler, but when he looked at Lawrence and Holo, he froze, visibly surprised. "...Pardon" was all he said in a high, hoarse voice after a moment and then immediately melted into the crowd. Lawrence looked at Holo just to be sure that her ears and tail weren't visible. She cocked her head slightly. "Seemed a bit surprised to see me," said Holo. "Surely he doesn't suspect you're not human." "I did not get that sense from her. Perhaps she was merely taken aback by my comeliness." "Surely not," replied a smiling Lawrence to Holo, whose chest was thrust out with exaggerated pride. "Wait," he added. "She?" "Hmm?" "That was a woman?" The well-traveled look and hoarse voice of the stranger had made him assume otherwise, but Holo could hardly be wrong about such things. Lawrence looked in the direction in which she had disappeared and wondered what a female traveling merchant could possibly be trading in when he felt another tug at his hand. "What exactly makes you think it is acceptable to be standing beside me and staring thus at another female?" "Must you be so direct? A more roundabout complaint would be far more charming." "You're such a dunce you'd never catch on unless I spoke plainly," Holo shot back without flinching, scorn in her voice. Given their earlier conversation, it was sad indeed that Lawrence was unable to refute her. "So, what shall we do next?" Lawrence asked, putting an end to the foolish exchange. They needed to plan their day. "Will it be difficult to meet that man—whatever was his name?" "Rigolo or some such. If he's the secretary of the council, it may well be difficult, though that may depend on exactly what the council is doing...," said Lawrence, scratching his just-tidied beard. Holo took a step forward. "'Tis clear enough from your face that you're desperate to know what that meeting is about."

"So we'll instead loaf about town until the meeting is adjourned, I expect?" Lawrence smiled. "The wisewolf's powers of observation are keen indeed. I'm dying to know what's going on with this town. Not just that, I—" "You want to turn it into profit." Lawrence slumped. Holo cocked her head at him and smiled. "Whatever it is, it's serious enough that they're passing out these wooden plaques. Something interesting must be happening," said Lawrence, taking the foreign merchant registration plaque out of his back pocket. "Still, though, a warning—," said Holo. "Hmm?" "Try to restrain yourself." Holo's words were hard to laugh off ruefully since so far they had been through kidnappings, chased through sewers, faced bankruptcy, and most recently, caught up in a giant feud. "I will," he answered, whereupon the wisewolf that had been so lovely up until a few moments ago turned suddenly angry. "I wonder about that," she said. In the face of her sudden suspicion, Lawrence had but one recourse. He took her hand and used every ounce of his bargaining charm. "Shall we see the sights of the town, then?" The effect of his kissing her hand on the stairs a moment earlier seemed to be wearing thin. Either that or it had just reversed itself. Still, Holo seemed to give him a passing mark. Sniffing, she stood next to Lawrence. "I suppose so." "Understood, milady." Lawrence reflected that if his self from half a year earlier could see him now, he would be terrified. "So what sights are there to see? It's changed so much that in truth I hardly remember ever coming here." "Let's go to the docks. I hear it's only recently that ships have become so important. It won't be as large as seaside docks, but I daresay, it's still a highlight." He held Holo's hand tighter and began to walk. Who was it that said walking with another was slow and bothersome? As he walked in step with Holo next to him, Lawrence thought about this and smiled. *** "Well, I suppose this is how it goes," Lawrence murmured. "Hmm?" Holo looked over at him, her face half hidden by the cup from which she drank. "Nothing. Don't spill that." "Mmm." Holo drained her cup of Lenos's famously strong ale, then picked up a slightly charred shellfish. The clams that were taken from the river that flowed past Lenos, the Roam, were about the size of Holo's hand. A delicacy famous in the town was made by taking the soft clam meat, mixing it with bread crumbs, and then serving it on the shell. Served with mustard seed, it was hard to imagine a finer accompaniment to a good ale. Holo had uttered a cry of delight at seeing the many river scows anchored along the curve of the port, but her heart was soon stolen by the delicious scents that wafted from the food vendors, who had their stalls set up to feed the hungry passengers either beginning or ending their voyages. They sat at a table constructed from old wooden crates; in front of Holo were three servings of clams, plus the two ales she had already drained. Lawrence endured a nasty look from Holo when he ordered mulled wine, not unlike what Arold had been drinking earlier. With this tartness, all he needed now was time to properly enjoy the wine. "Still, at a glance it doesn't look like there's any particular problem with the town," said Lawrence. Crates as big as a man were being unloaded from the scows and pried open by groups of merchants, who immediately began dickering over their contents, whatever they might have been. A port of this size handled a staggering amount of goods. And even without the port, it was clear at a glance that a town like this would demand a massive concentration of materials.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"So we'll instead loaf about town until the meeting is adjourned, I expect?" Lawrence smiled. "The wisewolf's powers of observation are keen indeed. I'm dying to know what's going on with this town. Not just that, I—" "You want to turn it into profit." Lawrence slumped. Holo cocked her head at him and smiled. "Whatever it is, it's serious enough that they're passing out these wooden plaques. Something interesting must be happening," said Lawrence, taking the foreign merchant registration plaque out of his back pocket. "Still, though, a warning—," said Holo. "Hmm?" "Try to restrain yourself." Holo's words were hard to laugh off ruefully since so far they had been through kidnappings, chased through sewers, faced bankruptcy, and most recently, caught up in a giant feud. "I will," he answered, whereupon the wisewolf that had been so lovely up until a few moments ago turned suddenly angry. "I wonder about that," she said. In the face of her sudden suspicion, Lawrence had but one recourse. He took her hand and used every ounce of his bargaining charm. "Shall we see the sights of the town, then?" The effect of his kissing her hand on the stairs a moment earlier seemed to be wearing thin. Either that or it had just reversed itself. Still, Holo seemed to give him a passing mark. Sniffing, she stood next to Lawrence. "I suppose so." "Understood, milady." Lawrence reflected that if his self from half a year earlier could see him now, he would be terrified. "So what sights are there to see? It's changed so much that in truth I hardly remember ever coming here." "Let's go to the docks. I hear it's only recently that ships have become so important. It won't be as large as seaside docks, but I daresay, it's still a highlight." He held Holo's hand tighter and began to walk. Who was it that said walking with another was slow and bothersome? As he walked in step with Holo next to him, Lawrence thought about this and smiled. *** "Well, I suppose this is how it goes," Lawrence murmured. "Hmm?" Holo looked over at him, her face half hidden by the cup from which she drank. "Nothing. Don't spill that." "Mmm." Holo drained her cup of Lenos's famously strong ale, then picked up a slightly charred shellfish. The clams that were taken from the river that flowed past Lenos, the Roam, were about the size of Holo's hand. A delicacy famous in the town was made by taking the soft clam meat, mixing it with bread crumbs, and then serving it on the shell. Served with mustard seed, it was hard to imagine a finer accompaniment to a good ale. Holo had uttered a cry of delight at seeing the many river scows anchored along the curve of the port, but her heart was soon stolen by the delicious scents that wafted from the food vendors, who had their stalls set up to feed the hungry passengers either beginning or ending their voyages. They sat at a table constructed from old wooden crates; in front of Holo were three servings of clams, plus the two ales she had already drained. Lawrence endured a nasty look from Holo when he ordered mulled wine, not unlike what Arold had been drinking earlier. With this tartness, all he needed now was time to properly enjoy the wine. "Still, at a glance it doesn't look like there's any particular problem with the town," said Lawrence. Crates as big as a man were being unloaded from the scows and pried open by groups of merchants, who immediately began dickering over their contents, whatever they might have been. A port of this size handled a staggering amount of goods. And even without the port, it was clear at a glance that a town like this would demand a massive concentration of materials.

Also, the simple fact that the town was a port meant that shipbuilders and their tools were a brisk trade as were ships themselves. Only an omniscient deity could hope to grasp the amounts and varieties of goods involved. Looking at the overwhelming liveliness and energy of this motley port town, any subtle, small problems would be immediately lost in the jumble. Using a knife she had borrowed from Lawrence, Holo deftly scooped the minced clam out of its shell and popped it into her mouth, scanning their surroundings upon hearing Lawrence's words. She then took a drink of ale. "From far away, the forest can seem calm, even when two wolf packs are in a fierce battle for territory within it." "Even with your eyes and ears, you cannot tell that from afar?" Holo did not immediately answer, instead looking down with exaggerated gravity and twitching her ears beneath her hood. Normally Lawrence would have grown impatient with Holo, who would have then teased him, but today he had his tart mulled wine. He sipped it and waited for her response. "Can you see over there?" she asked after a time, pointing with the knife she held to a man surrounded by some kind of steam. The man leaned against a large, waist-high bucket, which had been filled to heaping with finely crushed rock. He was thickly muscled, and it was not hard to imagine him as a pirate. He scowled, and the object of that scowl was a slim merchant holding a bundle of what might have been sheepskins. Lawrence nodded in response to Holo's question. "The man's angry," she said seriously. "Oh?" "It seems the tax on the ship's cargo was too high, and he does not want to hand over the goods at the original price. Something about a head price?" "A hostage tax. Because ships heading up the river are essentially hostages of the landlord that owns that section of the river." "Mm. In any case, the skinny fellow's reply is this: 'The town's in crisis because the military did not hold its northern campaign this year.' He's saying they should be grateful to get any money at all." Every winter, the Church funded a great military campaign into the northlands as a way of displaying its power, but a shadow had fallen over the relationship between the Church and the nation of Ploania, through which its campaign passed, so this year's incursion had been canceled. As a consequence, Lawrence had once been driven to the brink of bankruptcy. Lawrence looked at Holo a bit surprised. She continued to listen carefully, head bowed and eyes shut. Then Lawrence looked back at the two men. Even from this distance, he could see the merchant give what seemed to be his final word on the subject to the sailor. "'In that case, you and those furs can just wait on the outcome of the meeting,'" said Holo, opening her eyes. Was it too far-fetched to consider if he was merely standing on Holo's shoulders? Lawrence wondered. "There are many conversations like this one. I'd say...four. Taxes are too high. Northern campaign. Town imports—and so on." Holo scraped the meat out of a clam as she spoke. The more meat accumulated on the blade of the knife, the more her attention turned to it. By the time she finally brought the pile of meat to her mouth, the blade might as well have been the whole of creation as far as she was concerned. "Now that you mention it...I reckon there's no way a town founded on distribution wouldn't feel the effects of a canceled northern campaign. That's how I got into trouble back in Ruvinheigen. But what's the relationship between that and the encampment of merchants outside the town?" mused Lawrence. If conditions in the town were abnormal, then abnormal business opportunities would follow. Lawrence was lost in deep thought until Holo gave a vulgar burp and pounded on the table. "You want seconds?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Also, the simple fact that the town was a port meant that shipbuilders and their tools were a brisk trade as were ships themselves. Only an omniscient deity could hope to grasp the amounts and varieties of goods involved. Looking at the overwhelming liveliness and energy of this motley port town, any subtle, small problems would be immediately lost in the jumble. Using a knife she had borrowed from Lawrence, Holo deftly scooped the minced clam out of its shell and popped it into her mouth, scanning their surroundings upon hearing Lawrence's words. She then took a drink of ale. "From far away, the forest can seem calm, even when two wolf packs are in a fierce battle for territory within it." "Even with your eyes and ears, you cannot tell that from afar?" Holo did not immediately answer, instead looking down with exaggerated gravity and twitching her ears beneath her hood. Normally Lawrence would have grown impatient with Holo, who would have then teased him, but today he had his tart mulled wine. He sipped it and waited for her response. "Can you see over there?" she asked after a time, pointing with the knife she held to a man surrounded by some kind of steam. The man leaned against a large, waist-high bucket, which had been filled to heaping with finely crushed rock. He was thickly muscled, and it was not hard to imagine him as a pirate. He scowled, and the object of that scowl was a slim merchant holding a bundle of what might have been sheepskins. Lawrence nodded in response to Holo's question. "The man's angry," she said seriously. "Oh?" "It seems the tax on the ship's cargo was too high, and he does not want to hand over the goods at the original price. Something about a head price?" "A hostage tax. Because ships heading up the river are essentially hostages of the landlord that owns that section of the river." "Mm. In any case, the skinny fellow's reply is this: 'The town's in crisis because the military did not hold its northern campaign this year.' He's saying they should be grateful to get any money at all." Every winter, the Church funded a great military campaign into the northlands as a way of displaying its power, but a shadow had fallen over the relationship between the Church and the nation of Ploania, through which its campaign passed, so this year's incursion had been canceled. As a consequence, Lawrence had once been driven to the brink of bankruptcy. Lawrence looked at Holo a bit surprised. She continued to listen carefully, head bowed and eyes shut. Then Lawrence looked back at the two men. Even from this distance, he could see the merchant give what seemed to be his final word on the subject to the sailor. "'In that case, you and those furs can just wait on the outcome of the meeting,'" said Holo, opening her eyes. Was it too far-fetched to consider if he was merely standing on Holo's shoulders? Lawrence wondered. "There are many conversations like this one. I'd say...four. Taxes are too high. Northern campaign. Town imports—and so on." Holo scraped the meat out of a clam as she spoke. The more meat accumulated on the blade of the knife, the more her attention turned to it. By the time she finally brought the pile of meat to her mouth, the blade might as well have been the whole of creation as far as she was concerned. "Now that you mention it...I reckon there's no way a town founded on distribution wouldn't feel the effects of a canceled northern campaign. That's how I got into trouble back in Ruvinheigen. But what's the relationship between that and the encampment of merchants outside the town?" mused Lawrence. If conditions in the town were abnormal, then abnormal business opportunities would follow. Lawrence was lost in deep thought until Holo gave a vulgar burp and pounded on the table. "You want seconds?"

He hailed the shopkeeper and ordered again, at which Holo gave a satisfied smile, cocking her head. "I daresay the wine you just ordered was more for your sake than my own." "Mm?" "I become drunk on liquor, but your liquor is something different entirely." Her pleased face had a slight flush to it. Evidently she had noticed that though Lawrence would generally have hesitated and furrowed his brow, this time he'd ordered her another round without any trouble at all. "Aye, but it takes coin to buy liquor, while becoming drunk on the business possibilities right in front of your eyes is free." "And you're surely thinking that if I'll stop my howling or even deign to assist you, a drink or two would be a small price to pay, are you not?" She was a girl-sized giant. Lawrence expressed his capitulation to Holo, who had a fleck of ale foam at the corner of her mouth. "Ah, though 'tis amusing to watch you puzzle things over, I'll sit here drinking and watch from the side," said Holo. When the order of wine and crackling, hot-from-the-fire clams came back, Lawrence handed a few worn-out copper ryut coins to the shopkeeper, looking steadily at Holo. "I imagine I should glance at you every so often to make sure you haven't disappeared?" He passed the full cup of ale to Holo who smiled. "...Not bad." Holo was a tough grader, so Lawrence took this as a compliment. "Why, thank you," he said sagely. A bit before midday, Lawrence wound up walking around Lenos by himself. Holo found herself surprised by the degree to which the travel fatigue that still lingered exaggerated the effects of the alcohol. She could get to her feet easily enough, but she was so sleepy, there was nothing for it. Lawrence saw her back to the inn, simultaneously at a loss and slightly amused. Part of Holo hated the idea of Lawrence sticking his nose into whatever was going on in this town. Looking back at their experiences so far, Lawrence couldn't really disagree with her, but if he looked even further back, to experiences before his time with Holo, it became even more difficult to sit still. Thus, it was rather convenient to now be able to wander around the town as he pleased. Not that he had any particularly close acquaintances here. After a moment of agonizing over it, Lawrence ultimately decided to head for a tavern with which he'd once done business. It was an establishment with the strange name of The Beast and Fish Tail. A large bronze sign cast in the shape of a rodent hung from the eaves. The curious, clever creature it depicted built dams across rivers and had a mammal's body—except for its wide, flat tail and webbed, paddlelike rear feet, which had caused the Church to declare it a fish. Thus, despite the delicious, savory smell of cooking meat that wafted out of the tavern, it attracted a not-insignificant number of clergy. No matter how much "fish" they ate, no one could criticize them. While the tavern's ability to serve this rare meat made it popular in the evenings, at this hour, not yet midday, even the Beast and Fish Tail was mostly empty. There were no customers, only a shopgirl sitting at a table in the corner, mending her apron. "Are you open?" Lawrence asked from the entrance. A piece of thread held in the corner of her mouth, the red-haired girl lifted her apron to examine her work, smiling playfully. "I just patched a hole. Have a look?" said the fetching lass in reply. "I'll pass. You know what they say, 'eyes like daggers' and all. If I look too closely, I'm liable to open holes anew." The girl put her needle away in a sewing box, then stood and tied on the newly mended apron, shaking her head playfully. "So the reason my apron wears thin is from customers staring at it rather than me?" No doubt the girl dealt with many a drunken patron. But as a merchant, Lawrence couldn't very well lose this little duel of wits.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He hailed the shopkeeper and ordered again, at which Holo gave a satisfied smile, cocking her head. "I daresay the wine you just ordered was more for your sake than my own." "Mm?" "I become drunk on liquor, but your liquor is something different entirely." Her pleased face had a slight flush to it. Evidently she had noticed that though Lawrence would generally have hesitated and furrowed his brow, this time he'd ordered her another round without any trouble at all. "Aye, but it takes coin to buy liquor, while becoming drunk on the business possibilities right in front of your eyes is free." "And you're surely thinking that if I'll stop my howling or even deign to assist you, a drink or two would be a small price to pay, are you not?" She was a girl-sized giant. Lawrence expressed his capitulation to Holo, who had a fleck of ale foam at the corner of her mouth. "Ah, though 'tis amusing to watch you puzzle things over, I'll sit here drinking and watch from the side," said Holo. When the order of wine and crackling, hot-from-the-fire clams came back, Lawrence handed a few worn-out copper ryut coins to the shopkeeper, looking steadily at Holo. "I imagine I should glance at you every so often to make sure you haven't disappeared?" He passed the full cup of ale to Holo who smiled. "...Not bad." Holo was a tough grader, so Lawrence took this as a compliment. "Why, thank you," he said sagely. A bit before midday, Lawrence wound up walking around Lenos by himself. Holo found herself surprised by the degree to which the travel fatigue that still lingered exaggerated the effects of the alcohol. She could get to her feet easily enough, but she was so sleepy, there was nothing for it. Lawrence saw her back to the inn, simultaneously at a loss and slightly amused. Part of Holo hated the idea of Lawrence sticking his nose into whatever was going on in this town. Looking back at their experiences so far, Lawrence couldn't really disagree with her, but if he looked even further back, to experiences before his time with Holo, it became even more difficult to sit still. Thus, it was rather convenient to now be able to wander around the town as he pleased. Not that he had any particularly close acquaintances here. After a moment of agonizing over it, Lawrence ultimately decided to head for a tavern with which he'd once done business. It was an establishment with the strange name of The Beast and Fish Tail. A large bronze sign cast in the shape of a rodent hung from the eaves. The curious, clever creature it depicted built dams across rivers and had a mammal's body—except for its wide, flat tail and webbed, paddlelike rear feet, which had caused the Church to declare it a fish. Thus, despite the delicious, savory smell of cooking meat that wafted out of the tavern, it attracted a not-insignificant number of clergy. No matter how much "fish" they ate, no one could criticize them. While the tavern's ability to serve this rare meat made it popular in the evenings, at this hour, not yet midday, even the Beast and Fish Tail was mostly empty. There were no customers, only a shopgirl sitting at a table in the corner, mending her apron. "Are you open?" Lawrence asked from the entrance. A piece of thread held in the corner of her mouth, the red-haired girl lifted her apron to examine her work, smiling playfully. "I just patched a hole. Have a look?" said the fetching lass in reply. "I'll pass. You know what they say, 'eyes like daggers' and all. If I look too closely, I'm liable to open holes anew." The girl put her needle away in a sewing box, then stood and tied on the newly mended apron, shaking her head playfully. "So the reason my apron wears thin is from customers staring at it rather than me?" No doubt the girl dealt with many a drunken patron. But as a merchant, Lawrence couldn't very well lose this little duel of wits.

"Oh? That's a shame. That might let me sniff out suspicious customers a bit more easily," said the girl ruefully as she finished cinching up her apron. Lawrence slumped, defeated. He had to give the girl credit. She giggled. "I guess it's true that out-of-town customers really are different. So what'll it be? Wine? A meal?" "Two orders of fish tail. Wrapped, please." A momentary look of worry passed over the girl's face, probably because of the sounds of clattering pots that issued from the kitchen. They were most likely preparing the lunches to serve the rush of workers that would soon be coming from the docks. "I'm not in a hurry," said Lawrence. "Perhaps some wine, then?" In other words, was he willing to wait? Lawrence smiled at the girl's business acumen, then nodded. "We've barley and grape wine, as well as pear." "Pear wine at this time of year?" Fruit wine spoiled quickly. "For some reason, it never went bad in storage. Oops—," said the girl, covering her mouth in an exaggerated fashion. The tavern had always been jam-packed when Lawrence had visited before, so he'd never had a proper conversation with this girl, but now it was easy to see that the tavern owed the comely lass much of its success. "Pear, then." "Coming right up! Just a moment if you please." She disappeared into the back of the tavern, her skirt—which was a dark, ashen red that made it impossible to know its original color—fluttering behind her. A clever, cheerful barmaid like her in a port town such as this might wind up the wife of the second son of a successful merchant with many ships to his name. Or she might turn a cold shoulder to any rich man or pretty lad that came courting, instead falling for a completely normal merchant that happened into the tavern. When it came to knowing where a purchased commodity should be taken, Lawrence had some idea, but this sort of thing was outside his area of expertise. If he asked Holo, she probably could have told him the truth, but that was somehow frustrating. "Here you are. The rest will take a bit of time, but that will give you a chance to ask any questions you might have." She really was a clever girl. If he could get her to talk to Holo, it would be a magnificent display. "Merchants coming in here at this time of day really only have one thing on their minds. If it is something I can answer, I'll be more than happy to," said the girl. "I'll pay first." Lawrence put two dark copper coins down before taking the cup of pear wine. In this tavern, one copper was enough for two or three cups. The girl's face was now the very image of a tavern barmaid. "And?" "Ah, yes, well, it's nothing serious. The town seems a bit different from usual. Suppose I was to ask about the encampment of merchants just outside the walls." Given the generosity of the tip, the girl probably expected to be asked for inside information on one of the trading companies. She seemed relieved to hear Lawrence's actual question. "Oh, them. They all deal in furs or fur-related products." "Furs?" "Quite. About half of them have come from afar to buy up furs. The other half deal in the materials needed for tanning and treating furs and skins. Let's see..." "Lime and alum?" They were the most common materials needed for tanning work. Pigeon droppings strangely were also used. If the skins were to be dyed, many more goods would be needed. "That sounds right, yes." Lawrence thought back to Arold's words. There was no question that the Council of Fifty's meeting had something to do with the fur trade. "And you wanted to know why all those merchants are camped out there, right? Well, right now, all the leaders of the town are meeting to decide whether or not to sell furs to them. In the meantime, buying and selling furs is forbidden. So naturally, the craftsmen don't know whether there's any point in buying any of the supplies they need for tanning, so—that's where we are right now."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Oh? That's a shame. That might let me sniff out suspicious customers a bit more easily," said the girl ruefully as she finished cinching up her apron. Lawrence slumped, defeated. He had to give the girl credit. She giggled. "I guess it's true that out-of-town customers really are different. So what'll it be? Wine? A meal?" "Two orders of fish tail. Wrapped, please." A momentary look of worry passed over the girl's face, probably because of the sounds of clattering pots that issued from the kitchen. They were most likely preparing the lunches to serve the rush of workers that would soon be coming from the docks. "I'm not in a hurry," said Lawrence. "Perhaps some wine, then?" In other words, was he willing to wait? Lawrence smiled at the girl's business acumen, then nodded. "We've barley and grape wine, as well as pear." "Pear wine at this time of year?" Fruit wine spoiled quickly. "For some reason, it never went bad in storage. Oops—," said the girl, covering her mouth in an exaggerated fashion. The tavern had always been jam-packed when Lawrence had visited before, so he'd never had a proper conversation with this girl, but now it was easy to see that the tavern owed the comely lass much of its success. "Pear, then." "Coming right up! Just a moment if you please." She disappeared into the back of the tavern, her skirt—which was a dark, ashen red that made it impossible to know its original color—fluttering behind her. A clever, cheerful barmaid like her in a port town such as this might wind up the wife of the second son of a successful merchant with many ships to his name. Or she might turn a cold shoulder to any rich man or pretty lad that came courting, instead falling for a completely normal merchant that happened into the tavern. When it came to knowing where a purchased commodity should be taken, Lawrence had some idea, but this sort of thing was outside his area of expertise. If he asked Holo, she probably could have told him the truth, but that was somehow frustrating. "Here you are. The rest will take a bit of time, but that will give you a chance to ask any questions you might have." She really was a clever girl. If he could get her to talk to Holo, it would be a magnificent display. "Merchants coming in here at this time of day really only have one thing on their minds. If it is something I can answer, I'll be more than happy to," said the girl. "I'll pay first." Lawrence put two dark copper coins down before taking the cup of pear wine. In this tavern, one copper was enough for two or three cups. The girl's face was now the very image of a tavern barmaid. "And?" "Ah, yes, well, it's nothing serious. The town seems a bit different from usual. Suppose I was to ask about the encampment of merchants just outside the walls." Given the generosity of the tip, the girl probably expected to be asked for inside information on one of the trading companies. She seemed relieved to hear Lawrence's actual question. "Oh, them. They all deal in furs or fur-related products." "Furs?" "Quite. About half of them have come from afar to buy up furs. The other half deal in the materials needed for tanning and treating furs and skins. Let's see..." "Lime and alum?" They were the most common materials needed for tanning work. Pigeon droppings strangely were also used. If the skins were to be dyed, many more goods would be needed. "That sounds right, yes." Lawrence thought back to Arold's words. There was no question that the Council of Fifty's meeting had something to do with the fur trade. "And you wanted to know why all those merchants are camped out there, right? Well, right now, all the leaders of the town are meeting to decide whether or not to sell furs to them. In the meantime, buying and selling furs is forbidden. So naturally, the craftsmen don't know whether there's any point in buying any of the supplies they need for tanning, so—that's where we are right now."

"So what caused this?" asked Lawrence, forgetting about his pear wine entirely. "That thing, you know—where lots of people come through in the wintertime." "The northern campaign." "Right, that. It was canceled, so they say none of the usual people are coming through to buy leather clothes. Usually there would be a lot more people in this city this time of year." When people came, so, too, came coin. Furs from the north were especially popular in the south, so they made excellent souvenirs. But why then was there a meeting discussing whether to prohibit fur trade entirely? Were the merchants camped in front of the town not there to purchase furs? Even without the normal boom in leather clothing sales that came with the northern campaign, shouldn't they sell to what buyers had come? He needed more information. "I understand that the usual people that come through to buy leather clothing aren't around this year, but shouldn't they still sell to the merchants outside of town?" Lawrence asked. The girl looked at the untouched cup of pear wine in Lawrence's hand and with a smile gestured for him to drink. She had an instinctual understanding of how to incite a man. If he tried to resist, she would either become irritated or flirt emptily with him. He meekly put the cup to his lips, at which point the girl smiled as if to say, Good answer. "Knights and mercenaries, they're free with their coin. But the merchants that come to town are as miserly as they come." She played idly with the two copper coins that Lawrence had set down. "I've been given things, overly frilly dresses like some nobleman's daughter would wear, really expensive ones. But..." "Oh," Lawrence mouthed. When he was out drinking with Holo, his head had been dulled by the wine. "I see now. Before it's made into clothing, skins are surprisingly cheap. But once they're made into clothing, they won't sell—the money coming into the town will drop," he said. The girl smiled beatifically like a saint with a humble supplicant before her, as if to say, "Well done." With this, Lawrence could see the basic situation. However, before he could take a step back and confirm all the details, the girl suddenly leaned forward across the table. Softly clutching one of the copper coins to her breast, her expression shifted. "So far, you could hear this from any floozy in any tavern in town," she said, her words turning a bit vulgar as she looked at him through upturned eyes, chin tucked down. Lawrence tried to look at her, but her posture naturally drew his gaze to her slender, shapely collarbones. The lass certainly understood how to press an intoxicated patron. Lawrence reminded himself that this was about business. "One must treat generous customers properly, after all," said the girl. "Let's keep what I'm about to tell you between the two of us, shall we?" Lawrence nodded, pretending to be entirely taken in by the girl's actions. "There's an eight- or nine-tenths chance that the merchants outside town will be banned from buying furs, though I'm sure the craftsmen and fur brokers will be angry." "How do you know this?" Lawrence asked. The girl only closed her mouth enticingly. Lawrence's intuition told him that the girl's source of information was solid. It was likely that a member of the Council of Fifty was also a patron of the tavern, but she, of course, could not say so. She did not even explain this fact since her statement had been nothing more than her talking to herself, and its veracity was impossible to gauge. In a way, she might have been testing Lawrence, as otherwise she would hardly be letting slip such vital information. "I'm a simple barmaid, so I care little for the price of furs, but merchants like you enjoy such things with your ale, do you not?" "Aye, enough that we sometimes drink too much," said Lawrence with his best merchant's smile.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"So what caused this?" asked Lawrence, forgetting about his pear wine entirely. "That thing, you know—where lots of people come through in the wintertime." "The northern campaign." "Right, that. It was canceled, so they say none of the usual people are coming through to buy leather clothes. Usually there would be a lot more people in this city this time of year." When people came, so, too, came coin. Furs from the north were especially popular in the south, so they made excellent souvenirs. But why then was there a meeting discussing whether to prohibit fur trade entirely? Were the merchants camped in front of the town not there to purchase furs? Even without the normal boom in leather clothing sales that came with the northern campaign, shouldn't they sell to what buyers had come? He needed more information. "I understand that the usual people that come through to buy leather clothing aren't around this year, but shouldn't they still sell to the merchants outside of town?" Lawrence asked. The girl looked at the untouched cup of pear wine in Lawrence's hand and with a smile gestured for him to drink. She had an instinctual understanding of how to incite a man. If he tried to resist, she would either become irritated or flirt emptily with him. He meekly put the cup to his lips, at which point the girl smiled as if to say, Good answer. "Knights and mercenaries, they're free with their coin. But the merchants that come to town are as miserly as they come." She played idly with the two copper coins that Lawrence had set down. "I've been given things, overly frilly dresses like some nobleman's daughter would wear, really expensive ones. But..." "Oh," Lawrence mouthed. When he was out drinking with Holo, his head had been dulled by the wine. "I see now. Before it's made into clothing, skins are surprisingly cheap. But once they're made into clothing, they won't sell—the money coming into the town will drop," he said. The girl smiled beatifically like a saint with a humble supplicant before her, as if to say, "Well done." With this, Lawrence could see the basic situation. However, before he could take a step back and confirm all the details, the girl suddenly leaned forward across the table. Softly clutching one of the copper coins to her breast, her expression shifted. "So far, you could hear this from any floozy in any tavern in town," she said, her words turning a bit vulgar as she looked at him through upturned eyes, chin tucked down. Lawrence tried to look at her, but her posture naturally drew his gaze to her slender, shapely collarbones. The lass certainly understood how to press an intoxicated patron. Lawrence reminded himself that this was about business. "One must treat generous customers properly, after all," said the girl. "Let's keep what I'm about to tell you between the two of us, shall we?" Lawrence nodded, pretending to be entirely taken in by the girl's actions. "There's an eight- or nine-tenths chance that the merchants outside town will be banned from buying furs, though I'm sure the craftsmen and fur brokers will be angry." "How do you know this?" Lawrence asked. The girl only closed her mouth enticingly. Lawrence's intuition told him that the girl's source of information was solid. It was likely that a member of the Council of Fifty was also a patron of the tavern, but she, of course, could not say so. She did not even explain this fact since her statement had been nothing more than her talking to herself, and its veracity was impossible to gauge. In a way, she might have been testing Lawrence, as otherwise she would hardly be letting slip such vital information. "I'm a simple barmaid, so I care little for the price of furs, but merchants like you enjoy such things with your ale, do you not?" "Aye, enough that we sometimes drink too much," said Lawrence with his best merchant's smile.

