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

Input:
"Ah, so you're awake, are you?"
Lawrence turned to face the unexpected voice, and saw Marheit in the doorway.
"How are your injuries?" Marheit walked toward Lawrence, documents in hand, and opened the window beside the merchant's bed.
"Better...thanks to you."
A pleasant breeze blew in through the window, carrying sounds of hustle and bustle from which Lawrence inferred that he was in a room at the Milone Company.
Which meant they had come to his rescue after all.
"I must apologize for putting you in such danger through our ineptitude."
"No, no, my companion was the cause of all this originally."
Marheit nodded at Lawrence's words and paused, seeming to choose his next statement carefully.
"Fortunately you were never discovered by the Church, and the disturbance happened underground. If the Church had seen your companion's true form, well...it's quite possible the entire company would've been burned as heretics."
"You saw her true form?" Lawrence asked, stunned.
"Indeed. The people we sent to rescue you returned with a report that there was a giant wolf that said it wouldn't hand you over until I came personally."
There was no reason for Marheit to lie. Which meant that after Lawrence lost consciousness, Holo returned to him.
"What of Holo, then? Where is she?"
"She's gone on to the marketplace. She was quite impatient and said she needed traveling clothes," said Marheit lightly, not knowing the circumstances—but Lawrence guessed that Holo planned to set off on her own.
She was probably on her way to the northland even now.
The thought left a hole in Lawrence's heart but perversely also helped him feel that he could now make a clean break.
The days they had spent together had been nothing more than a strange coincidence.
Lawrence forced himself to consider it thus, bringing himself back to the mindset of a merchant.
Aside from Holo, there was another important implication in Marheit's words.
"You said Holo went to the marketplace. Does that mean negotiations with the Medio Company went well?"
"Yes. Our messenger returned from the Trenni castle this morning, concluding negotiations with the king. We've obtained the considerations that the Medio Company so desperately wanted, and they seem to have acknowledged their defeat. Everything has gone very smoothly," said Marheit, pride filling his voice.
"I see. That's good to hear....So I've slept for a full day then, have I?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, yes you have. Would you care for some lunch? I was just in the kitchen, and I doubt they've turned off the stoves yet, so you could have something hot."
"No, that's quite all right. Could I perhaps hear the final results of our negotiation?"
"Yes, of course."
Lawrence found it slightly odd that someone from the south wasn't forcing food on him. Perhaps if he'd been from this area, Marheit would've been more insistent.
"The amount of silver we collected came to 307,212 pieces. The king plans to significantly cut the silver content of these coins, so he agreed to pay an amount equivalent to 350,000 pieces."
It was a staggering figure. Lawrence was not thinking about the absolute numbers, though—he was busy figuring his own approximate gain.
He was contractually entitled to five percent of the Milone Company's profit. Lawrence estimated it would come out to something in the neighborhood of two thousand silver pieces.
It would be enough for him to fulfill his dream, to open his own shop.
"According to our contract with you, Mr. Lawrence, we owe you five percent of our profit. Is that correct?"
Lawrence nodded, and Marheit nodded back.
Marheit then handed Lawrence a single sheet of paper. "Please confirm this," he said.
Lawrence didn't hear him.
An unbelievable figure was written on the paper.
"Wha...what's..."
"One hundred and twenty pieces—five percent of our profit," said Marheit coolly.
Yet Lawrence did not become angry. The paper made it clear what had happened to the gain they'd expected.

Output:
Looking at the details, he could see that the king had very cleverly exploited his position to get as much money back from the Milone Company as he could.
In addition to requiring that the company pay for the collection and transport of the coins, he made them remit the silver coins directly rather than using a note of exchange. The transportation had been hugely expensive, running into the tens of thousands of pieces after including horses, lockboxes for the money, and guards.
The king had even charged them an exorbitant amount for the drawing up of the contracts.
Though the signer on the Milone side was a wealthy merchant of noble descent from the south who operated his own branch of a large company, he was far from a king. There was no question of who held the upper hand. The Milone Company had to simply accept the charges.
"We calculate that our final profit was twenty-four hundred pieces, five percent of which we're remitting to you as per our agreement."
Lawrence had schemed like a man possessed, been stabbed in the arm...for one hundred twenty silver coins.
When he considered that if he hadn't gotten involved in this business, Holo might not have left him, the only figures he saw in his mind were red. It simply hadn't been worth one hundred twenty coins.
But a contract was a contract. He had no choice but to accept it. Sometimes there were gains in life, and sometimes there were losses. It was a simple reality of being a merchant. He supposed that he should be happy not to have lost his life and to have come out one hundred twenty silver pieces ahead.
Lawrence slowly nodded.
"This was not something we expected. The outcome is regrettable," said Marheit.
"Unexpected outcomes are part and parcel of business," replied Lawrence.
"It is generous of you to say so. However," said Marheit, getting Lawrence's attention again—Marheit's tone had brightened for some reason. "Unexpected situations can also work out happily. Here."
Lawrence accepted a second sheet of paper from Marheit, his eyes flicking over its contents.
He immediately looked back up at Marheit in shock.
"The Medio Company badly wanted those special privileges, and they knew the silver they'd collected was going to depreciate rapidly soon, so it was like holding on to debt. They expected they'd be able to turn a profit with that tariff authority, and they would do anything to get it. They made us an offer almost immediately."
The document in Lawrence's hand stated that his share of the profit from this exchange was one thousand silver pieces.
"A thousand pieces...is this really acceptable?"
"It is a trifle," said Marheit with a smile. The Milone Company had no doubt made much more than that, but Lawrence was not so rude as to ask the exact figure. After all, being offered an extracontractual amount like this was like picking up a bar of gold on the street.
Contracts were the core of commerce—monetary exchanges without them might as well have been nonexistent.
"Also, we've taken care of the fees for your convalescence, and we'll handle the care of your horse and wagon."
"Was my horse unhurt?"
"Yes—it seems even the Medio Company didn't find much worth in him as a hostage."
Lawrence couldn't help smiling at Marheit's hearty laugh.
This was all far better treatment than he had any right to expect.
"We'll discuss the payment details and so on another day, then, shall we?" said Marheit.
"That will be fine. Thank you so much, truly."
"Hardly; the pleasure is all ours. It is a small price to pay to remain in the good graces of a merchant of your ability, Mr. Lawrence."
Marheit looked at Lawrence with eyes that rarely missed a calculation, and he smiled his best merchant's smile—probably on purpose.
Still, the fact remained that Lawrence had received a thousand silver pieces from the branch supervisor of the huge company. They clearly thought of him as a person with whom a good relationship was important.


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

Input:
Looking at the details, he could see that the king had very cleverly exploited his position to get as much money back from the Milone Company as he could.
In addition to requiring that the company pay for the collection and transport of the coins, he made them remit the silver coins directly rather than using a note of exchange. The transportation had been hugely expensive, running into the tens of thousands of pieces after including horses, lockboxes for the money, and guards.
The king had even charged them an exorbitant amount for the drawing up of the contracts.
Though the signer on the Milone side was a wealthy merchant of noble descent from the south who operated his own branch of a large company, he was far from a king. There was no question of who held the upper hand. The Milone Company had to simply accept the charges.
"We calculate that our final profit was twenty-four hundred pieces, five percent of which we're remitting to you as per our agreement."
Lawrence had schemed like a man possessed, been stabbed in the arm...for one hundred twenty silver coins.
When he considered that if he hadn't gotten involved in this business, Holo might not have left him, the only figures he saw in his mind were red. It simply hadn't been worth one hundred twenty coins.
But a contract was a contract. He had no choice but to accept it. Sometimes there were gains in life, and sometimes there were losses. It was a simple reality of being a merchant. He supposed that he should be happy not to have lost his life and to have come out one hundred twenty silver pieces ahead.
Lawrence slowly nodded.
"This was not something we expected. The outcome is regrettable," said Marheit.
"Unexpected outcomes are part and parcel of business," replied Lawrence.
"It is generous of you to say so. However," said Marheit, getting Lawrence's attention again—Marheit's tone had brightened for some reason. "Unexpected situations can also work out happily. Here."
Lawrence accepted a second sheet of paper from Marheit, his eyes flicking over its contents.
He immediately looked back up at Marheit in shock.
"The Medio Company badly wanted those special privileges, and they knew the silver they'd collected was going to depreciate rapidly soon, so it was like holding on to debt. They expected they'd be able to turn a profit with that tariff authority, and they would do anything to get it. They made us an offer almost immediately."
The document in Lawrence's hand stated that his share of the profit from this exchange was one thousand silver pieces.
"A thousand pieces...is this really acceptable?"
"It is a trifle," said Marheit with a smile. The Milone Company had no doubt made much more than that, but Lawrence was not so rude as to ask the exact figure. After all, being offered an extracontractual amount like this was like picking up a bar of gold on the street.
Contracts were the core of commerce—monetary exchanges without them might as well have been nonexistent.
"Also, we've taken care of the fees for your convalescence, and we'll handle the care of your horse and wagon."
"Was my horse unhurt?"
"Yes—it seems even the Medio Company didn't find much worth in him as a hostage."
Lawrence couldn't help smiling at Marheit's hearty laugh.
This was all far better treatment than he had any right to expect.
"We'll discuss the payment details and so on another day, then, shall we?" said Marheit.
"That will be fine. Thank you so much, truly."
"Hardly; the pleasure is all ours. It is a small price to pay to remain in the good graces of a merchant of your ability, Mr. Lawrence."
Marheit looked at Lawrence with eyes that rarely missed a calculation, and he smiled his best merchant's smile—probably on purpose.
Still, the fact remained that Lawrence had received a thousand silver pieces from the branch supervisor of the huge company. They clearly thought of him as a person with whom a good relationship was important.

