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

Input:
He considered this, and without even looking to Holo, he answered, "If you please, then."
Deutchmann smiled.
Thump went the sack of wool as it hit the ground, no doubt soon to be taken to a ship and then sent to some far-off land—or so Lawrence would have easily believed had someone said so.
Within the flat, hemp-stitched burlap sack was a large bundle of woolen quilts, each one far warmer than ten rough, chilly traveling blankets. Sleeping under just a single one of them would make one sweat.
Three such quilts had been brought back to the room.
"This...mmph. Are you quite sure this is all right?" asked Holo, despite having insisted on the finest room in the inn and tossing piece after piece of firewood into the fireplace in order to dry her hair after having washed it clean of salt-sea smell.
Evidently even Holo, who constantly hounded Lawrence to avoid stinginess and stay at fine inns, had some sort of financial sense.
They had never stayed at an inn such as this one, and it was enough to inspire even Holo to express concern.
"There hasn't been a guest in this inn for ten days, and it's been four weeks since any occupied this room, and during this season, guests are even fewer. A single ryut was enough to get us the room and firewood with change left over. Of course..." Lawrence pointed at the tarnished coins lined up on the table. "...It's rather doubtful whether we can buy anything with coins such as those."
"Hmph. So you took advantage of their weakness, did you?"
"That's not a very nice way to put it. When demand for something is low, its price will drop."
"Well, so long as you didn't let this room for the sake of your own vanity, 'tis well. Come, Col—take that there."
Holo busily began making up the bed, teasing Col as he timidly took hold of the fluffy wool quilt.
As he watched all this with a wry smile, Lawrence's thoughts were elsewhere.
He was thinking about what Deutchmann had told him about the crisis facing this nation and the Ruvik Alliance's attempt to take advantage of it.
It was said that it was ever the fate of the weak to be eaten by the strong. But what Lawrence found surprising was that even the storied Brondel Abbey could fall victim to that same fate. Even given that the Church's influence was beginning to wane, Lawrence still had the feeling that it had reserves of power that had yet to decline. Particularly just after he had met Holo, it was none other than the Church that had been responsible for her being taken hostage and the mad events that followed.
Of course, Lawrence was not inclined to either cheer or blame one party or the other. Humans, too, ate sheep and were in turn attacked by wolves.
As he mused on such things, Holo shot him a glance.
"That face of yours—I see you're planning something no good again."
Thanks to the fireplace and the sturdily constructed windows, the room had gotten quite warm. Though Holo had taken off her robe, she was still a bit sweaty, probably more from playing with Col than from the room's temperature. Col sat on the bed drinking water from a jug, hunched over in a posture of exhaustion.
Perhaps the scent of wool had gotten her excited.
"It's no good, that much is certain. I just found myself hoping the Church would endure forever."
Holo looked skeptical and sat on a chair, putting to her lips the water jug that was on the table.
Water jug though it might have been, it was filled with wine and was not made of ceramic, iron, or copper. It was instead carved from the shell of a coconut, a fruit from an island nation in the south whose trade must have been prosperous indeed.
"Ah, you mean the conversation from earlier."
"If it bothers you, I suppose I can transform back into a merchant happy to watch the ignominious fall of a once-strong enemy."
"...Fool." After a moment's hesitation, she stepped on Lawrence's foot.

Output:
In Kerube they had come to the aid of Eve, a beautiful merchant known as the wolf of the Roam River. But Lawrence knew that if he ever used that to tease Holo, he would do so at his own peril.
Ever since Eve had taken him by surprise, Lawrence had been on pins and needles. He had no desire to repeat the experience.
"It's simple sentimentality. Despite my mixed feelings, the Church has come to my rescue many times."
"Mm. I suppose I can understand that. Still, that fellow with the trading company spoke of the situation with no small pleasure."
"He's surely quite pleased. Deutchmann said he was responsible for wool buying, didn't he? Dealing with the abbey must be quite a bother. No wonder he's happy to see them put at a disadvantage."
"Choleric and opportunistic, eh?"
"Exactly. But don't you think you've been a bit too pleased ever since the quilts were brought up?"
Holo frowned at this, her ears pricking and her cheeks puffing out. She then seemed to feel self-conscious and exhaled the contents of her cheeks in a sigh.
"'Twill be hard for me to sleep in such quilts. The scent of sheep will keep me awake."
"And the scent of money will keep them awake. And we'll probably have no cause to be involved with the abbey's crisis. Even with your wits, Col's wisdom, and my nerve, this is one opponent we can't face."
"What kind of notion is that?" Holo looked at Lawrence in amused exasperation, her elbow on the table, propping up her chin.
"What should we do, then?" It was Col who took the opportunity to get a word in as he checked the fireplace and placed another log into it. He was quite good at placing the firewood—a true northerner, Lawrence mused.
"I don't imagine that the Ruvik Alliance is after the wolf bones. Had that been the case, Eve or Kieman would've heard something about it."
"So we've just happened to run into them while chasing different prey."
"I don't know if 'run into them' is quite the right phrase, but...in any case, the Ruvik Alliance is a nation-sized opponent. We're no match for them. However, this could be a good opportunity, depending on how we think about it."
"Oh?"
As he listened to the conversation, Col shook his coat out in front of the fireplace, probably trying to use its heat to drive any insects out of it.
"The abbey's been seized by jaws as persistent as any snake. The whole of their estate is in full view, which saves us the trouble of estimating it. Also, according to what Deutchmann said, the alliance is after the abbey's landholdings. Even if the abbey's holdings include the wolf bones, its unlikely they're viewed as important."
Even the Ruvik Alliance couldn't ignore assets worth thousands of gold pieces. But no matter how valuable the wolf bones, they were in the end simply an item that could be purchased with money.
What was truly valuable was that which could not be had for any amount of money.
"I don't think there would be any real danger in simply stopping by the abbey to see. If there were a danger, I suppose it would be..."
"What?" Holo tilted her head curiously.
"It's said that the great Brondel Abbey has flocks of sheep totaling a hundred thousand head. Can you manage that?"
He had first thought about it as a joke, but given Holo's reaction to the wool-stuffed quilt, he was not sure exactly what her reaction might be.
This was the season when merchants came to buy up wool for the coming spring, and simply for purposes of comparison, the number of sheep on display would be huge. And even if that was not the case, sheep-related goods would be everywhere anyway, along with scores of the shepherds whom Holo so detested.
On top of that, there was no telling how excited Holo might become at the sight of the snowy plains, given how she had acted on the ship—Lawrence's worry was outstripped only by his uncertainty.
"All will be well surely," said Holo casually.
Lawrence regarded the unconcerned wolf, wondering where that easy confidence came from.


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

Input:
In Kerube they had come to the aid of Eve, a beautiful merchant known as the wolf of the Roam River. But Lawrence knew that if he ever used that to tease Holo, he would do so at his own peril.
Ever since Eve had taken him by surprise, Lawrence had been on pins and needles. He had no desire to repeat the experience.
"It's simple sentimentality. Despite my mixed feelings, the Church has come to my rescue many times."
"Mm. I suppose I can understand that. Still, that fellow with the trading company spoke of the situation with no small pleasure."
"He's surely quite pleased. Deutchmann said he was responsible for wool buying, didn't he? Dealing with the abbey must be quite a bother. No wonder he's happy to see them put at a disadvantage."
"Choleric and opportunistic, eh?"
"Exactly. But don't you think you've been a bit too pleased ever since the quilts were brought up?"
Holo frowned at this, her ears pricking and her cheeks puffing out. She then seemed to feel self-conscious and exhaled the contents of her cheeks in a sigh.
"'Twill be hard for me to sleep in such quilts. The scent of sheep will keep me awake."
"And the scent of money will keep them awake. And we'll probably have no cause to be involved with the abbey's crisis. Even with your wits, Col's wisdom, and my nerve, this is one opponent we can't face."
"What kind of notion is that?" Holo looked at Lawrence in amused exasperation, her elbow on the table, propping up her chin.
"What should we do, then?" It was Col who took the opportunity to get a word in as he checked the fireplace and placed another log into it. He was quite good at placing the firewood—a true northerner, Lawrence mused.
"I don't imagine that the Ruvik Alliance is after the wolf bones. Had that been the case, Eve or Kieman would've heard something about it."
"So we've just happened to run into them while chasing different prey."
"I don't know if 'run into them' is quite the right phrase, but...in any case, the Ruvik Alliance is a nation-sized opponent. We're no match for them. However, this could be a good opportunity, depending on how we think about it."
"Oh?"
As he listened to the conversation, Col shook his coat out in front of the fireplace, probably trying to use its heat to drive any insects out of it.
"The abbey's been seized by jaws as persistent as any snake. The whole of their estate is in full view, which saves us the trouble of estimating it. Also, according to what Deutchmann said, the alliance is after the abbey's landholdings. Even if the abbey's holdings include the wolf bones, its unlikely they're viewed as important."
Even the Ruvik Alliance couldn't ignore assets worth thousands of gold pieces. But no matter how valuable the wolf bones, they were in the end simply an item that could be purchased with money.
What was truly valuable was that which could not be had for any amount of money.
"I don't think there would be any real danger in simply stopping by the abbey to see. If there were a danger, I suppose it would be..."
"What?" Holo tilted her head curiously.
"It's said that the great Brondel Abbey has flocks of sheep totaling a hundred thousand head. Can you manage that?"
He had first thought about it as a joke, but given Holo's reaction to the wool-stuffed quilt, he was not sure exactly what her reaction might be.
This was the season when merchants came to buy up wool for the coming spring, and simply for purposes of comparison, the number of sheep on display would be huge. And even if that was not the case, sheep-related goods would be everywhere anyway, along with scores of the shepherds whom Holo so detested.
On top of that, there was no telling how excited Holo might become at the sight of the snowy plains, given how she had acted on the ship—Lawrence's worry was outstripped only by his uncertainty.
"All will be well surely," said Holo casually.
Lawrence regarded the unconcerned wolf, wondering where that easy confidence came from.