"Well, I've drunk my wine, so I'm sure I'll feel it soon." The girl opened her eyes. The smile was on her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. Lawrence was about to open his mouth to speak, but a voice from the kitchen called for the girl. "Ah, it seems your food is ready," she said, standing from the chair and returning to the barmaid she'd been when Lawrence had first entered the tavern. "By the way, sir—," she said, looking over her shoulder before leaving the table. "Yes?" "Do you have a wife?" Lawrence was taken momentarily aback at the unexpected question, but perhaps thanks to Holo constantly springing traps upon him, he was able to recover and reply. "My coin purse's strings are not tied. However...my reins are firmly held," he answered. The girl grinned widely as though she were talking to a friend. "My but that's frustrating. I'm sure she's a fine person, too." She seemed to have some pride in her ability to cajole her drunken male customers. And even Lawrence might well have been drawn in easily had he not met Holo—or had he been a bit drunker. But if he was to say so, it would be like rubbing salt in the poor girl's wounded pride. "If you've the chance, do bring her by the tavern," she said. "Aye," said Lawrence, and he mostly meant it. A conversation between this girl and Holo would be a thing to see, though as a bystander, he might get sucked into something terrible. "Wait just a moment, then. I'll go get your food." "My thanks." The girl headed back into the kitchen, her skirt fluttering again behind her. Lawrence watched her go as he brought the cup of pear wine to his lips. Even other people could tell, he realized, that Holo was very important to him. Holding the hot, cloth-wrapped package of tail meat, Lawrence headed down the broad avenue that ran along the docks to take another look at the boats moored there. With the new information from the barmaid, the scows did indeed seem a bit different. Looking closely, Lawrence could see how straw or hempen cloth had been used to cover the goods piled high on the boats' decks, and many of the boats themselves were tied fast to the wharves, as though they did not expect to leave anytime soon. Some of them, of course, were merely passing the winter in town, but the number seemed a bit high for that to be the only explanation. At a wild guess, those were the boats that were carrying either furs or the materials needed to process furs. The volume of fur transactions in Lenos was large enough that it was called the city of lumber and fur. Being a mere traveling merchant, Lawrence could not easily estimate the total amount of fur traded in the town, but if a fur merchant were to buy up a single chest-high barrel of squirrel pelts, that could easily come to 3,500, even 4,000 furs. The fact that such barrels were constantly rolling through the city made him feel practically faint. What kind of profound impact would freezing the fur trade have on the town? But he could understand Lenos's efforts to try to collect as much tax as they could, and the fact was that foreign merchants who bought only raw furs instead of clothing left many town craftsmen by the wayside. It was common knowledge that in any business, crafted, processed items made from raw materials had much better profit margins. Nevertheless, with the northern campaigns canceled, the lack of travelers from the south meant there was absolutely no guarantee that there would be any way to turn such goods into coin. Setting aside the quality of the furs and the quality of the tanning, there was any number of towns whose clothing craftsmanship was superior to Lenos's. To take the clothing that would normally have flown off the shelves as souvenirs and instead pay the shipping costs involved in exporting it to some other town would involve significant difficulty.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Well, I've drunk my wine, so I'm sure I'll feel it soon." The girl opened her eyes. The smile was on her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. Lawrence was about to open his mouth to speak, but a voice from the kitchen called for the girl. "Ah, it seems your food is ready," she said, standing from the chair and returning to the barmaid she'd been when Lawrence had first entered the tavern. "By the way, sir—," she said, looking over her shoulder before leaving the table. "Yes?" "Do you have a wife?" Lawrence was taken momentarily aback at the unexpected question, but perhaps thanks to Holo constantly springing traps upon him, he was able to recover and reply. "My coin purse's strings are not tied. However...my reins are firmly held," he answered. The girl grinned widely as though she were talking to a friend. "My but that's frustrating. I'm sure she's a fine person, too." She seemed to have some pride in her ability to cajole her drunken male customers. And even Lawrence might well have been drawn in easily had he not met Holo—or had he been a bit drunker. But if he was to say so, it would be like rubbing salt in the poor girl's wounded pride. "If you've the chance, do bring her by the tavern," she said. "Aye," said Lawrence, and he mostly meant it. A conversation between this girl and Holo would be a thing to see, though as a bystander, he might get sucked into something terrible. "Wait just a moment, then. I'll go get your food." "My thanks." The girl headed back into the kitchen, her skirt fluttering again behind her. Lawrence watched her go as he brought the cup of pear wine to his lips. Even other people could tell, he realized, that Holo was very important to him. Holding the hot, cloth-wrapped package of tail meat, Lawrence headed down the broad avenue that ran along the docks to take another look at the boats moored there. With the new information from the barmaid, the scows did indeed seem a bit different. Looking closely, Lawrence could see how straw or hempen cloth had been used to cover the goods piled high on the boats' decks, and many of the boats themselves were tied fast to the wharves, as though they did not expect to leave anytime soon. Some of them, of course, were merely passing the winter in town, but the number seemed a bit high for that to be the only explanation. At a wild guess, those were the boats that were carrying either furs or the materials needed to process furs. The volume of fur transactions in Lenos was large enough that it was called the city of lumber and fur. Being a mere traveling merchant, Lawrence could not easily estimate the total amount of fur traded in the town, but if a fur merchant were to buy up a single chest-high barrel of squirrel pelts, that could easily come to 3,500, even 4,000 furs. The fact that such barrels were constantly rolling through the city made him feel practically faint. What kind of profound impact would freezing the fur trade have on the town? But he could understand Lenos's efforts to try to collect as much tax as they could, and the fact was that foreign merchants who bought only raw furs instead of clothing left many town craftsmen by the wayside. It was common knowledge that in any business, crafted, processed items made from raw materials had much better profit margins. Nevertheless, with the northern campaigns canceled, the lack of travelers from the south meant there was absolutely no guarantee that there would be any way to turn such goods into coin. Setting aside the quality of the furs and the quality of the tanning, there was any number of towns whose clothing craftsmanship was superior to Lenos's. To take the clothing that would normally have flown off the shelves as souvenirs and instead pay the shipping costs involved in exporting it to some other town would involve significant difficulty.

At least that way they'd be able to get some coin for the furs. The reason so many merchants gathered in Lenos was because of the high quality furs that came through the town. Such furs would command a fair price. But the barmaid had said that the Council of Fifty was going to prohibit fur purchasing. Which left only a few possibilities. To begin with, it was odd that the merchants were camped outside of the town. Merchants would happily drive someone else to ruin if they had decided that it would bring a profit, so it was unimaginable that a large group of them would simply assemble and wait patiently. There was clearly some other authority at work here. But whether it was the giant tailor's guild headquartered in a town famous for its sartorial products far across the western sea or some dizzyingly massive company trying to monopolize the fur trade, Lawrence did not know. Whatever the thing was, it wielded tremendous power. And the minds that ran Lenos knew it, Lawrence determined, as he passed through the entrance of the docks and into the hustle and bustle. The merchants outside the town were no doubt making their case. "You'll be in a tough spot if you don't sell your furs," they would say. "Shall we buy them up for you? Though that alone will not avail you forever. Shall we come next year and the year after that?" If Lenos swallowed this, it would become nothing more than a place where furs were gathered, then passed along. And once that happened, the consolidation of fur itself would eventually be taken over by some outsider and removed from the town. However, the reason the townspeople didn't simply turn the merchants away wasn't just because of the craftsmen's opposition. This problem didn't stop with the town; it would engulf the landed nobility to which the town was connected as well. When an economic problem turned political, the amount of money it took to solve it would jump by three, sometimes four digits. This was a battle between titans, where the expectations of individual merchants were utterly meaningless. Lawrence scratched his beard. "The coin involved must be incredible," he said to himself. He hadn't talked to himself in quite some time, and it felt good, like taking off shoes that had been worn for a week straight. The bigger the amount of money in play, the bigger the leftovers might be. And a merchant's alchemy allowed him to turn the complicated relationships between goods and people into a spring from which money would gush forth. He pictured a sheet of yellowed parchment in his mind. On it he drew sketch after sketch of the fur situation, and gradually the page became a treasure map. So where was the treasure? When he put the question to himself, licking his lips, his left hand reached the door of the inn room and opened it. *** He had almost no memory of when he'd come all the way back to the inn, but that was not why he fell silent. Holo, perhaps refreshed after a nap, had been grooming her tail, but she now hid it behind her back as she regarded him. "...What's the matter?" asked Lawrence suddenly, after weathering a purposefully cautious look from an evidently now-sober Holo. "I shan't abide it," she said. "Huh?" "I shan't abide my tail being sold," said Holo, letting a bit of her tail show from behind her, like a shy maiden peeking out from behind a tree, before she concealed it again. Lawrence naturally understood. His face had been consumed by his merchant self. "I'm no hunter," he with a smile and a shrug as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and walking over to the desk. "Oh no? You looked as though you were ready to sell anything you possibly could." Holo's glance fell but once upon the package Lawrence held, then came back to his face. "Yes, well, I'm a merchant. I buy from one person to sell to another. It's a basic principle."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

At least that way they'd be able to get some coin for the furs. The reason so many merchants gathered in Lenos was because of the high quality furs that came through the town. Such furs would command a fair price. But the barmaid had said that the Council of Fifty was going to prohibit fur purchasing. Which left only a few possibilities. To begin with, it was odd that the merchants were camped outside of the town. Merchants would happily drive someone else to ruin if they had decided that it would bring a profit, so it was unimaginable that a large group of them would simply assemble and wait patiently. There was clearly some other authority at work here. But whether it was the giant tailor's guild headquartered in a town famous for its sartorial products far across the western sea or some dizzyingly massive company trying to monopolize the fur trade, Lawrence did not know. Whatever the thing was, it wielded tremendous power. And the minds that ran Lenos knew it, Lawrence determined, as he passed through the entrance of the docks and into the hustle and bustle. The merchants outside the town were no doubt making their case. "You'll be in a tough spot if you don't sell your furs," they would say. "Shall we buy them up for you? Though that alone will not avail you forever. Shall we come next year and the year after that?" If Lenos swallowed this, it would become nothing more than a place where furs were gathered, then passed along. And once that happened, the consolidation of fur itself would eventually be taken over by some outsider and removed from the town. However, the reason the townspeople didn't simply turn the merchants away wasn't just because of the craftsmen's opposition. This problem didn't stop with the town; it would engulf the landed nobility to which the town was connected as well. When an economic problem turned political, the amount of money it took to solve it would jump by three, sometimes four digits. This was a battle between titans, where the expectations of individual merchants were utterly meaningless. Lawrence scratched his beard. "The coin involved must be incredible," he said to himself. He hadn't talked to himself in quite some time, and it felt good, like taking off shoes that had been worn for a week straight. The bigger the amount of money in play, the bigger the leftovers might be. And a merchant's alchemy allowed him to turn the complicated relationships between goods and people into a spring from which money would gush forth. He pictured a sheet of yellowed parchment in his mind. On it he drew sketch after sketch of the fur situation, and gradually the page became a treasure map. So where was the treasure? When he put the question to himself, licking his lips, his left hand reached the door of the inn room and opened it. *** He had almost no memory of when he'd come all the way back to the inn, but that was not why he fell silent. Holo, perhaps refreshed after a nap, had been grooming her tail, but she now hid it behind her back as she regarded him. "...What's the matter?" asked Lawrence suddenly, after weathering a purposefully cautious look from an evidently now-sober Holo. "I shan't abide it," she said. "Huh?" "I shan't abide my tail being sold," said Holo, letting a bit of her tail show from behind her, like a shy maiden peeking out from behind a tree, before she concealed it again. Lawrence naturally understood. His face had been consumed by his merchant self. "I'm no hunter," he with a smile and a shrug as he entered the room, closing the door behind him and walking over to the desk. "Oh no? You looked as though you were ready to sell anything you possibly could." Holo's glance fell but once upon the package Lawrence held, then came back to his face. "Yes, well, I'm a merchant. I buy from one person to sell to another. It's a basic principle."

In their place was only avarice. "So no, I will not be taking your tail from you. Though when summer comes, should you decide to shear some of your fur off, I'll happily collect and sell that," said Lawrence as he leaned against the desk. Still sitting on the bed, Holo childishly stuck her tongue out at him before taking her tail in her hands again. For Lawrence's part, he had no interest in seeing Holo's tail sans fur. "Hmph. So what is that?" asked Holo, looking at the package Lawrence held in one hand as she nibbled at her tail. "This? This is...indeed. If you can guess from scent alone what part of what animal this is from, I'll buy you as much of your favorite foods for dinner as you want." "Oh ho." Holo's eyes flashed. "I think there's some garlic in there...but you should be fine." Lawrence came away from the desk and gave Holo the package, whereupon her expression turned immediately serious, and she sniffed the wrapped food carefully, looking for all the world like a wolf. This was nothing so rare in and of itself, but her manner was so charming that Lawrence couldn't help but stare. Holo seemed to notice his gaze. She suddenly looked up at him, scowling. She was comfortable being nude in front of him, but apparently this was a stare she could not abide. Lawrence supposed that everyone had his or her idiosyncrasies. He obediently began to turn around but then stopped short. "I'm sure no proud wisewolf would be thinking of sneaking a look inside the package while my back is turned," he said. Holo's expression did not change, but the tip of her tail gave a sudden twitch. Evidently he'd hit the bull's-eye. He had to be careful; she had senses beyond those of ordinary humans. Holo gave a theatrical sigh, then turned away, her mouth in a pout that Lawrence was sure had a tinge of guilt to it. "So have you figured it out?" "Patience," she said irritably, then sniffed the package again. Lawrence discreetly averted his eyes. Presently the sound of a girl sniffing back tears echoed uncomfortably through the room. Lawrence deliberately turned his attention to the clamor that filtered in through the room's window. It was a fine day, so sunlight also found its way through the window. It was indeed cold, but having a room with a window was still a fine thing. A warm, windowless room would have made Lawrence feel like he was hibernating in a cellar somewhere. Holo's judgment had been excellent. "Well, now." At the sound of her voice, Lawrence turned both his attention and his gaze back to Holo. "Have you figured it out?" "Quite." There were, of course, any number of animals whose meat was cooked and served. It was easy enough to tell them apart from their taste and texture, but what about by scent alone? Especially if it was something so rare and odd as the tail meat from a flat-tailed rodent. Even if Holo knew of the existence of such a creature, the odds of her having eaten it were low. Perhaps it was a bit mean-spirited, but Lawrence had offered her the freedom to eat whatever she liked for dinner in exchange. "So what's the answer?" he asked, whereupon Holo regarded him with an angrier face than her positive answer had led him to expect. "I must say it seems a bit unfair, given the conditions you proposed." Lawrence shrugged. It seemed she didn't really know the answer after all. "You should have said so in the first place," he said. "I suppose so..." Holo gazed vaguely at the floor as though thinking something over. It had been a simple bet, so even the clever Holo had no room to maneuver with her typical quibbles. The simplest contracts were always the strongest. "So the answer?" Lawrence asked again. Holo's face suddenly showed total defeat. Though it was mean-spirited of him to think so, he couldn't help feeling but that he wanted to see this face a bit more often. But it was only for a moment; just as that thought crossed Lawrence's mind, Holo's expression shifted to one of triumph.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

In their place was only avarice. "So no, I will not be taking your tail from you. Though when summer comes, should you decide to shear some of your fur off, I'll happily collect and sell that," said Lawrence as he leaned against the desk. Still sitting on the bed, Holo childishly stuck her tongue out at him before taking her tail in her hands again. For Lawrence's part, he had no interest in seeing Holo's tail sans fur. "Hmph. So what is that?" asked Holo, looking at the package Lawrence held in one hand as she nibbled at her tail. "This? This is...indeed. If you can guess from scent alone what part of what animal this is from, I'll buy you as much of your favorite foods for dinner as you want." "Oh ho." Holo's eyes flashed. "I think there's some garlic in there...but you should be fine." Lawrence came away from the desk and gave Holo the package, whereupon her expression turned immediately serious, and she sniffed the wrapped food carefully, looking for all the world like a wolf. This was nothing so rare in and of itself, but her manner was so charming that Lawrence couldn't help but stare. Holo seemed to notice his gaze. She suddenly looked up at him, scowling. She was comfortable being nude in front of him, but apparently this was a stare she could not abide. Lawrence supposed that everyone had his or her idiosyncrasies. He obediently began to turn around but then stopped short. "I'm sure no proud wisewolf would be thinking of sneaking a look inside the package while my back is turned," he said. Holo's expression did not change, but the tip of her tail gave a sudden twitch. Evidently he'd hit the bull's-eye. He had to be careful; she had senses beyond those of ordinary humans. Holo gave a theatrical sigh, then turned away, her mouth in a pout that Lawrence was sure had a tinge of guilt to it. "So have you figured it out?" "Patience," she said irritably, then sniffed the package again. Lawrence discreetly averted his eyes. Presently the sound of a girl sniffing back tears echoed uncomfortably through the room. Lawrence deliberately turned his attention to the clamor that filtered in through the room's window. It was a fine day, so sunlight also found its way through the window. It was indeed cold, but having a room with a window was still a fine thing. A warm, windowless room would have made Lawrence feel like he was hibernating in a cellar somewhere. Holo's judgment had been excellent. "Well, now." At the sound of her voice, Lawrence turned both his attention and his gaze back to Holo. "Have you figured it out?" "Quite." There were, of course, any number of animals whose meat was cooked and served. It was easy enough to tell them apart from their taste and texture, but what about by scent alone? Especially if it was something so rare and odd as the tail meat from a flat-tailed rodent. Even if Holo knew of the existence of such a creature, the odds of her having eaten it were low. Perhaps it was a bit mean-spirited, but Lawrence had offered her the freedom to eat whatever she liked for dinner in exchange. "So what's the answer?" he asked, whereupon Holo regarded him with an angrier face than her positive answer had led him to expect. "I must say it seems a bit unfair, given the conditions you proposed." Lawrence shrugged. It seemed she didn't really know the answer after all. "You should have said so in the first place," he said. "I suppose so..." Holo gazed vaguely at the floor as though thinking something over. It had been a simple bet, so even the clever Holo had no room to maneuver with her typical quibbles. The simplest contracts were always the strongest. "So the answer?" Lawrence asked again. Holo's face suddenly showed total defeat. Though it was mean-spirited of him to think so, he couldn't help feeling but that he wanted to see this face a bit more often. But it was only for a moment; just as that thought crossed Lawrence's mind, Holo's expression shifted to one of triumph.

Lawrence had no words. He was stunned. "I told you it seemed a bit unfair," said Holo with a malicious giggle as she began to open the package. "Y-you knew?" "If you'd accused me of opening the package and sneaking a look, I was thinking of ordering so much food for dinner you'd break down in tears, but I suppose I shall show mercy." The food within the cloth wrapping had been carefully rolled in strips of bark and tied with fine tendrils; it would be nearly impossible to peek inside without disturbing the contents. And in any case, looking at the finished meal did not make the original form any easier to guess. Holo must have somehow been familiar with it. "I'm a wisewolf, don't you forget it. There's nothing in this world I don't know," she said, flashing her fangs. It was an obvious exaggeration, but her conviction was so strong that it was hard to dismiss. As she undid the tendrils and removed the tree bark, steam rose up from the food. Holo narrowed her eyes in pleasure, wagging her tail. "It's not quite accurate to say I knew," said Holo, mimicking Lawrence's tone. The meat had been cut into small slices, and as they were, there really was no way to discern their origin. Holo picked up one of the pieces, tilted her head back, and slowly lowered the bite into her open mouth. She closed her mouth and her eyes and chewed languorously. It must have been delicious. Yet there was something different about her manner. "Mmph...yes, indeed," said Holo. Instead of her usual, hurried devouring of her food, which gave one the impression that she was worried it might be taken from her at any moment, Holo ate slowly, savoring the flavor as though it made her remember something. "The master of this inn said something like this, did he not?" she continued, licking the oil from her fingers and looking at Lawrence. "The months and years weather even stone buildings." "To say nothing of memories," finished Lawrence Holo nodded, satisfied. She then gave a small sigh and looked at the window, squinting a bit at the brightness. "Do you know what lingers longest in memory?" Another strange question. Was it a person's name? Numbers, figures? Images of one's home? These notions appeared one after another in Lawrence's mind, but Holo's answer was completely different. "'Tis scent, you know, that stays longer than all else." Lawrence cocked his head in confusion. "We forget things we've seen and heard so easily, but scents alone remain clear and distinct." Holo looked at the food and smiled. Her smile was what seemed so upsettingly out of place to Lawrence; it was soft, almost nostalgic. "I had no memory of this town," she continued. "To be quite honest, it was a bit worrisome." "You weren't sure whether you really had ever come here?" Holo nodded, and she seemed entirely truthful. Now that he thought about it, Lawrence felt like he finally understood why Holo had been so constantly playful. "But this food—I remember it vividly. It's such a strange creature after all, so even in the past, it was considered special. They'd put each one caught on a spit and roast them magnificently." Holding the food in her hands like it was a favorite kitten sleeping on her lap, she looked up. "I wondered if that's what you brought back, but when I smelled it, I nearly cried from the memories—and that was the turning point." "So you did this on purpose?" Now that he thought about it, the idea of Holo actually doing something so shallow as to sneak a look inside the package while his back was turned seemed a bit strange. And when he looked away again, perhaps she had been crying a bit. "Are you saying I'm the sort who would take advantage of another's goodwill?" "You take advantage of me all the time," shot back Lawrence, and he saw Holo flashing her usual fanged grin. "So then," said Holo, beckoning to Lawrence. Harboring a bit of suspicion, he approached her guardedly until she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in close. "I shan't forget this scent, either."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence had no words. He was stunned. "I told you it seemed a bit unfair," said Holo with a malicious giggle as she began to open the package. "Y-you knew?" "If you'd accused me of opening the package and sneaking a look, I was thinking of ordering so much food for dinner you'd break down in tears, but I suppose I shall show mercy." The food within the cloth wrapping had been carefully rolled in strips of bark and tied with fine tendrils; it would be nearly impossible to peek inside without disturbing the contents. And in any case, looking at the finished meal did not make the original form any easier to guess. Holo must have somehow been familiar with it. "I'm a wisewolf, don't you forget it. There's nothing in this world I don't know," she said, flashing her fangs. It was an obvious exaggeration, but her conviction was so strong that it was hard to dismiss. As she undid the tendrils and removed the tree bark, steam rose up from the food. Holo narrowed her eyes in pleasure, wagging her tail. "It's not quite accurate to say I knew," said Holo, mimicking Lawrence's tone. The meat had been cut into small slices, and as they were, there really was no way to discern their origin. Holo picked up one of the pieces, tilted her head back, and slowly lowered the bite into her open mouth. She closed her mouth and her eyes and chewed languorously. It must have been delicious. Yet there was something different about her manner. "Mmph...yes, indeed," said Holo. Instead of her usual, hurried devouring of her food, which gave one the impression that she was worried it might be taken from her at any moment, Holo ate slowly, savoring the flavor as though it made her remember something. "The master of this inn said something like this, did he not?" she continued, licking the oil from her fingers and looking at Lawrence. "The months and years weather even stone buildings." "To say nothing of memories," finished Lawrence Holo nodded, satisfied. She then gave a small sigh and looked at the window, squinting a bit at the brightness. "Do you know what lingers longest in memory?" Another strange question. Was it a person's name? Numbers, figures? Images of one's home? These notions appeared one after another in Lawrence's mind, but Holo's answer was completely different. "'Tis scent, you know, that stays longer than all else." Lawrence cocked his head in confusion. "We forget things we've seen and heard so easily, but scents alone remain clear and distinct." Holo looked at the food and smiled. Her smile was what seemed so upsettingly out of place to Lawrence; it was soft, almost nostalgic. "I had no memory of this town," she continued. "To be quite honest, it was a bit worrisome." "You weren't sure whether you really had ever come here?" Holo nodded, and she seemed entirely truthful. Now that he thought about it, Lawrence felt like he finally understood why Holo had been so constantly playful. "But this food—I remember it vividly. It's such a strange creature after all, so even in the past, it was considered special. They'd put each one caught on a spit and roast them magnificently." Holding the food in her hands like it was a favorite kitten sleeping on her lap, she looked up. "I wondered if that's what you brought back, but when I smelled it, I nearly cried from the memories—and that was the turning point." "So you did this on purpose?" Now that he thought about it, the idea of Holo actually doing something so shallow as to sneak a look inside the package while his back was turned seemed a bit strange. And when he looked away again, perhaps she had been crying a bit. "Are you saying I'm the sort who would take advantage of another's goodwill?" "You take advantage of me all the time," shot back Lawrence, and he saw Holo flashing her usual fanged grin. "So then," said Holo, beckoning to Lawrence. Harboring a bit of suspicion, he approached her guardedly until she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him in close. "I shan't forget this scent, either."

But Lawrence found he could not manage his usual comeback as Holo had buried her face in his chest, unmoving. She was no mere traveling companion. He could look at her ears and tail and work his own form of mind reading on her. "Nor will I," he replied, and with a soft sigh, he stroked her head with his hand. Holo rubbed the corners of her eyes on his clothing and smiled awkwardly. "You sound a dunce when you say it so. I'll not forget that, either." Lawrence gave a forced smile. "Sorry." Holo smiled, rubbed her nose, then smiled again—and was back to her old self. "So it seems I have indeed visited this town." "Then there must be legends of you left here." He didn't add "in books somewhere," but Holo would certainly notice and appreciate his consideration. On the other hand, if he didn't take such care, it would be impossible to avoid accidentally stepping on her tail. "So then, what news did you manage to hear tell of?" asked Holo, like a mother asking her child to boast about some new knowledge he had acquired. She never stayed frail for long. "This time around is going to be a lot of fun," began Lawrence. Holo listened closely as she ate the tail meat. In the end, they had two reasons to meet Rigolo, the town chronicler and secretary for the Council of Fifty. The first was to ask if any legends of Holo remained and to have him show them the records where such legends might be found. The second was to discover the particulars of how the town came to be in the situation it presently faced. The latter reason was purely a result of Lawrence's occupational sickness, and given the precedent set on their travels thus far, Holo listened to his explanation but was none too pleased. In point of fact, if Lawrence had been asked whether it was really necessary to risk the danger involved in performing the financial alchemy it would take to suck money through the cracks in the current conflict, the answer was no—it was not. Given the profit he had managed to make in the pagan town of Kumersun, so long as he continued to quietly ply his trade for a while longer, the day when he would be able to open his own shop was not so very far off. In which case, he would do better to use his time frugally, carrying his goods and turning his profits, rather than to risk sticking his neck out in dangerous speculation. In the long term, spending his time in town quietly and carefully making business connections would be much better for Lawrence's future profits. Not being a merchant, Holo didn't use terms like future profits, but her gist was the same: You're not short on money, so relax. Simply standing there in the room was cold, so as they talked, Holo crawled into her bed and eventually started dozing off. Lawrence sat down on her bed as they spoke, and Holo had—with no particular intent—slowly grasped his hand in hers. Having sat there on the bed and passed the time quietly talking, Lawrence had to admit that Holo was absolutely right. The fact was, though, that no traveling merchant was so easygoing as to idle away his time in a town, particularly not while they were mid-journey. He wanted her to understand that, but it was probably impossible. It was perhaps fortunate, however, that Lawrence couldn't do anything immediately. Given the situation in Lenos, none of the members of the Council of Fifty, including Rigolo, would casually meet with a foreign merchant. Since the affair centered around the fur trade that was the town's lifeblood, meeting with a merchant of unknown background would be deeply suspicious and tantamount to societal suicide. No, Lawrence would not be able to see a council member. Which meant that if he wanted to engage one, he would need a mediator. Yet when Lawrence rethought the question of whether that would really be necessary, it was hard to convince himself of it. And if he were to force the issue and make a bad impression, they would never see the records of Holo.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

But Lawrence found he could not manage his usual comeback as Holo had buried her face in his chest, unmoving. She was no mere traveling companion. He could look at her ears and tail and work his own form of mind reading on her. "Nor will I," he replied, and with a soft sigh, he stroked her head with his hand. Holo rubbed the corners of her eyes on his clothing and smiled awkwardly. "You sound a dunce when you say it so. I'll not forget that, either." Lawrence gave a forced smile. "Sorry." Holo smiled, rubbed her nose, then smiled again—and was back to her old self. "So it seems I have indeed visited this town." "Then there must be legends of you left here." He didn't add "in books somewhere," but Holo would certainly notice and appreciate his consideration. On the other hand, if he didn't take such care, it would be impossible to avoid accidentally stepping on her tail. "So then, what news did you manage to hear tell of?" asked Holo, like a mother asking her child to boast about some new knowledge he had acquired. She never stayed frail for long. "This time around is going to be a lot of fun," began Lawrence. Holo listened closely as she ate the tail meat. In the end, they had two reasons to meet Rigolo, the town chronicler and secretary for the Council of Fifty. The first was to ask if any legends of Holo remained and to have him show them the records where such legends might be found. The second was to discover the particulars of how the town came to be in the situation it presently faced. The latter reason was purely a result of Lawrence's occupational sickness, and given the precedent set on their travels thus far, Holo listened to his explanation but was none too pleased. In point of fact, if Lawrence had been asked whether it was really necessary to risk the danger involved in performing the financial alchemy it would take to suck money through the cracks in the current conflict, the answer was no—it was not. Given the profit he had managed to make in the pagan town of Kumersun, so long as he continued to quietly ply his trade for a while longer, the day when he would be able to open his own shop was not so very far off. In which case, he would do better to use his time frugally, carrying his goods and turning his profits, rather than to risk sticking his neck out in dangerous speculation. In the long term, spending his time in town quietly and carefully making business connections would be much better for Lawrence's future profits. Not being a merchant, Holo didn't use terms like future profits, but her gist was the same: You're not short on money, so relax. Simply standing there in the room was cold, so as they talked, Holo crawled into her bed and eventually started dozing off. Lawrence sat down on her bed as they spoke, and Holo had—with no particular intent—slowly grasped his hand in hers. Having sat there on the bed and passed the time quietly talking, Lawrence had to admit that Holo was absolutely right. The fact was, though, that no traveling merchant was so easygoing as to idle away his time in a town, particularly not while they were mid-journey. He wanted her to understand that, but it was probably impossible. It was perhaps fortunate, however, that Lawrence couldn't do anything immediately. Given the situation in Lenos, none of the members of the Council of Fifty, including Rigolo, would casually meet with a foreign merchant. Since the affair centered around the fur trade that was the town's lifeblood, meeting with a merchant of unknown background would be deeply suspicious and tantamount to societal suicide. No, Lawrence would not be able to see a council member. Which meant that if he wanted to engage one, he would need a mediator. Yet when Lawrence rethought the question of whether that would really be necessary, it was hard to convince himself of it. And if he were to force the issue and make a bad impression, they would never see the records of Holo.