Output:
He nodded and thanked Marheit from his bed.
"Oh, I suppose I should ask," said Marheit, "do you wish payment to be in silver? If you would prefer a different commodity, that can be arranged."
A thousand coins would be heavy and would bring no particular benefit for the weight. Lawrence considered Marheit's proposal, thinking about the amount he'd been promised and the size of his wagon, and a single item came to mind.
"Have you any pepper? It's light and compact, and as winter falls, its price will surely rise as meat becomes more available."
"Pepper, you say?"
"Is there a problem?" asked Lawrence, seeing Marheit chuckle.
"No, not at all. I recently read a play we received from the south, and that reminded me of it."
"A play?"
"Indeed. A demon appears before a wealthy merchant and says, 'Bring me the most delicious, succulent human you can, or I'll devour you.' Not wanting to die, the merchant presents the demon with the youngest, most beautiful maids in his house, and the plumpest footmen. But the demon shakes his head in disapproval."
"I see."
"So the merchant scatters money throughout the city, searching for a suitable person. Finally he finds a handsome young monk who smells of milk and honey. He throws gold at the monastery to buy the lad and brings him before the demon. But the boy says, 'Oh ye demon who fights the gods, the most savory human in the land is not I.'"
Lawrence was completely absorbed in the tale. He nodded wordlessly.
"'The most succulent human is before your very eyes—he has carried spices day in and day out in his quest for money, and his fattened soul is perfectly seasoned,'" continued Marheit cheerfully, gesturing expansively as he related the tale. In the end, he even imitated the wealthy merchant's terrified face before catching himself and grinning sheepishly.
"It's a religious play that the Church uses to preach moderation in commerce," he explained. "That's what I remembered. Pepper is surely appropriate for a merchant about to make his fortune, I think."
Lawrence couldn't help smiling at the amusing tale and Marheit's praise. "I hope I soon have a body suffused with spices myself!" he said.
"We'll look forward to that, and to many fruitful dealings in the future, Mr. Lawrence," said Marheit, and the two smiled at each other again.
"I'll see to your pepper. In the meantime, I have work to do..." Marheit backed toward the exit.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Perhaps that's your companion," said Marheit, but Lawrence was confident that such a thing was impossible.
Marheit left the bedside to open the door, and Lawrence, his head on a pillow, looked out the window.
He could see the blue sky.
"Overseer, sir. We've received this bill—" Lawrence heard the door open and a reserved voice speaking to Marheit, along with the sound of a slip of paper being handed over.
It was undoubtedly some urgent business. Lawrence looked up at the small clouds in the sky and wondered when he would be able to have his own shop.
He soon heard Marheit speak.
"This is definitely addressed to our company, but..."
Lawrence looked back over at Marheit, who was looking at him.
"Mr. Lawrence, a bill's come for you."
The names of Lawrence's many trading partners and the debts he owed flashed through his mind.
He tried to think of which among them had an approaching settlement date, but in any case the amount of time he would remain in a given city was uncertain. Even if there'd been a settlement date yesterday, he couldn't think of anyone that would hold a traveling merchant to such a strict time frame.
And who would even know he was here?
"Could I see it, please?" he asked.
Marheit took the bill from his subordinate and brought it to Lawrence.
Lawrence took it and skipped past the standard contractual section, coming to the details at the end.
He thought that if he could see what the bill was for, it might tell him who it was from.
But the items on the bill did not ring any bells.


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

Input:
He nodded and thanked Marheit from his bed.
"Oh, I suppose I should ask," said Marheit, "do you wish payment to be in silver? If you would prefer a different commodity, that can be arranged."
A thousand coins would be heavy and would bring no particular benefit for the weight. Lawrence considered Marheit's proposal, thinking about the amount he'd been promised and the size of his wagon, and a single item came to mind.
"Have you any pepper? It's light and compact, and as winter falls, its price will surely rise as meat becomes more available."
"Pepper, you say?"
"Is there a problem?" asked Lawrence, seeing Marheit chuckle.
"No, not at all. I recently read a play we received from the south, and that reminded me of it."
"A play?"
"Indeed. A demon appears before a wealthy merchant and says, 'Bring me the most delicious, succulent human you can, or I'll devour you.' Not wanting to die, the merchant presents the demon with the youngest, most beautiful maids in his house, and the plumpest footmen. But the demon shakes his head in disapproval."
"I see."
"So the merchant scatters money throughout the city, searching for a suitable person. Finally he finds a handsome young monk who smells of milk and honey. He throws gold at the monastery to buy the lad and brings him before the demon. But the boy says, 'Oh ye demon who fights the gods, the most savory human in the land is not I.'"
Lawrence was completely absorbed in the tale. He nodded wordlessly.
"'The most succulent human is before your very eyes—he has carried spices day in and day out in his quest for money, and his fattened soul is perfectly seasoned,'" continued Marheit cheerfully, gesturing expansively as he related the tale. In the end, he even imitated the wealthy merchant's terrified face before catching himself and grinning sheepishly.
"It's a religious play that the Church uses to preach moderation in commerce," he explained. "That's what I remembered. Pepper is surely appropriate for a merchant about to make his fortune, I think."
Lawrence couldn't help smiling at the amusing tale and Marheit's praise. "I hope I soon have a body suffused with spices myself!" he said.
"We'll look forward to that, and to many fruitful dealings in the future, Mr. Lawrence," said Marheit, and the two smiled at each other again.
"I'll see to your pepper. In the meantime, I have work to do..." Marheit backed toward the exit.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Perhaps that's your companion," said Marheit, but Lawrence was confident that such a thing was impossible.
Marheit left the bedside to open the door, and Lawrence, his head on a pillow, looked out the window.
He could see the blue sky.
"Overseer, sir. We've received this bill—" Lawrence heard the door open and a reserved voice speaking to Marheit, along with the sound of a slip of paper being handed over.
It was undoubtedly some urgent business. Lawrence looked up at the small clouds in the sky and wondered when he would be able to have his own shop.
He soon heard Marheit speak.
"This is definitely addressed to our company, but..."
Lawrence looked back over at Marheit, who was looking at him.
"Mr. Lawrence, a bill's come for you."
The names of Lawrence's many trading partners and the debts he owed flashed through his mind.
He tried to think of which among them had an approaching settlement date, but in any case the amount of time he would remain in a given city was uncertain. Even if there'd been a settlement date yesterday, he couldn't think of anyone that would hold a traveling merchant to such a strict time frame.
And who would even know he was here?
"Could I see it, please?" he asked.
Marheit took the bill from his subordinate and brought it to Lawrence.
Lawrence took it and skipped past the standard contractual section, coming to the details at the end.
He thought that if he could see what the bill was for, it might tell him who it was from.
But the items on the bill did not ring any bells.