Output:
***
"So, it's decided then. Let's prepare! Eating so much it turns distasteful requires some preparation. And look, don't you think young Col wishes to eat mutton, as well? 'Tis written all over his face."
She was only using Col as a pretense, but he seemed none too displeased by it, which made Holo's words that much harder to ignore.
But he had to say something.
"I've started to find constantly treating you to such feasts itself distasteful. What do you make of that, eh?"
Holo put on her robe, seemingly unconcerned that it was stiff with accumulated sea salt, pulling the hood over her head. "I don't mind being resented once in a while. If you truly tired of me, though, that would be truly painful," she said flirtatiously, placing both hands on her chest.
He would look utterly foolish if he played along with her. "Indeed it would," he answered.
Holo cackled and took Col's hand, walking toward the door. She then twirled around and looked back at him, speaking innocently, like a child. "Come, hurry!"
There was nothing to be done, Lawrence murmured to himself. He took his overcoat in hand and stood.
A strong currency is the most powerful weapon.
A great merchant who had crossed seas and conquered nation after nation with naught but coin had once said those words, and Lawrence did not consider himself particularly lucky to have been a merchant himself for long enough to realize their truth.
Deutchmann had extended them an invitation to stay at his trading company, but Lawrence had refused. From what he could discern given what Deutchmann had said, the offer had only been put forward because foreign visitors were viewed as easy marks.
And that guess was confirmed the moment they arrived at the inn.
Naturally, Lawrence took heed of Deutchmann's warning not to change any of his coin for Winfiel currency.
Just as a test, Lawrence pulled out a silver ryut coin worth slightly less than a trenni, and the tavern master's face split in a huge grin.
A heaping pile of mutton, perfectly cooked and covered in a layer of yellow fat, was placed on a plate.
In this season, when grass was thin on the ground, it cost money to feed the sheep. Evidently, shepherds slaughtered more than the usual number of sheep in order to stay afloat, which drove up the cost of the salt and vinegar used to preserve the meat.
But here the cold climate could be used to preserve the meat, so quite naturally it was less expensive. Being able to feast on meat so fine that a thin layer of oil was left in the wine cups, which they drank from to wash it down, was not something that happened every day.
However, the bread was of fairly poor quality.
It was said that a nation's health could be measured by its bread. This was because, unlike meat, grains like wheat and rye were easy to preserve and store, so in times of hardship, the better grain would be reserved for future use.
"To think that my first customers in such a long time would have such great appetites! Surely this is the will of God!"
The tavern master's words were an obvious exaggeration, but the tavern was indeed only half full, and most of those were only drinking.
They all appeared to be locals, roughly half craftsmen and half small-scale merchants and peddlers.
There did not appear to be anybody from companies whose headquarters were abroad, probably because showing off their prosperity would only earn them the ire of the people in town.
Of course, for a traveler, the opposite was true. Once Lawrence generously treated the other patrons to meat and wine, the fat and liquor became perfect social lubricants.
"Just look at this lifeless tavern! Hey, you lot! This is how you eat and drink, by God!"
"Ah, shut up, old man! You're the one who always skips the wine and drinks the watery ale they brew right over a dirt floor!"
"Aye! I hear you put so many beans on your bread it drives your wife to tears!"
The tavern master and his regulars traded jabs and then immediately burst into laughter.


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

Input:
***
"So, it's decided then. Let's prepare! Eating so much it turns distasteful requires some preparation. And look, don't you think young Col wishes to eat mutton, as well? 'Tis written all over his face."
She was only using Col as a pretense, but he seemed none too displeased by it, which made Holo's words that much harder to ignore.
But he had to say something.
"I've started to find constantly treating you to such feasts itself distasteful. What do you make of that, eh?"
Holo put on her robe, seemingly unconcerned that it was stiff with accumulated sea salt, pulling the hood over her head. "I don't mind being resented once in a while. If you truly tired of me, though, that would be truly painful," she said flirtatiously, placing both hands on her chest.
He would look utterly foolish if he played along with her. "Indeed it would," he answered.
Holo cackled and took Col's hand, walking toward the door. She then twirled around and looked back at him, speaking innocently, like a child. "Come, hurry!"
There was nothing to be done, Lawrence murmured to himself. He took his overcoat in hand and stood.
A strong currency is the most powerful weapon.
A great merchant who had crossed seas and conquered nation after nation with naught but coin had once said those words, and Lawrence did not consider himself particularly lucky to have been a merchant himself for long enough to realize their truth.
Deutchmann had extended them an invitation to stay at his trading company, but Lawrence had refused. From what he could discern given what Deutchmann had said, the offer had only been put forward because foreign visitors were viewed as easy marks.
And that guess was confirmed the moment they arrived at the inn.
Naturally, Lawrence took heed of Deutchmann's warning not to change any of his coin for Winfiel currency.
Just as a test, Lawrence pulled out a silver ryut coin worth slightly less than a trenni, and the tavern master's face split in a huge grin.
A heaping pile of mutton, perfectly cooked and covered in a layer of yellow fat, was placed on a plate.
In this season, when grass was thin on the ground, it cost money to feed the sheep. Evidently, shepherds slaughtered more than the usual number of sheep in order to stay afloat, which drove up the cost of the salt and vinegar used to preserve the meat.
But here the cold climate could be used to preserve the meat, so quite naturally it was less expensive. Being able to feast on meat so fine that a thin layer of oil was left in the wine cups, which they drank from to wash it down, was not something that happened every day.
However, the bread was of fairly poor quality.
It was said that a nation's health could be measured by its bread. This was because, unlike meat, grains like wheat and rye were easy to preserve and store, so in times of hardship, the better grain would be reserved for future use.
"To think that my first customers in such a long time would have such great appetites! Surely this is the will of God!"
The tavern master's words were an obvious exaggeration, but the tavern was indeed only half full, and most of those were only drinking.
They all appeared to be locals, roughly half craftsmen and half small-scale merchants and peddlers.
There did not appear to be anybody from companies whose headquarters were abroad, probably because showing off their prosperity would only earn them the ire of the people in town.
Of course, for a traveler, the opposite was true. Once Lawrence generously treated the other patrons to meat and wine, the fat and liquor became perfect social lubricants.
"Just look at this lifeless tavern! Hey, you lot! This is how you eat and drink, by God!"
"Ah, shut up, old man! You're the one who always skips the wine and drinks the watery ale they brew right over a dirt floor!"
"Aye! I hear you put so many beans on your bread it drives your wife to tears!"
The tavern master and his regulars traded jabs and then immediately burst into laughter.

Output:
"By the by, where'd you come from, traveler?" asked the tavern master as he brought the pickled cabbage-and-mutton stew Lawrence had ordered to break the monotony of the endless roast meat.
The master did not bother asking Holo, not because she appeared to be a young girl, but rather because she was devouring mutton at such a rate that the other patrons were standing around her, cheering her on.
"From Kerube across the sea. Before that we were still farther south."
"Kerube, eh? I hear there was quite the hubbub there. What was it again...? Hey, Hans! What happened in Kerube, again?"
"The narwhal, wasn't it? Hey, aren't tavern keepers supposed to be good with gossip? Anyway, I hear they caught a big devil in their nets, turned into a real problem. Last time I was at the docks, the boys from the Lyon Company were talking about it."
It was truly amazing how quickly information could cross the sea. It had only been a few days since the events in question had happened.
"That's right, the narwhal. Was that really true?"
The tavern master's face was full of interest. He would never have imagined the one responsible for the situation's sudden reversal was standing right in front of him.
Lawrence glanced at Holo to share a private smile with her, but found himself totally ignored. Had he looked to Col, he was sure the boy would have returned the smile of co-conspirators who shared a secret.
If asked which of his traveling companions he was more inclined to show kindness to, well—it hardly bore asking.
"Yes, it was true. It was such a crisis that the town was split in two over it, north and south. In the end, a single company brought several crates of gold coins to the church and loudly demanded the narwhal be sold to them. Thanks to all the commotion, it was impossible to enjoy any time in the town."
"Oh ho, crates full of gold coin, eh?" The surrounding patrons reacted most strongly to that part of the story. It revealed all too clearly where their current interests lay. "And you say you came all the way up here from south of Kerube? For trade?"
"No, we're on pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey."
Given how keen their reaction to any news of coin was, Lawrence avoided the topic of money. From what he could tell, he guessed most of the patrons were merchants or craftsmen. If talk turned to business, not only would the conversation cease to progress, but they would surely start trying to sell him their goods.
"Ah, Brondel Abbey..."
"Difficult though it may be to believe, my two traveling companions are indeed children of God. I've been moved to repent and try to atone for my past sins."
"I see. Still, to think a merchant would be making a pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey...such irony," said the tavern master to the other patrons, having at some point gotten a cup of wine for his own hand. He grinned sardonically, as did his customers.
Lawrence did his very best to play the ignorant traveler.
"Why is that ironic?"
"Well, only because Brondel Abbey is cleverer with business than you might think and hasn't treated pilgrims properly in many years. Most foreign travelers to the abbey come through this town, and we've seen many of them returning with disappointed faces."
"They're supposed to pay for the upkeep of inns and roads for pilgrims, but the amount they contribute is piddling compared with the money they bring in from the wool trade. Even a child can see which way the scales tilt. May God's protection be upon us!"
The patron seemed to be a merchant, and at his words, the tavern master nodded firmly.
Be it trading company or abbey, when it came time to turn a profit, the methods they used were much the same. It was crucial to conduct the most profitable business with the most profitable partners.
But in doing so, much was lost.


