The girl hadn't expected this kind of response from Steven.
She had assumed that, at the very least, he would ask them to compensate him in some way. She had even prepared herself to pay some kind of price to settle the matter.
But instead, he had let it go—and even invited them to stay for dinner?
Wasn't that a little too nice?
It completely contradicted his current appearance.
"I told you—people who love farming don't usually have bad personalities," the old man beside her chuckled. "See? I was right."
Unlike the girl, who was still in mild shock, the old man easily accepted this turn of events.
He had lived his whole life on this harsh yet honest land, and he firmly believed that anyone who took joy in farming couldn't possibly be too bad of a person.
Those with truly malicious hearts would never be able to grow crops as healthy and thriving as the ones Steven had.
Because farming required patience.
It required effort.
A person who was willing to put in that effort… surely couldn't have a wicked nature.
If Steven had known what the old man was thinking, he probably would've found it hilarious—after all, he had barely done any real farming himself.
For him, planting crops was just a matter of digging a hole and throwing the seeds in.
Hardly the dedicated farmer the old man was picturing.
Standing up straight, the old man rubbed his hands together excitedly.
Ever since they arrived at Steven's house, he had caught the scent of something delicious coming from inside.
A rich, meaty aroma filled the air—one he recognized.
He had smelled something similar once before—on his wife's birthday, when the village hunter had gifted them a small bowl of meat soup.
Back then, he hadn't even gotten a single sip, yet the fragrance had remained etched in his memory.
But Steven's soup…
Somehow, it smelled even better.
"Don't get me wrong," Steven spoke up, noticing the lingering doubt in the girl's expression. "I just figured—it's not easy to come all this way in this kind of weather just to apologize. And besides, recognizing your mistakes and taking responsibility is an admirable trait."
"That being said…"
"Don't do it again."
"If there's one thing I absolutely can't stand, it's people using my stuff without permission."
Seeing that the girl was still uncertain, Steven simply shrugged and turned around, stepping inside his home.
A moment later, he returned with two bowls of steaming chicken soup, carefully scooping them out of his alchemist's pot.
"Here," he said, placing the bowls in front of them. "Drink some—it'll warm you up."
Then, with a casual smile, he added, "Since we're neighbors now, I'm sure I'll need to ask you guys about some things sooner or later."
He wasn't going to force them to drink.
Whether they accepted it or not was up to them—he had already done his part as a host.
"You're saying you just moved here?" The old man asked, sounding a little surprised. "This place isn't exactly… ideal for settling down, you know."
Unlike the girl, who still didn't know how to respond, the old man was far more relaxed.
And after spotting the mushrooms he had given Steven floating in the soup, his last bits of doubt disappeared.
A truly deceitful person wouldn't eat the food given by others.
The more untrustworthy a person was, the less they trusted others in return.
Holding the warm bowl in his hands, the old man brought it close to his nose, taking a deep breath of the rich, savory aroma.
Then, as if chatting with an old neighbor, he struck up a conversation.
"So, you're a traveler, then?"
"Something like that," Steven replied casually. "I've been wandering around for a while. Just arrived here not too long ago."
"I don't really know the area yet, so I just built a simple house and decided to make do for now."
Steven nodded but noticed that the old man merely took a small sip of the oil floating on top of the soup before showing a satisfied expression. Then, he pulled out a flask from his pocket, emptied out the water inside, and carefully poured the chicken soup into it.
"Hm? What are you doing?" Steven asked.
"Oh, I want to bring some back for my wife," the old man replied with a hearty chuckle. "Her body is weak, and in this kind of freezing weather, eating more nutritious food is always a good thing."
Steven observed the old man's simple yet heartwarming actions.
There was an unmistakable honesty in the way he carried himself—an unpolished, hardworking quality unique to those who had lived through hardships.
And from the way he spoke about his wife, it was clear—this was a man with a happy family.
"That's nice," Steven said casually. "But since it's already so late, why don't I walk you both home?"
He didn't comment further on the soup—it was theirs now, so how they used it was their business.
What he really wanted to know was—where exactly was their village?
If there was a settlement nearby, then at the very least, he would have a place to trade for local specialties.
And more importantly, if there were locals, it would make finding a nearby mine way easier.