When she was hungry, she ate, and when she was tired, she slept. Indeed, she was as free as any beast, and those who spent their days constantly toiling to keep their bellies full had dreamed of such a life at least once. Lawrence couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of the life Holo took for granted. He extracted his hand from hers and lightly brushed her polished porcelain cheek with the back of his index finger. Once she had fallen asleep, even a tap wouldn't wake her. At Lawrence's touch, her expression clenched in irritation, but her eyes stayed closed as she buried her face in the blanket. It was a quiet, happy moment. Nothing happened save for the passage of time itself, but this was one of the things Lawrence wished for when he drove his cart alone. The merchant knew this for a near certainty, and yet in the bottom of his heart, he felt a distinct impatience, a feeling that he was wasting this time. He couldn't help feeling that if he wasn't making money or collecting information for his business, he was sustaining a loss he would never be able to recover. The merchant's spirit is a flame that never goes out, his master had said, but that flame might very well have been hellfire, charring his flesh. When one was alone, the flame provided warmth, but with two...with two, he felt it was too hot. Holo's smile especially was very warm. The world did not go as one wanted it to. Lawrence stood up from the bed and paced around the room. If he wasn't going to get involved in the happenings of Lenos, then he at least wanted to understand the details for his own enlightenment. The best way to do that would be to meet directly with a member of the Council of Fifty, and in order to get unbiased information, a witness who didn't represent any particular interested party would be still more desirable. It was the chronicler and secretary Rigolo who best fit that description. But no council member would have any interest in meeting with an outsider. The problem began to seem intractable. Lawrence would have to take a different approach, but at the moment his sole source of information was the barmaid. Widening this to include more information from the town merchants would involve significant effort. There was certainly any number of people using this machination or that to collect information, and Lawrence sincerely doubted that his own intellect and tactics would be enough to give him any advantage over the rest. Who knew how high the price for that information might rise given the scope of the demand? Had it been a town where Lawrence had some old acquaintance, he might have been able to get nearer the essence of things and to make something happen. If it was goods you wanted, money could buy anything, but for information, you had to have trust. In the face of this fascinating situation, Lawrence would just have to watch and wait. Feeling like a frustrated dog pacing back and forth in a room while eyeing a piece of meat he could see through a tiny crack in the wall, Lawrence finally heaved a sigh. He felt as if he was moving further and further away from the merchant he wished to be. Even worse, the logic and prudence he should have long ago developed seemed to be gone. It was as though he had regressed to that period when he had just come of age; his head full of ridiculous get-rich-quick schemes. His feet were restless. He repeated the problem to himself, glancing at Holo. Was it because this cheeky wolf girl was constantly pulling the rug out from under him? It seemed possible. He enjoyed talking with Holo too much. That's why he had begun neglecting other things. *** Lawrence stroked his beard, murmuring to himself that shifting the blame might not be a bad idea. It was a wasted opportunity, but the fur problem would have to wait. Which meant that the next action would be to seek out information that would set them on the road to Nyohhira, still farther north from Lenos.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

When she was hungry, she ate, and when she was tired, she slept. Indeed, she was as free as any beast, and those who spent their days constantly toiling to keep their bellies full had dreamed of such a life at least once. Lawrence couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of the life Holo took for granted. He extracted his hand from hers and lightly brushed her polished porcelain cheek with the back of his index finger. Once she had fallen asleep, even a tap wouldn't wake her. At Lawrence's touch, her expression clenched in irritation, but her eyes stayed closed as she buried her face in the blanket. It was a quiet, happy moment. Nothing happened save for the passage of time itself, but this was one of the things Lawrence wished for when he drove his cart alone. The merchant knew this for a near certainty, and yet in the bottom of his heart, he felt a distinct impatience, a feeling that he was wasting this time. He couldn't help feeling that if he wasn't making money or collecting information for his business, he was sustaining a loss he would never be able to recover. The merchant's spirit is a flame that never goes out, his master had said, but that flame might very well have been hellfire, charring his flesh. When one was alone, the flame provided warmth, but with two...with two, he felt it was too hot. Holo's smile especially was very warm. The world did not go as one wanted it to. Lawrence stood up from the bed and paced around the room. If he wasn't going to get involved in the happenings of Lenos, then he at least wanted to understand the details for his own enlightenment. The best way to do that would be to meet directly with a member of the Council of Fifty, and in order to get unbiased information, a witness who didn't represent any particular interested party would be still more desirable. It was the chronicler and secretary Rigolo who best fit that description. But no council member would have any interest in meeting with an outsider. The problem began to seem intractable. Lawrence would have to take a different approach, but at the moment his sole source of information was the barmaid. Widening this to include more information from the town merchants would involve significant effort. There was certainly any number of people using this machination or that to collect information, and Lawrence sincerely doubted that his own intellect and tactics would be enough to give him any advantage over the rest. Who knew how high the price for that information might rise given the scope of the demand? Had it been a town where Lawrence had some old acquaintance, he might have been able to get nearer the essence of things and to make something happen. If it was goods you wanted, money could buy anything, but for information, you had to have trust. In the face of this fascinating situation, Lawrence would just have to watch and wait. Feeling like a frustrated dog pacing back and forth in a room while eyeing a piece of meat he could see through a tiny crack in the wall, Lawrence finally heaved a sigh. He felt as if he was moving further and further away from the merchant he wished to be. Even worse, the logic and prudence he should have long ago developed seemed to be gone. It was as though he had regressed to that period when he had just come of age; his head full of ridiculous get-rich-quick schemes. His feet were restless. He repeated the problem to himself, glancing at Holo. Was it because this cheeky wolf girl was constantly pulling the rug out from under him? It seemed possible. He enjoyed talking with Holo too much. That's why he had begun neglecting other things. *** Lawrence stroked his beard, murmuring to himself that shifting the blame might not be a bad idea. It was a wasted opportunity, but the fur problem would have to wait. Which meant that the next action would be to seek out information that would set them on the road to Nyohhira, still farther north from Lenos.

Information on furs...can be collected after that, Lawrence told himself as he left the room. Lawrence came down to the first floor where there was a rustling sound coming from the corner of the clutter-filled room. There was neither lock nor lookout, but a good number of merchants still used this storehouse, it seemed. The rate was not too high, and some used it as a relay for their peddling while others stored goods when their price fluctuated with the season. Lawrence would not have been surprised to learn that the odd smuggler or thief kept items there, too. Though he heard the sound of someone tampering with goods in the storehouse, the person was in shadow, and Lawrence could not tell who it was. But Arold the innkeeper did not appear to think for one moment that one of his guests was opening someone else's luggage. He only poured a bit of water on the fire, which had grown slightly too strong. "A road to the north?" While Arold had reacted to Lawrence's question about chroniclers this morning as though a child had asked him a difficult theological question, he seemed to be much more used to this sort of inquiry. He nodded slightly, as if to say, "Well, in that case," then paying the flame no heed, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Not much snow this year. I don't know where you're headed, but I don't reckon it'll be too hard." "I'm making for Nyohhira, as it happens." Arold's left eyebrow went up, and the sharp blue eyes buried in the deep folds of his eyelids glittered. Behind his merchant's smile, Lawrence flinched a bit, and Arold continued, brushing a bit of ash that had flown up when he poured water on the coals a moment earlier. "Heading all the way into pagan country, eh?...Well, I suppose that's merchants for you, carrying money bags over their shoulder and heading off anywhere." "Aye, and we throw them away on our deathbeds," Lawrence said, trying to lighten things up with the devout Arold, but the innkeeper only gave a derisive snort. "So why bother earning it in the first place? Gaining it only to throw it away..." It was something that many merchants pondered themselves. But Lawrence had heard an interesting answer to this question. "You don't ask the same question when you clean a room, do you?" If money was trash, then profit was the collection of trash. A famous merchant in a southern country had repented on his deathbed, saying that collecting and throwing away the money that polluted the world God had given man was the ultimate virtue. The clergy heard these words and were moved, but the merchants hid their uncertain smiles behind their wine cups—because the more successful one became, the less one's assets were concrete things, and the more they were numbers on certificates and entries in ledgers. Thus if these written ledger entries and figures polluted the world, then the written teachings of God were no better, and so the irony was that those scriptures, too, should be thrown away for the betterment of the world—such was the view of most merchants. Lawrence felt much the same way. He felt bad for Holo, but he would take the business of a successful merchant over prayers to gods that never answered any day. "Heh," Arold chuckled. "Fair enough," he said in an uncommonly amused tone. His mood had improved. He seemed more cheered by the irony behind Lawrence's words than by the words themselves. "Are you leaving soon? I seem to recall you giving me a good amount of coin for your stay..." "No, I expect to wait until the Council of Fifty has finished their meeting." "...I see. You wanted to see Rigolo. You asked about a chronicler this morning, as I recall. That's a word I've not heard in some time. Hardly anyone looks to the past these days...," said Arold, narrowing his eyes as he stared off into space. Perhaps the old man was looking back on his life thus far.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Information on furs...can be collected after that, Lawrence told himself as he left the room. Lawrence came down to the first floor where there was a rustling sound coming from the corner of the clutter-filled room. There was neither lock nor lookout, but a good number of merchants still used this storehouse, it seemed. The rate was not too high, and some used it as a relay for their peddling while others stored goods when their price fluctuated with the season. Lawrence would not have been surprised to learn that the odd smuggler or thief kept items there, too. Though he heard the sound of someone tampering with goods in the storehouse, the person was in shadow, and Lawrence could not tell who it was. But Arold the innkeeper did not appear to think for one moment that one of his guests was opening someone else's luggage. He only poured a bit of water on the fire, which had grown slightly too strong. "A road to the north?" While Arold had reacted to Lawrence's question about chroniclers this morning as though a child had asked him a difficult theological question, he seemed to be much more used to this sort of inquiry. He nodded slightly, as if to say, "Well, in that case," then paying the flame no heed, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Not much snow this year. I don't know where you're headed, but I don't reckon it'll be too hard." "I'm making for Nyohhira, as it happens." Arold's left eyebrow went up, and the sharp blue eyes buried in the deep folds of his eyelids glittered. Behind his merchant's smile, Lawrence flinched a bit, and Arold continued, brushing a bit of ash that had flown up when he poured water on the coals a moment earlier. "Heading all the way into pagan country, eh?...Well, I suppose that's merchants for you, carrying money bags over their shoulder and heading off anywhere." "Aye, and we throw them away on our deathbeds," Lawrence said, trying to lighten things up with the devout Arold, but the innkeeper only gave a derisive snort. "So why bother earning it in the first place? Gaining it only to throw it away..." It was something that many merchants pondered themselves. But Lawrence had heard an interesting answer to this question. "You don't ask the same question when you clean a room, do you?" If money was trash, then profit was the collection of trash. A famous merchant in a southern country had repented on his deathbed, saying that collecting and throwing away the money that polluted the world God had given man was the ultimate virtue. The clergy heard these words and were moved, but the merchants hid their uncertain smiles behind their wine cups—because the more successful one became, the less one's assets were concrete things, and the more they were numbers on certificates and entries in ledgers. Thus if these written ledger entries and figures polluted the world, then the written teachings of God were no better, and so the irony was that those scriptures, too, should be thrown away for the betterment of the world—such was the view of most merchants. Lawrence felt much the same way. He felt bad for Holo, but he would take the business of a successful merchant over prayers to gods that never answered any day. "Heh," Arold chuckled. "Fair enough," he said in an uncommonly amused tone. His mood had improved. He seemed more cheered by the irony behind Lawrence's words than by the words themselves. "Are you leaving soon? I seem to recall you giving me a good amount of coin for your stay..." "No, I expect to wait until the Council of Fifty has finished their meeting." "...I see. You wanted to see Rigolo. You asked about a chronicler this morning, as I recall. That's a word I've not heard in some time. Hardly anyone looks to the past these days...," said Arold, narrowing his eyes as he stared off into space. Perhaps the old man was looking back on his life thus far.

"There was a longhair in the stable, wasn't there?" "Aye, its master is a man from the north. I reckon he knows the route quite well." "His name?" Lawrence asked. Arold looked surprised for the first time. It was strangely charming. "Huh. He's been coming here for some time, but I've never asked his name. He's fatter every year, too. It's quite clear in my mind. Strange...I suppose these things happen..." What sort of inn lacked even a guest register? "He's a fur merchant from the north," Arold continued. "He's all over town at the moment...but if I see him, I'll pass your questions on." "I'd be very grateful." "Aye. But if you keep waiting for the Council of Fifty to finish, you're liable to be here 'til spring," said Arold, putting the cup of mulled wine to his lips for the first time. This was the first time Lawrence had seen Arold so loquacious. He must have been in excellent spirits, Lawrence guessed. "Will the meeting take so long?" Lawrence asked, pressing for more information. Arold's face turned unreadable, and he fell silent. No doubt the best response if he hoped to live out his remaining years in peace, Lawrence thought. Lawrence was about to offer his thanks as a way of ending the conversation, but Arold then spoke, cutting him off. "People's lives tend up and down, and so do the towns that they live in. After all, those towns are just groups of people." The words of a man who had retired from an active life. But Lawrence was still young. "It's in people's nature to resist fate, I think. Just like how we seek forgiveness after making a mistake." Arold regarded Lawrence wordlessly with his blue eyes. There was anger in his gaze and scorn. But Lawrence liked the old man when he was like this, so he stood his ground. Arold chuckled. "It's hard to argue with that...It's been pleasant talking with you. This is your third time at the inn, yes? What's your name?" Though he had never asked the name of the fur merchant who had long made use of his inn, Arold now asked Lawrence his name. He wasn't asking as the innkeeper, but rather as a craftsman. When a craftsman asked the name of a customer, it was a mark of trust that they would complete the customer's order, no matter how difficult the request. Evidently this old tannery boss liked Lawrence for some reason. "Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, extending his hand. "Kraft Lawrence, eh? I'm Arold Ecklund. In the old days, I'd make you some fine leather strap work, but these days all I can offer is a quiet night." "That's more than enough," said Lawrence, which Arold smiled at for the first time, showing a broken tooth. Lawrence was about to leave when Arold's gaze fell on something behind his lodger. Lawrence turned to look and did not expect the person he saw there. It was the merchant Holo had earlier claimed was a woman, still wearing the same robes and carrying a burlap sack in her left hand. She must have been the one Lawrence heard rustling around in the storeroom earlier. "You didn't ask me until my fifth visit. You ask him his name so soon, Mr. Arold?" came the hoarse voice. If Holo hadn't told him otherwise, Lawrence still would have assumed she was male, an apprentice merchant just starting out. "That's because I didn't talk with you until the fifth visit," said Arold, glancing at Lawrence before continuing. "And it's so rare that you open that mouth of yours. Are you as sociable as I am, then?" "Perhaps," said the woman, and a smile quirked beneath her cowl. Lawrence noticed that she didn't just happen to have an especially thin beard for a man—no, definitely a woman. "You there," she said, looking pointedly at Lawrence. "Yes?" "We should talk. You have business with Rigolo?" If Lawrence had been Holo, his ears would have twitched. "Yes," he answered, confident enough that not a single hair of his beard had so much as moved.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"There was a longhair in the stable, wasn't there?" "Aye, its master is a man from the north. I reckon he knows the route quite well." "His name?" Lawrence asked. Arold looked surprised for the first time. It was strangely charming. "Huh. He's been coming here for some time, but I've never asked his name. He's fatter every year, too. It's quite clear in my mind. Strange...I suppose these things happen..." What sort of inn lacked even a guest register? "He's a fur merchant from the north," Arold continued. "He's all over town at the moment...but if I see him, I'll pass your questions on." "I'd be very grateful." "Aye. But if you keep waiting for the Council of Fifty to finish, you're liable to be here 'til spring," said Arold, putting the cup of mulled wine to his lips for the first time. This was the first time Lawrence had seen Arold so loquacious. He must have been in excellent spirits, Lawrence guessed. "Will the meeting take so long?" Lawrence asked, pressing for more information. Arold's face turned unreadable, and he fell silent. No doubt the best response if he hoped to live out his remaining years in peace, Lawrence thought. Lawrence was about to offer his thanks as a way of ending the conversation, but Arold then spoke, cutting him off. "People's lives tend up and down, and so do the towns that they live in. After all, those towns are just groups of people." The words of a man who had retired from an active life. But Lawrence was still young. "It's in people's nature to resist fate, I think. Just like how we seek forgiveness after making a mistake." Arold regarded Lawrence wordlessly with his blue eyes. There was anger in his gaze and scorn. But Lawrence liked the old man when he was like this, so he stood his ground. Arold chuckled. "It's hard to argue with that...It's been pleasant talking with you. This is your third time at the inn, yes? What's your name?" Though he had never asked the name of the fur merchant who had long made use of his inn, Arold now asked Lawrence his name. He wasn't asking as the innkeeper, but rather as a craftsman. When a craftsman asked the name of a customer, it was a mark of trust that they would complete the customer's order, no matter how difficult the request. Evidently this old tannery boss liked Lawrence for some reason. "Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, extending his hand. "Kraft Lawrence, eh? I'm Arold Ecklund. In the old days, I'd make you some fine leather strap work, but these days all I can offer is a quiet night." "That's more than enough," said Lawrence, which Arold smiled at for the first time, showing a broken tooth. Lawrence was about to leave when Arold's gaze fell on something behind his lodger. Lawrence turned to look and did not expect the person he saw there. It was the merchant Holo had earlier claimed was a woman, still wearing the same robes and carrying a burlap sack in her left hand. She must have been the one Lawrence heard rustling around in the storeroom earlier. "You didn't ask me until my fifth visit. You ask him his name so soon, Mr. Arold?" came the hoarse voice. If Holo hadn't told him otherwise, Lawrence still would have assumed she was male, an apprentice merchant just starting out. "That's because I didn't talk with you until the fifth visit," said Arold, glancing at Lawrence before continuing. "And it's so rare that you open that mouth of yours. Are you as sociable as I am, then?" "Perhaps," said the woman, and a smile quirked beneath her cowl. Lawrence noticed that she didn't just happen to have an especially thin beard for a man—no, definitely a woman. "You there," she said, looking pointedly at Lawrence. "Yes?" "We should talk. You have business with Rigolo?" If Lawrence had been Holo, his ears would have twitched. "Yes," he answered, confident enough that not a single hair of his beard had so much as moved.

"Shall we go upstairs?" The woman pointed up. Lawrence had no objections and nodded. "I'll take this," she said, grabbing a pitcher from behind Arold's chair, then heading immediately up the stairs. Though they were not related, she seemed to know Arold quite well—so what was their connection? Lawrence's mind was full of questions, but Arold's face had returned to its normal, unsociable mien. He took his leave and followed the woman up the stairs. There was nobody on the second floor, and the woman immediately bent her knees and sat down cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Her manner was that of someone used to sitting and standing in cramped places. If Lawrence had been a money changer, he would have figured her for a comrade-in-business. She certainly wasn't someone who had started out in business just yesterday. "Ha, I knew it. This wine is too good to waste by drinking it warm," she said after sampling the contents of the pitcher she had brought up. Lawrence sat down as well, wondering why the woman was suddenly so sociable, whether her behavior was genuine, and if it wasn't genuine, what her goal could possibly be. After taking a couple of drinks from the wine pitcher, the merchant woman thrust it toward Lawrence. "You seem like you've got your guard well up. Can I ask why?" While her cowl covered her face, obscuring her expressions from Lawrence, evidently she could see his face perfectly well. "I'm a traveling merchant who does a lot of business with people I'll never see again. I suppose it's a habit," he said, taking a sip of the proffered wine. It was indeed good. The merchant woman looked at him evenly past her cowl. Lawrence gave a pained grin and confessed, "Female merchants are rare. If one calls me over, I can't help but be on my guard a bit." He could tell that she was momentarily disturbed at his statement. "...It's been years since anyone figured that out." "We passed this morning in front of the inn. My companion has the keen senses of a beast, you see." She was part beast, in truth, and if Holo had not been there, Lawrence would never have noticed the merchant was a woman. "One shouldn't underestimate a woman's intuition. Though I suppose I'm not one to talk." "I learn that lesson every day." Lawrence wasn't sure if she smiled or not, but in any case, the woman put her hand to her neck and loosened the string that held her cowl in place; then with a practiced hand, she drew it back and off her head. He watched her with a bit more anticipation than was polite. What intrepid visage might emerge? When he saw her face, Lawrence was not at all confident that he had been able to perfectly conceal his surprise. "Name's Fleur Bolan. But Fleur's not much for intimidation, so I go by Eve." The woman, Fleur—or Eve—was young. But she was not so young that youth was her only virtue. She was old enough to be polished and refined, making her all the more beautiful. At a guess, Lawrence would have put her at about his own age. Her eyes weren't just blue; they seemed forged from blue steel. Her hair was short and blond. If she smiled, she would look like an uncommonly beautiful boy. And when she wasn't smiling, she looked like a wolf—a wolf that would bite your finger off if you tried to touch it. "I'm Kraft Lawrence." "Kraft? Or Lawrence?" "In business, Lawrence." "Call me Eve. I'm none too fond of Bolan, and I know all too well how I look to men when I wear makeup and a wig, and I don't like that sort of compliment, either." His initiative stolen, Lawrence was silent for a moment. "I'd planned to hide it, if I could," she continued. It surely being the fact of her sex. Not wanting to be discovered by anyone else, she replaced the cowl on her head and fixed it again with the tie. In his mind, Lawrence couldn't help picturing a knife wrapped in cotton. "I'm really not a particularly retiring person. If anything, I'm talkative and quite courteous, if I do say so myself."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Shall we go upstairs?" The woman pointed up. Lawrence had no objections and nodded. "I'll take this," she said, grabbing a pitcher from behind Arold's chair, then heading immediately up the stairs. Though they were not related, she seemed to know Arold quite well—so what was their connection? Lawrence's mind was full of questions, but Arold's face had returned to its normal, unsociable mien. He took his leave and followed the woman up the stairs. There was nobody on the second floor, and the woman immediately bent her knees and sat down cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Her manner was that of someone used to sitting and standing in cramped places. If Lawrence had been a money changer, he would have figured her for a comrade-in-business. She certainly wasn't someone who had started out in business just yesterday. "Ha, I knew it. This wine is too good to waste by drinking it warm," she said after sampling the contents of the pitcher she had brought up. Lawrence sat down as well, wondering why the woman was suddenly so sociable, whether her behavior was genuine, and if it wasn't genuine, what her goal could possibly be. After taking a couple of drinks from the wine pitcher, the merchant woman thrust it toward Lawrence. "You seem like you've got your guard well up. Can I ask why?" While her cowl covered her face, obscuring her expressions from Lawrence, evidently she could see his face perfectly well. "I'm a traveling merchant who does a lot of business with people I'll never see again. I suppose it's a habit," he said, taking a sip of the proffered wine. It was indeed good. The merchant woman looked at him evenly past her cowl. Lawrence gave a pained grin and confessed, "Female merchants are rare. If one calls me over, I can't help but be on my guard a bit." He could tell that she was momentarily disturbed at his statement. "...It's been years since anyone figured that out." "We passed this morning in front of the inn. My companion has the keen senses of a beast, you see." She was part beast, in truth, and if Holo had not been there, Lawrence would never have noticed the merchant was a woman. "One shouldn't underestimate a woman's intuition. Though I suppose I'm not one to talk." "I learn that lesson every day." Lawrence wasn't sure if she smiled or not, but in any case, the woman put her hand to her neck and loosened the string that held her cowl in place; then with a practiced hand, she drew it back and off her head. He watched her with a bit more anticipation than was polite. What intrepid visage might emerge? When he saw her face, Lawrence was not at all confident that he had been able to perfectly conceal his surprise. "Name's Fleur Bolan. But Fleur's not much for intimidation, so I go by Eve." The woman, Fleur—or Eve—was young. But she was not so young that youth was her only virtue. She was old enough to be polished and refined, making her all the more beautiful. At a guess, Lawrence would have put her at about his own age. Her eyes weren't just blue; they seemed forged from blue steel. Her hair was short and blond. If she smiled, she would look like an uncommonly beautiful boy. And when she wasn't smiling, she looked like a wolf—a wolf that would bite your finger off if you tried to touch it. "I'm Kraft Lawrence." "Kraft? Or Lawrence?" "In business, Lawrence." "Call me Eve. I'm none too fond of Bolan, and I know all too well how I look to men when I wear makeup and a wig, and I don't like that sort of compliment, either." His initiative stolen, Lawrence was silent for a moment. "I'd planned to hide it, if I could," she continued. It surely being the fact of her sex. Not wanting to be discovered by anyone else, she replaced the cowl on her head and fixed it again with the tie. In his mind, Lawrence couldn't help picturing a knife wrapped in cotton. "I'm really not a particularly retiring person. If anything, I'm talkative and quite courteous, if I do say so myself."

She was a woman, yes, but hardly some sheltered princess. He had little reason to be nervous. "You're an interesting fellow. I can see why the old man likes you," said Eve. "Nice of you to say so. But I've only exchanged the briefest of pleasantries with you, so I've no idea why you would be interested in me." "Merchants don't get infatuated that easily, so unfortunately—not quite. But you're no fool, you know this. Anyway, the reason I talked to you is simple. I just wanted someone to talk to." Judging by the features on the face beneath the cowl, something about her reminded Lawrence of Holo, despite Eve's slightly crude manners. If he wasn't careful, she'd pull the rug out from under him, just like Holo. "And the reason you chose me for that particular honor is...?" "One reason would be the fact that old Arold likes you. He's got a good eye for people. Another reason would be your companion, the one who saw through my disguise." "My companion?" "Yes. Your companion. A girl, yes?" If she had called Holo a boy, it would've been exactly the kind of story some wealthy libertine nobleman would love. But Lawrence understood what Eve was trying to say. If he was traveling with a woman, he would be a safe person to talk to. "It's one thing when I'm negotiating, but hiding the fact that I'm a woman while making chitchat is no easy thing. I know I'm unusual. And it's not like I don't understand why someone would want me to take off the cowl sometimes," said Eve. "This is going to sound like a compliment, but if you were to take it off while you were drinking with some fellow merchants, I'm sure they'd love it." Eve smiled with a lopsided smirk, and even that was an impressive gesture. "Like I said, I think about who I can chat with, and in the end, you need to be either an old geezer or with a woman." Female merchants were rarer than fairies. Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine her day-to-day worries. "You don't see merchants traveling with women very often. Clergy, perhaps, or the odd artisan or minstrel couple. But none of them have anything interesting to say to a merchant like me." Lawrence smiled a bit. "Well, there are quite a few circumstances around my companion." "And I won't be nosy. The two of you seem used to travel and don't seem connected by money, so I figured you'd be safe to talk to. That's all." Eve finished talking and held her hand out for the pitcher. It wasn't polite to hang onto a pitcher of wine that was being passed around in lieu of a cup, so Lawrence apologized and handed it back. "Anyway, that's about the size of it, but you can't just walk up to somebody and say, 'Hey, how about a chat?' That's why I mentioned Rigolo's name, but it wasn't just talk. You want to see him, right?" Eve looked at Lawrence from underneath her cowl, but he couldn't read her expression at all. She was clearly an excellent negotiator. This hardly seemed like small talk to Lawrence. He answered carefully. "Yes, as soon as I can." "Might I ask why?" Lawrence could not imagine why she would want to know this. It may have been simple curiosity or she wanted to use that knowledge somehow or she was testing Lawrence based on his response to being asked such a question. If Holo had been with him, he would have had an advantage, but as it was, he felt like he was being cornered. The situation was frustrating, but he would have to go on the defensive. "I've heard Rigolo is the town's chronicler. I'd like to ask him to let me see any of the old tales of Lenos." The subject of fur was too delicate to broach. As long as he couldn't see Eve's expression, it was dangerous to bring up. He had no clock to hide behind, so it would be easy for her to see if he was being too guarded. Nonetheless, Eve seemed to detect a certain truth to Lawrence's words. "Now that's a strange reason. And here I was sure you'd want information on the fur trade."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

She was a woman, yes, but hardly some sheltered princess. He had little reason to be nervous. "You're an interesting fellow. I can see why the old man likes you," said Eve. "Nice of you to say so. But I've only exchanged the briefest of pleasantries with you, so I've no idea why you would be interested in me." "Merchants don't get infatuated that easily, so unfortunately—not quite. But you're no fool, you know this. Anyway, the reason I talked to you is simple. I just wanted someone to talk to." Judging by the features on the face beneath the cowl, something about her reminded Lawrence of Holo, despite Eve's slightly crude manners. If he wasn't careful, she'd pull the rug out from under him, just like Holo. "And the reason you chose me for that particular honor is...?" "One reason would be the fact that old Arold likes you. He's got a good eye for people. Another reason would be your companion, the one who saw through my disguise." "My companion?" "Yes. Your companion. A girl, yes?" If she had called Holo a boy, it would've been exactly the kind of story some wealthy libertine nobleman would love. But Lawrence understood what Eve was trying to say. If he was traveling with a woman, he would be a safe person to talk to. "It's one thing when I'm negotiating, but hiding the fact that I'm a woman while making chitchat is no easy thing. I know I'm unusual. And it's not like I don't understand why someone would want me to take off the cowl sometimes," said Eve. "This is going to sound like a compliment, but if you were to take it off while you were drinking with some fellow merchants, I'm sure they'd love it." Eve smiled with a lopsided smirk, and even that was an impressive gesture. "Like I said, I think about who I can chat with, and in the end, you need to be either an old geezer or with a woman." Female merchants were rarer than fairies. Lawrence couldn't even begin to imagine her day-to-day worries. "You don't see merchants traveling with women very often. Clergy, perhaps, or the odd artisan or minstrel couple. But none of them have anything interesting to say to a merchant like me." Lawrence smiled a bit. "Well, there are quite a few circumstances around my companion." "And I won't be nosy. The two of you seem used to travel and don't seem connected by money, so I figured you'd be safe to talk to. That's all." Eve finished talking and held her hand out for the pitcher. It wasn't polite to hang onto a pitcher of wine that was being passed around in lieu of a cup, so Lawrence apologized and handed it back. "Anyway, that's about the size of it, but you can't just walk up to somebody and say, 'Hey, how about a chat?' That's why I mentioned Rigolo's name, but it wasn't just talk. You want to see him, right?" Eve looked at Lawrence from underneath her cowl, but he couldn't read her expression at all. She was clearly an excellent negotiator. This hardly seemed like small talk to Lawrence. He answered carefully. "Yes, as soon as I can." "Might I ask why?" Lawrence could not imagine why she would want to know this. It may have been simple curiosity or she wanted to use that knowledge somehow or she was testing Lawrence based on his response to being asked such a question. If Holo had been with him, he would have had an advantage, but as it was, he felt like he was being cornered. The situation was frustrating, but he would have to go on the defensive. "I've heard Rigolo is the town's chronicler. I'd like to ask him to let me see any of the old tales of Lenos." The subject of fur was too delicate to broach. As long as he couldn't see Eve's expression, it was dangerous to bring up. He had no clock to hide behind, so it would be easy for her to see if he was being too guarded. Nonetheless, Eve seemed to detect a certain truth to Lawrence's words. "Now that's a strange reason. And here I was sure you'd want information on the fur trade."