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

Input:
"By the by, where'd you come from, traveler?" asked the tavern master as he brought the pickled cabbage-and-mutton stew Lawrence had ordered to break the monotony of the endless roast meat.
The master did not bother asking Holo, not because she appeared to be a young girl, but rather because she was devouring mutton at such a rate that the other patrons were standing around her, cheering her on.
"From Kerube across the sea. Before that we were still farther south."
"Kerube, eh? I hear there was quite the hubbub there. What was it again...? Hey, Hans! What happened in Kerube, again?"
"The narwhal, wasn't it? Hey, aren't tavern keepers supposed to be good with gossip? Anyway, I hear they caught a big devil in their nets, turned into a real problem. Last time I was at the docks, the boys from the Lyon Company were talking about it."
It was truly amazing how quickly information could cross the sea. It had only been a few days since the events in question had happened.
"That's right, the narwhal. Was that really true?"
The tavern master's face was full of interest. He would never have imagined the one responsible for the situation's sudden reversal was standing right in front of him.
Lawrence glanced at Holo to share a private smile with her, but found himself totally ignored. Had he looked to Col, he was sure the boy would have returned the smile of co-conspirators who shared a secret.
If asked which of his traveling companions he was more inclined to show kindness to, well—it hardly bore asking.
"Yes, it was true. It was such a crisis that the town was split in two over it, north and south. In the end, a single company brought several crates of gold coins to the church and loudly demanded the narwhal be sold to them. Thanks to all the commotion, it was impossible to enjoy any time in the town."
"Oh ho, crates full of gold coin, eh?" The surrounding patrons reacted most strongly to that part of the story. It revealed all too clearly where their current interests lay. "And you say you came all the way up here from south of Kerube? For trade?"
"No, we're on pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey."
Given how keen their reaction to any news of coin was, Lawrence avoided the topic of money. From what he could tell, he guessed most of the patrons were merchants or craftsmen. If talk turned to business, not only would the conversation cease to progress, but they would surely start trying to sell him their goods.
"Ah, Brondel Abbey..."
"Difficult though it may be to believe, my two traveling companions are indeed children of God. I've been moved to repent and try to atone for my past sins."
"I see. Still, to think a merchant would be making a pilgrimage to Brondel Abbey...such irony," said the tavern master to the other patrons, having at some point gotten a cup of wine for his own hand. He grinned sardonically, as did his customers.
Lawrence did his very best to play the ignorant traveler.
"Why is that ironic?"
"Well, only because Brondel Abbey is cleverer with business than you might think and hasn't treated pilgrims properly in many years. Most foreign travelers to the abbey come through this town, and we've seen many of them returning with disappointed faces."
"They're supposed to pay for the upkeep of inns and roads for pilgrims, but the amount they contribute is piddling compared with the money they bring in from the wool trade. Even a child can see which way the scales tilt. May God's protection be upon us!"
The patron seemed to be a merchant, and at his words, the tavern master nodded firmly.
Be it trading company or abbey, when it came time to turn a profit, the methods they used were much the same. It was crucial to conduct the most profitable business with the most profitable partners.
But in doing so, much was lost.

Output:
"And if after all that a foreign merchant is coming as a pilgrim, maybe this is the limit of their punishment. Serves them right, I say!"
Given how deeply people revered places of worship, their reactions when their faith was abused were that much more violent. Each of the tavern's patrons was all too happy to speak ill of the abbey.
Given that, Lawrence was sure it would not be difficult to get them to talk about the Ruvik Alliance.
"So that's how it is...So does that mean nobody visits the abbey at all anymore?" asked Lawrence, at which the tavern master's expression turned complicated, looking both pleased and helpless.
But he could not say what he was feeling. Lawrence could tell that much.
Brondel Abbey was still an important center for the town and for the nation—a symbol of their faith.
"Not at all. Even now, merchants gather there. Though they are of a rather different kind. Have you ever heard of the Ruvik Alliance?"
Holo ceased biting into her mutton and sipped her wine as though taking a short break—though her actions were no coincidence. She could tell the lively chatter had come to an end.
"That's the largest and most famous economic alliance in the world, is it not?"
"Indeed it is. Evidently their people are visiting the abbey in great numbers. At first it was their leaders, riding in black carriages, but apparently the abbey winter was too much for them to endure, and merchants coming on foot replaced them. I hear they come and go constantly, each trying to be the first to strike a deal. This year they've passed right by all the taverns, grim-faced as they go."
"What kind of deal are they trying to make?" This would be the rest of the story Lawrence had heard from Deutchmann, but what came out of the tavern master's mouth next was utterly surprising.
"Don't laugh now, but I hear they're trying to buy the golden sheep."
Lawrence got the feeling he could hear Holo's ears prick to attention beneath her hood.
Lawrence himself looked the tavern master disbelievingly in the face.
"The story comes up whenever times are hard. The fields of Brondel Abbey are vast, and when they're covered in snow, the whiteness extends as far as you can see. Legend has it that at the very edge there's a sheep as brilliantly golden as the newly risen sun."
"The story goes that a man once managed to pluck a bit of wool from it, but that the moment the wool was plucked it turned into pure light and vanished."
It was true enough that such stories did circulate.
Nowhere was the ground more fertile for miraculous stories than a nation beset by war or hardship—tales of statues of the Holy Mother weeping, witches' grins splitting from ear to ear as they stole children, or the symbol of the Church appearing on a great flag in the sky.
Even across the sea on the continent there were people who had heard the tale of the golden sheep of Brondel Abbey.
It was quite a convenient legend to cling to in times of great difficulty.
"They're probably trying to buy the abbey's name, or its land..."
"I heard a rumor the Ruvik Alliance is trying to become Winfiel's new nobility."
"But King Sufon's the grandson of the great Winfiel the First. He won't just stand by and allow his own retainers to be bought off. There once was a merchant who bought himself the name of a fallen noble family, and the king's anger was such that his decrees ruined the merchant's wool trade—and then this." The patron drew a finger across his neck in a familiar gesture for beheading.
Lawrence realized the merchant had to have been the former husband of someone he knew quite well.
"There's no money, but taxes keep going up, though I suppose it's because there is no money that his reaction is so excessive."
"You're good customers, so I'll tell you something. If you're going to the abbey, watch yourselves. Demons have taken up within the house of God. The God that should have been coming to our aid has been lost on the vast plains for long time now."


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

Input:
"And if after all that a foreign merchant is coming as a pilgrim, maybe this is the limit of their punishment. Serves them right, I say!"
Given how deeply people revered places of worship, their reactions when their faith was abused were that much more violent. Each of the tavern's patrons was all too happy to speak ill of the abbey.
Given that, Lawrence was sure it would not be difficult to get them to talk about the Ruvik Alliance.
"So that's how it is...So does that mean nobody visits the abbey at all anymore?" asked Lawrence, at which the tavern master's expression turned complicated, looking both pleased and helpless.
But he could not say what he was feeling. Lawrence could tell that much.
Brondel Abbey was still an important center for the town and for the nation—a symbol of their faith.
"Not at all. Even now, merchants gather there. Though they are of a rather different kind. Have you ever heard of the Ruvik Alliance?"
Holo ceased biting into her mutton and sipped her wine as though taking a short break—though her actions were no coincidence. She could tell the lively chatter had come to an end.
"That's the largest and most famous economic alliance in the world, is it not?"
"Indeed it is. Evidently their people are visiting the abbey in great numbers. At first it was their leaders, riding in black carriages, but apparently the abbey winter was too much for them to endure, and merchants coming on foot replaced them. I hear they come and go constantly, each trying to be the first to strike a deal. This year they've passed right by all the taverns, grim-faced as they go."
"What kind of deal are they trying to make?" This would be the rest of the story Lawrence had heard from Deutchmann, but what came out of the tavern master's mouth next was utterly surprising.
"Don't laugh now, but I hear they're trying to buy the golden sheep."
Lawrence got the feeling he could hear Holo's ears prick to attention beneath her hood.
Lawrence himself looked the tavern master disbelievingly in the face.
"The story comes up whenever times are hard. The fields of Brondel Abbey are vast, and when they're covered in snow, the whiteness extends as far as you can see. Legend has it that at the very edge there's a sheep as brilliantly golden as the newly risen sun."
"The story goes that a man once managed to pluck a bit of wool from it, but that the moment the wool was plucked it turned into pure light and vanished."
It was true enough that such stories did circulate.
Nowhere was the ground more fertile for miraculous stories than a nation beset by war or hardship—tales of statues of the Holy Mother weeping, witches' grins splitting from ear to ear as they stole children, or the symbol of the Church appearing on a great flag in the sky.
Even across the sea on the continent there were people who had heard the tale of the golden sheep of Brondel Abbey.
It was quite a convenient legend to cling to in times of great difficulty.
"They're probably trying to buy the abbey's name, or its land..."
"I heard a rumor the Ruvik Alliance is trying to become Winfiel's new nobility."
"But King Sufon's the grandson of the great Winfiel the First. He won't just stand by and allow his own retainers to be bought off. There once was a merchant who bought himself the name of a fallen noble family, and the king's anger was such that his decrees ruined the merchant's wool trade—and then this." The patron drew a finger across his neck in a familiar gesture for beheading.
Lawrence realized the merchant had to have been the former husband of someone he knew quite well.
"There's no money, but taxes keep going up, though I suppose it's because there is no money that his reaction is so excessive."
"You're good customers, so I'll tell you something. If you're going to the abbey, watch yourselves. Demons have taken up within the house of God. The God that should have been coming to our aid has been lost on the vast plains for long time now."