Output:
Marheit, shocked, tried to say something, but Lawrence ignored him and ran for the door, pushing it open and ignoring the pain in his left arm.
"Um, excuse me—"
"Let me by!" shouted Lawrence, and the shocked employee made way. Lawrence ignored the strange look he received and ran down the hallway before stopping.
"Where's the loading dock?" he demanded.
"Er, follow this hall to the end, turn left, and it'll be—"
"Thanks," said Lawrence shortly, dashing off.
The rather expensive bill crumpled in his hand as Lawrence ran as fast as his strength would allow.
It was the contents of that crumpled bill that had Lawrence in such a state.
The date on the bill was today, and it included items from a Pazzio textile merchant and a fruit seller.
There were two high-quality women's robes with silk sashes, a pair of traveling shoes, a tortoiseshell comb—and a large amount of apples.
In total it all came to a hundred and fifty silver pieces, and the apples in particular were far too numerous for one person to carry.
Despite that, there was no entry on the bill for the use of a horse or cart.
There was an obvious conclusion.
Lawrence arrived at the loading dock.
Mountains of products of every sort were lined up, with everything from goods brought from afar to exports about to leave. The dock overflowed with the horses and the shouts of people—the chaotic scene was just another day at the prosperous Milone Company.
Lawrence scanned the surroundings for what he knew must be there.
The large loading area was filled with horses and carts. Lawrence ran around, even slipping on a clump of scattered hay, before catching a glimpse of his own familiar horse and wagon and approaching it.
The other people working in the loading area looked at him strangely, but Lawrence took no notice of them, fixated on just one thing.
In front of a wagon bed piled high with apples, a small figure held a beautiful piece of fur in her hand, combing it with a tortoiseshell comb.
She wore an obviously expensive robe and a hood pulled low over her head. After a time, she ceased her combing and sighed.
Not turning toward Lawrence, the figure in the seat of the wagon spoke. "I wouldn't wish you to come to the northern forests simply to collect on a debt."
Lawrence couldn't help laughing at her sullen tone.
He approached the seat, and though Holo stubbornly refused to look at him, he extended his right hand.
Finally she glanced at him, and although she soon returned her gaze to the tail in her hands, she reached out to him.
Lawrence took her hand, and she finally relented to a smile.
"I'll return home only after I've paid my debt."
"But of course!"
Holo's hand gripped Lawrence's very, very tightly.
It seemed as though the travels of this strange pair would last a bit longer.
That is to say, the travels of the wolf and the spice.
***
Since I began entering writing contests with prize money involved, I've never been able to stop thinking about winning the grand prize.
Then, I think about using the prize money to buy stocks, increasing my investment, and pretty soon I'm daydreaming about ruling the world with my vast wealth.
Lately I've made enough money that I can order an extra-large bowl of soba from the soba stand without worrying about it.
My name is Isuna Hasekura.
Recently winning the silver medal of the 12th Dengeki Shosetsu Prize is an honor roughly equivalent to winning the moon in the sky. I couldn't believe it. I had three different dreams in which I got a phone call that they'd mixed me up with somebody else.
When I started editing the manuscript, I had two dreams that I'd missed the deadline.
I have no idea how many times I dreamed that I was wealthy enough to rule the world.
In fact, as I write this afterword, I'm wondering even now whether this is a dream or reality.


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

Input:
Marheit, shocked, tried to say something, but Lawrence ignored him and ran for the door, pushing it open and ignoring the pain in his left arm.
"Um, excuse me—"
"Let me by!" shouted Lawrence, and the shocked employee made way. Lawrence ignored the strange look he received and ran down the hallway before stopping.
"Where's the loading dock?" he demanded.
"Er, follow this hall to the end, turn left, and it'll be—"
"Thanks," said Lawrence shortly, dashing off.
The rather expensive bill crumpled in his hand as Lawrence ran as fast as his strength would allow.
It was the contents of that crumpled bill that had Lawrence in such a state.
The date on the bill was today, and it included items from a Pazzio textile merchant and a fruit seller.
There were two high-quality women's robes with silk sashes, a pair of traveling shoes, a tortoiseshell comb—and a large amount of apples.
In total it all came to a hundred and fifty silver pieces, and the apples in particular were far too numerous for one person to carry.
Despite that, there was no entry on the bill for the use of a horse or cart.
There was an obvious conclusion.
Lawrence arrived at the loading dock.
Mountains of products of every sort were lined up, with everything from goods brought from afar to exports about to leave. The dock overflowed with the horses and the shouts of people—the chaotic scene was just another day at the prosperous Milone Company.
Lawrence scanned the surroundings for what he knew must be there.
The large loading area was filled with horses and carts. Lawrence ran around, even slipping on a clump of scattered hay, before catching a glimpse of his own familiar horse and wagon and approaching it.
The other people working in the loading area looked at him strangely, but Lawrence took no notice of them, fixated on just one thing.
In front of a wagon bed piled high with apples, a small figure held a beautiful piece of fur in her hand, combing it with a tortoiseshell comb.
She wore an obviously expensive robe and a hood pulled low over her head. After a time, she ceased her combing and sighed.
Not turning toward Lawrence, the figure in the seat of the wagon spoke. "I wouldn't wish you to come to the northern forests simply to collect on a debt."
Lawrence couldn't help laughing at her sullen tone.
He approached the seat, and though Holo stubbornly refused to look at him, he extended his right hand.
Finally she glanced at him, and although she soon returned her gaze to the tail in her hands, she reached out to him.
Lawrence took her hand, and she finally relented to a smile.
"I'll return home only after I've paid my debt."
"But of course!"
Holo's hand gripped Lawrence's very, very tightly.
It seemed as though the travels of this strange pair would last a bit longer.
That is to say, the travels of the wolf and the spice.
***
Since I began entering writing contests with prize money involved, I've never been able to stop thinking about winning the grand prize.
Then, I think about using the prize money to buy stocks, increasing my investment, and pretty soon I'm daydreaming about ruling the world with my vast wealth.
Lately I've made enough money that I can order an extra-large bowl of soba from the soba stand without worrying about it.
My name is Isuna Hasekura.
Recently winning the silver medal of the 12th Dengeki Shosetsu Prize is an honor roughly equivalent to winning the moon in the sky. I couldn't believe it. I had three different dreams in which I got a phone call that they'd mixed me up with somebody else.
When I started editing the manuscript, I had two dreams that I'd missed the deadline.
I have no idea how many times I dreamed that I was wealthy enough to rule the world.
In fact, as I write this afterword, I'm wondering even now whether this is a dream or reality.

Output:
I must also thank Ju Asakura-sensei for the gorgeous illustrations. They captured my characters perfectly. I hope my thanks are as great as my surprise at seeing them.
To all the people, things, and events responsible for putting me in the position I'm in today: Thank you so much.
It is my intention to put forth every effort to ensure that I never wake from this fleeting dream.
—Isuna Hasekura
***
The rolling hills continued endlessly.
Boulders were prominent; grass and trees were few.
The road wound thinly between the hills, frequently becoming so narrow that even the single cart was enough to block it entirely.
Just when it seemed the climbing would continue forever, the road turned down, and the seemingly endless naked rocks and dried shrubs suddenly changed to a wide awaiting vista.
While the journey had been more interesting than endless grass plains, most anyone would find the travel tiresome by the fifth day.
From the road, tinged with a loneliness that suggested the coming winter, the voice that once sounded its delight at the undulations of the stony, ocher path was now gone. Its owner was now apparently too bored to even sit on the bench of the cart; she lay instead in the bed, grooming the fur of her tail.
A young man drove the cart, apparently used to such selfish behavior on the part of his companion. The man, Kraft Lawrence, was instantly recognizable as a traveling merchant. This year made the seventh since he'd struck out on his own, and he appeared to be around twenty-five. As if in acknowledgment of the chill that came with the deepening autumn, he tightened the fur coat that was wrapped around his body.
Occasionally, the chill also caused him to stroke his chin, covered in the sort of beard one often saw on traveling merchants, since when he sat still, he became slightly cooler. Letting a breath escape that would have turned foggy once the sun set, Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at the bed of the cart.
Normally filled to the brim with various goods, the bed was enjoying a brief respite. All that stood out was the firewood and straw that provided warmth at night, along with a single bag, small enough for a child to carry.
However, the contents of the bag were more valuable than an entire cart full of wheat would have been. The bag was full of high-grade pepper worth roughly one thousand silver trenni. If it could be sold in a mountain town, it might fetch as much as seventeen hundred pieces, but the bag was currently being used as a pillow by Lawrence's companion, who continued lazily grooming her tail.
She was small with a face that was somehow imperious despite its apparent youth, reminiscent of a queen relaxing in her palace. The hood of her robe was thrown back, exposing her pointed ears as she attended to her tail, her expression listless.
Given the tail, the pointed ears, and the fact of her status as a merchant's traveling companion, one might reasonably think of a dog, but unfortunately she was no dog.
She was apparently a "wisewolf," a wolf-god from the taiga in the distant north—but Lawrence felt there was some question as to whether she could be properly called a wolf.
After all, this "wolf" appeared to be a young girl. Calling her a wolf seemed slightly inaccurate.
"We'll be reaching the town soon. Be careful," he said.
It would be disastrous for the girl's ears and tail to be seen by others. The truth was, her canniness would put the instincts of even the sharpest merchant to shame, thus Lawrence didn't need to warn her of the danger. However, she was so thoroughly relaxed that he simply had to speak up.
Not so much as glancing at him, she only yawned hugely.
Her yawn concluding with a vacant exhalation, she now nibbled puppylike on the snow white tip of her dark brown tail, as though it itched. She did not appear to have the slightest inclination to "be careful."