"It's true that the man's study is piled high with volumes passed down over the generations. His dream is to be able to spend his days reading them, I hear. He's always going on about how he wants to resign his position as secretary to the Council of Fifty." "Is that so?" "Quite. He's not a very sociable fellow to begin with, but his position means he knows all the ins and outs of the council, so there's no end of people trying to cozy up to him. If you tried to just go and see him now, he'd give you the evil eye and send you away at the gate." Admirably, Lawrence managed a neutral "I see," but he doubted that Eve thought he was as neutral as he tried to seem. Eve was, after all, hinting that she would be able to introduce Lawrence to Rigolo. "Oh, indeed. So if that's what you're interested in, I do quite a bit of trade with the church here. Rigolo normally works as a scribe for the church, you see. I've known him for some time." Lawrence did not question her. If he was to do so, there was the danger that he would reveal his own motivations, which she would easily be able to see. So he spoke the plain truth. "It would certainly be of great help to me if you could arrange for me to see those records," Lawrence said. The corner of Eve's mouth might have quirked for just a moment, but perhaps it was just his imagination. She seemed to be enjoying something about this exchange. "Aren't you going to ask me what I trade in?" "You didn't inquire after the occupation of my companion so I'll extend you the same courtesy." This conversation made Lawrence nervous in a way entirely different from his exchanges with Holo. And yet this is fun, he thought to himself, which is why when a chuckle echoed through the room, he didn't realize it wasn't from him for a moment. "Heh-heh-heh. Excellent. Excellent indeed! More than a few times have I hoped to meet a young merchant with a female companion, but I'm truly glad I spoke up, Lawrence! I don't know whether you're as remarkable as you seem, but you're surely not some two-copper peddler." "I'm honored by your compliments, but I'd ask you to wait a moment before shaking my hand." Eve grinned. Her smile reminded him so much of a certain someone that he half expected to see sharp canines bared. "I know you're not some sweaty-palmed fool," said Eve. "Your face has been unreadable from the start. I can see why old man Arold likes you." Lawrence accepted the flattery. "Well then, instead of asking what it is you deal in, might I ask a different question?" Eve still smiled, but Lawrence was quite sure her smile did not reach her eyes. "And what might that be?" "How much will your introduction fee be?" Lawrence dropped a pebble into the dark and bottomless well. How deep was it? And was there water in the bottom? Presently the sound echoed back to him. "I'll ask for neither coin nor goods." Lawrence wondered if she was thirsty, but she offered him the pitcher as she continued. "All I ask is that you chat with me." The wetly sentimental echo had returned. Lawrence wiped his face clean of any emotion as he coolly regarded Eve and her statement. Eve chuckled and shrugged. "You're good. But no, it's not a lie. It's only natural you'd think it strange, but someone I can talk to without hiding the fact that I'm a woman—and a merchant, to boot—is worth more than limar gold." "But less than lumione?" Her reaction to some teasing would reveal the depth of her character. Eve seemed to know this. "I'm a merchant. In the end, money is what matters most," she replied with an even smile. Lawrence laughed. With someone like this to talk to, he could easily chat all night. "But I don't know what sort your companion is. I prefer my conversations uninterrupted. A sulky companion spoils the wine." Lawrence searched his memory. Was Holo the sort to be jealous over such things? He felt like she had been somewhat irritated by Norah the shepherdess, but had that not been because of her profession?

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"It's true that the man's study is piled high with volumes passed down over the generations. His dream is to be able to spend his days reading them, I hear. He's always going on about how he wants to resign his position as secretary to the Council of Fifty." "Is that so?" "Quite. He's not a very sociable fellow to begin with, but his position means he knows all the ins and outs of the council, so there's no end of people trying to cozy up to him. If you tried to just go and see him now, he'd give you the evil eye and send you away at the gate." Admirably, Lawrence managed a neutral "I see," but he doubted that Eve thought he was as neutral as he tried to seem. Eve was, after all, hinting that she would be able to introduce Lawrence to Rigolo. "Oh, indeed. So if that's what you're interested in, I do quite a bit of trade with the church here. Rigolo normally works as a scribe for the church, you see. I've known him for some time." Lawrence did not question her. If he was to do so, there was the danger that he would reveal his own motivations, which she would easily be able to see. So he spoke the plain truth. "It would certainly be of great help to me if you could arrange for me to see those records," Lawrence said. The corner of Eve's mouth might have quirked for just a moment, but perhaps it was just his imagination. She seemed to be enjoying something about this exchange. "Aren't you going to ask me what I trade in?" "You didn't inquire after the occupation of my companion so I'll extend you the same courtesy." This conversation made Lawrence nervous in a way entirely different from his exchanges with Holo. And yet this is fun, he thought to himself, which is why when a chuckle echoed through the room, he didn't realize it wasn't from him for a moment. "Heh-heh-heh. Excellent. Excellent indeed! More than a few times have I hoped to meet a young merchant with a female companion, but I'm truly glad I spoke up, Lawrence! I don't know whether you're as remarkable as you seem, but you're surely not some two-copper peddler." "I'm honored by your compliments, but I'd ask you to wait a moment before shaking my hand." Eve grinned. Her smile reminded him so much of a certain someone that he half expected to see sharp canines bared. "I know you're not some sweaty-palmed fool," said Eve. "Your face has been unreadable from the start. I can see why old man Arold likes you." Lawrence accepted the flattery. "Well then, instead of asking what it is you deal in, might I ask a different question?" Eve still smiled, but Lawrence was quite sure her smile did not reach her eyes. "And what might that be?" "How much will your introduction fee be?" Lawrence dropped a pebble into the dark and bottomless well. How deep was it? And was there water in the bottom? Presently the sound echoed back to him. "I'll ask for neither coin nor goods." Lawrence wondered if she was thirsty, but she offered him the pitcher as she continued. "All I ask is that you chat with me." The wetly sentimental echo had returned. Lawrence wiped his face clean of any emotion as he coolly regarded Eve and her statement. Eve chuckled and shrugged. "You're good. But no, it's not a lie. It's only natural you'd think it strange, but someone I can talk to without hiding the fact that I'm a woman—and a merchant, to boot—is worth more than limar gold." "But less than lumione?" Her reaction to some teasing would reveal the depth of her character. Eve seemed to know this. "I'm a merchant. In the end, money is what matters most," she replied with an even smile. Lawrence laughed. With someone like this to talk to, he could easily chat all night. "But I don't know what sort your companion is. I prefer my conversations uninterrupted. A sulky companion spoils the wine." Lawrence searched his memory. Was Holo the sort to be jealous over such things? He felt like she had been somewhat irritated by Norah the shepherdess, but had that not been because of her profession?

"Oh? Nothing is more mysterious than the heart of a woman. I myself don't understand a whit of what they talk about." Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Eve chuckled. "Still, I'm here for business. I can't afford to waste time, but if we get along, then I'd be pleased to have your acquaintance. I may look harsh—" "—But you're actually talkative and sociable, right?" At Lawrence's counterattack, Eve laughed, her shoulders shaking with girlish delight despite her low, hoarse voice. "Ha, quite right." Her words were casual, but they had the tone of sincerity. Lawrence had no notion of how a single woman would come to tread the path of the merchant, but any woman who could swim in the whirlpools of avarice that made up the mercantile world was a force to be reckoned with. No doubt she avoided casual conversation out of simple self-defense. He took a drink of wine from the pitcher, then stood and headed for the stairs to the third floor. "Well, so long as my companion isn't jealous," he said. "That's a terrible condition, indeed." The two merchants smiled wordlessly at each other. The council meeting would end shortly before nightfall. Eve had business to attend to and could not accompany Lawrence and Holo, but she went on ahead to speak to Rigolo's family on their behalf. So after taking a moderate recess after midday, Lawrence and Holo left the inn. Rigolo's house was apparently slightly north of the center of town. That particular district seemed relatively wealthy, given the stone foundations and ground floors of the buildings there, but the ambience was nonetheless poor. Many houses had been repeatedly expanded with carpentry, and their walls jutted into the street, almost meeting overhead. The area seemed to have once been a wealthy neighborhood but had declined over time. While families who had been prosperous for generations knew that money did not always bring happiness, the nouveau riche were different. So long as they had money, they wished to flaunt it by expanding their homes. That was all fine and good, but those expansions ruined the atmosphere of the neighborhood. Stray dogs and beggars began to wander the ever-dim streets. When that happened, the truly wealthy moved elsewhere, and the value of homes in the area fell, and with that value went the quality of the neighborhood. Once it had been mostly moneylenders and masters of middling trade companies that lived here, but now the area was populated by apprentice craftsmen and market stall owners. "Quite a cramped street this," said Holo. Perhaps owing to the weight of the buildings on either side of it, the street was warped and buckled, and here and there cobblestones were missing, perhaps having been pried free and sold off by someone hurting for money. Water would then pool in the holes left behind, contributing to the feeling of general disrepair, an impression that the narrowness of the lane only heightened. Lawrence couldn't walk side by side with Holo, and if someone was to come the other way, they would have to flatten themselves against the wall in order to pass. "I'll admit it's inconvenient," Lawrence said, "but I like this kind of disorderly place." "Oh ho." "You can really feel how it comes out of years and years of change. Just like a beat-up old tool that gradually takes on a different shape over time, turning into something unique." Lawrence looked back at Holo who walked behind him. She traced her fingers along the walls as she followed. "Like the way a river changes shape?" "...I'm sorry to say I don't follow your comparison." "Mm. In that case...like the way the heart changes shape. The soul, is it called?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Oh? Nothing is more mysterious than the heart of a woman. I myself don't understand a whit of what they talk about." Lawrence opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Eve chuckled. "Still, I'm here for business. I can't afford to waste time, but if we get along, then I'd be pleased to have your acquaintance. I may look harsh—" "—But you're actually talkative and sociable, right?" At Lawrence's counterattack, Eve laughed, her shoulders shaking with girlish delight despite her low, hoarse voice. "Ha, quite right." Her words were casual, but they had the tone of sincerity. Lawrence had no notion of how a single woman would come to tread the path of the merchant, but any woman who could swim in the whirlpools of avarice that made up the mercantile world was a force to be reckoned with. No doubt she avoided casual conversation out of simple self-defense. He took a drink of wine from the pitcher, then stood and headed for the stairs to the third floor. "Well, so long as my companion isn't jealous," he said. "That's a terrible condition, indeed." The two merchants smiled wordlessly at each other. The council meeting would end shortly before nightfall. Eve had business to attend to and could not accompany Lawrence and Holo, but she went on ahead to speak to Rigolo's family on their behalf. So after taking a moderate recess after midday, Lawrence and Holo left the inn. Rigolo's house was apparently slightly north of the center of town. That particular district seemed relatively wealthy, given the stone foundations and ground floors of the buildings there, but the ambience was nonetheless poor. Many houses had been repeatedly expanded with carpentry, and their walls jutted into the street, almost meeting overhead. The area seemed to have once been a wealthy neighborhood but had declined over time. While families who had been prosperous for generations knew that money did not always bring happiness, the nouveau riche were different. So long as they had money, they wished to flaunt it by expanding their homes. That was all fine and good, but those expansions ruined the atmosphere of the neighborhood. Stray dogs and beggars began to wander the ever-dim streets. When that happened, the truly wealthy moved elsewhere, and the value of homes in the area fell, and with that value went the quality of the neighborhood. Once it had been mostly moneylenders and masters of middling trade companies that lived here, but now the area was populated by apprentice craftsmen and market stall owners. "Quite a cramped street this," said Holo. Perhaps owing to the weight of the buildings on either side of it, the street was warped and buckled, and here and there cobblestones were missing, perhaps having been pried free and sold off by someone hurting for money. Water would then pool in the holes left behind, contributing to the feeling of general disrepair, an impression that the narrowness of the lane only heightened. Lawrence couldn't walk side by side with Holo, and if someone was to come the other way, they would have to flatten themselves against the wall in order to pass. "I'll admit it's inconvenient," Lawrence said, "but I like this kind of disorderly place." "Oh ho." "You can really feel how it comes out of years and years of change. Just like a beat-up old tool that gradually takes on a different shape over time, turning into something unique." Lawrence looked back at Holo who walked behind him. She traced her fingers along the walls as she followed. "Like the way a river changes shape?" "...I'm sorry to say I don't follow your comparison." "Mm. In that case...like the way the heart changes shape. The soul, is it called?"

As Lawrence and Holo walked, they encountered one of the large puddles that dotted the lane. Lawrence crossed with a single bound first, then turned and extended his hand to Holo. "Milady," he said with courtesy. Holo offered her hand with exaggerated magnanimity in reply, hopping over the puddle to land next to Lawrence. "And what would your soul look like, eh?" she asked. "Mm?" "No doubt it would be tinged with my color." Lawrence no longer flinched at the chestnut-red eyes that looked up at him. Their effect on him was indeed fading. Lawrence shrugged and resumed walking. "I'd say poisoned is a better word than colored." "Then 'tis a potent poison, indeed," said Holo over her shoulder haughtily as she ran ahead. "After all, my smile still knocks you right over." "So what color is your soul?" shot back Lawrence, still and always impressed with her wit. "What color?" Holo repeated, then looked ahead as if pondering the matter. She slowed for a moment, and Lawrence caught up to her from behind. The street was too narrow for him to pass, so he simply peered down at her. She muttered, apparently counting something on her fingers. "Hmm," she intoned. She then noticed Lawrence looking over her shoulder and tilted her head up, leaning back into him a bit. "There are many." "...Oh." For a moment, Lawrence didn't follow her meaning, but then he understood that she was referring to the history of her romances. Holo had lived for centuries, so it stood to reason that she would have experienced love once or twice. Given her clever wit, no doubt some of her partners had been human. With Holo blocking the path ahead, Lawrence lightly pushed her small back, urging her forward. Holo obediently began to walk. They usually walked side by side, so Lawrence had few opportunities to see her form from behind. It was strangely novel. Seen from behind, she was slender, the lines of her body lovely even through the thick clothes she wore. Her strides were neither too long nor too quick; the word graceful came to Lawrence's mind. There was also something lonely about her form, something soft when embraced. Is this what is was to feel protective? Lawrence wondered with a self-deprecating smile but was suddenly filled with doubt. Holo had ticked the numbers off on her fingers, but just how many men had held her slender shoulders? He wondered what her expression had been like. Had she been pleased? Had she narrowed her eyes, being coy? Or had her ears twitched and her tail swished to and fro as she was unable to conceal her happiness? They had held hands, embraced...Holo was not a child, after all... Who else has she had? Lawrence thought to himself. *** As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he hurried to dismiss it. An awful tongue of flame reached up from the depths of his heart. His chest pounded as though he had fallen from a cliff. The shock was like touching a hot coal, thinking the fire had gone out, only to be badly burned. She had counted them off on her fingers. It was the most obvious thing in the world, but as she ticked off each finger in his imagination, something deep in him collapsed, leaving only a smoldering anger. The feeling was unmistakable. It was the blackest jealousy. Lawrence was annoyed with himself. It was incredibly selfish of him, even if he had been born to the avarice that leads one to take on the occupation of merchant. But the love of money was nothing compared to this feeling. So it was that when Holo turned to him with accusation in her eyes, this had a deeper effect on him than any clergyman's sermon ever could. "So, have you finished your introspection?" "...You see through just about everything, don't you?" he answered wearily. His heart felt so heavy it made him want to sit and rest. But surprisingly, Holo smiled, showing her sharp canines. "I'm no better myself, though." *** "You simply sounded so happy, so desperately happy, to speak with someone without so much as a hint of charm—"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

As Lawrence and Holo walked, they encountered one of the large puddles that dotted the lane. Lawrence crossed with a single bound first, then turned and extended his hand to Holo. "Milady," he said with courtesy. Holo offered her hand with exaggerated magnanimity in reply, hopping over the puddle to land next to Lawrence. "And what would your soul look like, eh?" she asked. "Mm?" "No doubt it would be tinged with my color." Lawrence no longer flinched at the chestnut-red eyes that looked up at him. Their effect on him was indeed fading. Lawrence shrugged and resumed walking. "I'd say poisoned is a better word than colored." "Then 'tis a potent poison, indeed," said Holo over her shoulder haughtily as she ran ahead. "After all, my smile still knocks you right over." "So what color is your soul?" shot back Lawrence, still and always impressed with her wit. "What color?" Holo repeated, then looked ahead as if pondering the matter. She slowed for a moment, and Lawrence caught up to her from behind. The street was too narrow for him to pass, so he simply peered down at her. She muttered, apparently counting something on her fingers. "Hmm," she intoned. She then noticed Lawrence looking over her shoulder and tilted her head up, leaning back into him a bit. "There are many." "...Oh." For a moment, Lawrence didn't follow her meaning, but then he understood that she was referring to the history of her romances. Holo had lived for centuries, so it stood to reason that she would have experienced love once or twice. Given her clever wit, no doubt some of her partners had been human. With Holo blocking the path ahead, Lawrence lightly pushed her small back, urging her forward. Holo obediently began to walk. They usually walked side by side, so Lawrence had few opportunities to see her form from behind. It was strangely novel. Seen from behind, she was slender, the lines of her body lovely even through the thick clothes she wore. Her strides were neither too long nor too quick; the word graceful came to Lawrence's mind. There was also something lonely about her form, something soft when embraced. Is this what is was to feel protective? Lawrence wondered with a self-deprecating smile but was suddenly filled with doubt. Holo had ticked the numbers off on her fingers, but just how many men had held her slender shoulders? He wondered what her expression had been like. Had she been pleased? Had she narrowed her eyes, being coy? Or had her ears twitched and her tail swished to and fro as she was unable to conceal her happiness? They had held hands, embraced...Holo was not a child, after all... Who else has she had? Lawrence thought to himself. *** As soon as the thought appeared in his mind, he hurried to dismiss it. An awful tongue of flame reached up from the depths of his heart. His chest pounded as though he had fallen from a cliff. The shock was like touching a hot coal, thinking the fire had gone out, only to be badly burned. She had counted them off on her fingers. It was the most obvious thing in the world, but as she ticked off each finger in his imagination, something deep in him collapsed, leaving only a smoldering anger. The feeling was unmistakable. It was the blackest jealousy. Lawrence was annoyed with himself. It was incredibly selfish of him, even if he had been born to the avarice that leads one to take on the occupation of merchant. But the love of money was nothing compared to this feeling. So it was that when Holo turned to him with accusation in her eyes, this had a deeper effect on him than any clergyman's sermon ever could. "So, have you finished your introspection?" "...You see through just about everything, don't you?" he answered wearily. His heart felt so heavy it made him want to sit and rest. But surprisingly, Holo smiled, showing her sharp canines. "I'm no better myself, though." *** "You simply sounded so happy, so desperately happy, to speak with someone without so much as a hint of charm—"

He had seen her angry face any number of times before, but this one had a particularly savage edge to it. She is a wisewolf, Lawrence reminded himself. "Would it make sense if I said I enjoyed it as a merchant?" he asked, trying to offer an excuse. Holo stopped, then started walking again once Lawrence had closed the gap between them. "Do you want me to ask you which is more important—money or me?" That line was among the top three things that a lonely traveling merchant would dream of hearing from a woman. And it was a problem that would cause any merchant to tear his heart out in frustration. Lawrence raised both hands in defeat. "To be sure, the reason I would be angry is not one whit different from what you're thinking. 'Tis an utterly selfish, childish notion. But the two of us have our wits; we can speak of this. Thus, I am not angry." *** Holo was a wisewolf of long experience. Lawrence could not hope to cross swords with her. For a while, he searched his small vocabulary for some suitable response but found nothing. "What I'm thinking is that it's not fair of me." "Truly?" Lies were hopeless against Holo. "Truly." She did not turn around at his answer. He was not certain that it had been the right one. Holo continued to walk quietly, gracefully, finally coming to a fork in the road. According to the directions they had received from Eve, they needed to bear right. Lawrence didn't feel good about it, but since Holo had stopped, he spoke up. "We head right here." "Mm." Holo turned to face him. "So this is the fork in the road." Lawrence did not ask which road was forking. Evidently that had been the first barrier. Holo's right eyebrow moved slightly. "How do you resolve your selfish jealously toward me?" Was she now asking questions that sounded like they had come from some clergyman of the Church? Outwardly the right thing to do was to lose this black, selfish feeling, but inwardly Lawrence knew it would not disappear so easily. He looked back at Holo, a bitter expression on his face. This was Holo the Wisewolf. He could not imagine that she would corner him with questions like this for no good reason. In other words, even if the answer was wrong for nearly everyone, there was something that would be correct for Holo. But how to reach it? Lawrence's mind raced. Holo had said just a moment ago that she was the same as him. So the answer, he reasoned, must be within Holo as he saw her. The most difficult problem for him might be the easiest thing in the world for someone else to solve. Holo was also having trouble dealing with her jealously. And Holo herself wanted to know how to resolve it, did she not? So given that, all Lawrence needed to do was consider the problem from the outside, and the answer would come naturally. He opened his mouth to speak and saw Holo steady herself in preparation. "My answer is that there is no way to resolve it." It was a single ripple in the smooth surface of a lake. He tossed another pebble into that lake, trying to bring expression back to Holo's face. "And it makes you hate yourself." Neither defiance nor selflessness was the correct response, he thought. If he imagined that Holo was the jealous one rather than himself, it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was actually quite nice to be the object of that jealously. After all, jealousy was nothing more than wanting to have someone all to yourself, so how could it be anything but flattering as long as it wasn't excessive? Hence Lawrence's answer, but Holo still remained expressionless. Lawrence did not look away. He was certain this was the final barrier. "Hmph. So we bear right, do we?" she said with a smile, cocking her head. At this, Lawrence couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Still," she added, giggling. "What?" "Jealousy and self-hatred, eh? Indeed," said Holo with a smirk. This struck him as rather unnatural, and by the time he started walking down the right-hand path, he had fallen behind Holo.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He had seen her angry face any number of times before, but this one had a particularly savage edge to it. She is a wisewolf, Lawrence reminded himself. "Would it make sense if I said I enjoyed it as a merchant?" he asked, trying to offer an excuse. Holo stopped, then started walking again once Lawrence had closed the gap between them. "Do you want me to ask you which is more important—money or me?" That line was among the top three things that a lonely traveling merchant would dream of hearing from a woman. And it was a problem that would cause any merchant to tear his heart out in frustration. Lawrence raised both hands in defeat. "To be sure, the reason I would be angry is not one whit different from what you're thinking. 'Tis an utterly selfish, childish notion. But the two of us have our wits; we can speak of this. Thus, I am not angry." *** Holo was a wisewolf of long experience. Lawrence could not hope to cross swords with her. For a while, he searched his small vocabulary for some suitable response but found nothing. "What I'm thinking is that it's not fair of me." "Truly?" Lies were hopeless against Holo. "Truly." She did not turn around at his answer. He was not certain that it had been the right one. Holo continued to walk quietly, gracefully, finally coming to a fork in the road. According to the directions they had received from Eve, they needed to bear right. Lawrence didn't feel good about it, but since Holo had stopped, he spoke up. "We head right here." "Mm." Holo turned to face him. "So this is the fork in the road." Lawrence did not ask which road was forking. Evidently that had been the first barrier. Holo's right eyebrow moved slightly. "How do you resolve your selfish jealously toward me?" Was she now asking questions that sounded like they had come from some clergyman of the Church? Outwardly the right thing to do was to lose this black, selfish feeling, but inwardly Lawrence knew it would not disappear so easily. He looked back at Holo, a bitter expression on his face. This was Holo the Wisewolf. He could not imagine that she would corner him with questions like this for no good reason. In other words, even if the answer was wrong for nearly everyone, there was something that would be correct for Holo. But how to reach it? Lawrence's mind raced. Holo had said just a moment ago that she was the same as him. So the answer, he reasoned, must be within Holo as he saw her. The most difficult problem for him might be the easiest thing in the world for someone else to solve. Holo was also having trouble dealing with her jealously. And Holo herself wanted to know how to resolve it, did she not? So given that, all Lawrence needed to do was consider the problem from the outside, and the answer would come naturally. He opened his mouth to speak and saw Holo steady herself in preparation. "My answer is that there is no way to resolve it." It was a single ripple in the smooth surface of a lake. He tossed another pebble into that lake, trying to bring expression back to Holo's face. "And it makes you hate yourself." Neither defiance nor selflessness was the correct response, he thought. If he imagined that Holo was the jealous one rather than himself, it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was actually quite nice to be the object of that jealously. After all, jealousy was nothing more than wanting to have someone all to yourself, so how could it be anything but flattering as long as it wasn't excessive? Hence Lawrence's answer, but Holo still remained expressionless. Lawrence did not look away. He was certain this was the final barrier. "Hmph. So we bear right, do we?" she said with a smile, cocking her head. At this, Lawrence couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Still," she added, giggling. "What?" "Jealousy and self-hatred, eh? Indeed," said Holo with a smirk. This struck him as rather unnatural, and by the time he started walking down the right-hand path, he had fallen behind Holo.

If Lawrence had really managed to produce an answer that satisfied her, Holo shouldn't have been smirking like this. He'd anticipated either a smile of happy relief or an out-and-out scowl. So what did this mischievous smile portend? Lawrence felt his face flushing. He had turned red so many times that day that he began to worry the color would stick. Holo giggled. "Have you figured it out, then?" she inquired over her shoulder. "You agonized over the problem, reversed the positions in your head, and arrived at the answer. 'Twas plain as day on your face. But if you'd thought about it a bit, you'd see. When someone comes to you for advice, the answer you think is correct is what you want him or her to be. Which means?" Indeed. Holo had not been waiting for Lawrence's words to solve her problems. She had, in fact, been waiting for him to reveal his own feelings. "You become jealous and agonize over it. Is that what you wish from me, so that you can play the role of offering your hand in consolation? Should I now collapse into charming tears of self-recrimination, pathetically clinging to the hand you so generously offer?" "Urgh—" So this was what it was like to have one's heart laid bare. He felt like a shamed maiden, covering her face with her hands. The sharp-fanged wolf glided smoothly to his side. And yet there was some solace in seeing that Holo did this not simply for her own enjoyment. Even Lawrence could tell that much. Holo had been truly jealous about his enjoyable chat with Eve, and this conversation was something of a diversion. "Hmph. Come, let's go," Holo said, perhaps reading Lawrence's unguarded expression. "We can leave it at this," she seemed to be saying. Surely her mood had improved with all of this, and she would probably be more generous about him enjoying the odd merchant-to-merchant chat with Eve. Lawrence couldn't help feeling that he had been careless, though. He had allowed his deepest wishes to be hauled out for all to see. "So then," said Holo beside him, her tone completely casual. The atmosphere was still poor, but the street had widened enough for the two of them to walk side by side. "In truth, I'm asking you this simply because I want to tease you, but..." Even given a warning like this, Lawrence felt like a hare waiting for the slaughter. "Do you want to know how many I counted off?" Her pure, innocent smile came down upon him like a giant meat cleaver. "I've been reminded just how small and fragile my own heart is" was all the battered Lawrence could manage, but this seemed to satisfy Holo. Sadistic satisfaction was written large all over her face as she clung to his arm. "Well, I have to get my claws into that fragile heart of yours before it freezes solid." Lawrence looked down at her, unable to manage any sort of response. Unbelievably, her smiling face was like that of a winsome girl, pleased at her own mischief. But even the worst nightmare eventually comes to an end. Once they found the house that Eve had described to Lawrence with the green copper signboard cut in the shape of a three-legged chicken, Holo abandoned her harassment. "Well then," said Lawrence to break the silence, his tone strangely light after the frustrating, embarrassing conversation that had preceded it. "I'm told this Rigolo is a difficult character, so let's be careful." Holo nodded her assent as she walked alongside him, still holding on to his arm. "I suppose this ends our lovely, dreamlike exchange. We're now back to boring reality." Lawrence had no idea exactly how serious this murmured statement was. "In that case, feel free to go back to the inn and sleep," he shot back under his breath. "Mm...that might be nice. Of course, it wouldn't be sheep that I count as I fall asleep..." Holo still held the upper hand when it came to being nasty. But now that the subject had come up, Lawrence felt strangely emboldened. "Oh? So how many men have there been?"

