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

Input:
Without Holo, he would have unquestionably chosen self-preservation and acted as Kieman's pawn. In which case, he would most likely have been used and then abandoned.
Lawrence smiled self-deprecatingly and rolled over.
His bed was next to the cold windowsill, so if he lifted his head up a bit, he could see the faint blue moonlight slipping through the gaps in the window.
Lawrence realized how great the distance was between his own ability as a merchant and Eve's; he had to doff his hat to her. Against her, a man like Kieman was putting forth his greatest effort. And Lawrence had jumped into the middle of their battle.
Lawrence rolled over again and sighed.
He had no intention of turning back now, but he was still nervous. The more he willed himself to sleep, the more his eyes stubbornly remained open.
Smiling wryly to himself, Lawrence got out of bed, compelled by thirst, and he decided to feel a bit of the night breeze.
Owing to the chilly air, the copper water jug was cold, almost like ice. Swirling it gently, he walked through the silent inn.
The inn was built around an enclosed courtyard, and in the courtyard was a well. Farther south, most buildings were constructed along such lines. Naturally it was easy enough to differentiate between the buildings of different trading companies, but the basic layout was the same. This was not because people everywhere had somehow decided on it, but rather because the carpenters and masons that did the construction tended to travel around from work site to work site.
Before his travels had taken him far abroad, Lawrence had assumed that such buildings were common the world over. He could still remember the shock he first felt when he discovered this was not the case. The farther he ranged, the more he realized how narrow his preconceived notions had been. As the years passed, he came to realize how large and complicated the world was and how small he was by comparison. There were infinities above him and infinities below.
Someone else could always do what he could do, and no matter what he might think of, someone else had realized it sooner. There in the pale blue moonlight, Lawrence lowered the well bucket down into the skyward-facing mouth of the well.
Things did not generally go the way one would hope, and usually they were decided by surrounding circumstances.
Lawrence had become involved with Eve while in the process of collecting information about the wolf bones, but the real beginning had been their encounter in Lenos. And the reason they had arrived in Lenos was none other than Holo.
Lawrence was certain he was swimming toward his goal, but he was not in a pond; he was in a swiftly flowing river.
He pulled the bucket up and looked at the moon's reflection in the water within.
He wondered if it was a consequence of his dislike at being nothing but a minor character in the story he currently faced that made him think back to the delicate time when he had been just starting out as a merchant.
If Lawrence were a historian, he would not be able to categorize himself as the pivotal character in this. No, that would be Kieman—or Eve, perhaps.
He smiled ruefully at the thought, and the moon's reflection in the bucket distorted even as his face did.
Deciding this was all too silly, he looked up, and there was Holo. Somehow, he had expected her.
"'Tis a lovely night, is it not?"
Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she smiled as sweetly as a town girl on a sunny day.
Lawrence returned the smile and agreed. "It is."
"As the moon waxes and wanes, so too does my mood," said Holo, dipping her finger into the bucket, her breath coming out in faint white puffs. "You left the room so suggestively, I couldn't help but follow."
"Did I look so desperate to be spoken to?"
In place of a reply, Holo grinned.
"...I suppose I did." It was surely progress for him to be able to gracefully surrender.

Output:
"With me?"
"Aye."
"Are you going to teach me some secret technique for controlling human nature?" Lawrence asked, which made Holo chuckle quietly. She then sat at the edge of the well, still holding the cold pitcher.
"If it were so, I'd have no need to tell you. After all, I've been controlling your nature for quite some time, have I not? You should know how to do it yourself by now."
"I suppose you want me to answer, 'I guess you're right.'"
"There's a fine attitude."
Holo smiled, revealing her fangs, and the smile then receded like a tide rolling out.
She was a wolf of many faces. Like the waves of the sea when viewed from afar, there was no way of telling whether dangerous rocks lay beneath the surface. When the tide receded and the truth was revealed, there was no telling what extraordinary things could happen. Lawrence teasingly stroked her head, wondering how many times he had nearly been sunk on those rocks.
***
"Hmm?"
"I...I am regretting having pushed you into this."
Lawrence sat beside Holo.
She clutched the copper pitcher as if it were warming her, though it was probably even colder than the water.
"Well, I'm grateful. It's thanks to you that I can stand up to Kieman."
That was no lie. And yet Holo's ears moved busily as though trying to ascertain the truth of the words. Finally she looked down and nodded.
"That is what I regret."
"It is? Well...I suppose you should have let it go unsaid, then..."
"That is not what I mean." Holo shook her head and took a deep breath.
She then looked straight at Lawrence and continued speaking.
"One as clever as you can accomplish nearly anything so long as he has clear knowledge of his surroundings. But everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. I urged you on, despite knowing that what lay ahead was not something you were suited for. I knew it wasn't something you wished for."
It was true that Lawrence was heading straight into a conflict among town merchants, all of them very skilled and cunning.
But if he were to open a shop in a town somewhere, that would be the world he faced, so this did not seem like something with which Holo should be concerned.
Before he could say so, though, Holo headed him off.
"In any case, if you'd had the backbone to cross swords with them, you would've already been using my abilities to their fullest extent."
Surely Eve or Kieman would have done so.
They would have used Holo right from the start. From a logical perspective, she was the strongest weapon.
"You seem to wish for a steady, reliable course of events, and I can see that it suits you. But what I pushed you into is the precise opposite of that. Is it not so?"
It was so.
One needed only to look back on Lawrence's profits prior to meeting Holo to see. They gradually rose, and to that extent he was satisfied with the steady business he had been doing. Why did he want to have a shop in the first place? It was hardly as if he wanted to hold the world in the palm of his hands. It was nothing so grandiose—he simply wanted to be part of a smaller world, a town, and to have a place in that town.
"Still," Lawrence said, "Still, it hurts a bit to hear that you don't consider me suited to such things."
Holo's ears flicked beneath her hood. She slowly looked up. "But you aren't, are you?"
"When you say it so plainly, I can't seem to be angry at you." Lawrence gave a pained smile.
But as he looked up, his breath rose into the sky toward the moon, and the pain in that smile seemed to go with it, dissipating like so much smoke.
"But I'm not going to drop out of this story," he declared.
When Lawrence looked back down, he saw Holo making a face as if she had breathed in some of the bitterness he had exhaled.
"Especially when you make faces like that."
"Ugh..." She didn't try to hide her anxiety when he poked her forehead.


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

Input:
"With me?"
"Aye."
"Are you going to teach me some secret technique for controlling human nature?" Lawrence asked, which made Holo chuckle quietly. She then sat at the edge of the well, still holding the cold pitcher.
"If it were so, I'd have no need to tell you. After all, I've been controlling your nature for quite some time, have I not? You should know how to do it yourself by now."
"I suppose you want me to answer, 'I guess you're right.'"
"There's a fine attitude."
Holo smiled, revealing her fangs, and the smile then receded like a tide rolling out.
She was a wolf of many faces. Like the waves of the sea when viewed from afar, there was no way of telling whether dangerous rocks lay beneath the surface. When the tide receded and the truth was revealed, there was no telling what extraordinary things could happen. Lawrence teasingly stroked her head, wondering how many times he had nearly been sunk on those rocks.
***
"Hmm?"
"I...I am regretting having pushed you into this."
Lawrence sat beside Holo.
She clutched the copper pitcher as if it were warming her, though it was probably even colder than the water.
"Well, I'm grateful. It's thanks to you that I can stand up to Kieman."
That was no lie. And yet Holo's ears moved busily as though trying to ascertain the truth of the words. Finally she looked down and nodded.
"That is what I regret."
"It is? Well...I suppose you should have let it go unsaid, then..."
"That is not what I mean." Holo shook her head and took a deep breath.
She then looked straight at Lawrence and continued speaking.
"One as clever as you can accomplish nearly anything so long as he has clear knowledge of his surroundings. But everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. I urged you on, despite knowing that what lay ahead was not something you were suited for. I knew it wasn't something you wished for."
It was true that Lawrence was heading straight into a conflict among town merchants, all of them very skilled and cunning.
But if he were to open a shop in a town somewhere, that would be the world he faced, so this did not seem like something with which Holo should be concerned.
Before he could say so, though, Holo headed him off.
"In any case, if you'd had the backbone to cross swords with them, you would've already been using my abilities to their fullest extent."
Surely Eve or Kieman would have done so.
They would have used Holo right from the start. From a logical perspective, she was the strongest weapon.
"You seem to wish for a steady, reliable course of events, and I can see that it suits you. But what I pushed you into is the precise opposite of that. Is it not so?"
It was so.
One needed only to look back on Lawrence's profits prior to meeting Holo to see. They gradually rose, and to that extent he was satisfied with the steady business he had been doing. Why did he want to have a shop in the first place? It was hardly as if he wanted to hold the world in the palm of his hands. It was nothing so grandiose—he simply wanted to be part of a smaller world, a town, and to have a place in that town.
"Still," Lawrence said, "Still, it hurts a bit to hear that you don't consider me suited to such things."
Holo's ears flicked beneath her hood. She slowly looked up. "But you aren't, are you?"
"When you say it so plainly, I can't seem to be angry at you." Lawrence gave a pained smile.
But as he looked up, his breath rose into the sky toward the moon, and the pain in that smile seemed to go with it, dissipating like so much smoke.
"But I'm not going to drop out of this story," he declared.
When Lawrence looked back down, he saw Holo making a face as if she had breathed in some of the bitterness he had exhaled.
"Especially when you make faces like that."
"Ugh..." She didn't try to hide her anxiety when he poked her forehead.