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

Input:
I must also thank Ju Asakura-sensei for the gorgeous illustrations. They captured my characters perfectly. I hope my thanks are as great as my surprise at seeing them.
To all the people, things, and events responsible for putting me in the position I'm in today: Thank you so much.
It is my intention to put forth every effort to ensure that I never wake from this fleeting dream.
—Isuna Hasekura
***
The rolling hills continued endlessly.
Boulders were prominent; grass and trees were few.
The road wound thinly between the hills, frequently becoming so narrow that even the single cart was enough to block it entirely.
Just when it seemed the climbing would continue forever, the road turned down, and the seemingly endless naked rocks and dried shrubs suddenly changed to a wide awaiting vista.
While the journey had been more interesting than endless grass plains, most anyone would find the travel tiresome by the fifth day.
From the road, tinged with a loneliness that suggested the coming winter, the voice that once sounded its delight at the undulations of the stony, ocher path was now gone. Its owner was now apparently too bored to even sit on the bench of the cart; she lay instead in the bed, grooming the fur of her tail.
A young man drove the cart, apparently used to such selfish behavior on the part of his companion. The man, Kraft Lawrence, was instantly recognizable as a traveling merchant. This year made the seventh since he'd struck out on his own, and he appeared to be around twenty-five. As if in acknowledgment of the chill that came with the deepening autumn, he tightened the fur coat that was wrapped around his body.
Occasionally, the chill also caused him to stroke his chin, covered in the sort of beard one often saw on traveling merchants, since when he sat still, he became slightly cooler. Letting a breath escape that would have turned foggy once the sun set, Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at the bed of the cart.
Normally filled to the brim with various goods, the bed was enjoying a brief respite. All that stood out was the firewood and straw that provided warmth at night, along with a single bag, small enough for a child to carry.
However, the contents of the bag were more valuable than an entire cart full of wheat would have been. The bag was full of high-grade pepper worth roughly one thousand silver trenni. If it could be sold in a mountain town, it might fetch as much as seventeen hundred pieces, but the bag was currently being used as a pillow by Lawrence's companion, who continued lazily grooming her tail.
She was small with a face that was somehow imperious despite its apparent youth, reminiscent of a queen relaxing in her palace. The hood of her robe was thrown back, exposing her pointed ears as she attended to her tail, her expression listless.
Given the tail, the pointed ears, and the fact of her status as a merchant's traveling companion, one might reasonably think of a dog, but unfortunately she was no dog.
She was apparently a "wisewolf," a wolf-god from the taiga in the distant north—but Lawrence felt there was some question as to whether she could be properly called a wolf.
After all, this "wolf" appeared to be a young girl. Calling her a wolf seemed slightly inaccurate.
"We'll be reaching the town soon. Be careful," he said.
It would be disastrous for the girl's ears and tail to be seen by others. The truth was, her canniness would put the instincts of even the sharpest merchant to shame, thus Lawrence didn't need to warn her of the danger. However, she was so thoroughly relaxed that he simply had to speak up.
Not so much as glancing at him, she only yawned hugely.
Her yawn concluding with a vacant exhalation, she now nibbled puppylike on the snow white tip of her dark brown tail, as though it itched. She did not appear to have the slightest inclination to "be careful."

Output:
"...Hrm."
A slight vocalization that could have been a reply (or it could simply have been a small utterance of satisfaction at having conquered the itch) reached Lawrence's ears. Tired of waiting for her reply, he looked forward again.
Holo and Lawrence had met two weeks earlier. Owing to a strange event in one of the villages Lawrence stopped at, Holo had joined him, and the two had been traveling together since. With her ears and tail, she was currently regarded as an evil spirit, and the Church sought to end her life to preserve order.
Lawrence had not a shred of doubt that she was in fact a wolf rather than a simple girl, who happened to have a wolf's ears and a tail.
Just nine days earlier, in the river town of Pazzio, as a riot of silver chasing had come to a close, he had seen her true form.
The huge brown wolf named Holo had understood human speech and possessed an overwhelming presence that was undeniably that of a god.
Yet Lawrence believed his relationship with Holo the Wisewolf to be one of money, of partners in lending and borrowing, of companions in travel, and of friends.
He looked behind him again, and Holo appeared to be curled up in sleep. Although her legs were covered by the pants she wore under her robe, the robe was still hitched up around her waist from her earlier tail grooming, and there was no denying the fact that the sight was slightly lascivious.
Her sleeping expression was the very picture of defenselessness, and coupled with her slight form, Holo looked less like a wolf and more like the sort of girl a wolf was likely to eat.
Nevertheless, Lawrence did not take her lightly.
Her wolf ears pricked suddenly, and she stirred, pulling her hood over her head and drawing the edge of her robe down to cover her tail.
Lawrence looked ahead just as the road drew near the face of a hill and curved. Before them, the figure of a single merchant on foot could be seen.
Cautioning Holo had indeed been unnecessary.
Holo the Wisewolf was hundreds of years old, and the young man's twenty-five years of experience were far from sufficient to make him her equal.
However, Holo looked to be the younger of the two, with her true age being many times greater than what she appeared to be, a fact that occasionally irritated Lawrence.
It was Lawrence's hope that Holo would act more in keeping with the apparent difference between their ages, obediently minding him when she was told. A variety of problems could have been avoided this way, and the wolf would have him to thank for this—but unfortunately, the opposite was much more common.
Lawrence glanced back at the cart bed once more.
Despite the surreptitious nature of Lawrence's backward peek, Holo returned his look from where she lay, curled up around the bag of pepper.
She threw him a mean-spirited grin as if to say that yes, she could see everything ahead just fine, before closing her eyes once more.
Lawrence looked back to the road.
Perhaps enjoying the cart ride, Holo's tail flicked back and forth.
The town ahead bore the strange name of Poroson.
Beyond the town to the north and east (they would travel toward towns and villages that lay many days beyond the highlands in the foreground), the dress and food of the people would change—even the gods worshipped would be different. The pair would find themselves in a truly foreign land.
Lawrence had heard that Poroson was until recently known as a gateway to another world.
Descending to the west of these rock-strewn highlands, one would find abundantly fertile, forested land in all directions. Yet the land, hemmed in as it was by the surrounding rocks, which yielded little springwater, was difficult to farm. The only reason to take the trouble of founding a town here was its position as this gateway to another world.


