Gunmage-Chapter 287: Hunger for new things

Lugh, Sela, and Mirelle were now walking the streets of one of the main districts. Main, in this context, referred not to wealth or prestige, but to foot traffic—the part of the city most frequently visited by the common folk.

Although popular, it was still nighttime. The air was cool, and most of the population had long since retired indoors.

Yet, even under a dim canopy of stars, the district had a character of its own. It buzzed—not loudly, but steadily—with the movements of those who had reasons to be out when most others weren’t.

Vagrants. Night-shift vendors. Shadowy runners. Drunkards, dreamers, lovers. People who did not fit the shape of the day. A vibrant little niche of nightlife thrived.

The smell of spices clung to the air like a slow lullaby. It wafted from vendor stalls lined up unevenly along the narrow street, each competing for attention with loud calls and colorful lights.

The scent was mouthwatering, rich with pepper, grilled meats, fried oils, and pickled vegetables—an olfactory collage that pulled at the senses.

Sela, who moved like she’d walked these paths her whole life, steered them toward one of the smaller stalls. It looked like a repurposed cargo carriage, complete with wheels still attached, its wooden frame reinforced with scrap metal.

There were benches in front, old but stable, and umbrellas had been fixed to them, providing just enough cover to suggest hospitality.

She walked up straight to the proprietress.

"Welcome, how may I serve you th—ah! It’s you."

"Yup,"

Sela replied, casually wrapping her arm around Mirelle’s shoulder like she’d done it a thousand times before.

"Today I brought my siblings."

The woman behind the stall tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

"I’ve seen this one before,"

She said, pointing at Mirelle. Then her gaze shifted to Lugh, appraising him with a sly smirk.

"Who’s the handsome one?"

"He’s... my brother,"

Sela said, after the slightest pause.

The woman didn’t look convinced. Her hands were already in motion, slicing vegetables and mixing something in a pot as she spoke.

"I thought you only had three siblings. All girls."

"Who told you that?"

"You."

"Oh. Right. Well, he’s my stepbrother."

That made the woman pause—just for a breath—before she chuckled and resumed her work. The iron spatula clinked against the metal pan.

"My oh my. Kids these days."

"I’m serious!"

Sela insisted, her tone defensive now.

"We’re blood related."

"Uh huh. I believe you,"

The woman replied, voice thick with sarcasm.

Sela pursed her lips and glanced sideways at Lugh, who hadn’t been paying attention to any of the conversation. His nose twitched, eyes fixed on the grill, mesmerized by the sizzling meat.

He looked... entranced.

She sighed and stepped forward.

"I want—"

"Three skewers of grilled meat, cheese, and onions. Lots of pepper. No cabbage,"

The woman finished for her, already assembling the plates.

Selaphiel blinked, caught off guard.

"Huh?"

The woman chuckled.

"Well, it’s your favorite, isn’t it? I figured you’d want them to try it."

Her eyes flicked down toward Sela and Mirelle’s clothing—threadbare outfits, plain to the point of suspicious. Then she smirked.

"At least you aren’t dressed like serial killers today."

"Wha—Serial—It’d be better if you just called us thieves!"

Mirelle barked, her voice spiking with indignation.

"Well, are you?"

The woman replied dryly, still chopping.

"What? No!"

"Are you sure? You do seem to have a lot of money. Who knows where you’re getting it from?"

The tone had shifted. A few people at neighboring stalls turned their heads, ears perked. Mirelle began to sweat under the attention.

Selaphiel smoothly interjected.

"Come on. Look at us. Do we really look like we’d steal anything?"

The woman hummed.

"Well. True,"

She muttered.

"I remember the first time you came here and tried to pay in gold. You wouldn’t be that clueless if you were a thief."

Sela’s cheeks flushed with color.

"Can we not talk about that?"

The woman laughed and handed them the skewers, one by one. She stopped in front of Lugh.

"Yours is free."

"...Uh. Thank you,"

Lugh replied slowly, though the relief was visible. He had no money on him—none at all. In fact, the entire concept of currency was still foreign to him.

The only time he’d ever even encountered coinage was during a brief stint in the slums, before realizing that sort of life would kill him faster than the front lines ever could.

He’d gambled on war instead.

Selaphiel muttered under her breath.

"You didn’t give me any special treatment when I first arrived."

Mirelle nodded in agreement, arms crossed. But the woman just hissed at them like an angry cat.

"Shoo, shoo. I have customers to attend to."

They picked a spot under one of the umbrellas and sat down. The skewers were generously portioned, thick with glistening meat charred just right, layered with oozing cheese and scorched onions.

The pepper was strong enough to sting the nose. Lugh dug in immediately, devouring his portion with wordless zeal. Mirelle struggled a bit with the spice, coughing once or twice, but she still cleared her plate.

Sela, meanwhile, ate slowly, savoring each bite. But her joy didn’t come from the food—it came from watching them.

The food wasn’t anything mind-blowing. They were nobles, after all. Their palates had been groomed by only the best of flavours. This wasn’t about food, it was something else entirely.

The night breeze tugged at their hair. Conversations buzzed around them, soft and fragmented. The scrape of plates, the clink of metal, the warmth of food in their stomachs... It was an atmosphere, not a taste.

It was a feeling.

Sela stood up first and dropped the payment in a smooth motion before turning away, hand raised.

"Thanks for the meal." ƒгeewёbnovel.com

The woman squinted at the coins, eyes scanning the sum. She shouted after them.

"Dear child, this is too much!"

Sela waved back.

"Use it to buy some novels for your son!"

The woman’s voice rang out behind them.

"I will!"

It didn’t take long before they left the street behind, now walking at a sedate, almost lazy pace with bellies full and hearts lighter.

Their clothes were simple—plain shirts, loose pants, indoor slippers—but the quality was unmistakable, the fabric soft and refined. They drew a few curious glances, but nothing more.

To most onlookers, they probably seemed like errand-running children from a comfortable household. Middle class, maybe even upper middle class.

Mirelle turned toward Lugh with a grin tugging at her lips.

"With the way you rushed your food, I thought you’d eat the stick too."

He glanced at her.

"You weren’t exactly the image of noble grace either."

Sela laughed.

"That’s the whole point of sneaking out. To leave behind all that nobility nonsense. I’ll attack anyone who acts with etiquette."

Then, she stopped abruptly mid-step. Her voice shifted.

"They’re getting quite bold."

Lugh didn’t even blink. He tapped his temple.

"You mean the people following us?"

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