He fished out five silver coins from the gap between the stars.
This was the change he left in Osborne Town. It seemed that apart from a few dozen silver coins, all he had left were gold coins.
Fortunately, they also learned from the Red Beard Clan that even though the Arctic Ice Field was thousands of miles away from the Lily Kingdom, the caravans had not been cut off.
The silver coins of the Lily Kingdom can still circulate on the Arctic ice field.
Mark dropped the gold coin directly onto the thick cloth.
The silver coins fell on the frozen cloth, making a crisp sound.
The tramp's eyes widened instantly. He looked at the silver coins in disbelief, then looked at Mark, as if he was dreaming.
Is there really someone willing to spend silver coins to buy something that can be dug up anywhere on the ice field?
Mark ignored his gaze and carefully picked up the frosted potato that was frozen like a stone. He weighed it and felt it was cold and heavy, with inherent vitality.
He casually stuffed it into the gap between the stars.
"Holy Light brat...you..." The homeless man's throat rolled, and he looked at Mark with a complicated look. The previous rejection seemed to be replaced by a huge confusion and a faint gratitude.
"It's just a deal." Mark stood up and clapped his hands, as if he had just accomplished a trivial matter.
He looked around the dirty alley, his eyes sweeping over the huddled figures and piles of garbage, as if searching for the next treasure.
His "Soul Harmonizer" perception is like an invisible tentacle, quietly extending in this forgotten corner, capturing any potentially interesting or useful soul fluctuations, whether from objects or from souls in the corner.
"Let's go, Xiao Mu. Let's see what surprises these garbage dumps can bring us." He climbed onto the reindeer, leaving behind the still dazed homeless man and several more complicated gazes deep in the alley.
Continue to walk deeper into the gathering place, into the shadows where survival, desire and countless secrets are mixed.
Mark rode a reindeer and leisurely walked through the "commercial area" of the Fortagan gathering place.
In other words, I just spent the whole day wandering among a bunch of crooked tents and stalls.
During this day, he fully demonstrated the exploratory spirit of a "priest" and cooking enthusiast, and used the few silver coins left in his pocket and barter to exchange for a lot of strange things.
It is said that the powder is made from the wings of giant ice bats. The stall owner swears that this thing can make the soup "light as the wind", but Mark thinks it is more like something that will make people float away to see the gods after drinking it.
There is a "frost root" that looks like a blue carrot and can freeze your teeth off if you bite it.
There is also a red mineral that emits a faint warmth. The seller mysteriously said that this is a fragment of the "Heart of the Earth Fire" and it can heat itself when boiled in a pot.
Mark bought a piece and decided to go back and try whether it could be used as a natural hot pot base stone.
It is really troublesome to make a fire in the wilderness of the Arctic ice field. Sometimes we can't find wood and can only rely on Xiao Mu to use it as a natural stove to provide fire for the team.
Mark's way of buying things is very special. It doesn't feel like shopping, but more like doing field research.
Squatting in front of the stall, you can chat with the old lady selling frozen fish for half an hour about the fish's migratory habits and the best cooking methods, or you can hold the "Heart of the Earth" and discuss the geological structure and special mineral deposits of the Arctic ice field with a professional miner for half a day.
He started out just buying things, but later, for some reason, perhaps because the cross necklace on his chest looked too confusing, or perhaps because the content of his conversation was too down-to-earth, several stall owners began to boldly complain to him.
"Look, sir." A human vendor selling rough fur rubbed his red, frozen hands and sighed, "My fur is good quality, right? But most of the money I make from it has to go to the Frost Temple! Otherwise, I won't even be able to place my fur in the outermost circle of the market!"
A dwarf blacksmith who was mending a broken pot nearby spat, "Bah! Those bastards from the Battle Blood Cult are even worse! They said no one would dare mess with them if they paid 'protection money', but what happened? They're the ones who blackmailed me the most! I can even swing a hammer better than them!"
Mark picked up a piece of fur and weighed it, nodding. "Well, the leather is indeed tough and suitable for making pot holders... Oh, I mean, the tax is indeed a bit high."
His "soul reconciler" perception could clearly detect the mixed emotions of anxiety, anger and helplessness in the stall owners' souls, like a pot of overcooked bitter vegetable soup.
Mark knew that these stall owners were not saying these things to him because they wanted him to help them join the Holy Light Church. They just wanted to find someone to vent their grievances to.
Occasionally, when he saw someone huddled in a corner, shivering with cold or with a blue face, he would walk over, pretend to pray a few words, and then emit a barely detectable trace of colorful black light from his fingertips to help the person dispel the cold or insignificant negative energy that had invaded the body.
Thus, the reputation of "there is a Holy Light Fool who is generous, has a good temper, and can do some healing skills... uh, the Holy Light Master" quietly spread among the vendors and small people at the bottom of the market.
The way everyone looked at him changed from initial wariness and disgust to a bit of curiosity and cautious approach.
One old dwarf even got drunk and pulled Mark aside to complain, "I just wanted to buy some good malt and brew some real beer! What happened? The Black Anvil Church said I wasn't a formal member and charged three times the price per kilo of wheat! My little fortune is almost gone! These robed bastards are greedier than the black diggers underground!"
Mark nodded sympathetically and handed over a small piece of dried meat. "That's really outrageous... Old man, why haven't I heard of this Black Anvil Church you're talking about in the market?"
The old dwarf who took the jerky was obviously more interested: "Hey! It's not normal if you haven't heard of it. Let me tell you..."
…
When it was time to send the old dwarf away with two pounds of dried meat, little Mudu poked his head out of his arms with a slightly tired look, and made a curious "Hmm?" sound at a piece of frozen hard meat of unknown animal hanging in front of the store.
The little guy was obviously a little hungry.
"Don't look at that, little guy." Mark patted Xiao Mu. "It looks older than Enzo's great-grandfather. It won't even be cooked through. I have other dried meats here."
Through this day's "purchase" and "chatting", Mark pieced together the survival rules of the Fortagan Settlement.
There is no king or lord here, and the real controllers are the churches, big and small.
Frost Temple, Battle Blood Sect, Star-Moon Church, Dark Sanctuary...
They are like several huge ice thorn vines, with their roots firmly rooted in every inch of soil in the collection area, greedily absorbing nutrients.
Race is not the first priority here; faith (or more directly, the ability to pay money) is.
You want to set up a stall here safely? Fine, pay the church.
Would you like to buy some fine flour shipped from the south, rare fruits, or even just a small jar of honey?
Sorry, only the “insiders” of each church are eligible to purchase at the internal price. Outsiders either cannot buy it or have to accept a staggering premium.
You want protection? You can join a church, or you can pay a hefty "asylum fee."
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