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

If Lawrence had really managed to produce an answer that satisfied her, Holo shouldn't have been smirking like this. He'd anticipated either a smile of happy relief or an out-and-out scowl. So what did this mischievous smile portend? Lawrence felt his face flushing. He had turned red so many times that day that he began to worry the color would stick. Holo giggled. "Have you figured it out, then?" she inquired over her shoulder. "You agonized over the problem, reversed the positions in your head, and arrived at the answer. 'Twas plain as day on your face. But if you'd thought about it a bit, you'd see. When someone comes to you for advice, the answer you think is correct is what you want him or her to be. Which means?" Indeed. Holo had not been waiting for Lawrence's words to solve her problems. She had, in fact, been waiting for him to reveal his own feelings. "You become jealous and agonize over it. Is that what you wish from me, so that you can play the role of offering your hand in consolation? Should I now collapse into charming tears of self-recrimination, pathetically clinging to the hand you so generously offer?" "Urgh—" So this was what it was like to have one's heart laid bare. He felt like a shamed maiden, covering her face with her hands. The sharp-fanged wolf glided smoothly to his side. And yet there was some solace in seeing that Holo did this not simply for her own enjoyment. Even Lawrence could tell that much. Holo had been truly jealous about his enjoyable chat with Eve, and this conversation was something of a diversion. "Hmph. Come, let's go," Holo said, perhaps reading Lawrence's unguarded expression. "We can leave it at this," she seemed to be saying. Surely her mood had improved with all of this, and she would probably be more generous about him enjoying the odd merchant-to-merchant chat with Eve. Lawrence couldn't help feeling that he had been careless, though. He had allowed his deepest wishes to be hauled out for all to see. "So then," said Holo beside him, her tone completely casual. The atmosphere was still poor, but the street had widened enough for the two of them to walk side by side. "In truth, I'm asking you this simply because I want to tease you, but..." Even given a warning like this, Lawrence felt like a hare waiting for the slaughter. "Do you want to know how many I counted off?" Her pure, innocent smile came down upon him like a giant meat cleaver. "I've been reminded just how small and fragile my own heart is" was all the battered Lawrence could manage, but this seemed to satisfy Holo. Sadistic satisfaction was written large all over her face as she clung to his arm. "Well, I have to get my claws into that fragile heart of yours before it freezes solid." Lawrence looked down at her, unable to manage any sort of response. Unbelievably, her smiling face was like that of a winsome girl, pleased at her own mischief. But even the worst nightmare eventually comes to an end. Once they found the house that Eve had described to Lawrence with the green copper signboard cut in the shape of a three-legged chicken, Holo abandoned her harassment. "Well then," said Lawrence to break the silence, his tone strangely light after the frustrating, embarrassing conversation that had preceded it. "I'm told this Rigolo is a difficult character, so let's be careful." Holo nodded her assent as she walked alongside him, still holding on to his arm. "I suppose this ends our lovely, dreamlike exchange. We're now back to boring reality." Lawrence had no idea exactly how serious this murmured statement was. "In that case, feel free to go back to the inn and sleep," he shot back under his breath. "Mm...that might be nice. Of course, it wouldn't be sheep that I count as I fall asleep..." Holo still held the upper hand when it came to being nasty. But now that the subject had come up, Lawrence felt strangely emboldened. "Oh? So how many men have there been?"

She had randomly brought the subject up, after all, so the answer might well have been zero. To suggest that some part of him didn't hope that was true would also be a lie. But Holo said nothing in response to the question. Her expression was blank, and she didn't so much as tremble. This made her look like a perfect, untouched doll. Once he realized it was an act, Lawrence knew he couldn't win. "Men are fools, and I am their king," he finally said. Holo came back to life and seemed quite tickled. Lawrence slumped in defeat, smiling. The three-legged chicken that hung from the eaves of the Rigolo house was carved in the image of the chicken that had long ago predicted the flooding of the Roam River, which flowed by Lenos. The Church claimed it was a messenger from God, but according to the tale, the flood had been predicted by the position of the stars, moon, and sun—in other words, by the astronomical records of the time. Ever since, the three-legged chicken had become a symbol of wisdom. Perhaps the Rigolo family, who had apparently served as chroniclers for ages, hoped that the monotonous records they kept would one day act as guideposts, pointing the way to the future. Lawrence rapped on the door using the silver-plated knocker, clearing his throat. Their introduction from Eve should have already arrived, but even Eve, whose negotiation skills were considerable, claimed that Rigolo was a tough nut to crack. Lawrence couldn't help feeling nervous. Behind him, Holo had neglected to continue holding his hand, but her presence was embarrassingly reassuring. It was possible that he hadn't been overwhelmed by Eve earlier precisely because he'd met Holo and it was her companionship that enabled him to think this way. Before meeting Holo, the only person Lawrence had been able to count on was himself. He had been filled with both a burning desire to win and a terrible fear of losing. Was it better or worse to have friends to count on? Just as Lawrence considered this question, the door slowly opened. That moment—the instant between the opening of the door to the point where he could see the person's face—was the most nerve-racking of all. And as the door swung wide, an aged, bearded old man— —did not stand behind it. "May I ask who is calling?" Lawrence was surprised by the figure that opened the door, but it was not a nervous surprise. She couldn't have been more than twenty, head covered all the way to her alabaster brow in the delicate cloth of a simple black habit. She was a nun. "I believe Eve Bolan explained that we were coming." "Ah, we have been expecting you. Do come in." Lawrence purposefully avoided introducing himself, but this nun was either a particularly nice person, or Eve was a particularly trusted person. Unable to know which was the truth, Lawrence did as he was bidden, entering the house with Holo behind him. "Please feel free to sit and wait here." Upon entering the house, they immediately found themselves in a sitting room with a faded carpet on the floor. None of the age-faded furnishings were particularly grand, and they spoke clearly of the house's master's long tenure in the area. The first chronicler Lawrence had ever met was Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun, so he had expected this place to be as cluttered as Diana's was—but no, it was surprisingly tidy. Instead of books crammed into every shelf, there were stuffed toys and works of embroidery, along with a small statue of the Holy Mother that a girl would be able to carry easily. Beside the statue hung bulbs of garlic and onion. The only things that suggested this house belonged to a chronicler were the quill pens and ink bottles and a small, sand-filled chest used for drying inked pages, along with parchments and bundles of paper tucked away in unobtrusive corners. Holo gazed around the room, her expression of mild surprise suggesting that she'd had similar expectations.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

She had randomly brought the subject up, after all, so the answer might well have been zero. To suggest that some part of him didn't hope that was true would also be a lie. But Holo said nothing in response to the question. Her expression was blank, and she didn't so much as tremble. This made her look like a perfect, untouched doll. Once he realized it was an act, Lawrence knew he couldn't win. "Men are fools, and I am their king," he finally said. Holo came back to life and seemed quite tickled. Lawrence slumped in defeat, smiling. The three-legged chicken that hung from the eaves of the Rigolo house was carved in the image of the chicken that had long ago predicted the flooding of the Roam River, which flowed by Lenos. The Church claimed it was a messenger from God, but according to the tale, the flood had been predicted by the position of the stars, moon, and sun—in other words, by the astronomical records of the time. Ever since, the three-legged chicken had become a symbol of wisdom. Perhaps the Rigolo family, who had apparently served as chroniclers for ages, hoped that the monotonous records they kept would one day act as guideposts, pointing the way to the future. Lawrence rapped on the door using the silver-plated knocker, clearing his throat. Their introduction from Eve should have already arrived, but even Eve, whose negotiation skills were considerable, claimed that Rigolo was a tough nut to crack. Lawrence couldn't help feeling nervous. Behind him, Holo had neglected to continue holding his hand, but her presence was embarrassingly reassuring. It was possible that he hadn't been overwhelmed by Eve earlier precisely because he'd met Holo and it was her companionship that enabled him to think this way. Before meeting Holo, the only person Lawrence had been able to count on was himself. He had been filled with both a burning desire to win and a terrible fear of losing. Was it better or worse to have friends to count on? Just as Lawrence considered this question, the door slowly opened. That moment—the instant between the opening of the door to the point where he could see the person's face—was the most nerve-racking of all. And as the door swung wide, an aged, bearded old man— —did not stand behind it. "May I ask who is calling?" Lawrence was surprised by the figure that opened the door, but it was not a nervous surprise. She couldn't have been more than twenty, head covered all the way to her alabaster brow in the delicate cloth of a simple black habit. She was a nun. "I believe Eve Bolan explained that we were coming." "Ah, we have been expecting you. Do come in." Lawrence purposefully avoided introducing himself, but this nun was either a particularly nice person, or Eve was a particularly trusted person. Unable to know which was the truth, Lawrence did as he was bidden, entering the house with Holo behind him. "Please feel free to sit and wait here." Upon entering the house, they immediately found themselves in a sitting room with a faded carpet on the floor. None of the age-faded furnishings were particularly grand, and they spoke clearly of the house's master's long tenure in the area. The first chronicler Lawrence had ever met was Diana in the pagan town of Kumersun, so he had expected this place to be as cluttered as Diana's was—but no, it was surprisingly tidy. Instead of books crammed into every shelf, there were stuffed toys and works of embroidery, along with a small statue of the Holy Mother that a girl would be able to carry easily. Beside the statue hung bulbs of garlic and onion. The only things that suggested this house belonged to a chronicler were the quill pens and ink bottles and a small, sand-filled chest used for drying inked pages, along with parchments and bundles of paper tucked away in unobtrusive corners. Holo gazed around the room, her expression of mild surprise suggesting that she'd had similar expectations.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," said the nun when she returned. Having heard tales of Rigolo's bad disposition from Eve, Lawrence was prepared to be kept waiting because of this or that imagined fault, but it seemed they would be able to meet him with unexpected ease. Led by the nun with her soft smile and warm, homey manner, Lawrence and Holo continued from the sitting room down a hallway to a room deeper within the house. Holo herself did not look completely unlike a nun, but a true nun's graceful effect came from a different source. Of course, if Holo knew he was thinking this she would give him an earful, Lawrence thought—and immediately afterward, she stomped on his foot. No doubt she had simply been waiting for a good opportunity, but Lawrence couldn't help feeling as though she'd undone the buttons to his heart and peered about within it. "Mr. Rigolo, we're coming in." The nun knocked on the door as though delicately cracking an egg. There was no telling what color the yolk would be, though. Lawrence cleared his head, and once the door opened at a muffled reply that came from within, they entered the room. Immediately thereafter, it was Holo who, impressed, uttered a quiet "huh." Lawrence was even more impressed and could find no words at all. "My, what a delightful reaction! Melta, look; they are impressed!" The nun called Melta smiled her clear, bell-like smile at the young, forceful voice that echoed throughout the room. The room on the other side of the door was indeed every bit as cluttered as Diana's had been. However, perhaps this could be called a calculated clutter, for beyond the stacks of books directly in front of them and the wooden bird model that hung from the ceiling was a wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass, through which sunlight flooded, revealing a verdant garden beyond. It was like being inside a cave and looking through the exit at the world beyond. "Ha-ha-ha, impressive, is it not? With enough effort, I can keep it green year round," said a young, chestnut-haired man with a proud laugh as he emerged. He wore a collared, tailored shirt and pants without so much as a single wrinkle, fit for any noble. "Fleur told me of you—said that there were some people with a strange request to make of me." "...Er, yes...uh, Lawrence—I mean, my name is Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, finally coming to his senses and taking the hand that Rigolo offered, though he couldn't pull his eyes from the magnificent garden. It was totally invisible from any of the surrounding streets—a perfect secret garden. The hackneyed phrase appeared in his head, and he couldn't shake it. "My name is Rigolo Dedly. Nice to meet you." "Likewise, I'm sure." Rigolo's gaze fell next to Holo. "Ah, this must be the companion..." "Name's Holo." Not only was Holo hardly the bashful type, but also upon a first meeting, she instantly knew how to act in order to make a good impression on whomever she wished. Far from being irritated with her high-handed self-introduction, Rigolo clapped his hands in delight, then extended one to her in greeting. "Well then! That's it for introductions, and I've already gotten you to compliment my garden, so I'm quite satisfied. Was there something I could do for you by way of thanks, then?" Some merchants had terrifying personalities concealed by pleasant facades, and Lawrence was not yet sure Rigolo was not similar. Melta simply smiled as she thoughtfully brought small chairs over for Lawrence and Holo to sit in, so it seemed Rigolo was like this all the time—assuming that Melta, who gave a slight nod before leaving the room, was not a liar. "You may have heard this from Eve Bolan, but we were hoping that you could show us any old tales of Lenos you might have records of." "Oh ho, so it's true, then. Fleur—er, no, I suppose she goes by Eve among merchants. She's a bit too feisty, that one. Once she gets to know someone, she'll tell them all sorts of things."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," said the nun when she returned. Having heard tales of Rigolo's bad disposition from Eve, Lawrence was prepared to be kept waiting because of this or that imagined fault, but it seemed they would be able to meet him with unexpected ease. Led by the nun with her soft smile and warm, homey manner, Lawrence and Holo continued from the sitting room down a hallway to a room deeper within the house. Holo herself did not look completely unlike a nun, but a true nun's graceful effect came from a different source. Of course, if Holo knew he was thinking this she would give him an earful, Lawrence thought—and immediately afterward, she stomped on his foot. No doubt she had simply been waiting for a good opportunity, but Lawrence couldn't help feeling as though she'd undone the buttons to his heart and peered about within it. "Mr. Rigolo, we're coming in." The nun knocked on the door as though delicately cracking an egg. There was no telling what color the yolk would be, though. Lawrence cleared his head, and once the door opened at a muffled reply that came from within, they entered the room. Immediately thereafter, it was Holo who, impressed, uttered a quiet "huh." Lawrence was even more impressed and could find no words at all. "My, what a delightful reaction! Melta, look; they are impressed!" The nun called Melta smiled her clear, bell-like smile at the young, forceful voice that echoed throughout the room. The room on the other side of the door was indeed every bit as cluttered as Diana's had been. However, perhaps this could be called a calculated clutter, for beyond the stacks of books directly in front of them and the wooden bird model that hung from the ceiling was a wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass, through which sunlight flooded, revealing a verdant garden beyond. It was like being inside a cave and looking through the exit at the world beyond. "Ha-ha-ha, impressive, is it not? With enough effort, I can keep it green year round," said a young, chestnut-haired man with a proud laugh as he emerged. He wore a collared, tailored shirt and pants without so much as a single wrinkle, fit for any noble. "Fleur told me of you—said that there were some people with a strange request to make of me." "...Er, yes...uh, Lawrence—I mean, my name is Kraft Lawrence," said Lawrence, finally coming to his senses and taking the hand that Rigolo offered, though he couldn't pull his eyes from the magnificent garden. It was totally invisible from any of the surrounding streets—a perfect secret garden. The hackneyed phrase appeared in his head, and he couldn't shake it. "My name is Rigolo Dedly. Nice to meet you." "Likewise, I'm sure." Rigolo's gaze fell next to Holo. "Ah, this must be the companion..." "Name's Holo." Not only was Holo hardly the bashful type, but also upon a first meeting, she instantly knew how to act in order to make a good impression on whomever she wished. Far from being irritated with her high-handed self-introduction, Rigolo clapped his hands in delight, then extended one to her in greeting. "Well then! That's it for introductions, and I've already gotten you to compliment my garden, so I'm quite satisfied. Was there something I could do for you by way of thanks, then?" Some merchants had terrifying personalities concealed by pleasant facades, and Lawrence was not yet sure Rigolo was not similar. Melta simply smiled as she thoughtfully brought small chairs over for Lawrence and Holo to sit in, so it seemed Rigolo was like this all the time—assuming that Melta, who gave a slight nod before leaving the room, was not a liar. "You may have heard this from Eve Bolan, but we were hoping that you could show us any old tales of Lenos you might have records of." "Oh ho, so it's true, then. Fleur—er, no, I suppose she goes by Eve among merchants. She's a bit too feisty, that one. Once she gets to know someone, she'll tell them all sorts of things."

Rigolo laughed. "Seems she's been talking again! Though the hermit part's not necessarily untrue. Lately I've been doing all I can not to see anyone. Bit misanthropic of me." Just when his tone of voice dropped a bit, Lawrence caught a glimpse of something chilly underneath Rigolo's smile. He was the secretary of the Council of Fifty, a group made up of the most famous and recognized people in the city. A little chilliness was hardly worth being surprised at. "I'm a foreign merchant—is it all right for you to be speaking with me?" "Quite. Your timing is excellent, perhaps even the will of God. Take a look at my clothes; they're like the garments a child leading a funeral procession would wear, are they not? I've just come from the council meeting. They reached a decision and were able to adjourn early." If that was true, then this timing really was the will of God, but Lawrence felt like it was a bit early for the council to have arrived at a conclusion. After all, Arold had said it might drag on into the spring. Perhaps someone had forced a vote. "Goodness, you really are every bit the merchant that the feisty little minx said you were. Didn't let your guard down for a second, did you?" Even if Rigolo had seen through his thoughts, it was a third-rate merchant that got flustered and tried to cover it up. Besides, Lawrence was with Holo, who could quite possibly read minds. Holo would certainly be able to tell whether Rigolo was trying to trick him into telling the truth. "Hmm?" Lawrence asked, feigning ignorance, but Rigolo's smile remained steady. "When we spend all our time using wiles and tricks, we stop understanding. Just like the back of the back is the front." He had seen through the trick and Lawrence's feigning of ignorance. Lawrence had been fairly confident that Rigolo wouldn't see through the ruse, but Rigolo's smiling eyes were still keen. "I'm employed as the secretary for the Council of Fifty, you see. I can look at a group of people and perceive the changes in the expressions at a glance. Even if your expression alone doesn't tell me enough, if I consider the expressions of your companion, the truth naturally comes to me." Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. There were people in the world like this—and not all of them were notorious merchants. Rigolo laughed. "Ah, 'tis but a parlor trick. If I meant you ill, I wouldn't lay my cards out like this. And even if I could discern your true motives, I'm still unable to convey my own demands. I'd be a failure as a merchant, would I not?" "...Unfortunately." "I also don't have any success with the ladies." Lawrence smiled. He had to admit that Rigolo's skill with words was rather unmerchantlike. As he talked like a poet from some imperial palace, Rigolo produced a brass key from within a drawer in the room's desk. "All the old books are in the cellar." He gestured lightly with the key, indicating that they should follow him, then proceeded into an inner room. Before following, Lawrence looked over at Holo. "The back of the back is the front apparently," said Lawrence. "He was even watching my face..." "First time I've seen anyone do anything like that." He had probably developed the ability while having to hear and transcribe all the various conflicting conversations that happened over the course of a council meeting. In order to grasp who said what, understanding their facial expressions would be of paramount importance. "Still, he doesn't seem malicious. More like a child. But if you had someone like that at your side, you'd be able to pass your days without any worry at all," said Holo with a smirk. Given how many times Lawrence had fallen prey to misunderstandings with Holo, that smirk was particularly painful to see. "Meanwhile, you are full of malice," he said, not waiting for Holo's reply before he went off to follow Rigolo. The first floor was constructed from wood, but the cellar below it was made entirely of stone.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Rigolo laughed. "Seems she's been talking again! Though the hermit part's not necessarily untrue. Lately I've been doing all I can not to see anyone. Bit misanthropic of me." Just when his tone of voice dropped a bit, Lawrence caught a glimpse of something chilly underneath Rigolo's smile. He was the secretary of the Council of Fifty, a group made up of the most famous and recognized people in the city. A little chilliness was hardly worth being surprised at. "I'm a foreign merchant—is it all right for you to be speaking with me?" "Quite. Your timing is excellent, perhaps even the will of God. Take a look at my clothes; they're like the garments a child leading a funeral procession would wear, are they not? I've just come from the council meeting. They reached a decision and were able to adjourn early." If that was true, then this timing really was the will of God, but Lawrence felt like it was a bit early for the council to have arrived at a conclusion. After all, Arold had said it might drag on into the spring. Perhaps someone had forced a vote. "Goodness, you really are every bit the merchant that the feisty little minx said you were. Didn't let your guard down for a second, did you?" Even if Rigolo had seen through his thoughts, it was a third-rate merchant that got flustered and tried to cover it up. Besides, Lawrence was with Holo, who could quite possibly read minds. Holo would certainly be able to tell whether Rigolo was trying to trick him into telling the truth. "Hmm?" Lawrence asked, feigning ignorance, but Rigolo's smile remained steady. "When we spend all our time using wiles and tricks, we stop understanding. Just like the back of the back is the front." He had seen through the trick and Lawrence's feigning of ignorance. Lawrence had been fairly confident that Rigolo wouldn't see through the ruse, but Rigolo's smiling eyes were still keen. "I'm employed as the secretary for the Council of Fifty, you see. I can look at a group of people and perceive the changes in the expressions at a glance. Even if your expression alone doesn't tell me enough, if I consider the expressions of your companion, the truth naturally comes to me." Lawrence smiled in spite of himself. There were people in the world like this—and not all of them were notorious merchants. Rigolo laughed. "Ah, 'tis but a parlor trick. If I meant you ill, I wouldn't lay my cards out like this. And even if I could discern your true motives, I'm still unable to convey my own demands. I'd be a failure as a merchant, would I not?" "...Unfortunately." "I also don't have any success with the ladies." Lawrence smiled. He had to admit that Rigolo's skill with words was rather unmerchantlike. As he talked like a poet from some imperial palace, Rigolo produced a brass key from within a drawer in the room's desk. "All the old books are in the cellar." He gestured lightly with the key, indicating that they should follow him, then proceeded into an inner room. Before following, Lawrence looked over at Holo. "The back of the back is the front apparently," said Lawrence. "He was even watching my face..." "First time I've seen anyone do anything like that." He had probably developed the ability while having to hear and transcribe all the various conflicting conversations that happened over the course of a council meeting. In order to grasp who said what, understanding their facial expressions would be of paramount importance. "Still, he doesn't seem malicious. More like a child. But if you had someone like that at your side, you'd be able to pass your days without any worry at all," said Holo with a smirk. Given how many times Lawrence had fallen prey to misunderstandings with Holo, that smirk was particularly painful to see. "Meanwhile, you are full of malice," he said, not waiting for Holo's reply before he went off to follow Rigolo. The first floor was constructed from wood, but the cellar below it was made entirely of stone.

But there was a huge difference between a cellar built to hide things and one built to store them. The ceiling was high enough that Lawrence had to reach over his head to touch it, and the bookshelves that lined the walls reached from floor to ceiling. Even more impressive, the shelves were organized by era and topic and had a numbering system. The bindings were thin and flimsy—nothing compared to the thick, leather-bound volumes in Tereo—but the effort spent on organization was on another level entirely. "Are fires common in this town?" Lawrence asked. "From time to time. As you may have guessed, my ancestors had the same fear, which is why they built this place." Although she had not been in the room that adjoined the garden, Melta seemed to have overheard the exchange there and now appeared in the cellar's entrance holding a candlestick. Holo allowed the nun to guide her as she looked for promising books. The pleasant light flickered in and out of visibility among the shadows of the bookshelves. "By the way," began Rigolo once the two men were left to their own devices. "I'm the curious type, so I can't help asking. Why exactly are you searching for these ancient stories?" Given that Rigolo hadn't asked about Holo's relationship with Lawrence, the heart of his interest was clear. "She's searching for her origin." "Her origin?" repeated Rigolo, the surprise obvious on his face. His powers of discernment might well have been the equal of any great merchant, but he had no control over his own expression. "For a variety of reasons, I'm escorting her to her homeland." If he omitted a few details, well, Rigolo could come to whatever conclusions he wished, which would allow Lawrence to avoid telling a lie while simultaneously keeping the truth at a distance. Rigolo seemed to fall for it. "I see...So you're heading north, then?" "Yes. We don't know the precise location, so we're trying to pinpoint it based on the stories she knows." Rigolo nodded, a serious expression on his face. He probably concluded that Holo had been captured in the north, then sold into slavery in the south. It was commonly said that children from the northlands were hardier and more obedient. There were also many stories of nobility whose children had died or were precariously sick and in danger of having their inheritance taken by other relatives who bought such children to adopt. "It's not uncommon for children from the north to stay in this town. It would be best if she could return to her home," said Rigolo. Lawrence nodded his wordless agreement. Holo emerged from the bookshelves, holding five volumes that evidently held some promise. "You're certainly a glutton for knowledge," said Lawrence at a loss. It was Melta, not Holo, who answered him with a smile. "These were all we found, so I should think it would be best if you took them with you for the time being." "I see. Here, let me carry some of those. We'll be skipping meals for three days if we drop them." Rigolo laughed as Lawrence wound up carrying the entire stack of books, and they returned to the first floor. "Normally I'd ask that you read them here," Rigolo said, looking at the stack of books that Melta had bound into a convenient bundle. "But I trust Fleur, and Fleur trusts you, so I shall as well. I cannot say the same for others, though..." Anytime foreign merchants were involved, there were many reasons to be distrustful. "I certainly understand," said Lawrence. "But if you drop, burn, lose, or sell them, it's three days without food!" It was a joke, but Lawrence didn't laugh. Being able to calculate the monetary value of nearly anything, he was well aware that these books were priceless. He nodded and picked up the bundle. "I'll protect them as I would protect my most precious cargo, on my honor as a merchant." "Right then," said Rigolo with a boyish smile. Lawrence wondered if Eve's heart would be moved by such things.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

But there was a huge difference between a cellar built to hide things and one built to store them. The ceiling was high enough that Lawrence had to reach over his head to touch it, and the bookshelves that lined the walls reached from floor to ceiling. Even more impressive, the shelves were organized by era and topic and had a numbering system. The bindings were thin and flimsy—nothing compared to the thick, leather-bound volumes in Tereo—but the effort spent on organization was on another level entirely. "Are fires common in this town?" Lawrence asked. "From time to time. As you may have guessed, my ancestors had the same fear, which is why they built this place." Although she had not been in the room that adjoined the garden, Melta seemed to have overheard the exchange there and now appeared in the cellar's entrance holding a candlestick. Holo allowed the nun to guide her as she looked for promising books. The pleasant light flickered in and out of visibility among the shadows of the bookshelves. "By the way," began Rigolo once the two men were left to their own devices. "I'm the curious type, so I can't help asking. Why exactly are you searching for these ancient stories?" Given that Rigolo hadn't asked about Holo's relationship with Lawrence, the heart of his interest was clear. "She's searching for her origin." "Her origin?" repeated Rigolo, the surprise obvious on his face. His powers of discernment might well have been the equal of any great merchant, but he had no control over his own expression. "For a variety of reasons, I'm escorting her to her homeland." If he omitted a few details, well, Rigolo could come to whatever conclusions he wished, which would allow Lawrence to avoid telling a lie while simultaneously keeping the truth at a distance. Rigolo seemed to fall for it. "I see...So you're heading north, then?" "Yes. We don't know the precise location, so we're trying to pinpoint it based on the stories she knows." Rigolo nodded, a serious expression on his face. He probably concluded that Holo had been captured in the north, then sold into slavery in the south. It was commonly said that children from the northlands were hardier and more obedient. There were also many stories of nobility whose children had died or were precariously sick and in danger of having their inheritance taken by other relatives who bought such children to adopt. "It's not uncommon for children from the north to stay in this town. It would be best if she could return to her home," said Rigolo. Lawrence nodded his wordless agreement. Holo emerged from the bookshelves, holding five volumes that evidently held some promise. "You're certainly a glutton for knowledge," said Lawrence at a loss. It was Melta, not Holo, who answered him with a smile. "These were all we found, so I should think it would be best if you took them with you for the time being." "I see. Here, let me carry some of those. We'll be skipping meals for three days if we drop them." Rigolo laughed as Lawrence wound up carrying the entire stack of books, and they returned to the first floor. "Normally I'd ask that you read them here," Rigolo said, looking at the stack of books that Melta had bound into a convenient bundle. "But I trust Fleur, and Fleur trusts you, so I shall as well. I cannot say the same for others, though..." Anytime foreign merchants were involved, there were many reasons to be distrustful. "I certainly understand," said Lawrence. "But if you drop, burn, lose, or sell them, it's three days without food!" It was a joke, but Lawrence didn't laugh. Being able to calculate the monetary value of nearly anything, he was well aware that these books were priceless. He nodded and picked up the bundle. "I'll protect them as I would protect my most precious cargo, on my honor as a merchant." "Right then," said Rigolo with a boyish smile. Lawrence wondered if Eve's heart would be moved by such things.

"Understood. Again, thank you." Rigolo answered Lawrence's nod with a smile, giving Holo a jaunty little wave. Such gestures made him seem less like a merchant and more like a courtly poet. Satisfied, Holo returned the wave as the two left. "It's easy to wave when you're not carrying anything." Lawrence reasoned that a little grumbling was justified. Between carrying books and asking for directions, he had become quite the manservant recently. "Aye, and you'd do well to make sure you're not waved off," shot back Holo, traipsing ahead of Lawrence. Her teasing was frustrating, but at the same time, Lawrence was well aware that unless they were getting along well, such teasing would be impossible. The problem was, Holo did little else. "One can flatter a pig right up a tree, but flattering a male just makes him lose himself," said Holo, sealing off any protest from him. There was no room for denial, that was the problem. "Oh yes, I'm at such a loss I may well lose my temper," said Lawrence. Delighted at the joke, Holo clapped her hands, laughing high and loud. Once they had left the books at the inn, Lawrence made good on his promise to treat Holo to whatever she wanted for dinner, and having picked a tavern at random, Holo decided she wanted a whole roasted piglet. Such a dish was a rare pleasure—an entire pig, spit down the center and roasted slowly over an open flame, occasionally drizzled with nut oil squeezed from a certain fruit. Once the piglet was golden brown, its mouth was stuffed with herbs and it was served on a giant plate. It was customary for whoever cut off the piglet's right ear to wish for good luck. Normally such a dish would feed five or six people; it was generally ordered for celebrations of one kind or another, and when Lawrence gave his request to the barmaid, her surprise was obvious. A murmur of envy was audible among the other men in the tavern when the dish was brought out. And when that same dish was set down directly in front of Holo, the voices became a sigh of sympathy. It was not uncommon for Lawrence to weather envious gazes because of his beautiful companion, but these men seemed mollified once they understood that his existence was an expensive one indeed. Seeing that Holo would be unable to carve the roast herself, Lawrence took it upon himself to do so, but he lacked the willpower to put any of the meat on his own plate, instead settling for the crunchy skin. The fragrant nut oil was tasty enough, but Holo beat him to the crunchy left ear. Wine went better with meat than ale, and it commanded a fair price. Holo literally devoured the meal, completely unconcerned when her chestnut hair slipped out from underneath her hood, becoming occasionally spattered with oil from the roast. She was the very image of a wolf taking its food. In the end, she made short work of the piglet. As she finished taking the meat from the last rib, a round of applause arose in the tavern. But Holo took no notice of the noise. She licked her fingers clean of oil, took a drink of wine, and burped grandly. Her actions were strangely dignified, and the drunken patrons of the tavern sighed with their awe. Still ignoring them, Holo smiled sweetly at Lawrence, who sat on the other side of the now-ravaged piglet carcass. Perhaps she was saying thanks for the meal, but having reduced the piglet to bones, she seemed even keener to hunt. Or perhaps it would serve as emergency rations for the next time she was hungry, Lawrence told himself when he thought of the truly painful bill, giving up all hope of escaping from Holo's fangs. He would have no choice but to try not to forget about this emergency boon he had left buried in the den. They rested for a while, and after Lawrence paid the bill—ten days' worth of bribery surely—they left the tavern. Perhaps being the center of the fur trade gave Lenos an excess of tallow. The road back to the inn was dotted with a number of lamps, which softly lit the way.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Understood. Again, thank you." Rigolo answered Lawrence's nod with a smile, giving Holo a jaunty little wave. Such gestures made him seem less like a merchant and more like a courtly poet. Satisfied, Holo returned the wave as the two left. "It's easy to wave when you're not carrying anything." Lawrence reasoned that a little grumbling was justified. Between carrying books and asking for directions, he had become quite the manservant recently. "Aye, and you'd do well to make sure you're not waved off," shot back Holo, traipsing ahead of Lawrence. Her teasing was frustrating, but at the same time, Lawrence was well aware that unless they were getting along well, such teasing would be impossible. The problem was, Holo did little else. "One can flatter a pig right up a tree, but flattering a male just makes him lose himself," said Holo, sealing off any protest from him. There was no room for denial, that was the problem. "Oh yes, I'm at such a loss I may well lose my temper," said Lawrence. Delighted at the joke, Holo clapped her hands, laughing high and loud. Once they had left the books at the inn, Lawrence made good on his promise to treat Holo to whatever she wanted for dinner, and having picked a tavern at random, Holo decided she wanted a whole roasted piglet. Such a dish was a rare pleasure—an entire pig, spit down the center and roasted slowly over an open flame, occasionally drizzled with nut oil squeezed from a certain fruit. Once the piglet was golden brown, its mouth was stuffed with herbs and it was served on a giant plate. It was customary for whoever cut off the piglet's right ear to wish for good luck. Normally such a dish would feed five or six people; it was generally ordered for celebrations of one kind or another, and when Lawrence gave his request to the barmaid, her surprise was obvious. A murmur of envy was audible among the other men in the tavern when the dish was brought out. And when that same dish was set down directly in front of Holo, the voices became a sigh of sympathy. It was not uncommon for Lawrence to weather envious gazes because of his beautiful companion, but these men seemed mollified once they understood that his existence was an expensive one indeed. Seeing that Holo would be unable to carve the roast herself, Lawrence took it upon himself to do so, but he lacked the willpower to put any of the meat on his own plate, instead settling for the crunchy skin. The fragrant nut oil was tasty enough, but Holo beat him to the crunchy left ear. Wine went better with meat than ale, and it commanded a fair price. Holo literally devoured the meal, completely unconcerned when her chestnut hair slipped out from underneath her hood, becoming occasionally spattered with oil from the roast. She was the very image of a wolf taking its food. In the end, she made short work of the piglet. As she finished taking the meat from the last rib, a round of applause arose in the tavern. But Holo took no notice of the noise. She licked her fingers clean of oil, took a drink of wine, and burped grandly. Her actions were strangely dignified, and the drunken patrons of the tavern sighed with their awe. Still ignoring them, Holo smiled sweetly at Lawrence, who sat on the other side of the now-ravaged piglet carcass. Perhaps she was saying thanks for the meal, but having reduced the piglet to bones, she seemed even keener to hunt. Or perhaps it would serve as emergency rations for the next time she was hungry, Lawrence told himself when he thought of the truly painful bill, giving up all hope of escaping from Holo's fangs. He would have no choice but to try not to forget about this emergency boon he had left buried in the den. They rested for a while, and after Lawrence paid the bill—ten days' worth of bribery surely—they left the tavern. Perhaps being the center of the fur trade gave Lenos an excess of tallow. The road back to the inn was dotted with a number of lamps, which softly lit the way.