Output:
But Lawrence got the feeling that it was not just because he was not well suited to this particular problem.
"If you're this regretful, it must mean you're expecting me to encounter something extraordinary."
Holo hated it when Lawrence agonized alone and drew his own conclusions, but the truth was she did precisely the same thing. However, the clever Holo seemed to think silence was more effective than raising her voice to point that out.
"It seems as though you've plans to write about your travels with me."
"Huh?" He did remember saying something like that but failed to see any connection.
Holo glared at him a bit angrily, evidently expecting him to understand. But perhaps deciding that Lawrence was at the limits of his intellect, she pouted and continued.
"And if so, wouldn't that make you the protagonist? I wanted my protagonist to act like one. At least...at least if I'm to be but a side character."
In the tale of the destruction of her homelands by the Moon-Hunting Bear, Holo was not even a side character—she was out of the story entirely.
As she sat at the edge of the well, Holo's dangling legs made her seem very childlike indeed. And it was true, the wish to be a main character in the story of the world was a very childish one.
"But that is truly naught but my own selfishness. Should that desire put you in harm's way or cause you to wander so sadly out into a courtyard at night like this, it pains me," admitted Holo, putting a hand to her chest and wincing in apparent pain.
Lawrence pinched her right cheek lightly and replied, "I do see what you're trying to say, but..." As Holo rubbed her tweaked cheek in irritation, he had no choice but to strengthen his tone and continue. "The more you say such things, the more unable I am to back down."
This was because she had expectations of him.
When Holo had expectations of Lawrence, he had to live up to those expectations.
"Aye, and 'tis why I did not wish to tell you..."
"Because I'd be stubborn?" he shot back, grinning and earning a punch to his ribs.
Holo then regarded him with a look so serious it could hardly be a joke. "Surely you understand how costly 'twould be to ignore my care."
***
He was fully aware, and Holo saying as much amounted to her telling him she had high expectations.
Lawrence paused for an appropriate interval before nodding firmly. Naturally he took this very seriously.
But Holo regarded him dubiously. "Do you truly understand?"
"I believe I do."
"Truly?"
At her excessive persistence, he finally realized.
If she wished for him to be the protagonist of this story, what did that make her? If she could get everything she wanted by simply wishing and worrying, it was quite a role indeed.
The problem was that all through the ages, men had been weak against such opponents.
"Of course," Lawrence answered again, holding her warm body close in the moonlight.
Holo's tail wagged beneath her robe.
The world was a stage where all wished to be main characters, but things did not always proceed as they would like. In such a place, becoming the protagonist was no mean feat as even Lawrence knew.
But that changed when someone had put her trust in you.
Holo squirmed out of his arms and stood, and it seemed as if the weight on her chest had been lifted.
Just seeing that, Lawrence had no regrets.
"Come, fill the pitcher and let us return. 'Tis cold." It was surely not his imagination that she seemed to be trying to hide some measure of bashfulness.
Lawrence took the pitcher from Holo with his right hand and filled it with the water he had drawn. Holo held his left hand and giggled ticklishly.
Even if Lawrence was being manipulated by her, there was no question that the matter at hand had some connection to the wolf bones—and to Holo's desire.
The next day in the early afternoon, Lawrence was summoned by Kieman.
As he left the room, it was notable that the most anxious face was Col's.


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

Input:
But Lawrence got the feeling that it was not just because he was not well suited to this particular problem.
"If you're this regretful, it must mean you're expecting me to encounter something extraordinary."
Holo hated it when Lawrence agonized alone and drew his own conclusions, but the truth was she did precisely the same thing. However, the clever Holo seemed to think silence was more effective than raising her voice to point that out.
"It seems as though you've plans to write about your travels with me."
"Huh?" He did remember saying something like that but failed to see any connection.
Holo glared at him a bit angrily, evidently expecting him to understand. But perhaps deciding that Lawrence was at the limits of his intellect, she pouted and continued.
"And if so, wouldn't that make you the protagonist? I wanted my protagonist to act like one. At least...at least if I'm to be but a side character."
In the tale of the destruction of her homelands by the Moon-Hunting Bear, Holo was not even a side character—she was out of the story entirely.
As she sat at the edge of the well, Holo's dangling legs made her seem very childlike indeed. And it was true, the wish to be a main character in the story of the world was a very childish one.
"But that is truly naught but my own selfishness. Should that desire put you in harm's way or cause you to wander so sadly out into a courtyard at night like this, it pains me," admitted Holo, putting a hand to her chest and wincing in apparent pain.
Lawrence pinched her right cheek lightly and replied, "I do see what you're trying to say, but..." As Holo rubbed her tweaked cheek in irritation, he had no choice but to strengthen his tone and continue. "The more you say such things, the more unable I am to back down."
This was because she had expectations of him.
When Holo had expectations of Lawrence, he had to live up to those expectations.
"Aye, and 'tis why I did not wish to tell you..."
"Because I'd be stubborn?" he shot back, grinning and earning a punch to his ribs.
Holo then regarded him with a look so serious it could hardly be a joke. "Surely you understand how costly 'twould be to ignore my care."
***
He was fully aware, and Holo saying as much amounted to her telling him she had high expectations.
Lawrence paused for an appropriate interval before nodding firmly. Naturally he took this very seriously.
But Holo regarded him dubiously. "Do you truly understand?"
"I believe I do."
"Truly?"
At her excessive persistence, he finally realized.
If she wished for him to be the protagonist of this story, what did that make her? If she could get everything she wanted by simply wishing and worrying, it was quite a role indeed.
The problem was that all through the ages, men had been weak against such opponents.
"Of course," Lawrence answered again, holding her warm body close in the moonlight.
Holo's tail wagged beneath her robe.
The world was a stage where all wished to be main characters, but things did not always proceed as they would like. In such a place, becoming the protagonist was no mean feat as even Lawrence knew.
But that changed when someone had put her trust in you.
Holo squirmed out of his arms and stood, and it seemed as if the weight on her chest had been lifted.
Just seeing that, Lawrence had no regrets.
"Come, fill the pitcher and let us return. 'Tis cold." It was surely not his imagination that she seemed to be trying to hide some measure of bashfulness.
Lawrence took the pitcher from Holo with his right hand and filled it with the water he had drawn. Holo held his left hand and giggled ticklishly.
Even if Lawrence was being manipulated by her, there was no question that the matter at hand had some connection to the wolf bones—and to Holo's desire.
The next day in the early afternoon, Lawrence was summoned by Kieman.
As he left the room, it was notable that the most anxious face was Col's.

Output:
It would have been a mighty feat indeed to outwit them all, and from this point on, Lawrence would take his orders from Kieman and try instead to outwit the northern landlords.
As long as Eve did not betray him, all would be well. Such had been the conclusion of his discussion with Kieman the previous night, Kieman no doubt already having done the necessary background work.
What was being asked of Lawrence was not so difficult a thing. He merely had to maintain the trust of the lone wolf Eve and ensure that things proceeded smoothly.
That was all.
"Do you truly not mind leaving your companion behind?"
"No, it is fine."
The trading house had been busy all morning, so Lawrence had only a few moments to speak with Kieman before setting out. As the master of the branch, Kieman wore fine clothes with a crisply starched collar.
Given that negotiations between the northern landlords and southern merchants were happening on the delta, leaving Holo and Col behind would make it seem as if they had been taken hostage, which might have been why Kieman went to the trouble of asking whether they would go along with Lawrence.
"So then, you have only to explain to Madam Bolan what I told you earlier. My own preparations have become rather complicated, so any independent action on your part could easily create small holes, which will quickly become large problems," said Kieman, looking firmly into Lawrence's eyes.
Lawrence nodded calmly in return. Even if he had been told the complete plan, he was sure he would not have understood it. Even Holo and Col could run circles around him, politically.
Just as Kieman could hardly spend two weeks on rough mountain roads while subsisting on nothing but rye bread and rainwater, Lawrence could not maneuver the way Kieman could.
The more he did as he was told, the safer he would be.
The only decision he would make independently was the very last one, at the moment when events had progressed to such that he could judge for himself whether to cooperate or defect.
Kieman seemed to want to say more, but a knock upon the room's door interrupted him. The merchant delegation had assembled and was ready to depart.
It was time.
"Well, then. I shall be counting on you."
Having fully received Kieman's orders, Lawrence left the room just as others entered. The trading house's dining hall had a tense atmosphere, as if a battle were approaching.
Of course, the troops on this side felt the strange nervousness of imminent victory. They needed no goddess of victory—they had the narwhal.
It was as if they were only discussing whose victory would be greatest.
Early on, it seemed that the guild seizing the northern vessel that had originally caught the narwhal would be the ultimate victor. Even members of the Rowen Trade Guild were whispering that it would be difficult to gain the initiative in the negotiations.
Of course, that was no reason to give up, and the group of scruffy merchants in the corner, who pantomimed rowing or fell fast asleep on the tables, had already gotten an early taste of conflict as part of the southern camp.
Knights and mercenaries were a practical sort and tended not to dwell over shares of riches not yet won. By contrast, merchants loved to count chickens before they hatched, and there was no doubt the previous night had seen many arguments over shares of profits. They were probably ongoing.
Several carriages waited in front of the guild house for Chief Jeeta and Kieman, and a steady stream of raggedly dressed beggars—spies for their merchant masters—constantly filtered between them.
Lawrence remembered the term Eve had used back in Lenos, the town of lumber and fur.
A trade war.
The fact that the atmosphere made Lawrence's heart beat faster was not because he was on the verge of an important negotiation.
It was because he had been born a man, and to a man, this atmosphere was inherently appealing.
"Fellows!"
At this sudden raised voice, all chatter fell silent.