Output:
Maybe they did not care as long as they had something to complain about. But no matter the target of their complaints, it was clear they did not truly hate them.
The Ruvik Alliance and the Winfiel monarchy were entities far beyond their own positions, and even if it had fallen, Brondel Abbey was still viewed with respect.
These nebulous contradictions were all too clear to Lawrence. And because they were so clear, Lawrence understood well just how difficult the tavern's patrons' lives were.
"Thank you. We'll be very careful."
"Aye. Other than that, you'd best eat and drink such that you've energy to spare. The moment you leave the town, it's naught but snowy fields. Without enough energy, you'll never make it across!"
The tavern's noise level rose with the tavern master's pronouncement, and Lawrence raised his cup.
Col seemed to be at his limit, though Holo was still ready to go.
The great Brondel Abbey out on the snow-strewn plains.
Indeed, they would need to eat plenty while they could.
There was a tik, tik sound.
It sounded like the crackling of burning firewood. But wait, no—no bonfire had been started the previous night. Ah, of course—the fireplace.
And yet despite that realization, the sound was odd.
Lawrence finally opened his eyes and raised his head. Given the still dim room, he knew the hour was yet early, and from the light that entered through the window, he could tell whether the weather outside was clear or not.
The day unfortunately seemed to be a cloudy one. The moment he thought to himself, Seems cold, the frigid air he inhaled through his nose roused him mercilessly to total wakefulness.
It was cold in the room, despite the sound of the crackling firewood.
"Snow, eh?" he muttered, then yawned hugely and sat up.
It had been a long time since he had slept so soundly, thanks to the impressive warmth provided by the wool quilt.
Holo seemed fast asleep, the fluffed-up quilt rising and falling with her breath.
And yet it was cold.
Lawrence felt as though ice had been left on his face. He looked at Col, who like Holo seemed to be curled up and sleeping, entirely covered by his quilt.
Evidently Lawrence was the only one who had slept with his face exposed.
He rubbed his frigid face and exhaled whitely. Getting out of bed, he shivered and walked over to the room's table, then swirled the water jug there experimentally.
He had not hoped for much, and the water in the metal jug was frozen solid.
"Suppose I'll have to go downstairs..."
Since beginning his travels with Holo, he had talked to himself much less, but sometimes it still happened. He added some straw to the still faintly flickering fire, and once it flared up, he put another piece of firewood in.
The bricks of the lovely brick fireplace seemed cold enough to put the fire out.
Having confirmed that the firewood was well and truly burning, Lawrence left the room.
The hallway was utterly quiet. Either for want of guests or simply because of the early hour, the silence seemed to swallow all sound.
He was not concerned about the creaking of the floorboards as he walked.
This silence, as though the world were wrapped in cotton, was unique to newly fallen snow.
When he reached the ground floor, he saw that the front door was still barred, and the inn was not yet open for business.
Then he thought he heard the sound of a door opening come from the end of the hallway that continued on to the courtyard. When he looked, he saw the innkeeper, red-nosed and wearing a scarf wrapped about his neck and carrying a barrel.
"Goodness, you're up early."
"Good morning to you."
"My, but it's cold! Took some effort to break through the ice in the well. Looks like the lid's coming down starting today."
The innkeeper carried the barrel in and then poured its contents into a jug at the end of the hall.
Keeping water available was a constant problem for those who lived in colder climes. It seemed ironic to Lawrence that there would be snow falling and yet water was still a concern.


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

Input:
Maybe they did not care as long as they had something to complain about. But no matter the target of their complaints, it was clear they did not truly hate them.
The Ruvik Alliance and the Winfiel monarchy were entities far beyond their own positions, and even if it had fallen, Brondel Abbey was still viewed with respect.
These nebulous contradictions were all too clear to Lawrence. And because they were so clear, Lawrence understood well just how difficult the tavern's patrons' lives were.
"Thank you. We'll be very careful."
"Aye. Other than that, you'd best eat and drink such that you've energy to spare. The moment you leave the town, it's naught but snowy fields. Without enough energy, you'll never make it across!"
The tavern's noise level rose with the tavern master's pronouncement, and Lawrence raised his cup.
Col seemed to be at his limit, though Holo was still ready to go.
The great Brondel Abbey out on the snow-strewn plains.
Indeed, they would need to eat plenty while they could.
There was a tik, tik sound.
It sounded like the crackling of burning firewood. But wait, no—no bonfire had been started the previous night. Ah, of course—the fireplace.
And yet despite that realization, the sound was odd.
Lawrence finally opened his eyes and raised his head. Given the still dim room, he knew the hour was yet early, and from the light that entered through the window, he could tell whether the weather outside was clear or not.
The day unfortunately seemed to be a cloudy one. The moment he thought to himself, Seems cold, the frigid air he inhaled through his nose roused him mercilessly to total wakefulness.
It was cold in the room, despite the sound of the crackling firewood.
"Snow, eh?" he muttered, then yawned hugely and sat up.
It had been a long time since he had slept so soundly, thanks to the impressive warmth provided by the wool quilt.
Holo seemed fast asleep, the fluffed-up quilt rising and falling with her breath.
And yet it was cold.
Lawrence felt as though ice had been left on his face. He looked at Col, who like Holo seemed to be curled up and sleeping, entirely covered by his quilt.
Evidently Lawrence was the only one who had slept with his face exposed.
He rubbed his frigid face and exhaled whitely. Getting out of bed, he shivered and walked over to the room's table, then swirled the water jug there experimentally.
He had not hoped for much, and the water in the metal jug was frozen solid.
"Suppose I'll have to go downstairs..."
Since beginning his travels with Holo, he had talked to himself much less, but sometimes it still happened. He added some straw to the still faintly flickering fire, and once it flared up, he put another piece of firewood in.
The bricks of the lovely brick fireplace seemed cold enough to put the fire out.
Having confirmed that the firewood was well and truly burning, Lawrence left the room.
The hallway was utterly quiet. Either for want of guests or simply because of the early hour, the silence seemed to swallow all sound.
He was not concerned about the creaking of the floorboards as he walked.
This silence, as though the world were wrapped in cotton, was unique to newly fallen snow.
When he reached the ground floor, he saw that the front door was still barred, and the inn was not yet open for business.
Then he thought he heard the sound of a door opening come from the end of the hallway that continued on to the courtyard. When he looked, he saw the innkeeper, red-nosed and wearing a scarf wrapped about his neck and carrying a barrel.
"Goodness, you're up early."
"Good morning to you."
"My, but it's cold! Took some effort to break through the ice in the well. Looks like the lid's coming down starting today."
The innkeeper carried the barrel in and then poured its contents into a jug at the end of the hall.
Keeping water available was a constant problem for those who lived in colder climes. It seemed ironic to Lawrence that there would be snow falling and yet water was still a concern.

Output:
"Oh, that's what we say around here when we're covered in snow. Everything turns white in single day."
"I see."
"So, what shall I get you? I can make some breakfast for my guests, though it'll take some time."
"We're fine for breakfast. To be honest, we brought home quite a bit from the tavern last night."
Things had gotten so raucous at the tavern that eventually the town guard had come by, and Lawrence had gotten their leftovers packed up to take with them.
Everything was of the finest quality, and heated beside the fireplace it would make for an excellent breakfast.
"Ha-ha-ha! I suppose you've got to eat such good mutton while you've got the chance, eh?"
"Indeed. Ah, but if you could get us some water—"
"Yes, of course. Ah, I suppose the water in your metal pitcher would be solid as a rock. I'll bring a box of sawdust up later. Keep it in that and it'll resist the cold a little better."
"Ah, thank you."
After receiving an earthenware jug of water from the innkeeper, Lawrence returned to the room.
It seemed to him that "putting the lid on" was an apt phrase for snowfall. Once long ago, while drinking cheap liquor at a meager lodge one cold night, he seemed to remember a mercenary saying something similar.
The man had said that if you had to go to war, the northlands were the place to do it, where the snow would cover all the pain and suffering.
Snow made people sentimental.
Lawrence smirked wryly at the notion and then opened the door to his room. "Oh, you're awake—"
He cut himself off the moment he realized the mood in the room.
Holo sat on the bed, staring out the open window.
She was totally motionless, looking straight ahead, and but for the white exhalations of her breath, she could easily have been mistaken for a clay statue.
Lawrence entered the room and closed the door behind him, but Holo continued to gaze outside.
The wood was still crackling away in the fireplace, but Lawrence added another piece.
He set the water jug on the table and then walked over to Holo's bed.
"'Tis snow," said Holo, still not looking at him.
Lawrence did not answer immediately, following her gaze before saying, "Indeed," and sitting beside her.
Holo continued to stare out the window.
Her legs were not crossed, nor did she hug her knees as she gazed silently outward, as though she had been left in some particular moment.
Lawrence's sigh mingled with the chill air that poured in through the open window, and he placed his hand on her head.
Her beautiful hair felt like so many strands of ice.
Lawrence knew all too well what Holo must have been thinking about as she looked out over the snow.
So rather than hugging her close, he simply stayed there.
***
"What's wrong?"
Holo look at him wordlessly.
She no longer wore the blank expression, with which she'd looked out the window; her still face was filled with pathos.
Her cold, thin lips, too, had regained some of their softness.
"I see even you can manage some kindness after all," she said.
"You'll catch cold," said Lawrence instead of giving her a proper reply, at which Holo nodded.
The very next instant, she sneezed, then immediately dove back under her quilt. Lawrence stood and closed the window.
"Were I in my true form, I could gaze at the snow for as long as I liked."
"No doubt you'd become covered in snow as you watched," said Lawrence. Holo smiled and pointed to the water jug.
Lawrence gave it to her, and with her other hand, she took his.
"I told you snow was no great problem, did I not?" she said with a faint half smile.
For her, snow was no occasion for play.
In the village of Pasloe, where she had stayed for centuries, it did not snow—unlike her homelands of Yoitsu.
Lawrence held her cold hand and answered, "I wonder about that. You're hardly a weeping, frail maiden after all—you might well go dashing happily off over the snow at any moment."
***
Holo smiled wordlessly, then sat up and put the jug to her lips.