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

Input:
"...Hrm."
A slight vocalization that could have been a reply (or it could simply have been a small utterance of satisfaction at having conquered the itch) reached Lawrence's ears. Tired of waiting for her reply, he looked forward again.
Holo and Lawrence had met two weeks earlier. Owing to a strange event in one of the villages Lawrence stopped at, Holo had joined him, and the two had been traveling together since. With her ears and tail, she was currently regarded as an evil spirit, and the Church sought to end her life to preserve order.
Lawrence had not a shred of doubt that she was in fact a wolf rather than a simple girl, who happened to have a wolf's ears and a tail.
Just nine days earlier, in the river town of Pazzio, as a riot of silver chasing had come to a close, he had seen her true form.
The huge brown wolf named Holo had understood human speech and possessed an overwhelming presence that was undeniably that of a god.
Yet Lawrence believed his relationship with Holo the Wisewolf to be one of money, of partners in lending and borrowing, of companions in travel, and of friends.
He looked behind him again, and Holo appeared to be curled up in sleep. Although her legs were covered by the pants she wore under her robe, the robe was still hitched up around her waist from her earlier tail grooming, and there was no denying the fact that the sight was slightly lascivious.
Her sleeping expression was the very picture of defenselessness, and coupled with her slight form, Holo looked less like a wolf and more like the sort of girl a wolf was likely to eat.
Nevertheless, Lawrence did not take her lightly.
Her wolf ears pricked suddenly, and she stirred, pulling her hood over her head and drawing the edge of her robe down to cover her tail.
Lawrence looked ahead just as the road drew near the face of a hill and curved. Before them, the figure of a single merchant on foot could be seen.
Cautioning Holo had indeed been unnecessary.
Holo the Wisewolf was hundreds of years old, and the young man's twenty-five years of experience were far from sufficient to make him her equal.
However, Holo looked to be the younger of the two, with her true age being many times greater than what she appeared to be, a fact that occasionally irritated Lawrence.
It was Lawrence's hope that Holo would act more in keeping with the apparent difference between their ages, obediently minding him when she was told. A variety of problems could have been avoided this way, and the wolf would have him to thank for this—but unfortunately, the opposite was much more common.
Lawrence glanced back at the cart bed once more.
Despite the surreptitious nature of Lawrence's backward peek, Holo returned his look from where she lay, curled up around the bag of pepper.
She threw him a mean-spirited grin as if to say that yes, she could see everything ahead just fine, before closing her eyes once more.
Lawrence looked back to the road.
Perhaps enjoying the cart ride, Holo's tail flicked back and forth.
The town ahead bore the strange name of Poroson.
Beyond the town to the north and east (they would travel toward towns and villages that lay many days beyond the highlands in the foreground), the dress and food of the people would change—even the gods worshipped would be different. The pair would find themselves in a truly foreign land.
Lawrence had heard that Poroson was until recently known as a gateway to another world.
Descending to the west of these rock-strewn highlands, one would find abundantly fertile, forested land in all directions. Yet the land, hemmed in as it was by the surrounding rocks, which yielded little springwater, was difficult to farm. The only reason to take the trouble of founding a town here was its position as this gateway to another world.

Output:
Long before it was known as a gateway to another world, Poroson was a holy land to a certain pagan faith.
Many years had passed since the Church, following the will of its god, sent missionaries to convert the heathens, starting a war to purify this land tainted by impure beliefs. Poroson was a psychological turning point in the process of the destruction of the old faith. Once the Church was on the verge of wiping out the pagan faith in the area, the priests commanded that a town be founded there.
Poroson soon became the staging area for the missionaries and knights heading north and east after the remaining pagans, and it came to have a reputation as a crossroads for both goods and people.
The missionaries with their tattered, hermit-like robes and the knights with righteous swords in hand, ready to reclaim land in the name of their god, were now gone.
All that passed through the town these days were woven goods, salt, and iron from the north and east and grain and leather from the south and west. The holy wars of the past were long gone, replaced by the continuous comings and goings of shrewd merchants.
Holo's presence made it necessary for Lawrence to take roads with little traffic, but along certain ancient trade routes, they continually passed carts laden with rare goods. Many of the textiles they saw were of particularly fine quality.
Despite the brisk trade, Poroson was rather modest, thanks to the habits of its residents. The wealth of commerce provided for a magnificent wall around the town, but the buildings within it were of humble stone construction, their roofs thatched with straw. It's true that wherever goods and people intersect, money will be left behind and the area will prosper, but Poroson's circumstances were slightly different.
The residents were all highly devout and gave most of their money to the Church. Furthermore, Poroson was not the holding of a particular nation, but rather of the religious capital of Ruvinheigen to the northwest, so tithes did not stay in the town's own church, but instead flowed to the larger city. In fact, the Church offices managed land taxes as well, so Poroson did not even control its own tax revenue.
The residents of the town had no interest in anything beyond their own humble lives.
When a bell sounded through the morning haze, the workers in the fields paused in their labors and turned to face the sound, putting their hands together and closing their eyes.
In a typical town at this hour, red-faced merchants would be busy jockeying for position in the town square, but here there was no such rude commotion.
Not wanting to intrude upon the residents' prayers, Lawrence stopped his cart horse. Then, putting his hands together, he offered a prayer to his own god.
The bell rang a second time, and when the people returned to their work, Lawrence made his cart horse walk again. Suddenly, Holo spoke.
"Oh, so you are a religious man now, are you?"
"I'll pray to anyone who can promise me safe travels and tidy profits."
"I can promise you a fine harvest."
Holo faced Lawrence as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
"You want me to pray to you, then?"
Holo knew and hated the loneliness felt by gods. Lawrence believed she couldn't possibly be serious, but he ventured to ask.
He suspected she was joking with him out of boredom.
As expected, her reply came in a purposefully sweet voice.
"Yes, I certainly do."
"What shall I pray for, then?" asked Lawrence, by now used to this sort of treatment from Holo.
"Whatever you like. I can provide a bountiful harvest, naturally, but safe travels are also no problem for me. I can predict the winds and rain and tell whether springwater is good or bad. And I'm just the thing for getting rid of wolves and wild dogs."
She sounded just like a village youth extolling his virtues to a merchant guild, but Lawrence thought for a moment before answering.
"I suppose safe travels would be worth praying for."


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

Input:
Long before it was known as a gateway to another world, Poroson was a holy land to a certain pagan faith.
Many years had passed since the Church, following the will of its god, sent missionaries to convert the heathens, starting a war to purify this land tainted by impure beliefs. Poroson was a psychological turning point in the process of the destruction of the old faith. Once the Church was on the verge of wiping out the pagan faith in the area, the priests commanded that a town be founded there.
Poroson soon became the staging area for the missionaries and knights heading north and east after the remaining pagans, and it came to have a reputation as a crossroads for both goods and people.
The missionaries with their tattered, hermit-like robes and the knights with righteous swords in hand, ready to reclaim land in the name of their god, were now gone.
All that passed through the town these days were woven goods, salt, and iron from the north and east and grain and leather from the south and west. The holy wars of the past were long gone, replaced by the continuous comings and goings of shrewd merchants.
Holo's presence made it necessary for Lawrence to take roads with little traffic, but along certain ancient trade routes, they continually passed carts laden with rare goods. Many of the textiles they saw were of particularly fine quality.
Despite the brisk trade, Poroson was rather modest, thanks to the habits of its residents. The wealth of commerce provided for a magnificent wall around the town, but the buildings within it were of humble stone construction, their roofs thatched with straw. It's true that wherever goods and people intersect, money will be left behind and the area will prosper, but Poroson's circumstances were slightly different.
The residents were all highly devout and gave most of their money to the Church. Furthermore, Poroson was not the holding of a particular nation, but rather of the religious capital of Ruvinheigen to the northwest, so tithes did not stay in the town's own church, but instead flowed to the larger city. In fact, the Church offices managed land taxes as well, so Poroson did not even control its own tax revenue.
The residents of the town had no interest in anything beyond their own humble lives.
When a bell sounded through the morning haze, the workers in the fields paused in their labors and turned to face the sound, putting their hands together and closing their eyes.
In a typical town at this hour, red-faced merchants would be busy jockeying for position in the town square, but here there was no such rude commotion.
Not wanting to intrude upon the residents' prayers, Lawrence stopped his cart horse. Then, putting his hands together, he offered a prayer to his own god.
The bell rang a second time, and when the people returned to their work, Lawrence made his cart horse walk again. Suddenly, Holo spoke.
"Oh, so you are a religious man now, are you?"
"I'll pray to anyone who can promise me safe travels and tidy profits."
"I can promise you a fine harvest."
Holo faced Lawrence as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
"You want me to pray to you, then?"
Holo knew and hated the loneliness felt by gods. Lawrence believed she couldn't possibly be serious, but he ventured to ask.
He suspected she was joking with him out of boredom.
As expected, her reply came in a purposefully sweet voice.
"Yes, I certainly do."
"What shall I pray for, then?" asked Lawrence, by now used to this sort of treatment from Holo.
"Whatever you like. I can provide a bountiful harvest, naturally, but safe travels are also no problem for me. I can predict the winds and rain and tell whether springwater is good or bad. And I'm just the thing for getting rid of wolves and wild dogs."
She sounded just like a village youth extolling his virtues to a merchant guild, but Lawrence thought for a moment before answering.
"I suppose safe travels would be worth praying for."