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

Input:
It would have been a mighty feat indeed to outwit them all, and from this point on, Lawrence would take his orders from Kieman and try instead to outwit the northern landlords.
As long as Eve did not betray him, all would be well. Such had been the conclusion of his discussion with Kieman the previous night, Kieman no doubt already having done the necessary background work.
What was being asked of Lawrence was not so difficult a thing. He merely had to maintain the trust of the lone wolf Eve and ensure that things proceeded smoothly.
That was all.
"Do you truly not mind leaving your companion behind?"
"No, it is fine."
The trading house had been busy all morning, so Lawrence had only a few moments to speak with Kieman before setting out. As the master of the branch, Kieman wore fine clothes with a crisply starched collar.
Given that negotiations between the northern landlords and southern merchants were happening on the delta, leaving Holo and Col behind would make it seem as if they had been taken hostage, which might have been why Kieman went to the trouble of asking whether they would go along with Lawrence.
"So then, you have only to explain to Madam Bolan what I told you earlier. My own preparations have become rather complicated, so any independent action on your part could easily create small holes, which will quickly become large problems," said Kieman, looking firmly into Lawrence's eyes.
Lawrence nodded calmly in return. Even if he had been told the complete plan, he was sure he would not have understood it. Even Holo and Col could run circles around him, politically.
Just as Kieman could hardly spend two weeks on rough mountain roads while subsisting on nothing but rye bread and rainwater, Lawrence could not maneuver the way Kieman could.
The more he did as he was told, the safer he would be.
The only decision he would make independently was the very last one, at the moment when events had progressed to such that he could judge for himself whether to cooperate or defect.
Kieman seemed to want to say more, but a knock upon the room's door interrupted him. The merchant delegation had assembled and was ready to depart.
It was time.
"Well, then. I shall be counting on you."
Having fully received Kieman's orders, Lawrence left the room just as others entered. The trading house's dining hall had a tense atmosphere, as if a battle were approaching.
Of course, the troops on this side felt the strange nervousness of imminent victory. They needed no goddess of victory—they had the narwhal.
It was as if they were only discussing whose victory would be greatest.
Early on, it seemed that the guild seizing the northern vessel that had originally caught the narwhal would be the ultimate victor. Even members of the Rowen Trade Guild were whispering that it would be difficult to gain the initiative in the negotiations.
Of course, that was no reason to give up, and the group of scruffy merchants in the corner, who pantomimed rowing or fell fast asleep on the tables, had already gotten an early taste of conflict as part of the southern camp.
Knights and mercenaries were a practical sort and tended not to dwell over shares of riches not yet won. By contrast, merchants loved to count chickens before they hatched, and there was no doubt the previous night had seen many arguments over shares of profits. They were probably ongoing.
Several carriages waited in front of the guild house for Chief Jeeta and Kieman, and a steady stream of raggedly dressed beggars—spies for their merchant masters—constantly filtered between them.
Lawrence remembered the term Eve had used back in Lenos, the town of lumber and fur.
A trade war.
The fact that the atmosphere made Lawrence's heart beat faster was not because he was on the verge of an important negotiation.
It was because he had been born a man, and to a man, this atmosphere was inherently appealing.
"Fellows!"
At this sudden raised voice, all chatter fell silent.

Output:
Kieman had denounced him as a mere opportunist, but the same could have been said of anyone who tried to avoid calamity. And while Kieman dressed like a nobleman, Jeeta wore loose robes, which lent him the unmistakable gravity of old age.
He surveyed the assemblage with eyes that seemed able to gaze a century into the future.
"In the name of our patron, Saint Lambardos, may our guild be triumphant!"
"To triumph!"
Cheered on by the merchants, Jeeta and his escorts left the guild house. Kieman never once glanced at Lawrence, exchanging words with others before boarding the carriage that was departing the guild house.
At this sight, Lawrence felt his hand spontaneously rise to his chest—how strange it was that with such a spectacle before him, he was a crucial part of a plan that would reverse the situation entirely.
If Holo had been next to him, she surely would have mocked this sudden swell of a traveling merchant's courage. She would have laughed even—he was certainly laughing at himself.
River crossings were no longer banned, so following the guild chief's procession came merchants, some of whom were merely watching the proceedings and others who, like Lawrence, had tasks to perform.
Lawrence mingled toward the rear of the group and made for the Roam River.
Amid all the people emerging from the guild houses and trading companies lined along it, the avenue took on a peculiar atmosphere. Business was being conducted as usual, and it was hardly the case that everyone in town was a merchant.
Yet the flow of merchants heading north called to mind the northern campaigns. The church bell rang, its strangely urgent sound echoing.
The ferrymen were treating their passengers with a strange deference, totally unlike their usual rudeness. The riverbanks were lined with onlookers alongside soldiers armed with pikes and axes to ensure that nothing happened.
A particularly weakhearted merchant found himself overwhelmed by the spectacle, and his knees started knocking when a faintly rocking boat heaved him up onto the pier.
But nobody laughed at him. All were silent as they converged on the delta.
It was not Lawrence's imagination that those unrelated to trade were watching as if witnessing something very strange unfolding. In older days, disputes over land were resolved by the sword and were easy to understand. But now they were fought with parchment and ink, so it was no wonder that to outsiders it seemed like so much sorcery.
Lawrence himself had the same impression.
The way that money appeared after a negotiation was not unlike a sorcerer summoning a demon with a magic circle. No wonder the Church was so strict with merchants and their relentless quest for money—the entire business seemed as though it had to be aided by some sort of devil.
Without anyone particular in the lead, the crowd simply flowed. They made their way to the spring of gold, where the costliest items on the delta changed hands. On the tables there were parchments describing an item so valuable it couldn't be traded for coin. And perhaps not for influence, prestige, or pride.
Those like Lawrence—small-fry merchants—found themselves stopped in their path, with only higher-status, wealthier merchants allowed to proceed. Groups similarly arriving from the north were seated. The men of both groups seemed well accustomed to giving orders with mere motions of their chins, as though this were some meeting of ancient wise men.
But here and now, it was the southerners who clearly held the upper hand. Their clothing, their retainers, and their bearing all spoke of wealth and power. By contrast, all the northerners had was their dignity. And even that was shaky, supported only by their shouting.
The southerners' seats were all assigned, and Chief Jeeta sat three seats to the right of the finely dressed old man in the center.


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

Input:
Kieman had denounced him as a mere opportunist, but the same could have been said of anyone who tried to avoid calamity. And while Kieman dressed like a nobleman, Jeeta wore loose robes, which lent him the unmistakable gravity of old age.
He surveyed the assemblage with eyes that seemed able to gaze a century into the future.
"In the name of our patron, Saint Lambardos, may our guild be triumphant!"
"To triumph!"
Cheered on by the merchants, Jeeta and his escorts left the guild house. Kieman never once glanced at Lawrence, exchanging words with others before boarding the carriage that was departing the guild house.
At this sight, Lawrence felt his hand spontaneously rise to his chest—how strange it was that with such a spectacle before him, he was a crucial part of a plan that would reverse the situation entirely.
If Holo had been next to him, she surely would have mocked this sudden swell of a traveling merchant's courage. She would have laughed even—he was certainly laughing at himself.
River crossings were no longer banned, so following the guild chief's procession came merchants, some of whom were merely watching the proceedings and others who, like Lawrence, had tasks to perform.
Lawrence mingled toward the rear of the group and made for the Roam River.
Amid all the people emerging from the guild houses and trading companies lined along it, the avenue took on a peculiar atmosphere. Business was being conducted as usual, and it was hardly the case that everyone in town was a merchant.
Yet the flow of merchants heading north called to mind the northern campaigns. The church bell rang, its strangely urgent sound echoing.
The ferrymen were treating their passengers with a strange deference, totally unlike their usual rudeness. The riverbanks were lined with onlookers alongside soldiers armed with pikes and axes to ensure that nothing happened.
A particularly weakhearted merchant found himself overwhelmed by the spectacle, and his knees started knocking when a faintly rocking boat heaved him up onto the pier.
But nobody laughed at him. All were silent as they converged on the delta.
It was not Lawrence's imagination that those unrelated to trade were watching as if witnessing something very strange unfolding. In older days, disputes over land were resolved by the sword and were easy to understand. But now they were fought with parchment and ink, so it was no wonder that to outsiders it seemed like so much sorcery.
Lawrence himself had the same impression.
The way that money appeared after a negotiation was not unlike a sorcerer summoning a demon with a magic circle. No wonder the Church was so strict with merchants and their relentless quest for money—the entire business seemed as though it had to be aided by some sort of devil.
Without anyone particular in the lead, the crowd simply flowed. They made their way to the spring of gold, where the costliest items on the delta changed hands. On the tables there were parchments describing an item so valuable it couldn't be traded for coin. And perhaps not for influence, prestige, or pride.
Those like Lawrence—small-fry merchants—found themselves stopped in their path, with only higher-status, wealthier merchants allowed to proceed. Groups similarly arriving from the north were seated. The men of both groups seemed well accustomed to giving orders with mere motions of their chins, as though this were some meeting of ancient wise men.
But here and now, it was the southerners who clearly held the upper hand. Their clothing, their retainers, and their bearing all spoke of wealth and power. By contrast, all the northerners had was their dignity. And even that was shaky, supported only by their shouting.
The southerners' seats were all assigned, and Chief Jeeta sat three seats to the right of the finely dressed old man in the center.