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

Input:
"Oh, that's what we say around here when we're covered in snow. Everything turns white in single day."
"I see."
"So, what shall I get you? I can make some breakfast for my guests, though it'll take some time."
"We're fine for breakfast. To be honest, we brought home quite a bit from the tavern last night."
Things had gotten so raucous at the tavern that eventually the town guard had come by, and Lawrence had gotten their leftovers packed up to take with them.
Everything was of the finest quality, and heated beside the fireplace it would make for an excellent breakfast.
"Ha-ha-ha! I suppose you've got to eat such good mutton while you've got the chance, eh?"
"Indeed. Ah, but if you could get us some water—"
"Yes, of course. Ah, I suppose the water in your metal pitcher would be solid as a rock. I'll bring a box of sawdust up later. Keep it in that and it'll resist the cold a little better."
"Ah, thank you."
After receiving an earthenware jug of water from the innkeeper, Lawrence returned to the room.
It seemed to him that "putting the lid on" was an apt phrase for snowfall. Once long ago, while drinking cheap liquor at a meager lodge one cold night, he seemed to remember a mercenary saying something similar.
The man had said that if you had to go to war, the northlands were the place to do it, where the snow would cover all the pain and suffering.
Snow made people sentimental.
Lawrence smirked wryly at the notion and then opened the door to his room. "Oh, you're awake—"
He cut himself off the moment he realized the mood in the room.
Holo sat on the bed, staring out the open window.
She was totally motionless, looking straight ahead, and but for the white exhalations of her breath, she could easily have been mistaken for a clay statue.
Lawrence entered the room and closed the door behind him, but Holo continued to gaze outside.
The wood was still crackling away in the fireplace, but Lawrence added another piece.
He set the water jug on the table and then walked over to Holo's bed.
"'Tis snow," said Holo, still not looking at him.
Lawrence did not answer immediately, following her gaze before saying, "Indeed," and sitting beside her.
Holo continued to stare out the window.
Her legs were not crossed, nor did she hug her knees as she gazed silently outward, as though she had been left in some particular moment.
Lawrence's sigh mingled with the chill air that poured in through the open window, and he placed his hand on her head.
Her beautiful hair felt like so many strands of ice.
Lawrence knew all too well what Holo must have been thinking about as she looked out over the snow.
So rather than hugging her close, he simply stayed there.
***
"What's wrong?"
Holo look at him wordlessly.
She no longer wore the blank expression, with which she'd looked out the window; her still face was filled with pathos.
Her cold, thin lips, too, had regained some of their softness.
"I see even you can manage some kindness after all," she said.
"You'll catch cold," said Lawrence instead of giving her a proper reply, at which Holo nodded.
The very next instant, she sneezed, then immediately dove back under her quilt. Lawrence stood and closed the window.
"Were I in my true form, I could gaze at the snow for as long as I liked."
"No doubt you'd become covered in snow as you watched," said Lawrence. Holo smiled and pointed to the water jug.
Lawrence gave it to her, and with her other hand, she took his.
"I told you snow was no great problem, did I not?" she said with a faint half smile.
For her, snow was no occasion for play.
In the village of Pasloe, where she had stayed for centuries, it did not snow—unlike her homelands of Yoitsu.
Lawrence held her cold hand and answered, "I wonder about that. You're hardly a weeping, frail maiden after all—you might well go dashing happily off over the snow at any moment."
***
Holo smiled wordlessly, then sat up and put the jug to her lips.

Output:
"You fool," said Lawrence, imitating her particular tone, which made her force the jug back into his hand and then flop sulkily back onto the bed.
"So you're going to sleep, then? Breakfast is going to be rather magnificent today."
Snow made one sentimental.
And yet it was just as true that good food improved any mood.
Perhaps it should have been unsurprising, given that they were in sheep-farming territory.
Along with the leftover mutton that had been packed up for them was an unfamiliar leather pouch, which turned out to be packed full with butter.
A very pleased Holo spread it upon her rye bread before stuffing the bread in her mouth, while Col, smaller of appetite and particularly so in the morning, could only look on queasily.
"Sho, wha' shall whe do nexsht?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full. Given that Deutchmann said he would introduce us to a trading company affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance, we'll simply wait for them to contact us."
"Mm...mmph." Taking a breath after finally swallowing her mouthful of rye bread, she then opened her mouth. Lawrence thought she was about to speak, but she simply took another huge bite.
"Are you planning to hibernate anytime soon?"
"That migh' no' be sush a ba' idea."
It was impossible to talk to Holo while she was preoccupied with tasty food.
Lawrence put some fireplace-warmed mutton between slices of bread and took a bite.
"But it's already so cold—it'll be hard to travel with the snow, won't it?" said Col as he put a cup of warm sheep's milk to his lips after happily watching Lawrence and Holo's exchange.
"True. What did you do when you were traveling alone?"
"When I first left home, it was a good season for travel...and I decided to avoid traveling through places where it seemed like it would snow, since it suddenly got very cold once I crossed the Roam River."
"Indeed. In those clothes of yours, it'd be up to God's grace whether you woke up or not after getting snowed upon."
Lawrence plucked a bit of mutton fat off of Col's face, and the boy grinned sheepishly, though it was unclear whether his embarrassment was over his clothes or the scrap of food on his face.
"Still, there's a certain amount of preparation done along routes that can expect snow. Signposts are erected at set intervals, and there are small way houses placed at distances where even in deep snow, a traveler could expect to reach them. The blizzards around Arohitostok are indeed terrible, but thanks to the weather there are no bandits, and the bears and wolves stay holed up in their dens so travel was surprisingly easy."
"You've even been to Arohitostok? Isn't that the northernmost town of all?"
"Just once, to deliver the personal things of a traveler who passed away. It's northwest of even the Dolan Plains. I saw the land there as smooth and flat as a calm sea. It was an amazing sight."
It was said that the land had been stripped bare by the great wind caused by a dragon that flew up to the ends of the sky, with grass and trees alike uprooted.
Owing to all the snow that fell on the nearby village of Arohitostok, it was extremely dry despite the cold, which made for a strange landscape.
It was where Lawrence first learned what it meant for a place to have truly nothing.
"They say Saint Alagia spent thirty years as an ascetic there...If that's true, then he's a saint, no mistaking it."
"Wow...," breathed Col in wonderment.
Lately Holo's mood had been turning sour after meals, but it could not be helped. She would not listen to Lawrence like this, the way Col did, and so his treatment of her naturally differed.
Hopefully God would forgive him.
"In school, I learned the names of towns all over the world, but I've been to so few of them myself..."
"That's true of people everywhere. I've only rarely joined caravans or traveled fixed trade routes—that's why I've traveled so far and seen so much."
"Have you been to any towns in the south?"


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

Input:
"You fool," said Lawrence, imitating her particular tone, which made her force the jug back into his hand and then flop sulkily back onto the bed.
"So you're going to sleep, then? Breakfast is going to be rather magnificent today."
Snow made one sentimental.
And yet it was just as true that good food improved any mood.
Perhaps it should have been unsurprising, given that they were in sheep-farming territory.
Along with the leftover mutton that had been packed up for them was an unfamiliar leather pouch, which turned out to be packed full with butter.
A very pleased Holo spread it upon her rye bread before stuffing the bread in her mouth, while Col, smaller of appetite and particularly so in the morning, could only look on queasily.
"Sho, wha' shall whe do nexsht?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full. Given that Deutchmann said he would introduce us to a trading company affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance, we'll simply wait for them to contact us."
"Mm...mmph." Taking a breath after finally swallowing her mouthful of rye bread, she then opened her mouth. Lawrence thought she was about to speak, but she simply took another huge bite.
"Are you planning to hibernate anytime soon?"
"That migh' no' be sush a ba' idea."
It was impossible to talk to Holo while she was preoccupied with tasty food.
Lawrence put some fireplace-warmed mutton between slices of bread and took a bite.
"But it's already so cold—it'll be hard to travel with the snow, won't it?" said Col as he put a cup of warm sheep's milk to his lips after happily watching Lawrence and Holo's exchange.
"True. What did you do when you were traveling alone?"
"When I first left home, it was a good season for travel...and I decided to avoid traveling through places where it seemed like it would snow, since it suddenly got very cold once I crossed the Roam River."
"Indeed. In those clothes of yours, it'd be up to God's grace whether you woke up or not after getting snowed upon."
Lawrence plucked a bit of mutton fat off of Col's face, and the boy grinned sheepishly, though it was unclear whether his embarrassment was over his clothes or the scrap of food on his face.
"Still, there's a certain amount of preparation done along routes that can expect snow. Signposts are erected at set intervals, and there are small way houses placed at distances where even in deep snow, a traveler could expect to reach them. The blizzards around Arohitostok are indeed terrible, but thanks to the weather there are no bandits, and the bears and wolves stay holed up in their dens so travel was surprisingly easy."
"You've even been to Arohitostok? Isn't that the northernmost town of all?"
"Just once, to deliver the personal things of a traveler who passed away. It's northwest of even the Dolan Plains. I saw the land there as smooth and flat as a calm sea. It was an amazing sight."
It was said that the land had been stripped bare by the great wind caused by a dragon that flew up to the ends of the sky, with grass and trees alike uprooted.
Owing to all the snow that fell on the nearby village of Arohitostok, it was extremely dry despite the cold, which made for a strange landscape.
It was where Lawrence first learned what it meant for a place to have truly nothing.
"They say Saint Alagia spent thirty years as an ascetic there...If that's true, then he's a saint, no mistaking it."
"Wow...," breathed Col in wonderment.
Lately Holo's mood had been turning sour after meals, but it could not be helped. She would not listen to Lawrence like this, the way Col did, and so his treatment of her naturally differed.
Hopefully God would forgive him.
"In school, I learned the names of towns all over the world, but I've been to so few of them myself..."
"That's true of people everywhere. I've only rarely joined caravans or traveled fixed trade routes—that's why I've traveled so far and seen so much."
"Have you been to any towns in the south?"

