The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman - The Exiled Noblewoman of the Marketplace

The autumn morning mist seeped coldly into the cobblestone streets. In the central market of Graustadt, even before the sun had fully risen, unlicensed street vendors were quietly preparing their wares, holding their breath. Their eyes were constantly fixed on the market entrance. If an inspector from the Licensing Bureau caught them, they would lose everything—their piled-up goods, their meager earnings, all of it. Klara spread out cheap linen cloth with practiced hands, pulling her gray shawl tightly over her worn hemp dress. Her long reddish-brown hair, tied back carelessly at her shoulder blades, swayed with her movements. Though it wasn't well cared for, when the faint morning light shone through it, her hair revealed an unexpectedly beautiful color. (*Today, no matter what, I have to sell at least three yards.*) Her large dark brown eyes were more serious than usual. She hadn't eaten properly in three days. Hans, the owner of the cheap inn "The Traveling Crow," had come yesterday to demand the lodging fee. Five pfennigs a night—she had never known it could weigh so heavily. Her left hand unconsciously reached for the ring finger of her right hand. There, a faint white mark from a ring still lingered. Proof of her broken engagement. A symbol of the past that had failed to save her from the stigma of a "defective house." Klara traced the mark with the pad of her finger, her head bowed. A year ago, everyone in this city had called her "Lady of the Vogel Barony." Now, she was a nameless, unlicensed woman selling cloth in the corner of a market. The market gradually filled with life. Directly across from her, a properly licensed shop with a splendid sign hung its permit ostentatiously on the wall as it conducted business. Every time the market inspector, Dietrich Koch, made his rounds, the shop owner would bow with a fawning smile. Dietrich Koch was fifty-five years old, a loyal servant of the ducal house. His eyes swept over the stalls of Klara and the others like a predator. Klara held her breath and quietly crouched down. *Don't let him find me—.* Fortunately, Dietrich shouted something at one of the unlicensed stalls and then quickly disappeared into the depths of the market. (*Thank goodness.*) Klara let out a sigh of relief. She reached out once more to the linen cloth spread before her. One yard, eight pfennigs per piece. If she could sell three, she'd have bread for today and a room for tonight. But. "Oh my." A shrill voice pierced Klara's ears. She looked up to see a noblewoman in a silk dress standing before her, attended by two maids. It was Baroness Beck. Her husband's house was originally a barony of equal rank to the Vogel family. They had met many times in social circles. But the eyes looking at Klara now were as if she were looking at something filthy. "[sarcastic] Oh my, in a place like this. Lady Klara of the Vogel family, what a disgraceful sight you are." A chill ran down Klara's spine. The merchants around her had also stopped their work and were watching before she knew it. The bustle of the market suddenly felt distant. "[cold] A woman whose engagement was broken off, daring to do business in the same city." Baroness Beck raised her thin eyebrows as high as they would go and picked up one of the cloths laid out in front of Klara. And then. She flung it to the ground with a slap. "[angry] Such cheap cloth! Filthy, just like you." The Baroness trampled the cloth under the toe of her shoe. The dust of the cobblestones soaked blackly into the carefully prepared linen. Klara couldn't make a sound. She just trembled, her head bowed. (*Stop... please stop...*) Even as she screamed in her heart, nothing came out of her throat. She clenched the ring finger of her left hand tightly. The mark of the ring throbbed painfully hot. Jeers flew from the crowd. "How the mighty have fallen!" "This is what happens to ruined nobles!" Laughter rained down from above her head. There was nowhere to escape. As if to deliver the final blow, Baroness Beck peered into Klara's face. And then—she spat. Something lukewarm trickled down Klara's cheek. "[cold] Do your best to live out your miserable existence there." Just as the Baroness laughed triumphantly. "Please wait." A clear, carrying voice came from behind the crowd. When she turned, the crowd parted as if making way. A single woman walked through the center. Her silver hair, cut short at the jawline, peeked out from her traveling hood. Her narrow, blue eyes fixed on Baroness Beck as if appraising her. Traveling clothes without a single stain. Neatly polished leather boots. It was the merchant woman, Marta Grace. "[cold] To think a noble would resort to violence in the marketplace." Marta's voice was surprisingly calm. As gentle as if offering a greeting at tea time. But it was cold. "[angry] Who are you?!" Baroness Beck threatened, but Marta didn't flinch. Instead, she took a step closer to the Baroness. "[serious] I am merely a traveling merchant. However, if a noble commits an outrage in the market, it constitutes a violation of the Licensing Law." The Licensing Law—. The Baroness's expression changed at those words. To do business in the territory of Brenhalt, one needed a license from the ducal house. And even nobles would be punished if they unjustly obstructed business in the