Output:
But given this situation, it wasn't obvious what the Rowen Trade Guild's profits would be. All Lawrence could tell was that at this rate, the rewards would go to Jeeta, and those below him would receive comparatively little. Lawrence imagined the profits bypassing the guilds entirely and being instead divided evenly, and he couldn't help smiling at the thought.
That was how absurd the idea was.
At length, the northerners had all found their seats at the table. Behind them sat men who were presumably their retainer merchants, who whispered into their masters' ears. This seemed to be a last-minute strategy conference, and their faces were uniformly grave.
Among them, behind the best-dressed man at the northerner's table, was a face Lawrence recognized.
It was none other than Ted Reynolds of the Jean Company.
He wore what everyone else was wearing, what must have been formal attire by the local standards—a tall, thin hat. And had circumstances been different, he would have been the mediator whose goal was to choke off the northerners for good, so seeing the truth here was frightening indeed.
Or if Kieman had called upon Reynolds after all, would he have then betrayed Lawrence? Lawrence didn't know the truth, but as he gazed at the distant Reynolds, he suddenly got the feeling that Reynolds was looking right back at him. The man was being watched by countless other merchants, though, so it was hard to imagine that he had singled Lawrence out.
Lawrence's feeling that their eyes had met only proved how nervously self-conscious he was.
And he was very nervous indeed.
Eve was nowhere to be seen.
According to Kieman's explanation, she wouldn't be at the center of activity—and that appeared to be so.
Eve's job was to manage the under-the-table dealings.
Perhaps even at this moment she was drowning in love letters from the men desperate to outwit those around them and gain all the profit.
Lawrence, too, had a bouquet to present her, so he turned on his heel and headed away from the crowd.
Not long after, he heard a high voice declare the commencement of negotiations. It was a southern voice that made the declaration, which left no doubt as to the entirely ceremonial nature of the proceedings.
But rituals were used to pray to the gods.
As he thought about what the men at that table might be praying for, Lawrence loosened his collar, terribly afraid.
***
Just as there are any number of paths to reach the summit of a mountain, there were many ways to contact Eve. Strangely, Lawrence had been directed to meet her at the same plain inn where Holo had brought Col for her drunken ramble.
There were no customers on the ground floor, but the innkeeper seemed mostly unconcerned, as someone from the north had rented out the entire inn. Every inn and tavern on the delta would be like this today.
Lawrence handed over a weathered copper coin with the face of a long-gone king on it, and in return, the innkeeper placed an empty cup on the counter and indicated the inn's staircase. "There you are."
He was being told to take the cup upstairs.
Lawrence did as he was told, climbing the staircase, and at the end of the hallway, he saw the form of a merchant speaking to someone. He would have overlooked the person, but for the fact that no good merchant ever forgets a face.
Despite the fake beard and the cotton he had stuffed his clothes with in order to change his figure, one of the men was clearly one of Eve's lookouts.
Lawrence faced him yet again, which earned him a sharp glare.
"How's business?"
Lawrence stopped for a moment, but overcame his trepidation and walked up to the men, greeting the one he hadn't met before. He realized he was being asked for some sort of password, so he calmly turned his cup upside down. "So bad I can't even drink," he answered.
His interrogator grinned and indicated the door next to him. The nails on his hand were twisted and deformed, probably because he was used to hard physical labor.


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

Input:
But given this situation, it wasn't obvious what the Rowen Trade Guild's profits would be. All Lawrence could tell was that at this rate, the rewards would go to Jeeta, and those below him would receive comparatively little. Lawrence imagined the profits bypassing the guilds entirely and being instead divided evenly, and he couldn't help smiling at the thought.
That was how absurd the idea was.
At length, the northerners had all found their seats at the table. Behind them sat men who were presumably their retainer merchants, who whispered into their masters' ears. This seemed to be a last-minute strategy conference, and their faces were uniformly grave.
Among them, behind the best-dressed man at the northerner's table, was a face Lawrence recognized.
It was none other than Ted Reynolds of the Jean Company.
He wore what everyone else was wearing, what must have been formal attire by the local standards—a tall, thin hat. And had circumstances been different, he would have been the mediator whose goal was to choke off the northerners for good, so seeing the truth here was frightening indeed.
Or if Kieman had called upon Reynolds after all, would he have then betrayed Lawrence? Lawrence didn't know the truth, but as he gazed at the distant Reynolds, he suddenly got the feeling that Reynolds was looking right back at him. The man was being watched by countless other merchants, though, so it was hard to imagine that he had singled Lawrence out.
Lawrence's feeling that their eyes had met only proved how nervously self-conscious he was.
And he was very nervous indeed.
Eve was nowhere to be seen.
According to Kieman's explanation, she wouldn't be at the center of activity—and that appeared to be so.
Eve's job was to manage the under-the-table dealings.
Perhaps even at this moment she was drowning in love letters from the men desperate to outwit those around them and gain all the profit.
Lawrence, too, had a bouquet to present her, so he turned on his heel and headed away from the crowd.
Not long after, he heard a high voice declare the commencement of negotiations. It was a southern voice that made the declaration, which left no doubt as to the entirely ceremonial nature of the proceedings.
But rituals were used to pray to the gods.
As he thought about what the men at that table might be praying for, Lawrence loosened his collar, terribly afraid.
***
Just as there are any number of paths to reach the summit of a mountain, there were many ways to contact Eve. Strangely, Lawrence had been directed to meet her at the same plain inn where Holo had brought Col for her drunken ramble.
There were no customers on the ground floor, but the innkeeper seemed mostly unconcerned, as someone from the north had rented out the entire inn. Every inn and tavern on the delta would be like this today.
Lawrence handed over a weathered copper coin with the face of a long-gone king on it, and in return, the innkeeper placed an empty cup on the counter and indicated the inn's staircase. "There you are."
He was being told to take the cup upstairs.
Lawrence did as he was told, climbing the staircase, and at the end of the hallway, he saw the form of a merchant speaking to someone. He would have overlooked the person, but for the fact that no good merchant ever forgets a face.
Despite the fake beard and the cotton he had stuffed his clothes with in order to change his figure, one of the men was clearly one of Eve's lookouts.
Lawrence faced him yet again, which earned him a sharp glare.
"How's business?"
Lawrence stopped for a moment, but overcame his trepidation and walked up to the men, greeting the one he hadn't met before. He realized he was being asked for some sort of password, so he calmly turned his cup upside down. "So bad I can't even drink," he answered.
His interrogator grinned and indicated the door next to him. The nails on his hand were twisted and deformed, probably because he was used to hard physical labor.

Output:
It turned out to be the scent coming from an old man in the corner, who was melting candle wax to use for seals.
"Have you any idea how much it saddens me to see you here?"
Physical and mental exhaustion were not the same. Eve's face wore the exhaustion of having read too much, and she smiled, leaning her cheek against her hand, which was propped up by her elbow on a table that overflowed with letters and documents.
"Was it time for your nap?"
"Exactly so. Look how much I've been talking in my sleep."
Lawrence stood in the entrance, yet even there were papers scattered about his feet.
He took a casual look at them—the ones he could easily see included two threats, three unverifiable accusations that such-and-such a person on the north was secretly connected with so-and-so on the south, three invitations of alliance, and one invitation to flee to a foreign country.
Lawrence picked up that last one—it seemed the most amusing—and brought it to Eve.
"Once I was crossing the sea out there, and I happened to be on a ship with a group of pilgrims. We had the rotten luck to be attacked by pirates." Just as Lawrence wondered what Eve's sudden speech had to do with anything, Eve took the letter from him and began to neatly fold it up. "At first the cowering pilgrims prayed to God, but once several sailors were killed and it seemed all hope was lost, what do you think they started doing?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Lawrence, and Eve continued, amused.
"Those pilgrims finally started just going at it! I watched them do it and thought to myself what strange, powerful creatures humans are."
A poet had once said that fear for one's life was the greatest aphrodisiac.
But a question remained.
"So what did you do, Miss Eve?"
Eve tossed the neatly folded letter into the fireplace. "I went through their belongings to collect the money I'd need to buy my own life back." Her dry lips did not move, but her eyes crinkled in a smile.
Lawrence shrugged and produced a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. "I was told to give this to you."
"There's no need for me to see it," said Eve, which made the old man who was stirring the molten wax look up at them.
Eve turned to him and made a gesture with her finger, and the old man turned his attention back to the wax.
It seemed the old man was deaf. Either that or they wanted Lawrence to guess as much and thus feel free to speak.
"All I'm interested in is whether you're my ally or not."
"Or more accurately, whether I'll listen to what you tell me to do in the end or not."
Eve really did smile with her eyes, not her lips. Not replying to Lawrence's statement, she instead held her hand out. Lawrence handed her the parchment, which she read as though it were a letter of no particular consequence.
"Hmm...it's so close to my expectations it's a bit unnerving. Almost as though you told them about our secret meeting."
"You jest," Lawrence answered with his best merchant's smile, and a bored-looking Eve set the parchment down on the table.
"So, he's finally come to the table, has he...?" she murmured, closing her eyes.
At the very least, she seemed to be considering the parchment Lawrence brought her for longer than the other.
"What do you think?" Eve asked, her eyes still closed.
It was still too early to bargain.
"Given that you've received my message, my job's been completed without incident."
"The northern landlords exchange a note of deed transfer of their land for the narwhal. I split the profits with the northern traitor, and your guild gets the profit from having bested their competitors."
"Everybody's satisfied," said Lawrence, which made Eve sigh and rub at the corners of her eyes.
"It's a hard thing, not being able to see the hearts of others with your own eyes."
The only people who could trust in their partners and be sure a trade would go smoothly were those who had never seen betrayal. And those that planned to cheat another—who could also boast that their own trades would go well?