Output:
Just then Lawrence stopped, but it was not because Holo was about to start crying from having been so thoroughly left out of the conversation.
It was because there was a knock at the door.
"Coming!" said Col energetically, jumping out of his chair. He had gotten quite used to handling such minor duties.
Holo continued eating her breakfast, but it was obvious that she was in a foul temper; despite the arrival of a guest, she had not put her hood up.
Lawrence reverently took her hood and placed it over her head.
"Who is it, please?" Col opened the door, and there stood a man wrapped entirely in heavy clothing, in a manner reminiscent of Eve.
A turban covered his head, and he wore two long coats, each reaching to his ankles. Animal hides that still held their fur covered his shins, and he had a large burlap sack over his shoulder.
He seemed ready for a long march through the snow, but there was already snow on his head and shoulders. It seemed very likely that he had just arrived, and after casting his gaze this way and that from under the scarf around his head, he began unwrapping it.
"Is this the room of Mr. Kraft Lawrence?" The voice was surprisingly youthful, and the face beneath the turban was the face of a young man.
"That's right. I am Lawrence."
"Oh, well then! I apologize for my appearance. I received word from Mr. Deutchmann, you see—"
Lawrence stood from his chair and walked to the door.
If he had come at Deutchmann's invitation, then he was from the Ruvik Alliance.
"Not at all, not at all. We're the ones who should've paid a visit to you. In any case, please do come in."
"If you'll excuse the intrusion, then."
The man was a bit shorter than Lawrence, and he entered the room with light footsteps, despite the heavy load and clothing that should have precluded such lightness.
If he was a traveling merchant, he was one who traveled harsh climes indeed.
"What a lovely room."
"Normally we cannot afford such niceties."
"Ha-ha-ha, benefits of the job, eh? I enjoyed the same thing myself when I came at the beginning of autumn."
The man had blond hair cropped quite short. His manner of speaking was pleasant and good-natured—enough so to surprise Holo, it seemed.
"Ah, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lag Piasky of the Fias Company, affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance."
"And I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild. Normally I'm a traveling merchant on the continent."
"Ah, this is surely God's will—as you can see, I, too, am a traveling merchant."
After exchanging pleasantries, they shook hands, and Lawrence was relieved to note that the man's hands were about as rough as his own.
Holo had taken her breakfast and moved to the bed, so after inviting Piasky to sit, Lawrence sat himself.
"What I've heard from Mr. Deutchmann is that you wish to visit Brondel Abbey."
This statement did not strike Lawrence as hasty. Rather he seemed to be a sort of man that Lawrence had rarely encountered recently—a merchant who if he had time to be exchanging friendly greetings with other people would rather use that time to shave the edges off of silver coins.
"Yes—if possible, we'd like to visit the merchant house that's closer to the main building rather than the pilgrimage house."
Lawrence said nothing about their search for the wolf bones.
Unlike previously, when they had had no idea where the bones actually were, they now possessed the important information that the bones were likely within the abbey. There was nothing to be gained in letting slip that information.
And Piasky was from the Ruvik Alliance.
"...As you were introduced by Mr. Deutchmann, I won't inquire as to your goal, but given what you've said, I assume you're not here to purchase wool." Piasky's eyes looked steadily at Lawrence. Piasky's reaction was hardly surprising—after all, Lawrence was seeking a guide to the abbey while refusing to say why.


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

Input:
Just then Lawrence stopped, but it was not because Holo was about to start crying from having been so thoroughly left out of the conversation.
It was because there was a knock at the door.
"Coming!" said Col energetically, jumping out of his chair. He had gotten quite used to handling such minor duties.
Holo continued eating her breakfast, but it was obvious that she was in a foul temper; despite the arrival of a guest, she had not put her hood up.
Lawrence reverently took her hood and placed it over her head.
"Who is it, please?" Col opened the door, and there stood a man wrapped entirely in heavy clothing, in a manner reminiscent of Eve.
A turban covered his head, and he wore two long coats, each reaching to his ankles. Animal hides that still held their fur covered his shins, and he had a large burlap sack over his shoulder.
He seemed ready for a long march through the snow, but there was already snow on his head and shoulders. It seemed very likely that he had just arrived, and after casting his gaze this way and that from under the scarf around his head, he began unwrapping it.
"Is this the room of Mr. Kraft Lawrence?" The voice was surprisingly youthful, and the face beneath the turban was the face of a young man.
"That's right. I am Lawrence."
"Oh, well then! I apologize for my appearance. I received word from Mr. Deutchmann, you see—"
Lawrence stood from his chair and walked to the door.
If he had come at Deutchmann's invitation, then he was from the Ruvik Alliance.
"Not at all, not at all. We're the ones who should've paid a visit to you. In any case, please do come in."
"If you'll excuse the intrusion, then."
The man was a bit shorter than Lawrence, and he entered the room with light footsteps, despite the heavy load and clothing that should have precluded such lightness.
If he was a traveling merchant, he was one who traveled harsh climes indeed.
"What a lovely room."
"Normally we cannot afford such niceties."
"Ha-ha-ha, benefits of the job, eh? I enjoyed the same thing myself when I came at the beginning of autumn."
The man had blond hair cropped quite short. His manner of speaking was pleasant and good-natured—enough so to surprise Holo, it seemed.
"Ah, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I am Lag Piasky of the Fias Company, affiliated with the Ruvik Alliance."
"And I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild. Normally I'm a traveling merchant on the continent."
"Ah, this is surely God's will—as you can see, I, too, am a traveling merchant."
After exchanging pleasantries, they shook hands, and Lawrence was relieved to note that the man's hands were about as rough as his own.
Holo had taken her breakfast and moved to the bed, so after inviting Piasky to sit, Lawrence sat himself.
"What I've heard from Mr. Deutchmann is that you wish to visit Brondel Abbey."
This statement did not strike Lawrence as hasty. Rather he seemed to be a sort of man that Lawrence had rarely encountered recently—a merchant who if he had time to be exchanging friendly greetings with other people would rather use that time to shave the edges off of silver coins.
"Yes—if possible, we'd like to visit the merchant house that's closer to the main building rather than the pilgrimage house."
Lawrence said nothing about their search for the wolf bones.
Unlike previously, when they had had no idea where the bones actually were, they now possessed the important information that the bones were likely within the abbey. There was nothing to be gained in letting slip that information.
And Piasky was from the Ruvik Alliance.
"...As you were introduced by Mr. Deutchmann, I won't inquire as to your goal, but given what you've said, I assume you're not here to purchase wool." Piasky's eyes looked steadily at Lawrence. Piasky's reaction was hardly surprising—after all, Lawrence was seeking a guide to the abbey while refusing to say why.

Output:
Trust was the invisible currency.
Piasky finally smiled and continued, "Still, I do a bit of business guiding to the annex those interested in watching our skirmishing with the abbey, so I won't press you. Besides, whenever people gather, that's draw enough to bring still more people in."
One couldn't do business alone. Nowhere was more attractive to a merchant than a place where many merchants gathered.
And business was always more profitable if one didn't carelessly spill one's plans. Piasky certainly knew that much.
"The banner of the moon and shield will always fly in the wind, so I won't worry about such minor details, eh?"
Lawrence did not neglect to inwardly add the statement that implicitly followed that one: But if you interfere with our business, we will spare you no mercy.
"Thank you very much. I'll make sure your consideration is a good one."
Piasky's smile at hearing this was a bright one, proving that he was indeed a real merchant.
Lawrence shook hands with him again, formalizing their contract for the time being.
"Now, then, as I am a rather impatient person, I'd like to discuss our departure. May I assume both your companions will be coming along as well?"
"Yes. Will that make us unable to use the pretense of wool buying?"
Col was one thing, but Holo in no way resembled any sort of merchant.
"Hardly. It's not uncommon to bring a member of the clergy along on a business venture for the sake of one's spiritual tranquility, after all. And things at the merchant branch of the abbey are quite lively at the moment, so it's unlikely your companions will be noticed, no matter who they are. So long as we can pass through the gates, we'll have no troubles."
"I see, good." Lawrence made certain to act especially relieved.
He wasn't particularly trying to deceive Piasky—but the man's manner was so easy and pleasant, Lawrence was careful to remain on his guard.
"So, about our departure..."
"We can leave any time."
"I see...actually, as I function as the agent between the abbey and a mainland trade house, I estimate that there's some value in setting out as quickly as may be possible."
His faintly sarcastic way of speaking seemed to be a deliberate parody of the roundabout manner of the people of Winfiel.
Lawrence looked at Holo and Col.
Both of them nodded that they were ready.
"Since this is all at our behest, we're happy to leave immediately."
"I appreciate that. I'd like to try to embark around the midday bell."
"And will we travel on foot?"
"No, by horse. Though the snow is yet thin here, toward the abbey it's gotten rather deep. I'll make arrangements for the horses myself, but please bring your own rations. Oh, and also—" Piasky smiled and added one final statement very deliberately. "—There's no need to change your coin into the local stuff."
The first thing a traveling merchant did in a new region was exchange his money.
Lawrence made no attempt to hide his laughter at Piasky's joke, a joke that only a fellow traveling merchant would make.
***
Col sat ahead and Lawrence was the farthest back. Between them was Holo, and even so the horse atop whose back they all sat had strength to spare.
The long-haired steeds that pulled sleighs across the plains of Winfiel were every bit as big as the rumors claimed.
"Hmph...awfully arrogant for a mere horse."
Such were the words that Holo let slip upon seeing the mounts that Piasky had made ready for them at their meeting place.
Of course, Holo's true form was far larger than even this horse.
Holo's grumbling was likely rooted in her frustration at her own ignorance—the limitations of her own knowledge compared with the vastness of the world.
On the continent, horses like this one were hardly a common sight.
"Are you all prepared?" Piasky asked, holding the reins while atop a more common horse.
Lawrence replied that they were. The only reason he, too, did not have reins in his hand was because the packhorse's driver held them.