Holo had a dreamy smile on her face as she walked, perhaps thanks to the satisfaction that came with demolishing the roast. Lawrence held her hand to keep her from straying off the path. *** "Hmm?" Lawrence intoned. It had seemed like Holo was about to say something, but she merely shook her head. "'Tis a good evening, is all," said Holo, looking vaguely down at the ground. Lawrence, of course, agreed. "Still, we'd soon turn rotten if we spent every evening thus." A week of such indulgence would empty his coin purse and turn his brains to mush, no doubt. Holo seemed to agree. She chuckled quietly. "'Tis saltwater, after all." "Hmm?" "Sweet saltwater..." Was she drunk, or was she trying to snare him yet again? Lawrence considered a reply, but the mood was too lovely to spoil with boorish chatter. He said nothing, and at length they arrived at the inn. No matter how drunk they are, town dwellers can always find their way home as long as they can walk, but it is a bit different for travelers. No matter how tired their feet, they can persevere until they reach their inn. Holo seemed to collapse as soon as Lawrence opened the door to the inn's entryway. No, Lawrence thought, she's probably just feigning sleep. "Goodness. At any other inn, you'd be scolded by the innkeeper," came Eve's hoarse voice. She and Arold were huddled around the charcoal hearth, Eve's head covered as usual. "Only on the first night. After that, they'd give us a hearty laugh, no doubt." "She drinks that much?" "As you can see." Eve chuckled voicelessly and sipped her wine. Lawrence passed the two of them, staying next to Holo in order to support her, when Arold—who had been reclining in his chair, eyes closed and apparently sleeping—spoke up. "About that fur merchant from the north. I talked with him. Said the snow's light this year, good conditions for travel." "I appreciate your asking." "If you want to know more...I forgot to ask his name again." "It's Kolka Kuus," offered Eve. Murmured Arold, "Ah yes, that was his name." Lawrence would have liked to stay longer in this relaxed atmosphere. "That Kuus fellow is staying on the fourth floor. He said he was mostly free in the evenings, so if you want to know more, go ahead and stop by his room." Everything was going extremely well. But Holo pulled on his sleeve as if to hurry him, so Lawrence paid his thanks to Arold and took his leave, and the two began to ascend the stairs. Just as they did, Lawrence caught a glimpse of Eve raising a wine cup to him, as if to say, "Hurry back down." Step by step, they climbed the staircase, finally arriving at their room and opening the door. How many times had Lawrence half carried Holo back to a room like this? Before he met Holo, he had drunk and celebrated any number of times, but he always returned to his inn room alone, where the fear lurked that shocked the intoxication and joy from him. Yet the fear was not gone. It had merely been replaced with a new fear, as he wondered how many times he would be able to do this with her. Though he knew it to be impossible, there was no escaping how much he wanted to tell Holo the truth—that he wanted to continue traveling with her forever. He now felt that whatever shape it took, being with her was his dearest wish. Smiling ruefully to himself, Lawrence turned down the blanket and had Holo sit on the bed. He had gotten so that he could tell when she wasn't feigning sleep. He unwrapped her cape and removed her robe, took her coat off, and helped her out of her shoes and sash—all with such skill it was almost sad. He then laid her down on the bed. She slept so deeply he didn't think she would notice if he was to fall upon her. *** The wine helped such notions bubble up in his mind, but he suddenly remembered Holo's shamelessness. She really wouldn't notice, right up until the end. There is nothing so futile as all this, he thought, wilting faster than a popping bubble.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo had a dreamy smile on her face as she walked, perhaps thanks to the satisfaction that came with demolishing the roast. Lawrence held her hand to keep her from straying off the path. *** "Hmm?" Lawrence intoned. It had seemed like Holo was about to say something, but she merely shook her head. "'Tis a good evening, is all," said Holo, looking vaguely down at the ground. Lawrence, of course, agreed. "Still, we'd soon turn rotten if we spent every evening thus." A week of such indulgence would empty his coin purse and turn his brains to mush, no doubt. Holo seemed to agree. She chuckled quietly. "'Tis saltwater, after all." "Hmm?" "Sweet saltwater..." Was she drunk, or was she trying to snare him yet again? Lawrence considered a reply, but the mood was too lovely to spoil with boorish chatter. He said nothing, and at length they arrived at the inn. No matter how drunk they are, town dwellers can always find their way home as long as they can walk, but it is a bit different for travelers. No matter how tired their feet, they can persevere until they reach their inn. Holo seemed to collapse as soon as Lawrence opened the door to the inn's entryway. No, Lawrence thought, she's probably just feigning sleep. "Goodness. At any other inn, you'd be scolded by the innkeeper," came Eve's hoarse voice. She and Arold were huddled around the charcoal hearth, Eve's head covered as usual. "Only on the first night. After that, they'd give us a hearty laugh, no doubt." "She drinks that much?" "As you can see." Eve chuckled voicelessly and sipped her wine. Lawrence passed the two of them, staying next to Holo in order to support her, when Arold—who had been reclining in his chair, eyes closed and apparently sleeping—spoke up. "About that fur merchant from the north. I talked with him. Said the snow's light this year, good conditions for travel." "I appreciate your asking." "If you want to know more...I forgot to ask his name again." "It's Kolka Kuus," offered Eve. Murmured Arold, "Ah yes, that was his name." Lawrence would have liked to stay longer in this relaxed atmosphere. "That Kuus fellow is staying on the fourth floor. He said he was mostly free in the evenings, so if you want to know more, go ahead and stop by his room." Everything was going extremely well. But Holo pulled on his sleeve as if to hurry him, so Lawrence paid his thanks to Arold and took his leave, and the two began to ascend the stairs. Just as they did, Lawrence caught a glimpse of Eve raising a wine cup to him, as if to say, "Hurry back down." Step by step, they climbed the staircase, finally arriving at their room and opening the door. How many times had Lawrence half carried Holo back to a room like this? Before he met Holo, he had drunk and celebrated any number of times, but he always returned to his inn room alone, where the fear lurked that shocked the intoxication and joy from him. Yet the fear was not gone. It had merely been replaced with a new fear, as he wondered how many times he would be able to do this with her. Though he knew it to be impossible, there was no escaping how much he wanted to tell Holo the truth—that he wanted to continue traveling with her forever. He now felt that whatever shape it took, being with her was his dearest wish. Smiling ruefully to himself, Lawrence turned down the blanket and had Holo sit on the bed. He had gotten so that he could tell when she wasn't feigning sleep. He unwrapped her cape and removed her robe, took her coat off, and helped her out of her shoes and sash—all with such skill it was almost sad. He then laid her down on the bed. She slept so deeply he didn't think she would notice if he was to fall upon her. *** The wine helped such notions bubble up in his mind, but he suddenly remembered Holo's shamelessness. She really wouldn't notice, right up until the end. There is nothing so futile as all this, he thought, wilting faster than a popping bubble.

Holo opened her eyes and gradually focused on him. "What's wrong?" Lawrence asked, alarmed at the sudden thought that she might be feeling sick. But that didn't seem to be the case. From beneath the blanket, Holo reached her hand out. He took it without thinking. Her grip was weak. *** "Huh?" "...Scared," said Holo, closing her eyes. He wondered if she had been having a bad dream. When she opened her eyes again, her face was tinged with a lingering embarrassment, as though she'd said too much. "What could you possibly have to be afraid of?" asked Lawrence in a cheery tone, and he thought he saw a grateful smile flicker on her face for a moment. "Everything's going well right now, is it not? We have the books. We haven't gotten swept up in any trouble. The path to the northlands is unseasonably clear. And"—he held her hand up for a moment, then lowered it—"we have yet to quarrel." This seemed to work. Holo smiled, then closed her eyes again and sighed softly. "You dunce..." She snatched her hand away and wrapped herself up in the blanket. There was only one thing Holo was afraid of. Loneliness. So was it the end of the journey that she feared? Lawrence himself feared it, and if that was the case, perhaps their travel proceeded too smoothly. But even so, that didn't quite seem to fit the expression on her face right now. Holo did not open her eyes for some time. Just when Lawrence began to wonder if she was asleep, her ears twitched as if she anticipated something, and she stuck her chin out a bit. "...What I'm afraid of, it is...," she began, then lowered her head when Lawrence reached out to caress it. "This is what I fear." "Huh?" "Do you not understand?" Holo opened her eyes and looked at Lawrence. Her eyes shone, not with scorn or anger but with terror. Whatever it was, she truly feared it. But Lawrence could not for the life of him imagine what that was. "I don't. Unless...are you afraid of the end of our travels?" Lawrence managed to ask, though it took all his strength to do so. Holo's expression softened somehow. "That is, of course...frightening, yes. This has been the most fun I have had in a great while. But there is something I fear still more..." She suddenly seemed very distant. "'Tis well if you don't understand. No"—she said, pulling her hand out from underneath the blanket and clasping the hand with which Lawrence still stroked her head—"even more than that, 'twould be troublesome if you did." She then laughed at some jest, covering her face with both hands. Strangely, Lawrence did not feel like this was a rejection. It rather seemed to be the opposite. Holo curled up into a ball beneath the blanket, seeming this time to truly intend on sleeping. —But then she popped her head out again, as though suddenly remembering something. "I do not mind if you go downstairs, so long as you do nothing to make me jealous." She had either noticed Eve's gesture or was simply luring him into a trap. In either case, she was correct about his plans. Lawrence patted her head lightly before answering. "Apparently I have a soft spot for jealous, self-loathing girls." Holo smiled, flashing her fangs. "I shall sleep now," she said, then dove again beneath the blanket. Lawrence still didn't know what she feared. But he wanted to allay that fear if he could. He gazed at the palm of his hand, the sensation of her head beneath it was still palpable. He closed it lightly, as if to prevent it from disappearing. He wanted to stay longer, but he needed to go and thank Eve for introducing him to Rigolo. She was a merchant who might well be gone from the town tomorrow, depending on circumstances, and he didn't want Eve to think of him as the kind of man who would tend to his companion before expressing proper gratitude. After all, Lawrence himself had been a merchant for nearly half his life. "I'll be downstairs, then," he murmured by way of some sort of excuse.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Holo opened her eyes and gradually focused on him. "What's wrong?" Lawrence asked, alarmed at the sudden thought that she might be feeling sick. But that didn't seem to be the case. From beneath the blanket, Holo reached her hand out. He took it without thinking. Her grip was weak. *** "Huh?" "...Scared," said Holo, closing her eyes. He wondered if she had been having a bad dream. When she opened her eyes again, her face was tinged with a lingering embarrassment, as though she'd said too much. "What could you possibly have to be afraid of?" asked Lawrence in a cheery tone, and he thought he saw a grateful smile flicker on her face for a moment. "Everything's going well right now, is it not? We have the books. We haven't gotten swept up in any trouble. The path to the northlands is unseasonably clear. And"—he held her hand up for a moment, then lowered it—"we have yet to quarrel." This seemed to work. Holo smiled, then closed her eyes again and sighed softly. "You dunce..." She snatched her hand away and wrapped herself up in the blanket. There was only one thing Holo was afraid of. Loneliness. So was it the end of the journey that she feared? Lawrence himself feared it, and if that was the case, perhaps their travel proceeded too smoothly. But even so, that didn't quite seem to fit the expression on her face right now. Holo did not open her eyes for some time. Just when Lawrence began to wonder if she was asleep, her ears twitched as if she anticipated something, and she stuck her chin out a bit. "...What I'm afraid of, it is...," she began, then lowered her head when Lawrence reached out to caress it. "This is what I fear." "Huh?" "Do you not understand?" Holo opened her eyes and looked at Lawrence. Her eyes shone, not with scorn or anger but with terror. Whatever it was, she truly feared it. But Lawrence could not for the life of him imagine what that was. "I don't. Unless...are you afraid of the end of our travels?" Lawrence managed to ask, though it took all his strength to do so. Holo's expression softened somehow. "That is, of course...frightening, yes. This has been the most fun I have had in a great while. But there is something I fear still more..." She suddenly seemed very distant. "'Tis well if you don't understand. No"—she said, pulling her hand out from underneath the blanket and clasping the hand with which Lawrence still stroked her head—"even more than that, 'twould be troublesome if you did." She then laughed at some jest, covering her face with both hands. Strangely, Lawrence did not feel like this was a rejection. It rather seemed to be the opposite. Holo curled up into a ball beneath the blanket, seeming this time to truly intend on sleeping. —But then she popped her head out again, as though suddenly remembering something. "I do not mind if you go downstairs, so long as you do nothing to make me jealous." She had either noticed Eve's gesture or was simply luring him into a trap. In either case, she was correct about his plans. Lawrence patted her head lightly before answering. "Apparently I have a soft spot for jealous, self-loathing girls." Holo smiled, flashing her fangs. "I shall sleep now," she said, then dove again beneath the blanket. Lawrence still didn't know what she feared. But he wanted to allay that fear if he could. He gazed at the palm of his hand, the sensation of her head beneath it was still palpable. He closed it lightly, as if to prevent it from disappearing. He wanted to stay longer, but he needed to go and thank Eve for introducing him to Rigolo. She was a merchant who might well be gone from the town tomorrow, depending on circumstances, and he didn't want Eve to think of him as the kind of man who would tend to his companion before expressing proper gratitude. After all, Lawrence himself had been a merchant for nearly half his life. "I'll be downstairs, then," he murmured by way of some sort of excuse.

*** Yes, all he feared was the end of the journey. But what did Holo fear? Lawrence was lost in thought like a little boy. Lawrence saw three inn patrons drinking on the second floor. One of them seemed like a merchant; the other two were probably itinerant craftsmen. If they had all been merchants, it was unlikely they would have been able to drink together so quietly, so Lawrence was confident in his guess. He reached the first floor. Arold and Eve were still there. It was almost as if time had stopped. Nothing had changed since he went upstairs. The two of them did not speak and stared in different directions. "Did a witch sneeze?" Lawrence asked. It was a common superstition that a witch's sneeze could stop time. Arold only looked in Lawrence's direction with his deep-set eyes. If Eve hadn't laughed, he would have worried he'd made some kind of faux pas. "I'm a merchant, but not so the old man. Hard to make conversation," said Eve. Perhaps because there was nothing that served as a proper chair, she gestured at an empty wooden box. "I was able to meet with Rigolo thanks to you. He certainly was a melancholy sort," said Lawrence, taking the cup of wine Arold offered him. Someone could tell the stoic old man that his beloved daughter had come, and he probably wouldn't even go out to meet her. Eve laughed. "He is, isn't he! There's no helping a man that gloomy." "I do envy that technique of his, though." "So you saw that?" Eve said with a smile. "He likes you. If you could get him to help you with business, you'd be able to strip most merchants naked, don't you think?" "Unfortunately, he didn't seem inclined." Rigolo was entirely indifferent to such things. "That's because he's got everything he could ever want in that run-down, old place of his. You saw the garden, right?" "It was incredible. You hardly ever see glass windows that large." Eve's face was tilted down, but she looked up a bit and grinned at Lawrence's purposefully merchantlike answer. "I'd never be able to handle such a life. I'd go mad, I tell you." Even if Lawrence didn't feel as strongly about this, he understood Eve's sentiment. Merchants thought of profit roughly as often as they breathed. "So did you hear about the meeting?" Eve's eyes peered out from beneath her cowl. Arold turned an openly baleful gaze upon her. She looked away. Lawrence wore a smile, but beneath that, his merchant's face was ready. "Apparently it's finished," he said. Of course, Eve had no way of knowing whether or not that was true; she probably half doubted his answer. That was assuming she didn't have any background information. If she did, this new revelation might well tell her all sorts of things. "And its conclusion?" she asked. "Unfortunately, we didn't get that far." Eve looked closely at him from beneath her cowl, like a child staring at an hourglass waiting for it to run out, but presently she seemed to decide that no amount of gazing would reveal any more information. She looked away, sipping her wine. It was time to go on the offensive. "Have you heard anything yourself, Eve?" "Me? Ha! No, he's completely suspicious of me. Still, whether or not I believe you...hmm. Did those words really come out of his mouth?" "It may well be the truth," said Lawrence. If a conclusion had indeed been reached, then there might be others who knew what it was and whose lips would be looser. If the meeting's conclusion wasn't something that would profit foreign merchants, then no one would be harmed by its telling. In the first place, official town meetings were held based on the assumption that their contents would be made public. "What worries, me, though...," started Lawrence. "Mm?" Eve folded her arms and looked in his direction. "...is why exactly you are pursuing this avenue of conversation in the first place, Eve." Lawrence thought Arold might have smiled. In a conversation between merchants, the interests and motivations of the participants were obscure, indistinct.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

*** Yes, all he feared was the end of the journey. But what did Holo fear? Lawrence was lost in thought like a little boy. Lawrence saw three inn patrons drinking on the second floor. One of them seemed like a merchant; the other two were probably itinerant craftsmen. If they had all been merchants, it was unlikely they would have been able to drink together so quietly, so Lawrence was confident in his guess. He reached the first floor. Arold and Eve were still there. It was almost as if time had stopped. Nothing had changed since he went upstairs. The two of them did not speak and stared in different directions. "Did a witch sneeze?" Lawrence asked. It was a common superstition that a witch's sneeze could stop time. Arold only looked in Lawrence's direction with his deep-set eyes. If Eve hadn't laughed, he would have worried he'd made some kind of faux pas. "I'm a merchant, but not so the old man. Hard to make conversation," said Eve. Perhaps because there was nothing that served as a proper chair, she gestured at an empty wooden box. "I was able to meet with Rigolo thanks to you. He certainly was a melancholy sort," said Lawrence, taking the cup of wine Arold offered him. Someone could tell the stoic old man that his beloved daughter had come, and he probably wouldn't even go out to meet her. Eve laughed. "He is, isn't he! There's no helping a man that gloomy." "I do envy that technique of his, though." "So you saw that?" Eve said with a smile. "He likes you. If you could get him to help you with business, you'd be able to strip most merchants naked, don't you think?" "Unfortunately, he didn't seem inclined." Rigolo was entirely indifferent to such things. "That's because he's got everything he could ever want in that run-down, old place of his. You saw the garden, right?" "It was incredible. You hardly ever see glass windows that large." Eve's face was tilted down, but she looked up a bit and grinned at Lawrence's purposefully merchantlike answer. "I'd never be able to handle such a life. I'd go mad, I tell you." Even if Lawrence didn't feel as strongly about this, he understood Eve's sentiment. Merchants thought of profit roughly as often as they breathed. "So did you hear about the meeting?" Eve's eyes peered out from beneath her cowl. Arold turned an openly baleful gaze upon her. She looked away. Lawrence wore a smile, but beneath that, his merchant's face was ready. "Apparently it's finished," he said. Of course, Eve had no way of knowing whether or not that was true; she probably half doubted his answer. That was assuming she didn't have any background information. If she did, this new revelation might well tell her all sorts of things. "And its conclusion?" she asked. "Unfortunately, we didn't get that far." Eve looked closely at him from beneath her cowl, like a child staring at an hourglass waiting for it to run out, but presently she seemed to decide that no amount of gazing would reveal any more information. She looked away, sipping her wine. It was time to go on the offensive. "Have you heard anything yourself, Eve?" "Me? Ha! No, he's completely suspicious of me. Still, whether or not I believe you...hmm. Did those words really come out of his mouth?" "It may well be the truth," said Lawrence. If a conclusion had indeed been reached, then there might be others who knew what it was and whose lips would be looser. If the meeting's conclusion wasn't something that would profit foreign merchants, then no one would be harmed by its telling. In the first place, official town meetings were held based on the assumption that their contents would be made public. "What worries, me, though...," started Lawrence. "Mm?" Eve folded her arms and looked in his direction. "...is why exactly you are pursuing this avenue of conversation in the first place, Eve." Lawrence thought Arold might have smiled. In a conversation between merchants, the interests and motivations of the participants were obscure, indistinct.

It was hard to imagine a woman having such steady resolve. No, to be a woman and a merchant, she would have to have that resolve. "I'm like the rest," said Eve. "I want to know how I can turn this into a huge gain. That's all. What else would there be?" "You could be trying to avoid a huge loss." Lawrence remembered the Ruvinheigen incident. Even if one understood such loss intellectually, it was impossible to truly imagine until one experienced it for him or herself. "People have two eyes, but it's no mean feat to watch two things at once. Though I suppose from a certain perspective, you're right about trying to avoid a loss." "By which you mean...?" asked Lawrence. Eve scratched her head at this. Arold watched them, smiling beneath his bushy beard. The two were like longtime boon companions. "I trade in stone statues." "Of the Holy Mother?" The statue in Rigolo's house flashed through Lawrence's mind. "Didn't you see the one in Rigolo's place? It's from a port town called Gerube on the western seacoast. I buy them there and sell them at the church here. That was my business. Since it just amounts to transporting and selling stone, there's not much profit in it, but if you can get one blessed by the Church, it'll sell for far more. The pagans are stronger in this region, so when the northern campaign comes through, it brings throngs of people who want to buy statues." It was the strange alchemy of the Church. Just like in Kumersun, where speculation and enthusiasm drove the price of iron pyrite sky-high, religious faith could easily be turned into cash. It was enough to make Lawrence want to have a go at it. "Unfortunately, I don't see any of that profit, but in exchange, I moved a respectable amount. But that's all wiped out with the cancellation of the northern campaign. I've learned firsthand that no one hangs you out to dry faster than the Church." It was hard to imagine a greater tragedy than carrying all your assets as heavy, unwieldy statues. Transport costs would rise. Places to sell were limited. If she had gotten together credit to make her transaction bigger, her business might well suffocate. Lawrence didn't think a merchant of Eve's stature would put all her risk in one place like that, so she probably wasn't facing utter ruin—but it was still a serious blow. It would hardly be strange if, in her frustration, she turned her eye to speculation. "The Church's influence is waning in the south, I hear. I'd been thinking it was time to stop loading my goods on a sinking ship—figured I'd make one last big deal, then make a break for it." This suggested that she wouldn't be able to make a break for it unless she was able to make that one last deal. "So," continued Eve, "we were just talking about how if I manage to hit it big, we might as well head south." Lawrence didn't have to ask with whom. Beside her, Arold murmured, "Been thinking it's about time for a pilgrimage." A trip like that wouldn't be much different than looking for a place to bury his old bones. Arold had been talking about going on a pilgrimage ever since Lawrence had started coming to his inn, but this time he sounded serious. "So, that's how it is," said Eve, pulling Lawrence's gaze to her. "Want to lend me some coin?" The sudden request did not seem connected to anything. Yet Lawrence was not particularly surprised. He'd had a certain premonition that something like this was coming. "I've got some very accurate information about the content of the council meeting," said Eve. "I can make all the arrangements. I just need money." Her eyes were fixed steadily on Lawrence. She almost glared at him, but he could tell that it was something of an act. "If I look at the details of the investment and decide the risk is worth the profit—with pleasure."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

It was hard to imagine a woman having such steady resolve. No, to be a woman and a merchant, she would have to have that resolve. "I'm like the rest," said Eve. "I want to know how I can turn this into a huge gain. That's all. What else would there be?" "You could be trying to avoid a huge loss." Lawrence remembered the Ruvinheigen incident. Even if one understood such loss intellectually, it was impossible to truly imagine until one experienced it for him or herself. "People have two eyes, but it's no mean feat to watch two things at once. Though I suppose from a certain perspective, you're right about trying to avoid a loss." "By which you mean...?" asked Lawrence. Eve scratched her head at this. Arold watched them, smiling beneath his bushy beard. The two were like longtime boon companions. "I trade in stone statues." "Of the Holy Mother?" The statue in Rigolo's house flashed through Lawrence's mind. "Didn't you see the one in Rigolo's place? It's from a port town called Gerube on the western seacoast. I buy them there and sell them at the church here. That was my business. Since it just amounts to transporting and selling stone, there's not much profit in it, but if you can get one blessed by the Church, it'll sell for far more. The pagans are stronger in this region, so when the northern campaign comes through, it brings throngs of people who want to buy statues." It was the strange alchemy of the Church. Just like in Kumersun, where speculation and enthusiasm drove the price of iron pyrite sky-high, religious faith could easily be turned into cash. It was enough to make Lawrence want to have a go at it. "Unfortunately, I don't see any of that profit, but in exchange, I moved a respectable amount. But that's all wiped out with the cancellation of the northern campaign. I've learned firsthand that no one hangs you out to dry faster than the Church." It was hard to imagine a greater tragedy than carrying all your assets as heavy, unwieldy statues. Transport costs would rise. Places to sell were limited. If she had gotten together credit to make her transaction bigger, her business might well suffocate. Lawrence didn't think a merchant of Eve's stature would put all her risk in one place like that, so she probably wasn't facing utter ruin—but it was still a serious blow. It would hardly be strange if, in her frustration, she turned her eye to speculation. "The Church's influence is waning in the south, I hear. I'd been thinking it was time to stop loading my goods on a sinking ship—figured I'd make one last big deal, then make a break for it." This suggested that she wouldn't be able to make a break for it unless she was able to make that one last deal. "So," continued Eve, "we were just talking about how if I manage to hit it big, we might as well head south." Lawrence didn't have to ask with whom. Beside her, Arold murmured, "Been thinking it's about time for a pilgrimage." A trip like that wouldn't be much different than looking for a place to bury his old bones. Arold had been talking about going on a pilgrimage ever since Lawrence had started coming to his inn, but this time he sounded serious. "So, that's how it is," said Eve, pulling Lawrence's gaze to her. "Want to lend me some coin?" The sudden request did not seem connected to anything. Yet Lawrence was not particularly surprised. He'd had a certain premonition that something like this was coming. "I've got some very accurate information about the content of the council meeting," said Eve. "I can make all the arrangements. I just need money." Her eyes were fixed steadily on Lawrence. She almost glared at him, but he could tell that it was something of an act. "If I look at the details of the investment and decide the risk is worth the profit—with pleasure."