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

Input:
It turned out to be the scent coming from an old man in the corner, who was melting candle wax to use for seals.
"Have you any idea how much it saddens me to see you here?"
Physical and mental exhaustion were not the same. Eve's face wore the exhaustion of having read too much, and she smiled, leaning her cheek against her hand, which was propped up by her elbow on a table that overflowed with letters and documents.
"Was it time for your nap?"
"Exactly so. Look how much I've been talking in my sleep."
Lawrence stood in the entrance, yet even there were papers scattered about his feet.
He took a casual look at them—the ones he could easily see included two threats, three unverifiable accusations that such-and-such a person on the north was secretly connected with so-and-so on the south, three invitations of alliance, and one invitation to flee to a foreign country.
Lawrence picked up that last one—it seemed the most amusing—and brought it to Eve.
"Once I was crossing the sea out there, and I happened to be on a ship with a group of pilgrims. We had the rotten luck to be attacked by pirates." Just as Lawrence wondered what Eve's sudden speech had to do with anything, Eve took the letter from him and began to neatly fold it up. "At first the cowering pilgrims prayed to God, but once several sailors were killed and it seemed all hope was lost, what do you think they started doing?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Lawrence, and Eve continued, amused.
"Those pilgrims finally started just going at it! I watched them do it and thought to myself what strange, powerful creatures humans are."
A poet had once said that fear for one's life was the greatest aphrodisiac.
But a question remained.
"So what did you do, Miss Eve?"
Eve tossed the neatly folded letter into the fireplace. "I went through their belongings to collect the money I'd need to buy my own life back." Her dry lips did not move, but her eyes crinkled in a smile.
Lawrence shrugged and produced a piece of parchment from his breast pocket. "I was told to give this to you."
"There's no need for me to see it," said Eve, which made the old man who was stirring the molten wax look up at them.
Eve turned to him and made a gesture with her finger, and the old man turned his attention back to the wax.
It seemed the old man was deaf. Either that or they wanted Lawrence to guess as much and thus feel free to speak.
"All I'm interested in is whether you're my ally or not."
"Or more accurately, whether I'll listen to what you tell me to do in the end or not."
Eve really did smile with her eyes, not her lips. Not replying to Lawrence's statement, she instead held her hand out. Lawrence handed her the parchment, which she read as though it were a letter of no particular consequence.
"Hmm...it's so close to my expectations it's a bit unnerving. Almost as though you told them about our secret meeting."
"You jest," Lawrence answered with his best merchant's smile, and a bored-looking Eve set the parchment down on the table.
"So, he's finally come to the table, has he...?" she murmured, closing her eyes.
At the very least, she seemed to be considering the parchment Lawrence brought her for longer than the other.
"What do you think?" Eve asked, her eyes still closed.
It was still too early to bargain.
"Given that you've received my message, my job's been completed without incident."
"The northern landlords exchange a note of deed transfer of their land for the narwhal. I split the profits with the northern traitor, and your guild gets the profit from having bested their competitors."
"Everybody's satisfied," said Lawrence, which made Eve sigh and rub at the corners of her eyes.
"It's a hard thing, not being able to see the hearts of others with your own eyes."
The only people who could trust in their partners and be sure a trade would go smoothly were those who had never seen betrayal. And those that planned to cheat another—who could also boast that their own trades would go well?

Output:
"No."
"Does it seem realistically possible to secretly steal the narwhal?"
"Perhaps by bribing the guards on watch."
"The deed transfer will be written by the landlord's son, who has no actual authority. It may not carry any actual weight. What does Kieman plan to do about that?"
"The third-generation head has already paid his respects to the nearby landlords, and jurisdiction of the town is shared by the council, the Church, and the landlords. So long as they have grounds to assert their rights, things should work out."
"I see. And you believe what Kieman says?" From her sitting position, Eve looked down her nose at Lawrence like a noblewoman regarding a piteous commoner. She spoke as though she was sure that Kieman waited to spring a trap on her.
"I do not believe his words, but I am going along with him."
Eve turned her gaze away from Lawrence. "A perfect answer. But not enough to bridge the distance that separates us."
Did this mean that she could not accept Kieman's proposal? Lawrence hardly believed the entirety of the man's plan, but it didn't seem like such a bad trade for Eve.
Lawrence put a question to her. "What would be the best choice for you, Miss Eve?"
"I told you, didn't I? To betray one and all and take all the profit for myself."
"You couldn't possibly—" Lawrence blurted out in spite of himself.
Eve smiled, amused. She seemed to want him to continue.
"Why would you be so childishly selfish?"
If Eve proposed the same detail to Kieman that he was bringing her, he was certain to accept on the spot. He would have been delighted.
So why did Eve insist on being so stubbornly persistent? Whatever her reason, it still seemed strange to Lawrence.
Or was it just as simple as that—that she absolutely did not want to share any of her gains? Was it really something so utterly unreasonable as that?
"Childish? That's right, it's childish." Eve laughed and breathed in. When she exhaled, her breath was strong enough to move some of the papers on the surface of her desk. "When a child burns herself in a fireplace, she fears it even when the fire is out."
"...If that were so, then merchants would have no choice but to sit alone in empty rooms, trembling and afraid."
Merchants were burned, deceived—then went out to seek profit again. And wasn't Eve herself the exemplar of that ideal? Wasn't her being the lynchpin of events that would determine who controlled an important port town like Kerube the proof of that?
Lawrence advanced on Eve, half-angry, and found her wary gaze directed right at him.
"I wasn't always a merchant."
***
Lawrence flinched at her suddenly meek, pathetic voice.
Eve flashed a quick smile at Lawrence's reaction, then flopped forward onto the table. Paper went flying.
The deaf, old man hurried to his feet, but Eve, still lying on the table, gave him a faint smile. "Don't you think it ridiculous? That by exchanging a few slips of paper and a few of the formless words that come from our mouths, we can gain such money as can buy a human life."
Eve picked up a sheet of paper and dropped it. She then slowly directed her gaze at Lawrence. "Have you ever been betrayed by someone you completely trusted? Whom can you trust then? The only one I trust is myself when I'm betraying another."
A beast's fangs could be used to attack, but also to defend one's self. So was the reason Eve kept her fangs so sharp because she felt she needed to defend herself that much?
"When your own life was on the line, you asked me, didn't you? What lies at the end of my road of greed? And I answered, didn't I? What I'm looking forward to..." Eve slowly closed her eyes and then slowly opened them. "...Is that someday I'll be satisfied, and I'll be able to reach a world with no worry, and no suffering."
Lawrence took a step back because he was truly frightened.
Aiming for a world without worry and suffering but trying to reach it via constant betrayal—it was like being shown the source of human sin.
This was no act.
It was not a trap.


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

Input:
"No."
"Does it seem realistically possible to secretly steal the narwhal?"
"Perhaps by bribing the guards on watch."
"The deed transfer will be written by the landlord's son, who has no actual authority. It may not carry any actual weight. What does Kieman plan to do about that?"
"The third-generation head has already paid his respects to the nearby landlords, and jurisdiction of the town is shared by the council, the Church, and the landlords. So long as they have grounds to assert their rights, things should work out."
"I see. And you believe what Kieman says?" From her sitting position, Eve looked down her nose at Lawrence like a noblewoman regarding a piteous commoner. She spoke as though she was sure that Kieman waited to spring a trap on her.
"I do not believe his words, but I am going along with him."
Eve turned her gaze away from Lawrence. "A perfect answer. But not enough to bridge the distance that separates us."
Did this mean that she could not accept Kieman's proposal? Lawrence hardly believed the entirety of the man's plan, but it didn't seem like such a bad trade for Eve.
Lawrence put a question to her. "What would be the best choice for you, Miss Eve?"
"I told you, didn't I? To betray one and all and take all the profit for myself."
"You couldn't possibly—" Lawrence blurted out in spite of himself.
Eve smiled, amused. She seemed to want him to continue.
"Why would you be so childishly selfish?"
If Eve proposed the same detail to Kieman that he was bringing her, he was certain to accept on the spot. He would have been delighted.
So why did Eve insist on being so stubbornly persistent? Whatever her reason, it still seemed strange to Lawrence.
Or was it just as simple as that—that she absolutely did not want to share any of her gains? Was it really something so utterly unreasonable as that?
"Childish? That's right, it's childish." Eve laughed and breathed in. When she exhaled, her breath was strong enough to move some of the papers on the surface of her desk. "When a child burns herself in a fireplace, she fears it even when the fire is out."
"...If that were so, then merchants would have no choice but to sit alone in empty rooms, trembling and afraid."
Merchants were burned, deceived—then went out to seek profit again. And wasn't Eve herself the exemplar of that ideal? Wasn't her being the lynchpin of events that would determine who controlled an important port town like Kerube the proof of that?
Lawrence advanced on Eve, half-angry, and found her wary gaze directed right at him.
"I wasn't always a merchant."
***
Lawrence flinched at her suddenly meek, pathetic voice.
Eve flashed a quick smile at Lawrence's reaction, then flopped forward onto the table. Paper went flying.
The deaf, old man hurried to his feet, but Eve, still lying on the table, gave him a faint smile. "Don't you think it ridiculous? That by exchanging a few slips of paper and a few of the formless words that come from our mouths, we can gain such money as can buy a human life."
Eve picked up a sheet of paper and dropped it. She then slowly directed her gaze at Lawrence. "Have you ever been betrayed by someone you completely trusted? Whom can you trust then? The only one I trust is myself when I'm betraying another."
A beast's fangs could be used to attack, but also to defend one's self. So was the reason Eve kept her fangs so sharp because she felt she needed to defend herself that much?
"When your own life was on the line, you asked me, didn't you? What lies at the end of my road of greed? And I answered, didn't I? What I'm looking forward to..." Eve slowly closed her eyes and then slowly opened them. "...Is that someday I'll be satisfied, and I'll be able to reach a world with no worry, and no suffering."
Lawrence took a step back because he was truly frightened.
Aiming for a world without worry and suffering but trying to reach it via constant betrayal—it was like being shown the source of human sin.
This was no act.
It was not a trap.