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

Input:
Trust was the invisible currency.
Piasky finally smiled and continued, "Still, I do a bit of business guiding to the annex those interested in watching our skirmishing with the abbey, so I won't press you. Besides, whenever people gather, that's draw enough to bring still more people in."
One couldn't do business alone. Nowhere was more attractive to a merchant than a place where many merchants gathered.
And business was always more profitable if one didn't carelessly spill one's plans. Piasky certainly knew that much.
"The banner of the moon and shield will always fly in the wind, so I won't worry about such minor details, eh?"
Lawrence did not neglect to inwardly add the statement that implicitly followed that one: But if you interfere with our business, we will spare you no mercy.
"Thank you very much. I'll make sure your consideration is a good one."
Piasky's smile at hearing this was a bright one, proving that he was indeed a real merchant.
Lawrence shook hands with him again, formalizing their contract for the time being.
"Now, then, as I am a rather impatient person, I'd like to discuss our departure. May I assume both your companions will be coming along as well?"
"Yes. Will that make us unable to use the pretense of wool buying?"
Col was one thing, but Holo in no way resembled any sort of merchant.
"Hardly. It's not uncommon to bring a member of the clergy along on a business venture for the sake of one's spiritual tranquility, after all. And things at the merchant branch of the abbey are quite lively at the moment, so it's unlikely your companions will be noticed, no matter who they are. So long as we can pass through the gates, we'll have no troubles."
"I see, good." Lawrence made certain to act especially relieved.
He wasn't particularly trying to deceive Piasky—but the man's manner was so easy and pleasant, Lawrence was careful to remain on his guard.
"So, about our departure..."
"We can leave any time."
"I see...actually, as I function as the agent between the abbey and a mainland trade house, I estimate that there's some value in setting out as quickly as may be possible."
His faintly sarcastic way of speaking seemed to be a deliberate parody of the roundabout manner of the people of Winfiel.
Lawrence looked at Holo and Col.
Both of them nodded that they were ready.
"Since this is all at our behest, we're happy to leave immediately."
"I appreciate that. I'd like to try to embark around the midday bell."
"And will we travel on foot?"
"No, by horse. Though the snow is yet thin here, toward the abbey it's gotten rather deep. I'll make arrangements for the horses myself, but please bring your own rations. Oh, and also—" Piasky smiled and added one final statement very deliberately. "—There's no need to change your coin into the local stuff."
The first thing a traveling merchant did in a new region was exchange his money.
Lawrence made no attempt to hide his laughter at Piasky's joke, a joke that only a fellow traveling merchant would make.
***
Col sat ahead and Lawrence was the farthest back. Between them was Holo, and even so the horse atop whose back they all sat had strength to spare.
The long-haired steeds that pulled sleighs across the plains of Winfiel were every bit as big as the rumors claimed.
"Hmph...awfully arrogant for a mere horse."
Such were the words that Holo let slip upon seeing the mounts that Piasky had made ready for them at their meeting place.
Of course, Holo's true form was far larger than even this horse.
Holo's grumbling was likely rooted in her frustration at her own ignorance—the limitations of her own knowledge compared with the vastness of the world.
On the continent, horses like this one were hardly a common sight.
"Are you all prepared?" Piasky asked, holding the reins while atop a more common horse.
Lawrence replied that they were. The only reason he, too, did not have reins in his hand was because the packhorse's driver held them.

Output:
Lawrence looked back and saw a cart piled high with goods. Among them was food and wine for the abbey's merchant branch. Evidently once the roads were covered in snow, wagons were traded for sleighs.
Piasky's role was to mediate between the abbey and the continental trade companies, facilitating the flow of information as well as goods such as these.
"Now, then, let us pray to God for safe travels."
As befitted a trip to an abbey, they gave such prayers as the midday bell rang and then set off.
The weather was poor and temperatures very low.
Worse, the snow hadn't quite covered the town and instead mixed with the road's dirt, becoming mud that dirtied the cuffs of all who walked it.
But they left the town and continued on across the harvested plains, which were nearly entirely white.
It was scenery worthy of the "nation of plains," for so it was called, and no matter the direction one looked, the white expanse stretched on and on, and they followed a path of dirt churned up by the feet of humans and horses that sliced through it.
Everyone was wearing many layers of clothing. Lawrence and his companions even wore thick leather overcoats they had borrowed from the inn, as well as gloves.
But sitting still atop a horse as they traveled over such land, the cold inevitably found its way past their coats. Eventually Holo enveloped Col within her own coat, and Lawrence drew Holo into his.
Silence reigned over their travel. The only sounds were the tik, tik of snowflakes hitting coats and the long, reluctant breaths of cold air they drew into their lungs, that sound magnified by the silence.
People of the north country spoke little, and what they did speak was uttered through lips barely parted, it was said—and Lawrence could easily understand why.
And of all the various restrictions that monks imposed on themselves during their pilgrimages, the rule of silence was the easiest to comprehend.
Thanks to the snow, darkness fell early, and though their travels had not been lengthy, Lawrence and his companions were exhausted by the time they reached the first inn.
A famous monk had once said that idle chatter was a pleasure, and the truth of those words was entirely clear.
And yet Lawrence, Col, and Holo were laypeople, not clergy.
The least clergy-like of them, Holo, seemed most affected by the monotonous silence, and upon reaching the room, she fell straight onto the bed, not even bothering to brush the snow from her hood.
For his part, Lawrence was in no mood to chastise her. He was sure his face looked no better than Col's, who sat exhausted on a chair.
It was the face of one whose energy reserves were gone, but if told to stand and walk, he would struggle to his feet and continue trudging forward—the face of one whose spirit had given out ahead of his body.
In the northlands, there were many tales of the wandering dead, no doubt from people catching sight of travelers in such a state.
"Col."
After Lawrence said the boy's name, Col looked up at him with a corpse-like expression.
"If you smile, you'll feel better."
Col had traveled alone and was surely aware of that particular trick. He nodded and forced a smile.
"Now, then, let us go get dinner. I expect Piasky has arranged to have it served."
"All right," replied Col, standing.
As the boy obediently removed his snow-covered coat, Lawrence took Holo's cloak as she continued to lie facedown and motionless on the bed.
"I'm sure you know this, but you won't be able to sleep like that. You'll feel better if you go someplace warm and drink some wine."
Drowsiness and exhaustion were similar but different.
Holo's drooping ears twitched, as though to say, "I know, I know."
But despite knowing, she made no move to rise, like a person unwilling to leave their warm bed in the morning.
With no other option, Lawrence picked her up and saw that the expression on her face was like a girl cursed to sleep until some hero came to awaken her with a kiss.
Lawrence, of course, was no hero.


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

Input:
Lawrence looked back and saw a cart piled high with goods. Among them was food and wine for the abbey's merchant branch. Evidently once the roads were covered in snow, wagons were traded for sleighs.
Piasky's role was to mediate between the abbey and the continental trade companies, facilitating the flow of information as well as goods such as these.
"Now, then, let us pray to God for safe travels."
As befitted a trip to an abbey, they gave such prayers as the midday bell rang and then set off.
The weather was poor and temperatures very low.
Worse, the snow hadn't quite covered the town and instead mixed with the road's dirt, becoming mud that dirtied the cuffs of all who walked it.
But they left the town and continued on across the harvested plains, which were nearly entirely white.
It was scenery worthy of the "nation of plains," for so it was called, and no matter the direction one looked, the white expanse stretched on and on, and they followed a path of dirt churned up by the feet of humans and horses that sliced through it.
Everyone was wearing many layers of clothing. Lawrence and his companions even wore thick leather overcoats they had borrowed from the inn, as well as gloves.
But sitting still atop a horse as they traveled over such land, the cold inevitably found its way past their coats. Eventually Holo enveloped Col within her own coat, and Lawrence drew Holo into his.
Silence reigned over their travel. The only sounds were the tik, tik of snowflakes hitting coats and the long, reluctant breaths of cold air they drew into their lungs, that sound magnified by the silence.
People of the north country spoke little, and what they did speak was uttered through lips barely parted, it was said—and Lawrence could easily understand why.
And of all the various restrictions that monks imposed on themselves during their pilgrimages, the rule of silence was the easiest to comprehend.
Thanks to the snow, darkness fell early, and though their travels had not been lengthy, Lawrence and his companions were exhausted by the time they reached the first inn.
A famous monk had once said that idle chatter was a pleasure, and the truth of those words was entirely clear.
And yet Lawrence, Col, and Holo were laypeople, not clergy.
The least clergy-like of them, Holo, seemed most affected by the monotonous silence, and upon reaching the room, she fell straight onto the bed, not even bothering to brush the snow from her hood.
For his part, Lawrence was in no mood to chastise her. He was sure his face looked no better than Col's, who sat exhausted on a chair.
It was the face of one whose energy reserves were gone, but if told to stand and walk, he would struggle to his feet and continue trudging forward—the face of one whose spirit had given out ahead of his body.
In the northlands, there were many tales of the wandering dead, no doubt from people catching sight of travelers in such a state.
"Col."
After Lawrence said the boy's name, Col looked up at him with a corpse-like expression.
"If you smile, you'll feel better."
Col had traveled alone and was surely aware of that particular trick. He nodded and forced a smile.
"Now, then, let us go get dinner. I expect Piasky has arranged to have it served."
"All right," replied Col, standing.
As the boy obediently removed his snow-covered coat, Lawrence took Holo's cloak as she continued to lie facedown and motionless on the bed.
"I'm sure you know this, but you won't be able to sleep like that. You'll feel better if you go someplace warm and drink some wine."
Drowsiness and exhaustion were similar but different.
Holo's drooping ears twitched, as though to say, "I know, I know."
But despite knowing, she made no move to rise, like a person unwilling to leave their warm bed in the morning.
With no other option, Lawrence picked her up and saw that the expression on her face was like a girl cursed to sleep until some hero came to awaken her with a kiss.
Lawrence, of course, was no hero.