market. This was a bare-minimum rule to maintain the facade of noble society. "[cold] I hired this person today as my trade agent." Marta lied without batting an eye. "[sarcastic] In other words, you are currently obstructing my business. Shall I bring this to the ears of the ducal house?" The Baroness's cheeks flushed bright red with anger. "...D-don't you forget this!" Leaving that parting threat, Baroness Beck quickly walked away, taking her maids with her. The crowd also dispersed, as if losing interest. Klara was still trembling. Marta crouched down and picked up the cloth scattered on the ground. She carefully brushed off the dust and gently returned it to Klara's hands. "[gentle] Are you alright?" Marta's blue eyes softened with kindness for the first time. Klara nodded awkwardly. "...Thank you." She barely managed to squeeze out her voice. Marta looked intently at Klara, then spoke. "[serious] You've had a noble's education, haven't you? What that woman said earlier was true, wasn't it?" Klara instinctively tried to shake her head. But she couldn't. "[serious] Would you be willing to use your education for business?" Marta's voice was serious. The cold, appraising look in her eyes was gone. Instead, something else—an emotion that wasn't just calculation—seemed to flicker there. "[scared] ...Why would you trust me?" "[gentle] It's not that I trust you. I just thought you had utility value." Marta said it honestly, with a slight smile. Seeing that smile, Klara thought. (*This person is strong. Unlike me, she's someone who can live on her own.*) But—for just a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a shadow flicker deep in those eyes. (*But there's something. Even in this person, something...*) "It's your decision. But you don't have a place to stay tonight, do you?" Marta gently extended her hand. Klara stared at that hand. (*I want to run away.*) (*But I can't run away.*) (*I can't even buy today's bread, so where would I run to?*) She rubbed the ring finger of her left hand once more. The mark of her broken engagement ached more than ever. (*It's all over now, anyway. If that's the case—*) Klara took her hand. "...Please take care of me." She said it in a hoarse voice. Marta nodded. "Alright, first, let's eat. Do you know the Gray Deer Inn?" The Gray Deer Inn was in a back alley of the new town. It was an old stone building, with a faded painting of a gray deer on its sign. The interior was dim, steeped in the smell of beer and sausages. The sixty-year-old landlady, Irma, wiped down a table for the two of them. As soon as Marta ordered, warm stew and freshly baked black bread were brought over. "[gentle] Eat up. It's my treat." Klara hesitantly picked up her spoon. With one bite, the hunger deep in her stomach surged back. Before she knew it, she was devouring the stew ravenously. How many days had it been since she'd eaten something warm like this? "[serious] I'm Greta. I came from the northern port town of Wasserburg. I have a license, and I'm currently looking for new trade partners." Marta—no, the woman calling herself Greta—took a sip of ale. "...I'm Anna." Klara also instinctively hid her real name. She had already cast aside the Vogel family name. "[gentle] Anna, is it? That's a good name." Marta said that, her mouth relaxing just a little. After that, the two of them ate in silence for a while. Neither asked deeply. Neither could. In the corner of the inn, drunken sailors were gambling at cards. At the counter, the landlady Irma was silently polishing glasses. "[serious] Anna. Can you read?" "[whispers] Yes... a little." She gave a small nod. "What about arithmetic? Bookkeeping?" "[surprised] Eh, bookkeeping... I can, but." "[serious] Then it's settled. You start working tomorrow. It's small work for now, but I want to handle bigger deals eventually." Marta said that and drained her ale. Klara put the last piece of black bread into her mouth. (*If I'm with this person, I might be able to survive.*) That faint hope flickered deep in her chest. After a while, Marta settled the bill and stood up. "[gentle] Go back to your inn and rest today. I'm glad I met you here, Anna." "...Yes. Thank you, Miss Greta." Klara also stood and bowed her head. Marta pulled her hood back up and disappeared into the darkness of the alley. The autumn night wind whistled through the street. Klara stared for a while in the direction Marta had gone. (*Miss Greta...*) (*Was this meeting really just a coincidence?*) But she didn't have the energy to think deeply about it. Right now, just having survived today was all she could manage. She too left the tavern and headed for her cheap inn. The back alley of the Gray Deer Inn. A young waiter from the tavern quietly approached a hooded man in a deserted corner of the alley. "[whispers] Sir, the target has made contact with a woman calling herself Greta." The waiter reported in a low voice. "[cold] Hmph. Continue surveillance. I will report to Lord Friedrich." The man gave the order, then melted into the darkness, disappearing deeper into the alley. A moonless autumn night. Who, and for what purpose? Leaving only that unsettling mystery behind, the city of Graustadt was once again enveloped in silence.

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Episode 1

Name: The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman
Author: Novelia

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