Output:
"Fine, then. I accept Kieman's proposal. You tell him that for me." She paused for a moment, smiling a snakelike grin. "You tell him."
Eve was a genius.
How could her words be trusted? What was he supposed to report to Kieman?
His gorge rose at the possibilities and doubts, but he swallowed it and slowly straightened himself. She had told him to pass the message along, and he had no choice but to do so.
"...Understood."
He bowed politely, then turned to leave.
For a moment, Eve seemed to Lawrence like the red, many-armed monsters of the deep that occasionally devoured ships and haunted the dreams of sailors.
Eve truly didn't trust anyone. It was hardly surprising then that she was willing to betray anyone for her own gain. But it was also true that without trusting someone, somewhere, trades could not be completed, and thus no profit could be gained.
So who would she trust in the end? And after all was said and done, who would be betrayed?
When Lawrence put his hand to the door, Eve spoke as though to stop him short. "Hey, why not join me?"
She looked at him expressionlessly. She seemed to be at once sincere and deceptive.
"What, to join you even knowing I'd been fooled?"
"Exactly."
"I don't want to believe I've been fooled," Lawrence answered.
Eve smiled. "I suppose not."
Lawrence had no reply to follow that. If he replied, he'd be taken. Humans were all too easily led astray by the mermaid's song.
He quickly stepped out of the room and down the stairs. The whole way, he felt as though Eve were watching him go.
Kieman was to be contacted via a messenger.
The designated location was a busy little street filled with stalls, two blocks away from the spring of gold. The best place to hide a tree was in a forest, after all.
He sent the note via messenger not just because it was difficult to meet with Kieman in person, but for another reason as well.
Lawrence was under strict orders to tell Eve only those things he had been specifically told to tell her. This was probably to prevent her from using Lawrence to deliver misinformation to Kieman.
Lawrence had to admit that the precaution protected him as well. It was impossible to tell which parts of his recent exchange with Eve had been accurate.
What was the truth and where were the lies? He felt his own trust in people wavering.
"The boss says, 'Understood.'" It was a small, hunchbacked man who delivered Lawrence's message and brought back this reply.
"What should I do?"
"The meeting will be in recess soon. You'll get your instructions after that."
"I understand."
"Right, you'll pick up your next message from us at the prearranged location."
No sooner had the messenger said so than he left—probably to pick up other pieces of information from other places.
They were certainly taking every precaution, but Lawrence still didn't know how effective it would be.
The delta was always full of merchants coming and going, so an unfamiliar face wandering around the town was hardly a strange sight—but everything had its limits.
At this particular moment, a merchant wandering idly around or standing beneath the eaves of a stall, looking to and fro as though waiting for someone, would look extremely suspicious. And suspicion bred more suspicion.
If Holo had been with him he would have been at ease, but having become used to her presence, it was frightening not to have her around. Lawrence grinned in spite of himself and made for the tavern where he had been told to receive his next reply.
"I'm sorry, sir. We've no seats left! Will that be all right?"
There were few taverns on the delta, and most of them had been rented out, so things were especially crowded.
As a result, Lawrence was informed of such before he could enter the place.
He could tell just by looking that the place was packed with people. It was obvious that they would run out of wine if they didn't start diluting it with water, and anticipating that, Lawrence ordered some stronger liquor.


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

Input:
"Fine, then. I accept Kieman's proposal. You tell him that for me." She paused for a moment, smiling a snakelike grin. "You tell him."
Eve was a genius.
How could her words be trusted? What was he supposed to report to Kieman?
His gorge rose at the possibilities and doubts, but he swallowed it and slowly straightened himself. She had told him to pass the message along, and he had no choice but to do so.
"...Understood."
He bowed politely, then turned to leave.
For a moment, Eve seemed to Lawrence like the red, many-armed monsters of the deep that occasionally devoured ships and haunted the dreams of sailors.
Eve truly didn't trust anyone. It was hardly surprising then that she was willing to betray anyone for her own gain. But it was also true that without trusting someone, somewhere, trades could not be completed, and thus no profit could be gained.
So who would she trust in the end? And after all was said and done, who would be betrayed?
When Lawrence put his hand to the door, Eve spoke as though to stop him short. "Hey, why not join me?"
She looked at him expressionlessly. She seemed to be at once sincere and deceptive.
"What, to join you even knowing I'd been fooled?"
"Exactly."
"I don't want to believe I've been fooled," Lawrence answered.
Eve smiled. "I suppose not."
Lawrence had no reply to follow that. If he replied, he'd be taken. Humans were all too easily led astray by the mermaid's song.
He quickly stepped out of the room and down the stairs. The whole way, he felt as though Eve were watching him go.
Kieman was to be contacted via a messenger.
The designated location was a busy little street filled with stalls, two blocks away from the spring of gold. The best place to hide a tree was in a forest, after all.
He sent the note via messenger not just because it was difficult to meet with Kieman in person, but for another reason as well.
Lawrence was under strict orders to tell Eve only those things he had been specifically told to tell her. This was probably to prevent her from using Lawrence to deliver misinformation to Kieman.
Lawrence had to admit that the precaution protected him as well. It was impossible to tell which parts of his recent exchange with Eve had been accurate.
What was the truth and where were the lies? He felt his own trust in people wavering.
"The boss says, 'Understood.'" It was a small, hunchbacked man who delivered Lawrence's message and brought back this reply.
"What should I do?"
"The meeting will be in recess soon. You'll get your instructions after that."
"I understand."
"Right, you'll pick up your next message from us at the prearranged location."
No sooner had the messenger said so than he left—probably to pick up other pieces of information from other places.
They were certainly taking every precaution, but Lawrence still didn't know how effective it would be.
The delta was always full of merchants coming and going, so an unfamiliar face wandering around the town was hardly a strange sight—but everything had its limits.
At this particular moment, a merchant wandering idly around or standing beneath the eaves of a stall, looking to and fro as though waiting for someone, would look extremely suspicious. And suspicion bred more suspicion.
If Holo had been with him he would have been at ease, but having become used to her presence, it was frightening not to have her around. Lawrence grinned in spite of himself and made for the tavern where he had been told to receive his next reply.
"I'm sorry, sir. We've no seats left! Will that be all right?"
There were few taverns on the delta, and most of them had been rented out, so things were especially crowded.
As a result, Lawrence was informed of such before he could enter the place.
He could tell just by looking that the place was packed with people. It was obvious that they would run out of wine if they didn't start diluting it with water, and anticipating that, Lawrence ordered some stronger liquor.

Output:
In the time it took him to receive his liquor and take three sips of the stuff—it was just right—he was able to understand the outlines of what had transpired.
The northerners accused the southerners of stealing their ship, but the southerners contended that such had been the wish of the fisherman aboard.
The lines of reasoning were parallel and would of course not lead to any sort of resolution.
According to the loudest merchants in the tavern, odds were that the northerners would withdraw in the night and relinquish their claim on the narwhal in exchange for a share of the profits from its sale. Lawrence agreed with the notion.
Had the southern elders wished to destroy the northerners, they had but to sell the narwhal to one of the landlords and, after grasping military power, threaten all of them into capitulation. Since they hadn't done that, it meant they still hoped for a peaceful resolution. If they hoped to continue to hold the reins of the northerners, they would have to give them a reasonably generous offer, which would leave the northerners satisfied. The landlords' resistance came from their desire to protect their own influence, as well as their simple wish to be able to bargain for some of the profits from the expansion of the delta marketplace.
And even that would not be decided at this meeting, but rather in negotiations behind close doors.
But those negotiations would take place unbeknownst to Lawrence, and the only people who had a full grasp of the situation were the lead characters in the farce.
Because he stood between two people—Kieman and Eve—whose power in the town was uncommonly profound, with the narwhal at the center of events, Lawrence had the false sense that he was somehow crucial to all of this. But in truth he was a mere tributary.
When he considered that his only role was to convey information, he could only smile. And Eve had had him under her thumb all along.
Even the power of liquor wasn't enough to let him calmly consider their last exchange. He felt very keenly how simple it truly was to deal in the exchange of goods for money.
If he'd passed his days in this kind of environment, there was no telling what sort of monster he might have become. When it came to regrets and ambitions, he lived in a different world.
He could only smile at how lucky he was that Holo wasn't here to see him now.
"Sir," a voice called out to Lawrence as he was lost in thought, his cup at his lips.
Any merchant who forgot a face or a voice was a failure. Of course, Kieman's messenger had a rather memorable face.
"You're quite swift."
"Certainly. The boss's work needs quick resolve." The messenger's face wrinkled in a proud smile.
The more information one had, the more accurate one could be, but this required reach. That is what traveling merchants dealt in. By contrast, Kieman dealt with goods that took months to transport by ship. At distances like that, there was no way of knowing whether the information one had was reliable, and indeed, it was often impossible to have any information at all. In such situations, one still had to make trading decisions regarding goods of incredible value, and to do so, no small amount of decisiveness was necessary.
To say nothing of the fortitude it took to wait out the months it took said goods to arrive.
That was how Kieman possessed the pluck to come up with a plan to trade a narwhal for control of the delta, thereby shifting the balance of power in the town.
And that was why his messenger smiled so proudly.
"So, here." Lawrence found a piece of paper slipped into his hand, as though it had been there all along.
And if Lawrence himself was nearly fooled, there was no chance that any onlookers would have noticed the message change hands.
"Indeed," Lawrence murmured, and the messenger disappeared just as he had arrived.
What he had been given wasn't even in an envelope.
Did they not think he would read it? Or did they not mind?