Output:
"I hear the liquor here is such that a simple spark will set it aflame," he whispered into her drooping ears, which pricked up into sharp triangles.
It was as though she were asking, "Truly?"
"Weak liquor soon freezes and becomes undrinkable, so they make it strong enough to store in ice and remain unfrozen. And though it's colder than ice, drinking the burning stuff will warm you right up."
A bit of sparkle returned to Holo's eyes.
She gulped, the sound of her swallowing signaling the breaking of the curse.
Holo stood unsteadily, a bit of strength returning to her tail, which had drooped like the tail of a stray dog that had not eaten in three days.
"Still, we may only have pickled cabbage to go with it," Lawrence made sure to say, hoping to head off her anger at discovering as much after the fact.
Holo seemed briefly unsteadied by this qualification, but the allure of the liquor was evidently enough for her to regain her vigor.
"'Tis better than nothing."
"That's the spirit."
Their exchange as they left the room made Lawrence think of something. The strong liquor they had drunk at a town they had stopped at earlier in their journey had reminded Holo of her homeland's wine.
If strong liquor reminded Holo of home, that would certainly be a singular flavor. What better nourishment could there be when one was so exhausted?
Evidently it would take roughly two more days to reach Brondel Abbey.
Lawrence counted the coins in his coin purse, careful not to let Holo notice him doing this.
A way station's food is expensive, poor, and foul-smelling.
Even a piece of scripture fit for a child to memorize was not as easily remembered as that truism.
And as though trying to live up to those words, the smell of dishes on the table next to them wafted over, rank and garlic-smelling.
The smell of garlic was synonymous with poverty. Despite Lawrence being sure he and his companions tended to eat thriftily, it was times like this when the ill effects of extravagance were laid bare.
The only one whose stomach growled at the prospect of the food at the next table over was Col, who until recently had traveled by gnawing on meager turnips.
It had been a long time since Lawrence had encountered this scent, but he still could not muster much appetite at its prospect—to say nothing of the keen-nosed Holo.
But Lawrence and his companions were lucky, not because they had plenty of money and not because the way station's kitchen had run out of garlic.
They were lucky because Piasky had anticipated this happening and taken matters into his own hands.
"Since I travel quite a lot in the northlands, I often wind up having to stop over because of the snow. Helping out with the cooking has gotten me not half bad at it," he said, then placed a simple mutton stew in the center of the table—"simple" being a salt broth with onions, ginger, and turnips, along with some mutton jerky and leg bone all boiled together.
But of course, there was one special, crucial ingredient hidden among all that.
Piasky lowered his voice before revealing the secret ingredient, which turned out to be the very same thing that the people at the next table were so reluctantly eating: garlic.
Evidently a small amount of garlic was very important for this stew, with its thin skim of yellow oil covering the surface of the broth.
The stew was served in a well-used, old wooden bowl, garnished with a piece of oat bread that by itself looked like it would have been tough to chew—but it was meant to be soaked in the warm stew broth before eating. This allowed even the famously difficult-to-chew oat bread to be enjoyed.
Lawrence was deeply grateful to Piasky, not only because the food was delicious, but also because it distracted Holo from the liquor they had been discussing.
"In places where there are no rivers or ponds, the water you carry with you tends to turn rancid, but if you mix it with ingredients like these and boil the lot of it, even bad water is all right."


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

Input:
"I hear the liquor here is such that a simple spark will set it aflame," he whispered into her drooping ears, which pricked up into sharp triangles.
It was as though she were asking, "Truly?"
"Weak liquor soon freezes and becomes undrinkable, so they make it strong enough to store in ice and remain unfrozen. And though it's colder than ice, drinking the burning stuff will warm you right up."
A bit of sparkle returned to Holo's eyes.
She gulped, the sound of her swallowing signaling the breaking of the curse.
Holo stood unsteadily, a bit of strength returning to her tail, which had drooped like the tail of a stray dog that had not eaten in three days.
"Still, we may only have pickled cabbage to go with it," Lawrence made sure to say, hoping to head off her anger at discovering as much after the fact.
Holo seemed briefly unsteadied by this qualification, but the allure of the liquor was evidently enough for her to regain her vigor.
"'Tis better than nothing."
"That's the spirit."
Their exchange as they left the room made Lawrence think of something. The strong liquor they had drunk at a town they had stopped at earlier in their journey had reminded Holo of her homeland's wine.
If strong liquor reminded Holo of home, that would certainly be a singular flavor. What better nourishment could there be when one was so exhausted?
Evidently it would take roughly two more days to reach Brondel Abbey.
Lawrence counted the coins in his coin purse, careful not to let Holo notice him doing this.
A way station's food is expensive, poor, and foul-smelling.
Even a piece of scripture fit for a child to memorize was not as easily remembered as that truism.
And as though trying to live up to those words, the smell of dishes on the table next to them wafted over, rank and garlic-smelling.
The smell of garlic was synonymous with poverty. Despite Lawrence being sure he and his companions tended to eat thriftily, it was times like this when the ill effects of extravagance were laid bare.
The only one whose stomach growled at the prospect of the food at the next table over was Col, who until recently had traveled by gnawing on meager turnips.
It had been a long time since Lawrence had encountered this scent, but he still could not muster much appetite at its prospect—to say nothing of the keen-nosed Holo.
But Lawrence and his companions were lucky, not because they had plenty of money and not because the way station's kitchen had run out of garlic.
They were lucky because Piasky had anticipated this happening and taken matters into his own hands.
"Since I travel quite a lot in the northlands, I often wind up having to stop over because of the snow. Helping out with the cooking has gotten me not half bad at it," he said, then placed a simple mutton stew in the center of the table—"simple" being a salt broth with onions, ginger, and turnips, along with some mutton jerky and leg bone all boiled together.
But of course, there was one special, crucial ingredient hidden among all that.
Piasky lowered his voice before revealing the secret ingredient, which turned out to be the very same thing that the people at the next table were so reluctantly eating: garlic.
Evidently a small amount of garlic was very important for this stew, with its thin skim of yellow oil covering the surface of the broth.
The stew was served in a well-used, old wooden bowl, garnished with a piece of oat bread that by itself looked like it would have been tough to chew—but it was meant to be soaked in the warm stew broth before eating. This allowed even the famously difficult-to-chew oat bread to be enjoyed.
Lawrence was deeply grateful to Piasky, not only because the food was delicious, but also because it distracted Holo from the liquor they had been discussing.
"In places where there are no rivers or ponds, the water you carry with you tends to turn rancid, but if you mix it with ingredients like these and boil the lot of it, even bad water is all right."

Output:
"It would be amazing if you could make stew this delicious from even rancid water...But this is only practical when you're traveling in numbers, I would think. If you made this all the time while traveling alone, it would surely be a waste of money."
"Right you are. When I was younger and traveling hither and yon with caravans, I often had cooking duties foisted upon me."
Traveling with a large group of merchants was good for business and made for a safer journey. But Piasky's affect had the keen edge of a man well accustomed to traveling alone. The impression Lawrence had immediately gotten from him was that of a solitary merchant scaling a steep cliff.
This was evidently something people often told Piasky. He explained, "Of course, that's all in the past. A group of merchants is after all only a group. It's not a family."
"Whenever a crisis comes, they'll only offer you a helping hand if they've decided there's some profit in it for them."
Piasky's lips twisted. "Quite right," he said with a helpless shrug.
Before he had begun sitting alone in the driver's seat of his cart, Lawrence had occasionally traveled with other merchants, and when business was good, he had stayed with the same group for a while.
As to why he'd stopped doing it—it was probably overstatement to suggest that relationships formed solely for profit were doomed to distort into resentment, but his reason was likely the same as Piasky's.
When his group had been attacked by wolves, they all fled, each praying to God that it would be one of the others who was caught.
And when one of them finally drew the losing lot, Lawrence wondered just how much God's heart was stirred by their desperate cries for help.
"Also, I was well aware that even a group of traveling merchants have no hope against the merchants of a town. So in the end I decided to become the hand of one of those town merchants. I'm less free than I was, but in every town where we have influence, I'm greeted with smiles. It's worthy compensation."
Holo had started drinking her liquor, but surely not because she was full.
Piasky's words had undoubtedly given her much to consider. Anyone who lived a life of travel, even Col, could understand what he was talking about.
"On that count, if you're with the Ruvik Alliance, the compensation would be great indeed."
"Exactly so. And the scale of my business has expanded as well."
"I see. Though it doesn't seem to have dulled your cooking skills a bit...ah, apologies. Your life as a traveler doesn't match your great skill at cooking."
"Ha-ha-ha. I hear that a lot. The truth is I still prepare meals for groups of people while traveling. As I'm doing right now, in fact."
It was said that sightseers flocked to Brondel Abbey. But Piasky's manner didn't suggest that his side business of guiding visitors to the abbey was exactly flourishing. He had introduced himself as a messenger and courier in the employ of the Ruvik Alliance.
Which meant the remaining possibilities were few.
"Heh-heh. Every merchant worth his salt ends up asking me that question, Mr. Lawrence. And I always answer the same way." He smiled cheerfully and then swept his gaze across Holo and Col before continuing theatrically, "My journey's only just begun! I still have plenty of time to think."
A merchant without curiosity was like a clergyman without faith, so such a statement, despite its triviality, was guaranteed to fan Lawrence's interest.
At the very least, thinking it over would be a good way to kill time while on the back of a horse in the freezing silence.
"Incidentally, it's not as though I'm always going to Brondel Abbey."
No doubt these mealtime guessing games were part of Piasky's appeal on the long, boring journeys. His expression made it look as though he was proudly showing off a piece of merchandise, and the audience was certainly taking the bait.