"What's your source?" It was probably useless to ask—like trying to get a barmaid to tell her real age. "The Church." "Even though they turned their back on you?" Lawrence shot back. Eve shrugged, smiling. "We might have split on bad terms, but everyone knows to leave a few sympathetic contacts behind." Lawrence obviously couldn't trust her, but she didn't seem to be lying, either. It was a lot easier to believe this explanation than if she had just claimed to have heard it from Rigolo. "So what's the deal?" "The provision will be that anyone buying furs will have to do so with cash." There on the brink of the possible monopolization of the town's fur trade, Lawrence had wondered what decision would be handed down—but the cleverness of this particular plan made him speak without thinking. "So they're not saying 'no sales,' but at the same time, merchants from distant places are hardly carrying significant coin." "Exactly. But they can't very well return empty-handed, so they'll buy whatever fur they can afford with the miniscule cash they have on hand." This meant that with cash, it would be possible to buy up the fine furs of Lenos and take them to some other town. But something bothered Lawrence. Now that Eve had told him this, there was nothing stopping him from cutting her out of the deal and doing it himself. "You seem strangely comfortable talking about this with me." "If all you care about is making a little extra allowance, then by all means, go do this deal yourself." Eve's expression was unreadable beneath her cowl. Was she merely looking down on him, or was there some reason why this deal couldn't work with just one person? He couldn't say anything careless, Lawrence concluded, as he waited for her to continue. "In reality, you don't actually have that much money, do you?" "I won't disagree." "Then you shouldn't waste this opportunity. You didn't even know Rigolo before I introduced you. Who in this town would be willing to lend you money?" She was quite correct. But something occurred to Lawrence, and it sent a chill down his spine. It was possible that the reason Eve approached him in the first place was in order to evaluate him as an investor. If so, there was a huge discrepancy in the information they had. Lawrence didn't know anything about her. "True, but I could head back to a different city and raise the money there. But isn't that what you're counting on me doing anyway by proposing I invest in this opportunity?" He didn't have a large amount of cash, and there was nowhere in this town where he could borrow the money, so that had to be it. But Eve shook her head slowly. "Naturally, I took a look at you and your companion, the way you paid for the inn, and I figured if you went all in, you'd be good for maybe a thousand pieces of trenni silver. But by the time you get it together, the furs will be bought up is my guess." The back of the back was the front. The more careful Lawrence was to stay out of Eve's trap, the more tangled up he felt his feet becoming. Wasn't the decision of the council intended to prevent all the fur from being bought up? At a glance, the idea of limiting fur purchases to cash only had struck him as a clever plan. "You don't actually think that all those merchants outside of town are just hanging out there separately for no reason, do you?" "Somebody with real money is using them to make an even bigger profit," Lawrence suddenly realized. "Yup. This, friend, is a trade war." "A trade...war?" It was an unfamiliar term and was the first time Lawrence had heard the phrase, but something about it made his merchant heart tremble. "I guess you don't spend a lot of time near the sea. Go into any tavern in a port town and drink with the merchants there. You'll hear talk of the trade wars, believe me. It's not something that just happens out of nowhere. We're merchants, not bandits. The attacker has to make preparations well in advance."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"What's your source?" It was probably useless to ask—like trying to get a barmaid to tell her real age. "The Church." "Even though they turned their back on you?" Lawrence shot back. Eve shrugged, smiling. "We might have split on bad terms, but everyone knows to leave a few sympathetic contacts behind." Lawrence obviously couldn't trust her, but she didn't seem to be lying, either. It was a lot easier to believe this explanation than if she had just claimed to have heard it from Rigolo. "So what's the deal?" "The provision will be that anyone buying furs will have to do so with cash." There on the brink of the possible monopolization of the town's fur trade, Lawrence had wondered what decision would be handed down—but the cleverness of this particular plan made him speak without thinking. "So they're not saying 'no sales,' but at the same time, merchants from distant places are hardly carrying significant coin." "Exactly. But they can't very well return empty-handed, so they'll buy whatever fur they can afford with the miniscule cash they have on hand." This meant that with cash, it would be possible to buy up the fine furs of Lenos and take them to some other town. But something bothered Lawrence. Now that Eve had told him this, there was nothing stopping him from cutting her out of the deal and doing it himself. "You seem strangely comfortable talking about this with me." "If all you care about is making a little extra allowance, then by all means, go do this deal yourself." Eve's expression was unreadable beneath her cowl. Was she merely looking down on him, or was there some reason why this deal couldn't work with just one person? He couldn't say anything careless, Lawrence concluded, as he waited for her to continue. "In reality, you don't actually have that much money, do you?" "I won't disagree." "Then you shouldn't waste this opportunity. You didn't even know Rigolo before I introduced you. Who in this town would be willing to lend you money?" She was quite correct. But something occurred to Lawrence, and it sent a chill down his spine. It was possible that the reason Eve approached him in the first place was in order to evaluate him as an investor. If so, there was a huge discrepancy in the information they had. Lawrence didn't know anything about her. "True, but I could head back to a different city and raise the money there. But isn't that what you're counting on me doing anyway by proposing I invest in this opportunity?" He didn't have a large amount of cash, and there was nowhere in this town where he could borrow the money, so that had to be it. But Eve shook her head slowly. "Naturally, I took a look at you and your companion, the way you paid for the inn, and I figured if you went all in, you'd be good for maybe a thousand pieces of trenni silver. But by the time you get it together, the furs will be bought up is my guess." The back of the back was the front. The more careful Lawrence was to stay out of Eve's trap, the more tangled up he felt his feet becoming. Wasn't the decision of the council intended to prevent all the fur from being bought up? At a glance, the idea of limiting fur purchases to cash only had struck him as a clever plan. "You don't actually think that all those merchants outside of town are just hanging out there separately for no reason, do you?" "Somebody with real money is using them to make an even bigger profit," Lawrence suddenly realized. "Yup. This, friend, is a trade war." "A trade...war?" It was an unfamiliar term and was the first time Lawrence had heard the phrase, but something about it made his merchant heart tremble. "I guess you don't spend a lot of time near the sea. Go into any tavern in a port town and drink with the merchants there. You'll hear talk of the trade wars, believe me. It's not something that just happens out of nowhere. We're merchants, not bandits. The attacker has to make preparations well in advance."

"Odds are, the merchants camped outside the town are taking guesses at how the council decision is going to go and firming up their plans. How many people with money do you think there are in this town?" Posed this question out of the blue, there was no way to be sure—except Lawrence was a merchant. A rough estimate based on the size of the town appeared immediately in his head. "The number of trading firms worth mentioning...maybe twenty, of various sizes. Shops specializing in a particular kind of good...perhaps two or three hundred. Maybe the same number of prosperous craftsmen." "Roughly, yes. And among those, the question is how many will put their own gain in front of the town's." Lawrence could not answer that question. Not because he lacked information about the town, but rather because people always hid their selfish desires even as they tried to fulfill them. "Anyway, if even one of those trading firms chooses treachery, they'll sneak away with all the fur. If they operated through a branch office of another town, it would be easy to hide what they were doing." Merchants were a generally sociable group and would not lightly betray a town in which they had operated profitably for years. But enough profit would cause anyone's loyalty to waver. "Of course," continued Eve, "I doubt a large trading company would turn traitor. Nowadays everything's recorded in account ledgers, so it would be easy to see what they'd done. If they secretly lent money to an outside merchant, it could be traced." Lawrence understood immediately. "Even if they had a hidden, unrecorded source of money, the council could stop that with a single line, 'The source of all money used to purchase furs must be confirmed.'" He had thought that the foreign merchant registration plaques being handed out at the town gates were to prevent foreign merchants from laying unexpected traps, but now the practice felt much more significant than that. Lawrence thought back to the strangely thorough inspection he and Holo had undergone. In retrospect, it had probably been to prevent travelers from bringing large amounts of money into the city. Had the council arrived at its decision even then? "But there are many, many other people with money outside of trading companies. The heads of the tanneries and the people who trade in the fur-tanning materials all have reason to be pessimistic about the future of the fur trade in this town. They're going to be looking for capital in order to get into new businesses, and they'll be happy to deal with the merchants that are threatening the town in order to raise that capital. The council's policy probably is the best choice they have, but hardly anyone actually thinks that such a policy is going to stop the fur from being completely bought up. Let me say it again—" Eve's voice was cold. "—this town's fur will be completely bought out." Was she suggesting that they close that gap and buy it themselves? Defeating the merchants who planned to monopolize Lenos's fur trade meant being both inside and outside the town. They must have understood that as long as they tried to infiltrate the town, not only would the council decision not come down, but the defensive measures the town took would only be redoubled—so they made camp outside of town. In that case, even when the council's decision did come out, the merchants wouldn't immediately enter the town. They would only make their move after the public proclamation, ensuring it couldn't be reversed. It was not impossible that Lawrence and Eve would be able to buy up the fur. "You know then that there's no time to go to another city and borrow the money, so I can't help you. As you said, I have no connections here," said Lawrence. This was the most puzzling part. What was Eve planning? Blue eyes peered out from beneath her cowl. "Ah, but you do have one huge asset." Lawrence quickly ran through the list of what he had on hand.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Odds are, the merchants camped outside the town are taking guesses at how the council decision is going to go and firming up their plans. How many people with money do you think there are in this town?" Posed this question out of the blue, there was no way to be sure—except Lawrence was a merchant. A rough estimate based on the size of the town appeared immediately in his head. "The number of trading firms worth mentioning...maybe twenty, of various sizes. Shops specializing in a particular kind of good...perhaps two or three hundred. Maybe the same number of prosperous craftsmen." "Roughly, yes. And among those, the question is how many will put their own gain in front of the town's." Lawrence could not answer that question. Not because he lacked information about the town, but rather because people always hid their selfish desires even as they tried to fulfill them. "Anyway, if even one of those trading firms chooses treachery, they'll sneak away with all the fur. If they operated through a branch office of another town, it would be easy to hide what they were doing." Merchants were a generally sociable group and would not lightly betray a town in which they had operated profitably for years. But enough profit would cause anyone's loyalty to waver. "Of course," continued Eve, "I doubt a large trading company would turn traitor. Nowadays everything's recorded in account ledgers, so it would be easy to see what they'd done. If they secretly lent money to an outside merchant, it could be traced." Lawrence understood immediately. "Even if they had a hidden, unrecorded source of money, the council could stop that with a single line, 'The source of all money used to purchase furs must be confirmed.'" He had thought that the foreign merchant registration plaques being handed out at the town gates were to prevent foreign merchants from laying unexpected traps, but now the practice felt much more significant than that. Lawrence thought back to the strangely thorough inspection he and Holo had undergone. In retrospect, it had probably been to prevent travelers from bringing large amounts of money into the city. Had the council arrived at its decision even then? "But there are many, many other people with money outside of trading companies. The heads of the tanneries and the people who trade in the fur-tanning materials all have reason to be pessimistic about the future of the fur trade in this town. They're going to be looking for capital in order to get into new businesses, and they'll be happy to deal with the merchants that are threatening the town in order to raise that capital. The council's policy probably is the best choice they have, but hardly anyone actually thinks that such a policy is going to stop the fur from being completely bought up. Let me say it again—" Eve's voice was cold. "—this town's fur will be completely bought out." Was she suggesting that they close that gap and buy it themselves? Defeating the merchants who planned to monopolize Lenos's fur trade meant being both inside and outside the town. They must have understood that as long as they tried to infiltrate the town, not only would the council decision not come down, but the defensive measures the town took would only be redoubled—so they made camp outside of town. In that case, even when the council's decision did come out, the merchants wouldn't immediately enter the town. They would only make their move after the public proclamation, ensuring it couldn't be reversed. It was not impossible that Lawrence and Eve would be able to buy up the fur. "You know then that there's no time to go to another city and borrow the money, so I can't help you. As you said, I have no connections here," said Lawrence. This was the most puzzling part. What was Eve planning? Blue eyes peered out from beneath her cowl. "Ah, but you do have one huge asset." Lawrence quickly ran through the list of what he had on hand.

In any case, if Eve knew about it, then it had to be something that was immediately obvious. The only thing Lawrence could think of was his horse. Then something else occurred to him. He looked back at Eve in disbelief. "That's right. You have your lovely companion." "...That's absurd." Lawrence was now completely honest. Though what he meant was not that he couldn't possibly sell Holo, but rather that selling Holo could not possibly raise the amount of money they required. While it was true that Holo was a striking beauty, that was not something that could immediately be turned into a thousand silver pieces. If it could, beautiful girls everywhere would be constantly getting kidnapped. It was possible Eve had figured out Holo wasn't human, but even if that was so, it didn't change the situation. "I figured you'd think so. But there's a reason I chose you." Eve wore a thin smile for a reason Lawrence did not understand. Perhaps she was merely that confident in herself, or perhaps she was drunk on her own plan. Or perhaps— Eve removed her cowl, exposing her short, beautiful golden hair and blue eyes. "We'll claim she's a nobleman's daughter and sell her." "Wha—?" "Think it's impossible?" Eve grinned, baring her right canine tooth. It was a smile of self-derision. "My name is Fleur Bolan. Formally, I am Fleur von Eiterzentel Bolan, eleventh heir to the Bolan clan, which swears fealty to the kingdom of Winfiel. We are title-bearing nobility." Laughter seemed impossible in the face of so ridiculous a joke. The eyes and ears that were Lawrence's most important tools told him that Eve was not lying. "Of course, we're fallen nobility that have trouble even finding food, but the name is grand, isn't it? Once we fell so low that we couldn't afford even bread to feed ourselves, I was sold to a newly wealthy merchant." That was often the path down which fallen nobility were forced, and it explained her bitter smile. Despite having fallen from grace, these proud nobles often had their titles and their bodies bought by wealthy merchants. If this was true, it would explain Eve's strangely world-weary merchant's mien. "That's the kind of woman I am, so that's why I know one or two places to sell a girl with a noble name. What say you?" This was business territory Lawrence had never entered before. Once he had amassed some wealth, the first thing a merchant would do was gild his own name. The massively wealthy owner of a successful trading company might once have been a garbage collector's orphan; such things were not rare. And apparently there were noble titles that one could buy with enough money. Lawrence had heard of such things but had never come face-to-face with the phenomenon. But here in front of him was Eve, who had been bought in exactly that fashion. "Your companion can easily pass as nobility. I would know," she said with a smile. Her voice had turned low and hoarse after she'd suffered such a cursed fate, no doubt. "Naturally, selling her is not the objective. As I said before, they're going to limit fur purchases to cash only in order to prevent a run on the fur market, but the trading firms here won't lend money to an outside merchant, right? But there's more than one kind of trading firm. If you can give them a good enough reason to, they'll float you a loan in exchange for a cut of the profits, and I happen to know one. 'Selling a noble maiden' is just a pretense, and the trading firm understands that. They just need her as collateral in case our deal falls through. That's how I can guarantee it." Lawrence found himself half-impressed at the convoluted explanation, but there was no way he was going to toss Holo into hock. It was far too dangerous. Even setting aside the issue of her own safety, if things went badly, there was no question that his life as a merchant would be over. "I—no, we're not asking you to pawn off your precious companion."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

In any case, if Eve knew about it, then it had to be something that was immediately obvious. The only thing Lawrence could think of was his horse. Then something else occurred to him. He looked back at Eve in disbelief. "That's right. You have your lovely companion." "...That's absurd." Lawrence was now completely honest. Though what he meant was not that he couldn't possibly sell Holo, but rather that selling Holo could not possibly raise the amount of money they required. While it was true that Holo was a striking beauty, that was not something that could immediately be turned into a thousand silver pieces. If it could, beautiful girls everywhere would be constantly getting kidnapped. It was possible Eve had figured out Holo wasn't human, but even if that was so, it didn't change the situation. "I figured you'd think so. But there's a reason I chose you." Eve wore a thin smile for a reason Lawrence did not understand. Perhaps she was merely that confident in herself, or perhaps she was drunk on her own plan. Or perhaps— Eve removed her cowl, exposing her short, beautiful golden hair and blue eyes. "We'll claim she's a nobleman's daughter and sell her." "Wha—?" "Think it's impossible?" Eve grinned, baring her right canine tooth. It was a smile of self-derision. "My name is Fleur Bolan. Formally, I am Fleur von Eiterzentel Bolan, eleventh heir to the Bolan clan, which swears fealty to the kingdom of Winfiel. We are title-bearing nobility." Laughter seemed impossible in the face of so ridiculous a joke. The eyes and ears that were Lawrence's most important tools told him that Eve was not lying. "Of course, we're fallen nobility that have trouble even finding food, but the name is grand, isn't it? Once we fell so low that we couldn't afford even bread to feed ourselves, I was sold to a newly wealthy merchant." That was often the path down which fallen nobility were forced, and it explained her bitter smile. Despite having fallen from grace, these proud nobles often had their titles and their bodies bought by wealthy merchants. If this was true, it would explain Eve's strangely world-weary merchant's mien. "That's the kind of woman I am, so that's why I know one or two places to sell a girl with a noble name. What say you?" This was business territory Lawrence had never entered before. Once he had amassed some wealth, the first thing a merchant would do was gild his own name. The massively wealthy owner of a successful trading company might once have been a garbage collector's orphan; such things were not rare. And apparently there were noble titles that one could buy with enough money. Lawrence had heard of such things but had never come face-to-face with the phenomenon. But here in front of him was Eve, who had been bought in exactly that fashion. "Your companion can easily pass as nobility. I would know," she said with a smile. Her voice had turned low and hoarse after she'd suffered such a cursed fate, no doubt. "Naturally, selling her is not the objective. As I said before, they're going to limit fur purchases to cash only in order to prevent a run on the fur market, but the trading firms here won't lend money to an outside merchant, right? But there's more than one kind of trading firm. If you can give them a good enough reason to, they'll float you a loan in exchange for a cut of the profits, and I happen to know one. 'Selling a noble maiden' is just a pretense, and the trading firm understands that. They just need her as collateral in case our deal falls through. That's how I can guarantee it." Lawrence found himself half-impressed at the convoluted explanation, but there was no way he was going to toss Holo into hock. It was far too dangerous. Even setting aside the issue of her own safety, if things went badly, there was no question that his life as a merchant would be over. "I—no, we're not asking you to pawn off your precious companion."

"I'm going on a pilgrimage," said Arold abruptly. The old man had said it every time Lawrence stayed at the inn. But Eve had said "we." That meant that Eve had joined up with Arold. It had to be that he really was going on a pilgrimage, and he was leaving Eve in charge of his assets and inn. And pilgrimages could last for years, sometimes more than a decade. For Arold to go on such a journey at his age meant that he would never again set foot in Lenos. Which meant— "This may well be my last chance to go on the journey. I've thought to do it many times in the past and have been able to put away some capital for it. But I was never able to work up the resolve..." Lawrence's stomach hurt from the suspense. Arold gave a tired smile and looked at Eve. He must have weathered some heavy persuasion from the woman. Then from beneath his wrinkled eyelids, his blue eyes turned toward Lawrence. "I'll hand over this inn." Lawrence's breath caught in his throat. "After all, don't all merchants dream of the same thing?" asked Eve, her voice only now as bright as the noble maid she had once been. *** Once he'd slept and woken, Lawrence found himself somewhat calmer. Though he had crawled into bed hoping for just that, Eve and Arold's words were liquor that did not encourage sleep. "Let us know by tomorrow night whether you're in or out." The words had echoed through his head over and over. In exchange for Holo, who they would claim was the sole daughter of the Bolan clan, they would get two thousand, perhaps 2,500 pieces of trenni silver, with which they would buy furs to ship down the Roam River well ahead of anyone else. Given that it was high-quality Lenos fur, even allowing for tariffs, Eve claimed they would triple their investment. Despite feeling that this was overoptimistic, Lawrence couldn't help doing a rough estimate in his head. Supposing that they were able to buy up two thousand silver pieces' worth of fur and triple their money, that left four thousand pieces in profit. Eve, along with Arold, was demanding 80 percent of that. Then there were some needed preparations, along with information fees, and the inn building that Arold was putting up as collateral—which would be given to Lawrence outright. But the building alone was worth perhaps 1,500 silver, so immediately after he protested that 80 percent was too much, he fell silent. In addition to the building itself, if everything went well Arold would also turn the inn management rights over to Lawrence. There wasn't a merchant in the world who didn't understand the value of that. With an inn, as long as a person had a building, he could open up shop and anticipate steady income—which meant that existing inns had a vested interest in resisting new ones opening and did so vehemently. There was no telling how much it would cost for an outsider to buy the management rights to such an inn. And if Lawrence was to open an inn in Lenos, the hot springs town of Nyohhira was not far away, and it would be a good starting point to search for Yoitsu. Given all this, it would have been strange if Lawrence was able to stay calm and think rationally about the situation. But something about Eve's explanations was too good. At a glance, the plan seemed like it would work, but Lawrence couldn't help thinking that something was strange. He also wondered if the huge amount of money was making him overthink the situation. Or perhaps it was the fact that the plan relied on Lawrence raising the money, and to do that, he would have to sell Holo off—even if it was just temporary. Holo had let herself be captured in Lawrence's place once, back in the port town of Pazzio. But that time, she had been the one to propose it as the best course of action. This time, Lawrence would be selling Holo for his own gain. He suddenly understood why the Church reviled and persecuted his occupation. There in the darkness, Lawrence wondered if he was really so willing to let Holo pretend she was nobility.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"I'm going on a pilgrimage," said Arold abruptly. The old man had said it every time Lawrence stayed at the inn. But Eve had said "we." That meant that Eve had joined up with Arold. It had to be that he really was going on a pilgrimage, and he was leaving Eve in charge of his assets and inn. And pilgrimages could last for years, sometimes more than a decade. For Arold to go on such a journey at his age meant that he would never again set foot in Lenos. Which meant— "This may well be my last chance to go on the journey. I've thought to do it many times in the past and have been able to put away some capital for it. But I was never able to work up the resolve..." Lawrence's stomach hurt from the suspense. Arold gave a tired smile and looked at Eve. He must have weathered some heavy persuasion from the woman. Then from beneath his wrinkled eyelids, his blue eyes turned toward Lawrence. "I'll hand over this inn." Lawrence's breath caught in his throat. "After all, don't all merchants dream of the same thing?" asked Eve, her voice only now as bright as the noble maid she had once been. *** Once he'd slept and woken, Lawrence found himself somewhat calmer. Though he had crawled into bed hoping for just that, Eve and Arold's words were liquor that did not encourage sleep. "Let us know by tomorrow night whether you're in or out." The words had echoed through his head over and over. In exchange for Holo, who they would claim was the sole daughter of the Bolan clan, they would get two thousand, perhaps 2,500 pieces of trenni silver, with which they would buy furs to ship down the Roam River well ahead of anyone else. Given that it was high-quality Lenos fur, even allowing for tariffs, Eve claimed they would triple their investment. Despite feeling that this was overoptimistic, Lawrence couldn't help doing a rough estimate in his head. Supposing that they were able to buy up two thousand silver pieces' worth of fur and triple their money, that left four thousand pieces in profit. Eve, along with Arold, was demanding 80 percent of that. Then there were some needed preparations, along with information fees, and the inn building that Arold was putting up as collateral—which would be given to Lawrence outright. But the building alone was worth perhaps 1,500 silver, so immediately after he protested that 80 percent was too much, he fell silent. In addition to the building itself, if everything went well Arold would also turn the inn management rights over to Lawrence. There wasn't a merchant in the world who didn't understand the value of that. With an inn, as long as a person had a building, he could open up shop and anticipate steady income—which meant that existing inns had a vested interest in resisting new ones opening and did so vehemently. There was no telling how much it would cost for an outsider to buy the management rights to such an inn. And if Lawrence was to open an inn in Lenos, the hot springs town of Nyohhira was not far away, and it would be a good starting point to search for Yoitsu. Given all this, it would have been strange if Lawrence was able to stay calm and think rationally about the situation. But something about Eve's explanations was too good. At a glance, the plan seemed like it would work, but Lawrence couldn't help thinking that something was strange. He also wondered if the huge amount of money was making him overthink the situation. Or perhaps it was the fact that the plan relied on Lawrence raising the money, and to do that, he would have to sell Holo off—even if it was just temporary. Holo had let herself be captured in Lawrence's place once, back in the port town of Pazzio. But that time, she had been the one to propose it as the best course of action. This time, Lawrence would be selling Holo for his own gain. He suddenly understood why the Church reviled and persecuted his occupation. There in the darkness, Lawrence wondered if he was really so willing to let Holo pretend she was nobility.

"Come, you." Lawrence opened his eyes at the sound of Holo's voice. "...Ugh...is it morning?" It seemed the endless night had been a dream. When Lawrence opened his eyes, he was greeted by light streaming through the window, along with the sounds of a town already bustling about its morning business. Evidently sometime during his agitated mental calculations, he had managed to fall asleep. He took a look at Holo, who stood beside the bed, and when he went to sit up, Lawrence realized he was covered in a terrible night sweat. It made him think of the first time he had come into an opportunity to make a huge profit, shortly after setting out on his own. He'd woken up so drenched in sweat he was afraid he had wet the bed. And of course, the profit had turned out to be a scam. "Whatever were you doing last night?" Holo demanded. She seemed vaguely displeased, but there was no teasing in her voice. Perhaps she was genuinely concerned for him. Lawrence rubbed the slick sweat off the back of his neck. If Holo broke out with a sweat like this, he knew he would be worried about her. "It was a very...intense conversation." After he emerged from under the blanket, the cold morning air seemed to freeze the sweat once it made contact with his body. Holo sat on her own bed and tossed him a cloth, which Lawrence accepted gratefully before stopping short of actually using it. "I, uh...appreciate the gesture." "I ought to get my scent on you, after all." Holo seemed to have used the cloth while grooming her fur; it was covered in the stuff. If he tried to dry himself off with it, Lawrence doubted it would go well. "I am worried about you," said Holo. "Sorry." When Lawrence was the one worried, she would give him no end of teasing, but apparently she could not abide the situation being reversed. "As you might have guessed, there's talk of a huge business opportunity." "From that fox?" Lawrence would have pegged Eve as a wolf, but Holo was a true wolf and seemed to see Eve as a fox. "Yes. Or more properly, from Eve, that merchant woman, and Arold, the master of this inn." "Hnn." "Oh, indeed?" seemed to be Holo's reply, though it was far from indifferent. Her tail was slightly fluffed up. "Having only heard what they had to say, I haven't figured out the angle yet, and of course, I haven't given them an answer. But..." Holo smoothed down the fur of her fluffed-up tail, replying with narrowed eyes, "But?" "The profit is—" "Greater than my preference?" Holo interrupted. Lawrence closed his mouth, started to speak again, then stopped. Holo was undoubtedly trying to say that before great profit came great danger. A dog that burns itself on the hearth will never again approach it. Only humans were foolish enough to burn themselves trying to snatch a chestnut from a fire again and again. But roasted chestnuts were sweet indeed, so Lawrence reached into the blazing flames. "It is great." Holo slowly narrowed her red-tinged eyes. She stopped tending to her tail and scratched audibly at the base of her ears. But even then, Lawrence could not give up on Eve's proposal. He thought back to the first time he had argued with his old master. "The profit is this inn itself—or that and more." Holo could not fail to understand what that meant. Lawrence anticipated that and spoke simply and plainly. There was silence for a time. All that kept it from being unbearable to Lawrence were Holo's red-tinged eyes, which were now nearly as round as the full moon. "That would be...quite close to fulfilling your dream, would it not?" "It would," replied Lawrence earnestly. Holo's knife-sharp mood vanished as though it had never been there, and she flicked her right ear back for a moment. "What is there to debate, then?" she finally said. "I seem to recall that owning a shop is your dream, and if that's so, I've no call to stop you." Holo took her tail in her hands and began to groom it. She seemed somehow at a loss with him.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

"Come, you." Lawrence opened his eyes at the sound of Holo's voice. "...Ugh...is it morning?" It seemed the endless night had been a dream. When Lawrence opened his eyes, he was greeted by light streaming through the window, along with the sounds of a town already bustling about its morning business. Evidently sometime during his agitated mental calculations, he had managed to fall asleep. He took a look at Holo, who stood beside the bed, and when he went to sit up, Lawrence realized he was covered in a terrible night sweat. It made him think of the first time he had come into an opportunity to make a huge profit, shortly after setting out on his own. He'd woken up so drenched in sweat he was afraid he had wet the bed. And of course, the profit had turned out to be a scam. "Whatever were you doing last night?" Holo demanded. She seemed vaguely displeased, but there was no teasing in her voice. Perhaps she was genuinely concerned for him. Lawrence rubbed the slick sweat off the back of his neck. If Holo broke out with a sweat like this, he knew he would be worried about her. "It was a very...intense conversation." After he emerged from under the blanket, the cold morning air seemed to freeze the sweat once it made contact with his body. Holo sat on her own bed and tossed him a cloth, which Lawrence accepted gratefully before stopping short of actually using it. "I, uh...appreciate the gesture." "I ought to get my scent on you, after all." Holo seemed to have used the cloth while grooming her fur; it was covered in the stuff. If he tried to dry himself off with it, Lawrence doubted it would go well. "I am worried about you," said Holo. "Sorry." When Lawrence was the one worried, she would give him no end of teasing, but apparently she could not abide the situation being reversed. "As you might have guessed, there's talk of a huge business opportunity." "From that fox?" Lawrence would have pegged Eve as a wolf, but Holo was a true wolf and seemed to see Eve as a fox. "Yes. Or more properly, from Eve, that merchant woman, and Arold, the master of this inn." "Hnn." "Oh, indeed?" seemed to be Holo's reply, though it was far from indifferent. Her tail was slightly fluffed up. "Having only heard what they had to say, I haven't figured out the angle yet, and of course, I haven't given them an answer. But..." Holo smoothed down the fur of her fluffed-up tail, replying with narrowed eyes, "But?" "The profit is—" "Greater than my preference?" Holo interrupted. Lawrence closed his mouth, started to speak again, then stopped. Holo was undoubtedly trying to say that before great profit came great danger. A dog that burns itself on the hearth will never again approach it. Only humans were foolish enough to burn themselves trying to snatch a chestnut from a fire again and again. But roasted chestnuts were sweet indeed, so Lawrence reached into the blazing flames. "It is great." Holo slowly narrowed her red-tinged eyes. She stopped tending to her tail and scratched audibly at the base of her ears. But even then, Lawrence could not give up on Eve's proposal. He thought back to the first time he had argued with his old master. "The profit is this inn itself—or that and more." Holo could not fail to understand what that meant. Lawrence anticipated that and spoke simply and plainly. There was silence for a time. All that kept it from being unbearable to Lawrence were Holo's red-tinged eyes, which were now nearly as round as the full moon. "That would be...quite close to fulfilling your dream, would it not?" "It would," replied Lawrence earnestly. Holo's knife-sharp mood vanished as though it had never been there, and she flicked her right ear back for a moment. "What is there to debate, then?" she finally said. "I seem to recall that owning a shop is your dream, and if that's so, I've no call to stop you." Holo took her tail in her hands and began to groom it. She seemed somehow at a loss with him.