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

Input:
In the time it took him to receive his liquor and take three sips of the stuff—it was just right—he was able to understand the outlines of what had transpired.
The northerners accused the southerners of stealing their ship, but the southerners contended that such had been the wish of the fisherman aboard.
The lines of reasoning were parallel and would of course not lead to any sort of resolution.
According to the loudest merchants in the tavern, odds were that the northerners would withdraw in the night and relinquish their claim on the narwhal in exchange for a share of the profits from its sale. Lawrence agreed with the notion.
Had the southern elders wished to destroy the northerners, they had but to sell the narwhal to one of the landlords and, after grasping military power, threaten all of them into capitulation. Since they hadn't done that, it meant they still hoped for a peaceful resolution. If they hoped to continue to hold the reins of the northerners, they would have to give them a reasonably generous offer, which would leave the northerners satisfied. The landlords' resistance came from their desire to protect their own influence, as well as their simple wish to be able to bargain for some of the profits from the expansion of the delta marketplace.
And even that would not be decided at this meeting, but rather in negotiations behind close doors.
But those negotiations would take place unbeknownst to Lawrence, and the only people who had a full grasp of the situation were the lead characters in the farce.
Because he stood between two people—Kieman and Eve—whose power in the town was uncommonly profound, with the narwhal at the center of events, Lawrence had the false sense that he was somehow crucial to all of this. But in truth he was a mere tributary.
When he considered that his only role was to convey information, he could only smile. And Eve had had him under her thumb all along.
Even the power of liquor wasn't enough to let him calmly consider their last exchange. He felt very keenly how simple it truly was to deal in the exchange of goods for money.
If he'd passed his days in this kind of environment, there was no telling what sort of monster he might have become. When it came to regrets and ambitions, he lived in a different world.
He could only smile at how lucky he was that Holo wasn't here to see him now.
"Sir," a voice called out to Lawrence as he was lost in thought, his cup at his lips.
Any merchant who forgot a face or a voice was a failure. Of course, Kieman's messenger had a rather memorable face.
"You're quite swift."
"Certainly. The boss's work needs quick resolve." The messenger's face wrinkled in a proud smile.
The more information one had, the more accurate one could be, but this required reach. That is what traveling merchants dealt in. By contrast, Kieman dealt with goods that took months to transport by ship. At distances like that, there was no way of knowing whether the information one had was reliable, and indeed, it was often impossible to have any information at all. In such situations, one still had to make trading decisions regarding goods of incredible value, and to do so, no small amount of decisiveness was necessary.
To say nothing of the fortitude it took to wait out the months it took said goods to arrive.
That was how Kieman possessed the pluck to come up with a plan to trade a narwhal for control of the delta, thereby shifting the balance of power in the town.
And that was why his messenger smiled so proudly.
"So, here." Lawrence found a piece of paper slipped into his hand, as though it had been there all along.
And if Lawrence himself was nearly fooled, there was no chance that any onlookers would have noticed the message change hands.
"Indeed," Lawrence murmured, and the messenger disappeared just as he had arrived.
What he had been given wasn't even in an envelope.
Did they not think he would read it? Or did they not mind?

Output:
There was a huge difference in the amount of information each of them had, so this was the best way for him to protect himself. He needed to resist acting before things were truly within his grasp and to avoid exposing his true thoughts to anyone.
It was a contradiction in terms, of course—being fully aware that he was trying to act naturally. But only those who could keep their minds open and their emotions fully under control could truly call themselves merchants.
Lawrence reminded himself of that, as though he were a young boy venturing into a dark forest, telling himself that demons didn't really exist.
Following the same sequence he had performed not long before, Lawrence again delivered the letter to Eve and received her reply. This time she said nothing, only giving Lawrence a look that seemed to invite his pity.
But if he could act normally, Eve could certainly do likewise, so there was no way of knowing how much of her expression was an act. Yet the tired messiness of her hair and the wrinkles here and there on her face were clear enough, and even more papers littered her desk.
When he left the room, the image of Eve dealing with all of those letters alone at her desk somehow stayed on his mind.
Lawrence had Holo.
He had her both as a source of simple support, but also as a trump card—if the situation turned bad, she could wipe the slate clean.
But Eve was alone, and she faced this conflict without anyone she could call an ally. Her situation was unquestionably dangerous, and if it were discovered she was communicating with Kieman, imagining what sort of revenge the northern landlords would exact was deeply worrisome to Lawrence, even though the risk was not his.
He felt his resolve starting to fray.
"What's the matter?" asked Kieman's messenger, when he came to deliver the reply
"It's nothing," said Lawrence, shaking his head, and the messenger asked him no further.
Lawrence melted into the crowd on his way back to Eve's place and realized he was running. Something was making him feel hurried.
He was carrying mere slips of paper, and he reminded himself that nothing further was required of him, but still his anxiety rose.
He could make no excuses.
The messages he was carrying could easily decide the fates of human lives.
"Please wait here." Was it his fourth visit?
When Lawrence arrived to hand over the letter, the guard only confirmed the password and accepted the letter. He did not lead Lawrence inside.
Any torture would lose its efficacy once it was repeated enough, but Lawrence found his worry suddenly worsening.
The guard, of course, explained nothing to Lawrence, and after handing off the letter to Eve in the room, he returned to still silence.
The two guards exchanged no words and did not so much as look at each other. Time crawled by, and the sounds of the commotion outside only served to emphasize the silence in the inn.
It seemed as though Eve's replies were taking longer and longer for her to write, and Lawrence wondered if she found herself having to consider her answers more carefully.
Was she thinking before putting pen to paper? There was no document that would tell her the correct answer and no one around who knew what it was. And yet she had to find a solution to this problem, on which her whole destiny hinged. It was no small feat. Lawrence was reminded of a time when he'd been pursued by thieves in a dark forest and happened upon a fork in the path.
One of the forks would lead deeper into the forest and eventually to a dead end. There was no time to choose and no one to hear his cries of help, so his only choice was to press on ahead.
The quill in Eve's hand must have felt like it was made of lead.
The door finally opened, and the possibly deaf old man emerged from the room bearing a letter. He looked Lawrence over, then slowly handed it to him.
The letter itself was slightly wrinkled and had drops of sweat here and there on it. Eve's pains were quite obvious.


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

Input:
There was a huge difference in the amount of information each of them had, so this was the best way for him to protect himself. He needed to resist acting before things were truly within his grasp and to avoid exposing his true thoughts to anyone.
It was a contradiction in terms, of course—being fully aware that he was trying to act naturally. But only those who could keep their minds open and their emotions fully under control could truly call themselves merchants.
Lawrence reminded himself of that, as though he were a young boy venturing into a dark forest, telling himself that demons didn't really exist.
Following the same sequence he had performed not long before, Lawrence again delivered the letter to Eve and received her reply. This time she said nothing, only giving Lawrence a look that seemed to invite his pity.
But if he could act normally, Eve could certainly do likewise, so there was no way of knowing how much of her expression was an act. Yet the tired messiness of her hair and the wrinkles here and there on her face were clear enough, and even more papers littered her desk.
When he left the room, the image of Eve dealing with all of those letters alone at her desk somehow stayed on his mind.
Lawrence had Holo.
He had her both as a source of simple support, but also as a trump card—if the situation turned bad, she could wipe the slate clean.
But Eve was alone, and she faced this conflict without anyone she could call an ally. Her situation was unquestionably dangerous, and if it were discovered she was communicating with Kieman, imagining what sort of revenge the northern landlords would exact was deeply worrisome to Lawrence, even though the risk was not his.
He felt his resolve starting to fray.
"What's the matter?" asked Kieman's messenger, when he came to deliver the reply
"It's nothing," said Lawrence, shaking his head, and the messenger asked him no further.
Lawrence melted into the crowd on his way back to Eve's place and realized he was running. Something was making him feel hurried.
He was carrying mere slips of paper, and he reminded himself that nothing further was required of him, but still his anxiety rose.
He could make no excuses.
The messages he was carrying could easily decide the fates of human lives.
"Please wait here." Was it his fourth visit?
When Lawrence arrived to hand over the letter, the guard only confirmed the password and accepted the letter. He did not lead Lawrence inside.
Any torture would lose its efficacy once it was repeated enough, but Lawrence found his worry suddenly worsening.
The guard, of course, explained nothing to Lawrence, and after handing off the letter to Eve in the room, he returned to still silence.
The two guards exchanged no words and did not so much as look at each other. Time crawled by, and the sounds of the commotion outside only served to emphasize the silence in the inn.
It seemed as though Eve's replies were taking longer and longer for her to write, and Lawrence wondered if she found herself having to consider her answers more carefully.
Was she thinking before putting pen to paper? There was no document that would tell her the correct answer and no one around who knew what it was. And yet she had to find a solution to this problem, on which her whole destiny hinged. It was no small feat. Lawrence was reminded of a time when he'd been pursued by thieves in a dark forest and happened upon a fork in the path.
One of the forks would lead deeper into the forest and eventually to a dead end. There was no time to choose and no one to hear his cries of help, so his only choice was to press on ahead.
The quill in Eve's hand must have felt like it was made of lead.
The door finally opened, and the possibly deaf old man emerged from the room bearing a letter. He looked Lawrence over, then slowly handed it to him.
The letter itself was slightly wrinkled and had drops of sweat here and there on it. Eve's pains were quite obvious.