Output:
Seeing her carefree, innocent smile, Lawrence wondered whether she wasn't simply trying to praise her own abilities over the god of the Church. Every once in a while, Holo exhibited a certain childishness.
"Well, I suppose I'll ask for safe travels, then. It would be heartening to be able to avoid wolves."
"Mm. Safe travels, is it?"
"Indeed."
Lawrence tugged on the reins to avoid a donkey grazing on the grass.
The gateway to the town walls would be upon them soon. The end of a line of people waiting for inspection was visible even in the morning mist.
Though the entire town was part of the Church, many merchants came to it from pagan lands, so Poroson was remarkably accommodating—its inspection of goods was much stricter than its inspection of people. Lawrence was considering the tax likely to be levied on the pepper he carried when he became aware of someone looking at him from the side. There was only Holo.
"What, is that all?" Her voice sounded slightly irritated.
"Hm?"
"I am asking you if all you require is safe travel."
Staring blankly at Holo for a few moments, Lawrence realized what she was talking about.
"What? You wanted me to put my hands together and pray?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a vexed glare. "I'm guaranteeing you safe travel—surely you don't think that a single, useless prayer is compensation enough."
Lawrence's mind turned like a waterwheel as he arrived at the obvious conclusion.
"Ah, you want an offering."
"Hee-hee-hee." Holo gave a self-satisfied chuckle.
"What do you want?"
"Dried mutton!"
"You gorged yourself on the stuff yesterday! It must've been a week's worth that you ate."
"I've always room for mutton."
Never shy, Holo licked her chops at the memory of the meat. It seemed even the noble wolf was a mere dog when presented with dried victuals.
"Cooked meat is good, too, but I simply cannot resist the texture of dried meat. If you would pray for safe travels, dried mutton is the price."
Holo's eyes blazed, and her tail switched restlessly underneath her robe.
Lawrence ignored this completely, instead looking at the goods loaded on the horse that was being led by the merchant in front of them. The horse's back was piled high with a mountain of wool.
"What about that wool—is it good or bad?"
Wool evidently suggested sheep. Holo looked at the mountain of wool, her eyes brimming with anticipation, before answering quickly.
"It is quite good—so good I can almost smell the grass they ate."
"I thought as much. My pepper should fetch a good price here."
If the wool was of high quality, the meat would be excellent, too. And as the quality of meat rose, so did its price. Expensive meat made his pepper, which could be used to flavor and preserve it, all the more valuable, and Lawrence began to look forward to selling his wares.
"Also, dried meat with lots of salt is good. Just a little bit of salt will not do. Also, meat from the flanks is the best, better than meat from the legs. Here now, are you listening?"
"Hm?"
"Salted meat! From the flanks!"
"You have excellent taste. That'll cost us."
"Hah, 'tis a bargain at twice the price."
It was true that some good mutton was a bargain if it meant Holo would guarantee safe travels. After all, her true form was a giant talking wolf. She could probably even protect him from the kind of ill-mannered soldiers that were hard to distinguish from out-and-out thieves.
Nonetheless, Lawrence assumed a purposefully blank expression as he regarded Holo.
Her eyes were fixed greedily upon the imagined food. He couldn't help but tease her.
"Well, now, you must have quite a bit of money indeed. If you've got so much, perhaps you should repay me."
Yet his opponent was a canny wisewolf. She soon discerned his motive.
Her demeanor tightened suddenly as she glared at him.
"That approach will no longer work."
Apparently she had learned from the apple incident. Lawrence clicked his tongue in irritation, his face grim.


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

Input:
Seeing her carefree, innocent smile, Lawrence wondered whether she wasn't simply trying to praise her own abilities over the god of the Church. Every once in a while, Holo exhibited a certain childishness.
"Well, I suppose I'll ask for safe travels, then. It would be heartening to be able to avoid wolves."
"Mm. Safe travels, is it?"
"Indeed."
Lawrence tugged on the reins to avoid a donkey grazing on the grass.
The gateway to the town walls would be upon them soon. The end of a line of people waiting for inspection was visible even in the morning mist.
Though the entire town was part of the Church, many merchants came to it from pagan lands, so Poroson was remarkably accommodating—its inspection of goods was much stricter than its inspection of people. Lawrence was considering the tax likely to be levied on the pepper he carried when he became aware of someone looking at him from the side. There was only Holo.
"What, is that all?" Her voice sounded slightly irritated.
"Hm?"
"I am asking you if all you require is safe travel."
Staring blankly at Holo for a few moments, Lawrence realized what she was talking about.
"What? You wanted me to put my hands together and pray?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a vexed glare. "I'm guaranteeing you safe travel—surely you don't think that a single, useless prayer is compensation enough."
Lawrence's mind turned like a waterwheel as he arrived at the obvious conclusion.
"Ah, you want an offering."
"Hee-hee-hee." Holo gave a self-satisfied chuckle.
"What do you want?"
"Dried mutton!"
"You gorged yourself on the stuff yesterday! It must've been a week's worth that you ate."
"I've always room for mutton."
Never shy, Holo licked her chops at the memory of the meat. It seemed even the noble wolf was a mere dog when presented with dried victuals.
"Cooked meat is good, too, but I simply cannot resist the texture of dried meat. If you would pray for safe travels, dried mutton is the price."
Holo's eyes blazed, and her tail switched restlessly underneath her robe.
Lawrence ignored this completely, instead looking at the goods loaded on the horse that was being led by the merchant in front of them. The horse's back was piled high with a mountain of wool.
"What about that wool—is it good or bad?"
Wool evidently suggested sheep. Holo looked at the mountain of wool, her eyes brimming with anticipation, before answering quickly.
"It is quite good—so good I can almost smell the grass they ate."
"I thought as much. My pepper should fetch a good price here."
If the wool was of high quality, the meat would be excellent, too. And as the quality of meat rose, so did its price. Expensive meat made his pepper, which could be used to flavor and preserve it, all the more valuable, and Lawrence began to look forward to selling his wares.
"Also, dried meat with lots of salt is good. Just a little bit of salt will not do. Also, meat from the flanks is the best, better than meat from the legs. Here now, are you listening?"
"Hm?"
"Salted meat! From the flanks!"
"You have excellent taste. That'll cost us."
"Hah, 'tis a bargain at twice the price."
It was true that some good mutton was a bargain if it meant Holo would guarantee safe travels. After all, her true form was a giant talking wolf. She could probably even protect him from the kind of ill-mannered soldiers that were hard to distinguish from out-and-out thieves.
Nonetheless, Lawrence assumed a purposefully blank expression as he regarded Holo.
Her eyes were fixed greedily upon the imagined food. He couldn't help but tease her.
"Well, now, you must have quite a bit of money indeed. If you've got so much, perhaps you should repay me."
Yet his opponent was a canny wisewolf. She soon discerned his motive.
Her demeanor tightened suddenly as she glared at him.
"That approach will no longer work."
Apparently she had learned from the apple incident. Lawrence clicked his tongue in irritation, his face grim.