"That might be too much trouble for you, sir…"
The girl beside the old man looked slightly uneasy.
She glanced at the old man, who had already accepted Steven as a friendly neighbor, and then looked back at Steven himself.
There was no denying that he seemed nice enough—but at the same time, his strange attire made it really hard to trust him completely.
It wasn't that she was judging him based on his appearance—but let's be honest…
It was kind of his fault for dressing so bizarrely in the first place, wasn't it?
"I wouldn't call it trouble," Steven said lightly. "We're neighbors now, aren't we? It's only natural to visit each other's homes from time to time."
"Besides, if I know where your village is, it'll make it easier for me to trade for supplies when I need them."
Steven could see that the girl was still wary, but he didn't mind.
Instead of trying to convince her, he simply stated his true intentions outright.
Whether she chose to believe him or not—that was her problem.
"Really?"
Before the girl could respond, the old man suddenly perked up.
"Young man, I was actually curious about your potatoes, if possible, would you be willing to trade some of those potato seeds?"
The real reason the old man had taken Steven's potatoes in the first place was because of this exact curiosity.
Now that Steven had brought up trading, he simply couldn't sit still any longer.
"That's not really possible," Steven said, shaking his head with a smile.
"The way these potatoes grow requires a special technique that only I know."
"But if you're really interested, I don't mind trading baked potatoes as a cheap food item instead."
Steven wasn't being stingy—he just had no intention of giving away something that might be considered valuable intellectual property.
Even when he gave some to the Inquisition of Iberia, it was only in exchange for the backing of a powerful institution.
But baked potatoes?
Now those were just food.
They couldn't be planted, so there was no risk of someone stealing his technique.
"I see…"
The old man's excitement faded slightly, but he understood.
After all, these potatoes were clearly a rare breed—if they could thrive in this kind of extreme cold, then they definitely required some kind of special method to cultivate.
This involved someone else's secret, so the old man decided not to press the issue further.
"In that case, we won't disturb you any longer," he said with a sigh.
It was clear that he still felt reluctant about the potatoes, but in the end, he could only accept the situation and bid Steven farewell.
Whether trading a basket of mushrooms for a bowl of chicken soup was a fair deal or not, even the old man himself wasn't entirely sure.
But one thing was certain—tonight, his wife would definitely nag him about it.
"Alright, I'll walk you both back—and while I'm at it, I can get a look at the path to your village," Steven said.
After closing his door, he naturally fell into step behind them.
The deer-antlered girl, who had remained mostly silent, let out a small sigh.
Then, mimicking the old man's actions, she poured her bowl of soup into a flask, before helping the old man start their journey home.
As for the idea of refusing Steven's company—that was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.
After all, since Steven lived in this area, it wouldn't be difficult for him to find the village on his own.
Rather than rejecting him outright and creating unnecessary hostility, it was probably smarter to just take him there directly.
Besides, if she was being honest with herself—Steven didn't feel like a bad person.
His clothing was odd, sure, but from the beginning, he had been surprisingly easy to talk to.
Perhaps…
Grandpa was right—people who love farming are rarely bad people.
The moment she accepted this thought, her unease faded.
She was naturally cheerful, and now that she had sorted out her feelings, she felt more comfortable talking to Steven.
"By the way," she said, her voice gentle and friendly, "I still don't know your name. How should I address you?"
She glanced at his back as he walked ahead of them, blocking the evening wind and sand so they wouldn't have to endure it.
A small smile appeared on her lips.
"Just call me Steve," Steven responded casually.
Names weren't particularly important to him—what really bothered him was their slow pace.
At this rate, how long would it take to actually reach the village?
Honestly, if it weren't for basic politeness, he'd much rather have them just point out the exact location on a map.
Then, he could simply throw them into a boat and drag them there himself.
Simple. Efficient.
"I see. Well, it's nice to meet you, Steve," the girl said with a bright smile.
"My name is Alina."
She spoke warmly, introducing herself with sincerity.
The old man, however, squinted his eyes, staring at Steven's back.
Something had been bothering him for a while now.
Was it just his imagination, or was his neighbor's head… a little too bright?
In fact, it seemed even brighter than the headlamps he used when working in the mines.
And more importantly…
Why did his head shape… kind of remind him of a pumpkin?
<+>
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