Output:
"The boss is getting impatient," said the man. "He says the current is growing stronger. And that we must row faster in order to keep up with it."
Eve was surely not the only person that Kieman was dealing with. The current he was talking about surely involved secret dealings with dozens of merchants, with Kieman holding the rudder.
It was a basic principle of commerce that the faster you could deliver information, the better. Perhaps the reason the most recent letters had been unsealed was that they couldn't afford to wait for the wax to set.
Lawrence nodded and ran to Eve.
Yet again, the guard at the door passed only the letter on into the room, and Lawrence was unable to see Eve, which meant he couldn't urge her to hurry.
Although urging her on was no guarantee that she would actually write her response more quickly.
Eve was not stupid; she must have noticed the changes in flow and had to know that regardless of whatever plans she might have, slowness to act would invite only loss.
If the current was fast enough to make Kieman nervous, then the volume of the letters flowing toward Eve must also have been increasing. No matter how great the potential of Kieman's plan to reverse the situation, Eve was not in an easy enough position that she could just sign on. On the contrary, secret deals had to be carefully hidden in between legitimate ones.
Eve was surely just as desperate as everyone else.
Lawrence reminded himself of that over and over, as he waited in the hallway and pretended to be calm
If it was to their own profit, good merchants would wait two or three days until their scales balanced. But waiting could also mean missed opportunities.
When the old man finally returned with the reply, Lawrence gave a perfunctory thanks and immediately left. He no longer knew whose side he was on. Was he hurrying to help Kieman or to buy just a little bit more time for Eve to think? Or was he simply caught up in the moment? He had no idea.
Kieman's messenger was beginning to look grim, with sweat breaking out on his brow. In the short time it took the messenger to deliver the note to Kieman, Lawrence overheard from passing merchants on the street and in the tavern that there had been progress in the meeting.
It seemed that there would be a conclusion more quickly than anticipated.
The moment consensus was reached, the grand reversal Kieman was planning would turn to so much foam.
And Lawrence doubted that such an opportunity would come again.
The messenger began to use stronger language to speed Lawrence on, and over and over Lawrence prodded Eve's guard.
But Eve's replies continued to take longer to come, and from what he could glimpse of her handwriting, it seemed to be turning messy, almost drunken. Amid the stomach-churning tension of the exchanges, Lawrence visited the inn over and over again, again, and again.
As he was handing yet another letter to the door guard, he felt a strange unease and froze.
***
The guard looked at him warily.
Lawrence looked at the guard, dumbstruck, but hastily tried to smile.
His heart was hammering in his chest.
It couldn't be.
The words danced madly around in his head.
The guard took the letter into the room with Eve.
"...It can't be," Lawrence whispered to himself.
Why were Eve's replies taking so long? Kieman was participating in the meeting and probably even busier than she was, and yet his decisions and replies came quickly every time.
It certainly wasn't as simple as a difference in their personalities. Eve was the kind of person who could draw a knife on someone without a single hesitation if she needed to. She wasn't the sort of person who would find herself assailed by indecision.
It was when he began to wonder if Eve was somehow even busier than Kieman that Lawrence felt a pang of unease.


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

Input:
"The boss is getting impatient," said the man. "He says the current is growing stronger. And that we must row faster in order to keep up with it."
Eve was surely not the only person that Kieman was dealing with. The current he was talking about surely involved secret dealings with dozens of merchants, with Kieman holding the rudder.
It was a basic principle of commerce that the faster you could deliver information, the better. Perhaps the reason the most recent letters had been unsealed was that they couldn't afford to wait for the wax to set.
Lawrence nodded and ran to Eve.
Yet again, the guard at the door passed only the letter on into the room, and Lawrence was unable to see Eve, which meant he couldn't urge her to hurry.
Although urging her on was no guarantee that she would actually write her response more quickly.
Eve was not stupid; she must have noticed the changes in flow and had to know that regardless of whatever plans she might have, slowness to act would invite only loss.
If the current was fast enough to make Kieman nervous, then the volume of the letters flowing toward Eve must also have been increasing. No matter how great the potential of Kieman's plan to reverse the situation, Eve was not in an easy enough position that she could just sign on. On the contrary, secret deals had to be carefully hidden in between legitimate ones.
Eve was surely just as desperate as everyone else.
Lawrence reminded himself of that over and over, as he waited in the hallway and pretended to be calm
If it was to their own profit, good merchants would wait two or three days until their scales balanced. But waiting could also mean missed opportunities.
When the old man finally returned with the reply, Lawrence gave a perfunctory thanks and immediately left. He no longer knew whose side he was on. Was he hurrying to help Kieman or to buy just a little bit more time for Eve to think? Or was he simply caught up in the moment? He had no idea.
Kieman's messenger was beginning to look grim, with sweat breaking out on his brow. In the short time it took the messenger to deliver the note to Kieman, Lawrence overheard from passing merchants on the street and in the tavern that there had been progress in the meeting.
It seemed that there would be a conclusion more quickly than anticipated.
The moment consensus was reached, the grand reversal Kieman was planning would turn to so much foam.
And Lawrence doubted that such an opportunity would come again.
The messenger began to use stronger language to speed Lawrence on, and over and over Lawrence prodded Eve's guard.
But Eve's replies continued to take longer to come, and from what he could glimpse of her handwriting, it seemed to be turning messy, almost drunken. Amid the stomach-churning tension of the exchanges, Lawrence visited the inn over and over again, again, and again.
As he was handing yet another letter to the door guard, he felt a strange unease and froze.
***
The guard looked at him warily.
Lawrence looked at the guard, dumbstruck, but hastily tried to smile.
His heart was hammering in his chest.
It couldn't be.
The words danced madly around in his head.
The guard took the letter into the room with Eve.
"...It can't be," Lawrence whispered to himself.
Why were Eve's replies taking so long? Kieman was participating in the meeting and probably even busier than she was, and yet his decisions and replies came quickly every time.
It certainly wasn't as simple as a difference in their personalities. Eve was the kind of person who could draw a knife on someone without a single hesitation if she needed to. She wasn't the sort of person who would find herself assailed by indecision.
It was when he began to wonder if Eve was somehow even busier than Kieman that Lawrence felt a pang of unease.

Output:
But he had overlooked something important.
Each time he delivered a letter, he had been made to wait outside the room for some period of time.
And during that time, what had he seen?
Had anyone else brought a single letter to the room?
After being made to wait a fair amount of time, Lawrence was finally given his reply. He was able to look around with eyes as clear as the skies after a storm. When the old man opened the door, he caught again a glimpse of the room, scattered with letters as usual.
But then he thought about things.
What need was there to scatter them around like that after reading them? And if there was a reason to do that, what was it?
Lawrence tucked Eve's reply into his breast pocket and hurried out of the inn.
This exchange had had inscrutable aspects right from the start. The oddest was Eve's childish insistence that she simply had to monopolize all the profit. And yet the words he had exchanged with her and the general mood of the place made it seem like it was reasonable to say such a ridiculous thing.
It wasn't as though she had always been a merchant and ready to jump into this world of ready betrayal—Lawrence could imagine the hardships she'd weathered in getting to this place. It would hardly be surprising if she chose to walk the evil path of betrayal if she thought it would lead to her world without suffering.
It wouldn't be surprising, but where was the need? Choosing the path that allowed her to hurt others simply because she was also in pain was a mere excuse.
But what if it really was all an act?
Lawrence's mind raced, and the blood rushed from his head. Sometimes waiting led to greater gain, but sometimes quick action brought the largest profit. And this deal most likely fell into the latter category. Once an agreement was reached at the meeting, Kieman's turnabout plan would no longer be viable.
If Eve wasn't working for her own profit, but instead for someone else's, that would explain why her replies were taking so long.
She was trying to buy time.
In more or less any town, there were men like Kieman, who would always attempt to outwit their rivals given half a chance. How could the elders, who had gained all their experience on that very same road, fail to be reminded of their own youthful days?
Were they using Eve as a tool to thwart Kieman's mad plan?
Letting him waste his time with an idle partner, the elders would skillfully avoid the spearpoint of this unavoidably intergenerational conflict.
It was all starting to make sense.
The letters scattered unnaturally all over the floor.
And the existence of so many letters, despite Lawrence never once seeing anyone carrying them.
And Eve never once giving the impression that she would waver in the face of any difficulty.
Lawrence delivered the letter to the messenger. As the man turned to hurry back and finish the delivery, Lawrence grabbed his shoulder and spoke.
"A message for Mr. Kieman."
The messenger frowned, but Lawrence didn't care and continued.
"There is a possibility that the wolf is a decoy."
That much of a hint would be more than enough for a man like Kieman to understand.
It was even possible that Chief Jeeta had set a trap in order to teach the upstart a lesson. After all, given that Kieman had no qualms playing Lawrence as a pawn, it would hardly be surprising if the powers above him would take a similar opportunity to legally crush a troublesome subordinate.
But if it came to that, Lawrence would suffer, too, and whether or not he could borrow Holo's power to escape, his place in the guild would be gone.
The messenger only made a pained face at Lawrence's desperate words and ran off without replying. He had probably been ordered not to accept anything other than letters from Lawrence, in order to prevent Lawrence from making any decisions on his own.
But the situation required immediate action.