Output:
"So if I ask charmingly enough, you will buy some for me, then?" asked Holo without a trace of charm.
Lawrence eased the horse forward as the line moved, answering flatly, "Of course not. You could stand to learn something from those cows and sheep—try chewing your cud, hm?"
He grinned to himself, proud of his wit—but Holo's face went blank with anger, and without a word, there on the driver's seat of the wagon, she stomped on his foot.
The road was nothing more than hard-packed dirt, the simple houses made of rough-hewn stone and thatched with grass.
The people of Poroson bought nothing but the barest necessities from the merchant stalls, so there were surprisingly few such stalls.
A goodly number of people moved about the town, among them merchants with carts or backs fully loaded, but the atmosphere seemed to suck up the normal town chatter like cotton, so it was oddly quiet.
It was hard to believe this quiet, simple, proud town was a nexus of foreign trade that earned dizzying amounts of money every day.
After all, missionaries whose street-corner sermons went largely ignored in other cities could count on gratefully attentive crowds here—so how was profit so effectively made?
To Lawrence, the town was nothing less than a mystery.
"'Tis a tedious place," came Holo's assessment of the uniquely religious town.
"You're only saying that because there's nothing to eat."
"You speak as though I think of nothing else."
"Shall we take in a sermon, then?"
Just ahead of them, a missionary preached to a crowd, one hand on a book of scripture.
The listeners were not only townspeople—there were several merchants whose prayers were normally for naught but their own profit.
Holo regarded them distastefully and sniffed.
"He's about five hundred years too young to be preaching to me."
"I daresay you could stand to hear a sermon on frugality."
Toying idly with the silken sash at her waist, Holo put her hand to her mouth and yawned at Lawrence's suggestion. "I'm a wolf yet. Sermons are complicated and difficult for us to understand," she said shamelessly, rubbing her eyes.
"Well, as far as the teachings of the god of frugality go, they're more persuasive here than anywhere else, I'd reckon."
"Hm?"
"Nearly all the money made here flows to the seat of the Church northwest of here, Ruvinheigen—now there's a place I've no desire to hear a sermon."
The Church capital of Ruvinheigen was so prosperous some said its walls had turned to gold. The upper echelons of the Church Council that controlled the region had turned to commerce to support their subjugation of the heathens, and the priests and bishops of Ruvinheigen put the merchants to shame.
Lawrence wondered if that was precisely why opportunities for profit there were so absurdly plentiful.
Just then, Holo tilted her head quizzically. "Did you say Ruvinheigen?"
"What, do you know it?" Lawrence gave Holo a sidelong glance as he steered the wagon to the right once the street forked.
"Mm, I remember the name, but not as a city—it was a person's name."
"Ah, you're not wrong. It's a city now, but it was the name of a saint who led a group of crusaders against the pagans. It's an old name—you don't hear it much anymore."
"Hmph. Maybe 'tis him I'm remembering."
"Surely not."
Lawrence laughed it off but soon realized—Holo had set out on her travels hundreds of years ago.
"He was a man with flaming red hair and a great bushy beard. He'd hardly gotten a glance at my lovely ears and tail before he set his knights after me with spear and sword. I'd had enough, so I took my other form and kicked his knights around before sinking my teeth into that Ruvinheigen's backside. He was rather lean and far from tasty."
Holo sniffed proudly as she related the gallant tale. The surprised Lawrence had no response.
In the holy city of Ruvinheigen, there were records of Saint Ruvinheigen having red hair and the city itself having originally been a fortress that fought against pagan gods.


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

Input:
"So if I ask charmingly enough, you will buy some for me, then?" asked Holo without a trace of charm.
Lawrence eased the horse forward as the line moved, answering flatly, "Of course not. You could stand to learn something from those cows and sheep—try chewing your cud, hm?"
He grinned to himself, proud of his wit—but Holo's face went blank with anger, and without a word, there on the driver's seat of the wagon, she stomped on his foot.
The road was nothing more than hard-packed dirt, the simple houses made of rough-hewn stone and thatched with grass.
The people of Poroson bought nothing but the barest necessities from the merchant stalls, so there were surprisingly few such stalls.
A goodly number of people moved about the town, among them merchants with carts or backs fully loaded, but the atmosphere seemed to suck up the normal town chatter like cotton, so it was oddly quiet.
It was hard to believe this quiet, simple, proud town was a nexus of foreign trade that earned dizzying amounts of money every day.
After all, missionaries whose street-corner sermons went largely ignored in other cities could count on gratefully attentive crowds here—so how was profit so effectively made?
To Lawrence, the town was nothing less than a mystery.
"'Tis a tedious place," came Holo's assessment of the uniquely religious town.
"You're only saying that because there's nothing to eat."
"You speak as though I think of nothing else."
"Shall we take in a sermon, then?"
Just ahead of them, a missionary preached to a crowd, one hand on a book of scripture.
The listeners were not only townspeople—there were several merchants whose prayers were normally for naught but their own profit.
Holo regarded them distastefully and sniffed.
"He's about five hundred years too young to be preaching to me."
"I daresay you could stand to hear a sermon on frugality."
Toying idly with the silken sash at her waist, Holo put her hand to her mouth and yawned at Lawrence's suggestion. "I'm a wolf yet. Sermons are complicated and difficult for us to understand," she said shamelessly, rubbing her eyes.
"Well, as far as the teachings of the god of frugality go, they're more persuasive here than anywhere else, I'd reckon."
"Hm?"
"Nearly all the money made here flows to the seat of the Church northwest of here, Ruvinheigen—now there's a place I've no desire to hear a sermon."
The Church capital of Ruvinheigen was so prosperous some said its walls had turned to gold. The upper echelons of the Church Council that controlled the region had turned to commerce to support their subjugation of the heathens, and the priests and bishops of Ruvinheigen put the merchants to shame.
Lawrence wondered if that was precisely why opportunities for profit there were so absurdly plentiful.
Just then, Holo tilted her head quizzically. "Did you say Ruvinheigen?"
"What, do you know it?" Lawrence gave Holo a sidelong glance as he steered the wagon to the right once the street forked.
"Mm, I remember the name, but not as a city—it was a person's name."
"Ah, you're not wrong. It's a city now, but it was the name of a saint who led a group of crusaders against the pagans. It's an old name—you don't hear it much anymore."
"Hmph. Maybe 'tis him I'm remembering."
"Surely not."
Lawrence laughed it off but soon realized—Holo had set out on her travels hundreds of years ago.
"He was a man with flaming red hair and a great bushy beard. He'd hardly gotten a glance at my lovely ears and tail before he set his knights after me with spear and sword. I'd had enough, so I took my other form and kicked his knights around before sinking my teeth into that Ruvinheigen's backside. He was rather lean and far from tasty."
Holo sniffed proudly as she related the gallant tale. The surprised Lawrence had no response.
In the holy city of Ruvinheigen, there were records of Saint Ruvinheigen having red hair and the city itself having originally been a fortress that fought against pagan gods.