He'd prepared himself for her to categorically refuse—or if she had at least said the scheme was too dangerous, that would have been useful information toward determining the truth behind Eve's words. Of course, the deal might be the chance of a lifetime, but if it seemed the danger outweighed the gain, he could let it go by. He could always make money again. But he would never meet another Holo. "What ails you? You look like a neglected hound," she said. Lawrence had been reflexively stroking his beard, and he felt like she had somehow hit the bull's-eye. "Were you so happy being opposed by me?" Holo's tail was chestnut brown, but the underside of it was snow white in the middle. She combed it with her fingers, forming a white ball of fur. "I assumed you would refuse, then I could go with the prevailing winds and nicely withdraw," said Lawrence honestly, and Holo grinned an exasperated grin at this. "So you expected I'd shine some light on things with my usual wits and foresight." "That was part of it." "And the rest?" There was no point in hiding what he felt. If he did, she would merely dig it up and toy with him. "Well, here you are making that irritated face—" he began. Holo chuckled dryly. "You dunce," she said briefly. "—so I would ask you in return: Why the sudden change? You hated the idea of me getting involved in business here." "Hmph," Holo sniffed, but was it because a bit of fluff had stuck to her nose or was she sniffing at his words? Probably the latter, he decided, but she didn't seem too upset. "You really are...ah, 'tis not worth saying. I know well what a fool you are. And 'tis a burden on me, ordering you about all the time." You can't be serious, Lawrence thought—and perhaps sensing this, she gave him a threatening glare, as though she would truly tear him to pieces. "Honestly...," Holo continued. "In the end, I spoke and acted only out of my own interest. For example, I do feel that simply being able to roam about with you is the best thing for me. All the times I acted as though I was teaching you some great truth of the world, it was just to keep traveling with you. In truth, it was painful." She took the white ball of collected fluff and blew it aloft, then glumly turned her attention down to her tail. No, more than glum—her expression said concretely, "This is absurd." "You should weigh the danger you risk against the profit you stand to gain and act if you feel it is worth it. Wasn't it always your dream to own a shop? I don't want to get in the way of that." "You're not in the way—" "And anyway, if I hadn't come along, you'd be able to get involved in anything you wanted, and if your opponent tried to deceive you, you'd be at the ready, waiting to outsmart him and make a huge profit. You had the spirit and recklessness to do that, didn't you? Have you forgotten it?" At Holo's prodding, Lawrence felt an old memory return to him. Back in the port town of Pazzio, he had certainly possessed that much initiative. He had been desperate for profit, and would do things no one would believe to overcome what danger there was. But it was hard to imagine that was only a few months ago. Not even half a year had passed, and yet it felt like those things had happened in the distant past. Holo curled up into a ball on the blanket, facing Lawrence, her tail wrapped under her in such a way that it came up to the tip of her chin. "Nothing defends its nest like a human male does." "Er—" was all that Lawrence could manage at her statement. He only realized it now that he'd been told. The fortress that had grown within him was a defensive one, created when he had felt he would be alone forever. "But I cannot blame you for that. You...no, I always found your face rather charming when it was so scared of me." This last jape of hers threw Holo's feelings into still sharper relief. Of course, that might have been part of her plan.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

He'd prepared himself for her to categorically refuse—or if she had at least said the scheme was too dangerous, that would have been useful information toward determining the truth behind Eve's words. Of course, the deal might be the chance of a lifetime, but if it seemed the danger outweighed the gain, he could let it go by. He could always make money again. But he would never meet another Holo. "What ails you? You look like a neglected hound," she said. Lawrence had been reflexively stroking his beard, and he felt like she had somehow hit the bull's-eye. "Were you so happy being opposed by me?" Holo's tail was chestnut brown, but the underside of it was snow white in the middle. She combed it with her fingers, forming a white ball of fur. "I assumed you would refuse, then I could go with the prevailing winds and nicely withdraw," said Lawrence honestly, and Holo grinned an exasperated grin at this. "So you expected I'd shine some light on things with my usual wits and foresight." "That was part of it." "And the rest?" There was no point in hiding what he felt. If he did, she would merely dig it up and toy with him. "Well, here you are making that irritated face—" he began. Holo chuckled dryly. "You dunce," she said briefly. "—so I would ask you in return: Why the sudden change? You hated the idea of me getting involved in business here." "Hmph," Holo sniffed, but was it because a bit of fluff had stuck to her nose or was she sniffing at his words? Probably the latter, he decided, but she didn't seem too upset. "You really are...ah, 'tis not worth saying. I know well what a fool you are. And 'tis a burden on me, ordering you about all the time." You can't be serious, Lawrence thought—and perhaps sensing this, she gave him a threatening glare, as though she would truly tear him to pieces. "Honestly...," Holo continued. "In the end, I spoke and acted only out of my own interest. For example, I do feel that simply being able to roam about with you is the best thing for me. All the times I acted as though I was teaching you some great truth of the world, it was just to keep traveling with you. In truth, it was painful." She took the white ball of collected fluff and blew it aloft, then glumly turned her attention down to her tail. No, more than glum—her expression said concretely, "This is absurd." "You should weigh the danger you risk against the profit you stand to gain and act if you feel it is worth it. Wasn't it always your dream to own a shop? I don't want to get in the way of that." "You're not in the way—" "And anyway, if I hadn't come along, you'd be able to get involved in anything you wanted, and if your opponent tried to deceive you, you'd be at the ready, waiting to outsmart him and make a huge profit. You had the spirit and recklessness to do that, didn't you? Have you forgotten it?" At Holo's prodding, Lawrence felt an old memory return to him. Back in the port town of Pazzio, he had certainly possessed that much initiative. He had been desperate for profit, and would do things no one would believe to overcome what danger there was. But it was hard to imagine that was only a few months ago. Not even half a year had passed, and yet it felt like those things had happened in the distant past. Holo curled up into a ball on the blanket, facing Lawrence, her tail wrapped under her in such a way that it came up to the tip of her chin. "Nothing defends its nest like a human male does." "Er—" was all that Lawrence could manage at her statement. He only realized it now that he'd been told. The fortress that had grown within him was a defensive one, created when he had felt he would be alone forever. "But I cannot blame you for that. You...no, I always found your face rather charming when it was so scared of me." This last jape of hers threw Holo's feelings into still sharper relief. Of course, that might have been part of her plan.

Lawrence was about to quickly say that he wanted to do no such thing, but he noticed what Holo was trying to do and swallowed his words. "You can safely turn your back to me. Right up until you get bitten." Holo smiled, showing her fangs. There probably wasn't a merchant alive who kept track of their debts and obligations as carefully as Holo did. And Lawrence knew many merchants who had established households, and though they were tenacious men, they had fully lost their fight. If he himself was happy being a thrifty, traveling merchant, then so be it. But when he asked himself if he was indeed happy with that, Lawrence found he was not so worn-out that he could answer in the affirmative. After he saw Holo to her homeland and returned to his travel and trading, it would not be so very long before he could raise the capital to open a shop. But when compared with an inn and the management rights to go with it, that dream seemed desperately humble. With a building and those rights, plus assets to spend as he wished, just thinking about the possibilities was almost frightening. Could he do it? Lawrence realized he wanted to try. "Still, there were things about the deal they proposed that made me hesitate." "Oh?" Holo looked up, interested. Lawrence scratched his head and mustered his strength. "In order to raise the amount of money they need for the deal, they have to use you." Holo's expression remained neutral, as if to say, "Go on." "They're going to pass you off as a noble maiden and put you in pawn to a trading company." Holo snorted as soon as she heard this. "Don't tell me that's what gave you such sweats last night." "...You aren't angry?" "I am only angry if you thought I would be." He had heard that line before. Yet Lawrence did not understand what she was getting at. "You still do not understand?" Lawrence felt like a young merchant's apprentice, who had been asked a simple question but was unable to answer it. "You truly are just unbelievable...," said Holo. "Am I not your partner? Or am I just a maiden you fancy yourself protecting?" When it was put to him that way, Lawrence finally understood. "Do I not have some of my own virtues? If I can be of some use to your trade, then happily would I turn myself in!" That was definitely a lie, but it was clear that as long as certain conditions were fulfilled, Holo trusted Lawrence enough to risk even a significant amount of danger. If Lawrence had failed to recognize her trust in him...well, no wonder she was angry. And those conditions were to trust her as a partner to grant his mildly unreasonable requests, to trust her as a wisewolf to keep him from falling into disaster, and finally, to respect her as a person of equal status. As long as he didn't forget these things, Lawrence could ask her whatever he wished, and she wouldn't feel used. "So I truly need your cooperation," he said. "Hmph. I was a stand-in for you once before, but that was to thank you for being kind to me. This time, there's no thanking." It wasn't as thanks nor was it a favor given or received. Then what was it? Not money nor obligation. All of Lawrence's relationships so far had been zero-sum; the amount given equaled the amount taken. If something was lent, he expected it returned, and if he was the borrower, he had to pay the debt. Even "friendly" relationships were changed by credit into ones of transaction. Holo was different, an entirely new kind of relationship. But just as Lawrence realized what the most suitable term for it was, Holo gave him a look that said unmistakably, "Stop what you're saying." "So, is there aught else you're worried about?" she asked. "Of course. I'm worried it may be a trap." Holo giggled. "If your opponent has a scheme, counter it. The bigger their scheme..." She had said the same thing just after they'd met and a shady young merchant had tried to bring Lawrence in on a deal. "The bigger the scheme, the bigger the profit when you upset it."

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence was about to quickly say that he wanted to do no such thing, but he noticed what Holo was trying to do and swallowed his words. "You can safely turn your back to me. Right up until you get bitten." Holo smiled, showing her fangs. There probably wasn't a merchant alive who kept track of their debts and obligations as carefully as Holo did. And Lawrence knew many merchants who had established households, and though they were tenacious men, they had fully lost their fight. If he himself was happy being a thrifty, traveling merchant, then so be it. But when he asked himself if he was indeed happy with that, Lawrence found he was not so worn-out that he could answer in the affirmative. After he saw Holo to her homeland and returned to his travel and trading, it would not be so very long before he could raise the capital to open a shop. But when compared with an inn and the management rights to go with it, that dream seemed desperately humble. With a building and those rights, plus assets to spend as he wished, just thinking about the possibilities was almost frightening. Could he do it? Lawrence realized he wanted to try. "Still, there were things about the deal they proposed that made me hesitate." "Oh?" Holo looked up, interested. Lawrence scratched his head and mustered his strength. "In order to raise the amount of money they need for the deal, they have to use you." Holo's expression remained neutral, as if to say, "Go on." "They're going to pass you off as a noble maiden and put you in pawn to a trading company." Holo snorted as soon as she heard this. "Don't tell me that's what gave you such sweats last night." "...You aren't angry?" "I am only angry if you thought I would be." He had heard that line before. Yet Lawrence did not understand what she was getting at. "You still do not understand?" Lawrence felt like a young merchant's apprentice, who had been asked a simple question but was unable to answer it. "You truly are just unbelievable...," said Holo. "Am I not your partner? Or am I just a maiden you fancy yourself protecting?" When it was put to him that way, Lawrence finally understood. "Do I not have some of my own virtues? If I can be of some use to your trade, then happily would I turn myself in!" That was definitely a lie, but it was clear that as long as certain conditions were fulfilled, Holo trusted Lawrence enough to risk even a significant amount of danger. If Lawrence had failed to recognize her trust in him...well, no wonder she was angry. And those conditions were to trust her as a partner to grant his mildly unreasonable requests, to trust her as a wisewolf to keep him from falling into disaster, and finally, to respect her as a person of equal status. As long as he didn't forget these things, Lawrence could ask her whatever he wished, and she wouldn't feel used. "So I truly need your cooperation," he said. "Hmph. I was a stand-in for you once before, but that was to thank you for being kind to me. This time, there's no thanking." It wasn't as thanks nor was it a favor given or received. Then what was it? Not money nor obligation. All of Lawrence's relationships so far had been zero-sum; the amount given equaled the amount taken. If something was lent, he expected it returned, and if he was the borrower, he had to pay the debt. Even "friendly" relationships were changed by credit into ones of transaction. Holo was different, an entirely new kind of relationship. But just as Lawrence realized what the most suitable term for it was, Holo gave him a look that said unmistakably, "Stop what you're saying." "So, is there aught else you're worried about?" she asked. "Of course. I'm worried it may be a trap." Holo giggled. "If your opponent has a scheme, counter it. The bigger their scheme..." She had said the same thing just after they'd met and a shady young merchant had tried to bring Lawrence in on a deal. "The bigger the scheme, the bigger the profit when you upset it."

Lawrence laughed—they had had this conversation before. Time did pass, and people changed. He didn't know whether that was good or bad. But he did know that having a partner to share this with made him happy. "So, then," said Holo. "Yes?" And in any case, her name was deeply engraved on his soul, it seemed. Her thoughts were entirely clear to him. Lawrence smiled. "Breakfast, right?" The first thing they needed to do was lay the groundwork. If they could ascertain whether Eve was truly a statue merchant, whether her source of payment was really the Church, and whether she had really quarreled with them, this would tell them a lot. Holo stayed in their room, saying she was going to read the books they had borrowed from Rigolo. When she told him to go run about the city as he wished, Lawrence found himself wanting to say thanks. That seemed rather awkward, though, so instead he told her, "Enjoy your books, and don't cry too much." Lying on her stomach, flipping through the pages, her only reply was to swish her tail dismissively. Her ears flicked minutely, probably because he had said something she didn't want to hear. The mood downstairs was a bit strange given the previous night, but Lawrence gave Arold a quick greeting before heading out. As long as he had the brisk morning air, the energetic town, and the warm sunlight, things could not be so very bad. Lawrence started walking immediately. He had no acquaintances in this city, and his only source of information was the barmaid of the Beast and Fish Tail. As this time of day was particularly busy for wine sellers and butchers who needed to buy up their supplies, though, Lawrence decided to head first to the church. The town was of moderate size and the streets were complicated, so Lawrence had not yet seen the church, but he did have the impression that its standing within the town was reasonably strong. By the time one got into the vicinity of Lenos, pagans were hardly rare, and it was common enough to have one as a neighbor. One would think this would imply a lessening of power on the part of the Church, but on the contrary, it only drove the true believers' morale higher. They believed that hardships were trials sent by God, so it made a certain amount of sense. Arold's strong desire to go on a pilgrimage to the south was probably rather common here. The most fervent believers could always be found where the Church's power was weakest. Perhaps this was because without being prepared to endure, the flame of their faith would surely be extinguished by the storms of paganism—or perhaps those storms were like a wind to a bonfire. On that count, there was no reason to doubt Eve's importation of stone statues. There was surely a demand for them. But that didn't mean there was no call for doubt at all. Lawrence bought some rye bread from a baker and asked directions, and when he saw the church, he immediately gave voice to his impressions. "It's like a vault." It was less a church and more a stone-carved temple. The design was familiar, but the atmosphere itself was different. He passed through the doors and into the church where a handful of people were performing their morning worship. One could tell if a church had money by looking at its entrance. Nobody appreciated a church interior that lacked a sense of age, of ancientness, but the entrance was different. As the entrance was worn down and warped by people walking through it, a church with money could pay for appropriate maintenance. It was purely a display of wealth. And this particular church's entrance, despite all the people that passed through it, was a series of beautifully carved stone steps. It was clear that the church of Lenos had money. So—what about their expenditures? Lawrence cast his eye about, looking for a likely spot.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Lawrence laughed—they had had this conversation before. Time did pass, and people changed. He didn't know whether that was good or bad. But he did know that having a partner to share this with made him happy. "So, then," said Holo. "Yes?" And in any case, her name was deeply engraved on his soul, it seemed. Her thoughts were entirely clear to him. Lawrence smiled. "Breakfast, right?" The first thing they needed to do was lay the groundwork. If they could ascertain whether Eve was truly a statue merchant, whether her source of payment was really the Church, and whether she had really quarreled with them, this would tell them a lot. Holo stayed in their room, saying she was going to read the books they had borrowed from Rigolo. When she told him to go run about the city as he wished, Lawrence found himself wanting to say thanks. That seemed rather awkward, though, so instead he told her, "Enjoy your books, and don't cry too much." Lying on her stomach, flipping through the pages, her only reply was to swish her tail dismissively. Her ears flicked minutely, probably because he had said something she didn't want to hear. The mood downstairs was a bit strange given the previous night, but Lawrence gave Arold a quick greeting before heading out. As long as he had the brisk morning air, the energetic town, and the warm sunlight, things could not be so very bad. Lawrence started walking immediately. He had no acquaintances in this city, and his only source of information was the barmaid of the Beast and Fish Tail. As this time of day was particularly busy for wine sellers and butchers who needed to buy up their supplies, though, Lawrence decided to head first to the church. The town was of moderate size and the streets were complicated, so Lawrence had not yet seen the church, but he did have the impression that its standing within the town was reasonably strong. By the time one got into the vicinity of Lenos, pagans were hardly rare, and it was common enough to have one as a neighbor. One would think this would imply a lessening of power on the part of the Church, but on the contrary, it only drove the true believers' morale higher. They believed that hardships were trials sent by God, so it made a certain amount of sense. Arold's strong desire to go on a pilgrimage to the south was probably rather common here. The most fervent believers could always be found where the Church's power was weakest. Perhaps this was because without being prepared to endure, the flame of their faith would surely be extinguished by the storms of paganism—or perhaps those storms were like a wind to a bonfire. On that count, there was no reason to doubt Eve's importation of stone statues. There was surely a demand for them. But that didn't mean there was no call for doubt at all. Lawrence bought some rye bread from a baker and asked directions, and when he saw the church, he immediately gave voice to his impressions. "It's like a vault." It was less a church and more a stone-carved temple. The design was familiar, but the atmosphere itself was different. He passed through the doors and into the church where a handful of people were performing their morning worship. One could tell if a church had money by looking at its entrance. Nobody appreciated a church interior that lacked a sense of age, of ancientness, but the entrance was different. As the entrance was worn down and warped by people walking through it, a church with money could pay for appropriate maintenance. It was purely a display of wealth. And this particular church's entrance, despite all the people that passed through it, was a series of beautifully carved stone steps. It was clear that the church of Lenos had money. So—what about their expenditures? Lawrence cast his eye about, looking for a likely spot.

As Lawrence walked down the path, none of the people so much as looked up at him. It would take a keen incantation indeed to rouse them from their sleep. "The blessings of God be upon you," said Lawrence to one of them. It had been hard to tell whether the man was dead or just sleeping, but his eyes now snapped open. "Hnn!...Oh. Not giving alms, are you?" he said, his voice a mixture of anticipation and disappointment. Lawrence looked the man over from head to toe—he certainly didn't seem to be a man of the Church. Offering some of the still-warm rye bread to the man, Lawrence gave his best merchant's smile. "No alms, I'm afraid. I'd like to ask you some questions." The man's face flushed at the sight of the bread. He didn't seem to be one to quibble. "Hell, ask anything you like." He devoured the rye bread with a speed that surprised even Lawrence, who had grown used to Holo's gluttonous eating, then grinned a toothy grin. "It's about the church," Lawrence said. "What do you want to know? How many mistresses the priest has? Who the father of the child that nun gave birth to a while back was?" "Those are fascinating, but no. I was wondering how much bread this church bakes." Obviously the church was not a bakery. He was asking instead how much bread the church distributed to the needy. There were churches and abbeys whose finances declined to the point where they did not do such work, but most of them did in proportion to the state of their coffers. And as a result, the recipients of that charity naturally knew the state of the church's kitchen. "Heh, it's been some time since I've been asked that." "Oh?" "Used to be, merchants like you would come to ask all the time. You want to know how the church here fares, yes? Seems it's not bringing people in the way it used to. Guess God needs more propaganda." There was a saying in business: "Look at the feet." It meant looking at your opponent to understand not just his weaknesses, but his entire situation. And on that count, who better to look at the feet than the beggars who spent their days lying in the street, looking at the feet of all who passed by? Occasionally, such beggars would be expelled en masse from a town because those in power were afraid of how much knowledge the beggars had of their coffers. "I've been to many towns in this area, but the church here is the best. They may not give out huge amounts of bread or beans, but the quality is always good. Although..." "Although?" repeated Lawrence back to the man. The man closed his mouth and scratched his cheek. There was a hierarchy among beggars. Those closer to the church entrance, where it was easier to solicit, had more complete information. Lawrence took two cheap copper coins out and handed them over to the beggar. The beggar chuckled. "Although—the bishop scatters more money about the town than he does bread among the beggars." "How can you tell?" "Oh, I can tell. When a splendid carriage that has its own escort to drive away beggars like me drives up, I can tell. And it's plain as day what kind of dinner was served from the garbage they throw away. And looking at how many cocky men about town come to that dinner, I can tell how important the guest was. Impressive, is it not?" People in power did not hold grand dinners without motivation to do so. Since they evidently had a business based on buying statues from Eve, then consecrating and selling them for far more money, such dinners had to be political in nature—nothing less than an investment. So while it still wasn't clear what the Church was trying to achieve, given this information, Lawrence now saw that it wielded power within the Council of Fifty. And yet, thought Lawrence to himself as he regarded the beggar. When a town was invaded in times of war, he could see why it was always the beggars who were first put to the spear. Each and every one of them was like a spy.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

As Lawrence walked down the path, none of the people so much as looked up at him. It would take a keen incantation indeed to rouse them from their sleep. "The blessings of God be upon you," said Lawrence to one of them. It had been hard to tell whether the man was dead or just sleeping, but his eyes now snapped open. "Hnn!...Oh. Not giving alms, are you?" he said, his voice a mixture of anticipation and disappointment. Lawrence looked the man over from head to toe—he certainly didn't seem to be a man of the Church. Offering some of the still-warm rye bread to the man, Lawrence gave his best merchant's smile. "No alms, I'm afraid. I'd like to ask you some questions." The man's face flushed at the sight of the bread. He didn't seem to be one to quibble. "Hell, ask anything you like." He devoured the rye bread with a speed that surprised even Lawrence, who had grown used to Holo's gluttonous eating, then grinned a toothy grin. "It's about the church," Lawrence said. "What do you want to know? How many mistresses the priest has? Who the father of the child that nun gave birth to a while back was?" "Those are fascinating, but no. I was wondering how much bread this church bakes." Obviously the church was not a bakery. He was asking instead how much bread the church distributed to the needy. There were churches and abbeys whose finances declined to the point where they did not do such work, but most of them did in proportion to the state of their coffers. And as a result, the recipients of that charity naturally knew the state of the church's kitchen. "Heh, it's been some time since I've been asked that." "Oh?" "Used to be, merchants like you would come to ask all the time. You want to know how the church here fares, yes? Seems it's not bringing people in the way it used to. Guess God needs more propaganda." There was a saying in business: "Look at the feet." It meant looking at your opponent to understand not just his weaknesses, but his entire situation. And on that count, who better to look at the feet than the beggars who spent their days lying in the street, looking at the feet of all who passed by? Occasionally, such beggars would be expelled en masse from a town because those in power were afraid of how much knowledge the beggars had of their coffers. "I've been to many towns in this area, but the church here is the best. They may not give out huge amounts of bread or beans, but the quality is always good. Although..." "Although?" repeated Lawrence back to the man. The man closed his mouth and scratched his cheek. There was a hierarchy among beggars. Those closer to the church entrance, where it was easier to solicit, had more complete information. Lawrence took two cheap copper coins out and handed them over to the beggar. The beggar chuckled. "Although—the bishop scatters more money about the town than he does bread among the beggars." "How can you tell?" "Oh, I can tell. When a splendid carriage that has its own escort to drive away beggars like me drives up, I can tell. And it's plain as day what kind of dinner was served from the garbage they throw away. And looking at how many cocky men about town come to that dinner, I can tell how important the guest was. Impressive, is it not?" People in power did not hold grand dinners without motivation to do so. Since they evidently had a business based on buying statues from Eve, then consecrating and selling them for far more money, such dinners had to be political in nature—nothing less than an investment. So while it still wasn't clear what the Church was trying to achieve, given this information, Lawrence now saw that it wielded power within the Council of Fifty. And yet, thought Lawrence to himself as he regarded the beggar. When a town was invaded in times of war, he could see why it was always the beggars who were first put to the spear. Each and every one of them was like a spy.

The man shook his head. "You don't get it, do you, pal? God said, 'Blessed are the poor,' didn't he? Do you get a warm, happy feeling in your gut from just a piece of crusty black bread and two copper coins?" The man stared hard at Lawrence. "I know I do." Not all wise men wrapped themselves in leather coats. Lawrence had the feeling that this man was a better embodiment of God's teaching than anybody within the church next to which he begged. "Anyway, so I don't know what it is you're planning," continued the beggar, "but if you try to deal with this church, they'll just hang you out to dry. I only know one merchant who worked with them for a long time, and even he wound up screaming at them in that hoarse voice of his." Lawrence knew immediately who the beggar was talking about. "The statue dealer?" he asked. "Statues? Ah yeah, I guess he did haul some of those. He a friend of yours?" "Sort of. So...did he deal in anything else?" There hadn't been any talk of side businesses, but merchants frequently packed smaller items in between their main cargo. That was Lawrence's thinking, but the beggar's answer made his eyes widen in surprise. "I thought for certain he was a salt merchant. Wasn't he?" If Lawrence had been asked to name three particularly heavy goods to haul, he would have been able to do it instantly—stones for masonry, alum for dying clothes, and salt as a food preservative. All of them were ill suited to running as a small sideline. Excited, Lawrence pressed the man. "Why would you think that?" "Whoa, easy there, friend. Is he some kind of rival? I don't want to get in trouble just because you asked me some questions," said the man, pulling away and looking at Lawrence dubiously. "Sorry," said Lawrence, returning to himself. "He's not a rival. He's someone I'm going into business with myself." "...Ah, so you're looking for scraps from his background, eh? Well, you look like a good sort. I suppose you wouldn't tell an out-and-out lie. Sure, I'll tell you." Lawrence, like any merchant, wasn't sure whether he was happy about being told he looked like a good person. On one hand, it was good that people would let their guard down around him, but it might also keep them from taking him seriously. The beggar cackled. "Oh, I only meant that there are plenty of merchants who try to use us, but most of them think they're better than us. And even fewer spare me any admiration for my words. That's all I meant." Lawrence was so flustered by this that he almost told the beggar that flattery wouldn't gain him any more coin. "Ah, but anyway, it's a simple thing," said the beggar. "Sometimes when that merchant would visit the church, salt would fall from between the cracks of his cargo. I would have been able to tell from the smell if it had been salt used for packing fish or meat—it would've made a fine addition to some liquor. But as salt goes, it tasted poorly. That's why I made him as a salt merchant." The farther inland one moved, the more precious salt became. Eve had said she brought statues in from a town that faced the western sea. It would be an easy matter to pack sea salt in the same boxes that carried the statues. Or she might have been smuggling it in. If she had been trading with the church for a long time, they might have eased up their inspections of her cargo as a perk. "So that's how it is. Anything else you want to know?" It wasn't just that the beggar had given him useful information; his prone, dirty form had a strange dignity to it. But Lawrence had heard everything he needed to hear. "You've given me the secret to living a happy life. That's more than enough." It seemed there really were gold nuggets to be found by the roadside. It appeared that Eve had indeed conducted deals with the Church. And Lawrence now knew that the bishop was throwing money around the town in order to accomplish some kind of political goal.

Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

The man shook his head. "You don't get it, do you, pal? God said, 'Blessed are the poor,' didn't he? Do you get a warm, happy feeling in your gut from just a piece of crusty black bread and two copper coins?" The man stared hard at Lawrence. "I know I do." Not all wise men wrapped themselves in leather coats. Lawrence had the feeling that this man was a better embodiment of God's teaching than anybody within the church next to which he begged. "Anyway, so I don't know what it is you're planning," continued the beggar, "but if you try to deal with this church, they'll just hang you out to dry. I only know one merchant who worked with them for a long time, and even he wound up screaming at them in that hoarse voice of his." Lawrence knew immediately who the beggar was talking about. "The statue dealer?" he asked. "Statues? Ah yeah, I guess he did haul some of those. He a friend of yours?" "Sort of. So...did he deal in anything else?" There hadn't been any talk of side businesses, but merchants frequently packed smaller items in between their main cargo. That was Lawrence's thinking, but the beggar's answer made his eyes widen in surprise. "I thought for certain he was a salt merchant. Wasn't he?" If Lawrence had been asked to name three particularly heavy goods to haul, he would have been able to do it instantly—stones for masonry, alum for dying clothes, and salt as a food preservative. All of them were ill suited to running as a small sideline. Excited, Lawrence pressed the man. "Why would you think that?" "Whoa, easy there, friend. Is he some kind of rival? I don't want to get in trouble just because you asked me some questions," said the man, pulling away and looking at Lawrence dubiously. "Sorry," said Lawrence, returning to himself. "He's not a rival. He's someone I'm going into business with myself." "...Ah, so you're looking for scraps from his background, eh? Well, you look like a good sort. I suppose you wouldn't tell an out-and-out lie. Sure, I'll tell you." Lawrence, like any merchant, wasn't sure whether he was happy about being told he looked like a good person. On one hand, it was good that people would let their guard down around him, but it might also keep them from taking him seriously. The beggar cackled. "Oh, I only meant that there are plenty of merchants who try to use us, but most of them think they're better than us. And even fewer spare me any admiration for my words. That's all I meant." Lawrence was so flustered by this that he almost told the beggar that flattery wouldn't gain him any more coin. "Ah, but anyway, it's a simple thing," said the beggar. "Sometimes when that merchant would visit the church, salt would fall from between the cracks of his cargo. I would have been able to tell from the smell if it had been salt used for packing fish or meat—it would've made a fine addition to some liquor. But as salt goes, it tasted poorly. That's why I made him as a salt merchant." The farther inland one moved, the more precious salt became. Eve had said she brought statues in from a town that faced the western sea. It would be an easy matter to pack sea salt in the same boxes that carried the statues. Or she might have been smuggling it in. If she had been trading with the church for a long time, they might have eased up their inspections of her cargo as a perk. "So that's how it is. Anything else you want to know?" It wasn't just that the beggar had given him useful information; his prone, dirty form had a strange dignity to it. But Lawrence had heard everything he needed to hear. "You've given me the secret to living a happy life. That's more than enough." It seemed there really were gold nuggets to be found by the roadside. It appeared that Eve had indeed conducted deals with the Church. And Lawrence now knew that the bishop was throwing money around the town in order to accomplish some kind of political goal.

But if that was so, something was strange. The statue transactions were a stable source of income—would they be ruined with but a single stumble? Did the Church simply not take Eve seriously, or had they created a distribution system that let them procure the statues themselves? Eve had simply decided to leave the town for good, but she seemed to not have fully abandoned the possibility that the deal could be restarted the following year, which struck Lawrence as awfully gracious indeed. According to the beggar, Eve had quarreled with the church so fiercely that her shouting voice could be heard outside the building. Yet none of this was of enough importance to justify parting with such anger. Sometimes doing business meant winding up with worthless stock or having business partners turn their backs on you. It was hardly rare. Naturally such things were upsetting, and the deeper your trust, the stronger the feeling of betrayal. But Eve had not struck Lawrence as so young a merchant that she would think shouting would change the situation. Did the Church know that Eve was nobility, albeit fallen nobility? She had said that there was a trading firm in the town that knew about her noble background. The Church had information-gathering prowess that would put any trading firm to shame—it had to know. It was incomprehensible that the same bishop who invited moneyed nobility from all over to lavish dinners would discard Eve, who was herself nobility. She could be useful for any number of things. Or had her usefulness disappeared? Was that why she offered to bring Lawrence, a merchant she had just happened to meet, in on a deal worth thousands of silver pieces? Was it out of desperation? Or was she trying to recover? It couldn't have been just a passing tip. The amount was far too high. Was he overthinking things to wonder if she had a motive beyond simple profit? But even if she was trying to lure Lawrence into a trap, there were only a few choices. She could run off with the goods once Lawrence had fronted the money or kill Lawrence midway through the export or possibly make a secret deal with the trade firm to sell Holo off, then pretend nothing had happened. Yet none of these seemed likely. The deal Eve had proposed was entirely legal (save for her passing off Holo as a relative of her noble house), so the contents of it would be declared before a public witness and Lawrence would have a copy. If he was to send this to a trading firm in some other town, his opponent would be unable to make any careless moves. As long as a third party had a careful record of all of Lawrence's actions, none of these plans would be easy for her to put into action. Moreover, Lawrence didn't expect that Eve took him so lightly as to think such simple schemes would work against him. Perhaps she really wasn't planning anything. All deals lay somewhere in the gap between trust and suspicion. He was far from trusting her, but he would only be able to investigate for so long before the deal became impossible. He would have to decide. Lawrence mulled it over as he made for the Beast and Fish Tail. If the Council of Fifty had reached a decision, which seemed to be an open secret now, he expected there would be new information circulating. When he reached the tavern, it was completely empty; not a single person was to be found inside. Walking down the alley that ran to the rear of the building, he found the barmaid washing a large basin that looked as though it was used to hold wine. "Goodness, you're here early," she said. "I must assume it's the cold wash water making you pull such a face." "Oh, aye, and it's on that account I may be a bit cold myself," she said with a smile, putting down the balled-up length of hempen cloth she was using to wash the basin. "How many merchants do you suppose have come to speak with me?" All of them desperate for profit, no doubt.