Output:
Perhaps the reason Saint Ruvinheigen was always pictured in clothes so ragged he might as well be nude was because Holo had shredded them. Her true form was that of a massive wolf, after all. It was easy to imagine her bloodying someone after a bit of sport.
If what Holo said was true, Saint Ruvinheigen had probably been ashamed of being bitten on his rear and had omitted that bit from the story. In that case, the tale of the saint losing his left arm was pure fabrication.
Had Holo bitten the real Saint Ruvinheigen?
Hearing the story behind the history, Lawrence chuckled.
"Oh, but wait a moment—," said Holo.
"Hm?"
"I only bit him, I'll have you know. I did not kill him," said Holo quickly, anticipating Lawrence's reaction.
For a moment, Lawrence didn't understand what she was getting at, but soon he realized.
She must have assumed he would be angry if she killed one of his fellow humans.
"You're considerate at the strangest of times," said Lawrence.
"'Tis important," said Holo, her face serious enough that Lawrence capitulated without any further teasing.
"Anyway, this surely is a tedious city. The middle of the forest is livelier than this."
"I'll unload my pepper, pick up a new commodity, and we'll be on our way to Ruvinheigen, so just bear it until then."
"Is it a big town?"
"Bigger even than Pazzio—more properly a city than a town really. It's crowded, and there are lots of shops."
Holo's face lit up. "With apples even?"
"Hard to say if they'll be fresh. With winter coming, I'd think they'd be preserved."
"...Preserved?" said Holo, dubious. In the northlands, salt was the only method of preservation, so she assumed preserved apples would also use salt.
"They use honey," said Lawrence.
Pop! went Holo's ears, flicking rapidly under the hood she wore.
"Pear preserves are good, too. Also, hmm, they're a bit rare, but I've seen preserved peaches. Now those are fine goods. They slice the peaches thin, pack them in a cask with the odd layer of almonds or figs, then fill up the spaces with honey, and seal it shut. Takes about two months for it to be ready to eat. I've only had it once, but it was so sweet the Church was considering banning the stuff...Hey, you're drooling."
Holo snapped her mouth shut as Lawrence pointed it out.
She took a nervous glance around, then looked back at Lawrence dubiously. "You...you're toying with me, though."
"Can't you tell if I'm lying or not?"
Holo set her jaw, perhaps at a loss for words.
"I'm not lying, but there's no telling whether they'll actually have the preserves. They're mostly for rich nobles, anyway. The stuff isn't just lined up in a shop."
"But if it is?"
Swish, swish—Holo's tail was switching back and forth beneath her robe so rapidly it almost seemed like a separate animal altogether. Her eyes were moist and blurred with overflowing anticipation.
Holo's face was so close to Lawrence that she rested her head on his shoulder.
Her eyes were desperately serious.
"...Fine, fine! I'll buy you some!"
Holo gripped Lawrence's arm tightly. "You have to!"
He felt that if he looked sideways at her, he'd be bitten on the spot.
"A little, though. Just a little!" Lawrence said. It was not clear if Holo was listening or not.
"That's a promise, then! You've promised!"
"Okay, okay!"
"So let us hurry on, then! Hurry, now!"
"Stop grabbing me!"
Lawrence shrugged her off, but Holo's mind had wandered elsewhere. She seemed to look off into the distance and muttered as she nibbled on the nail of her middle finger.
"They may sell out. Should it come to that..."
Lawrence was beginning to regret having said anything about honeyed peach preserves, but it was too late for such regrets. If he dared to suggest he had decided not to buy any after all, it seemed likely she'd tear out his throat.
It didn't matter that honeyed peach preserves weren't something that traveling merchants could afford.
"It's not a question of selling out—they may not have any at all," Lawrence said. "Just understand that."


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

Input:
Perhaps the reason Saint Ruvinheigen was always pictured in clothes so ragged he might as well be nude was because Holo had shredded them. Her true form was that of a massive wolf, after all. It was easy to imagine her bloodying someone after a bit of sport.
If what Holo said was true, Saint Ruvinheigen had probably been ashamed of being bitten on his rear and had omitted that bit from the story. In that case, the tale of the saint losing his left arm was pure fabrication.
Had Holo bitten the real Saint Ruvinheigen?
Hearing the story behind the history, Lawrence chuckled.
"Oh, but wait a moment—," said Holo.
"Hm?"
"I only bit him, I'll have you know. I did not kill him," said Holo quickly, anticipating Lawrence's reaction.
For a moment, Lawrence didn't understand what she was getting at, but soon he realized.
She must have assumed he would be angry if she killed one of his fellow humans.
"You're considerate at the strangest of times," said Lawrence.
"'Tis important," said Holo, her face serious enough that Lawrence capitulated without any further teasing.
"Anyway, this surely is a tedious city. The middle of the forest is livelier than this."
"I'll unload my pepper, pick up a new commodity, and we'll be on our way to Ruvinheigen, so just bear it until then."
"Is it a big town?"
"Bigger even than Pazzio—more properly a city than a town really. It's crowded, and there are lots of shops."
Holo's face lit up. "With apples even?"
"Hard to say if they'll be fresh. With winter coming, I'd think they'd be preserved."
"...Preserved?" said Holo, dubious. In the northlands, salt was the only method of preservation, so she assumed preserved apples would also use salt.
"They use honey," said Lawrence.
Pop! went Holo's ears, flicking rapidly under the hood she wore.
"Pear preserves are good, too. Also, hmm, they're a bit rare, but I've seen preserved peaches. Now those are fine goods. They slice the peaches thin, pack them in a cask with the odd layer of almonds or figs, then fill up the spaces with honey, and seal it shut. Takes about two months for it to be ready to eat. I've only had it once, but it was so sweet the Church was considering banning the stuff...Hey, you're drooling."
Holo snapped her mouth shut as Lawrence pointed it out.
She took a nervous glance around, then looked back at Lawrence dubiously. "You...you're toying with me, though."
"Can't you tell if I'm lying or not?"
Holo set her jaw, perhaps at a loss for words.
"I'm not lying, but there's no telling whether they'll actually have the preserves. They're mostly for rich nobles, anyway. The stuff isn't just lined up in a shop."
"But if it is?"
Swish, swish—Holo's tail was switching back and forth beneath her robe so rapidly it almost seemed like a separate animal altogether. Her eyes were moist and blurred with overflowing anticipation.
Holo's face was so close to Lawrence that she rested her head on his shoulder.
Her eyes were desperately serious.
"...Fine, fine! I'll buy you some!"
Holo gripped Lawrence's arm tightly. "You have to!"
He felt that if he looked sideways at her, he'd be bitten on the spot.
"A little, though. Just a little!" Lawrence said. It was not clear if Holo was listening or not.
"That's a promise, then! You've promised!"
"Okay, okay!"
"So let us hurry on, then! Hurry, now!"
"Stop grabbing me!"
Lawrence shrugged her off, but Holo's mind had wandered elsewhere. She seemed to look off into the distance and muttered as she nibbled on the nail of her middle finger.
"They may sell out. Should it come to that..."
Lawrence was beginning to regret having said anything about honeyed peach preserves, but it was too late for such regrets. If he dared to suggest he had decided not to buy any after all, it seemed likely she'd tear out his throat.
It didn't matter that honeyed peach preserves weren't something that traveling merchants could afford.
"It's not a question of selling out—they may not have any at all," Lawrence said. "Just understand that."

Output:
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Still, it's hard to give up pears," said Holo, turning to Lawrence and looking up at him.
Lawrence's only reply was to heave a long-suffering sigh.
Lawrence planned to sell his pepper to the Latparron Trading Company, whose name was every bit as odd as the town in which it was located—Poroson.
If one were to trace the name, it would surely hearken all the way back to the time before Poroson was a town and only pagans inhabited the area. The strange names were all that remained of the past, though. After all, everyone here was a true believer in the Church, from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes. The Latparron Company would soon have its fiftieth master, and each seemed to be more devout than the last.
Thus it was that no sooner had Lawrence called upon the company—which he'd not visited in half a year—than he was regaled with praise for the newly arrived priest, whose sermons he simply had to hear, as would they not save our very souls?
Still worse, the master of the Latparron Company seemed to take Holo in her robes for a nun on pilgrimage and exhorted her to minister to Lawrence as well.
Holo took the opportunity to rail at Lawrence at length, occasionally grinning in a way that only he could see.
After some time, their preaching ended, and Lawrence swore to himself that he wouldn't spare so much as a single coin for any honeyed peach preserves.
"Well, then, that went a bit long, but shall we talk business now?"
"I await your pleasure," said Lawrence, clearly tired—but the Latparron master had put on his business face now, so Lawrence couldn't let his guard down.
It was possible that the master's lengthy sermon was a tactic to wear his opponents down, making them easy prey.
"So, what goods have you brought me this day?"
"Right here," said Lawrence, regaining his composure and bringing out the pepper-stuffed sack.
"Oh, pepper!"
Lawrence kept hidden his surprise at the master's correct guess of the bag's contents. "You know your goods," he said.
"It's the smell!" said the master with a mischievous smile—but Lawrence knew pepper yet to be ground has little scent.
Lawrence stole a sidelong glance at Holo, who looked on amused.
"It seems I'm still a novice," said Lawrence.
"Just a matter of experience," said the master. As far as Lawrence could tell from the man's broad, easy manner, his mistaking Holo for a nun might also have been an act.
"Still, Mr. Lawrence, you always bring the best goods at the most opportune time. By God's grace, the hay grew well this year, and the pork has gotten fat merely walking the streets. Demand for pepper will be high for a while. Had you gotten here even a week sooner, I'd have been able to take it off your hands for a pittance!"
Lawrence could only offer a pained smile in response to the cheerful man. The Latparron master had taken complete control of the conversation. He could now use strong-arm negotiating tactics. It would be hard for Lawrence to regain the upper hand.
Traders like these in small companies were why the life of the merchant was a hard one.
"Right, then, let's take its measure. Have you a scale?"
Unlike the money changers whose reputations depended on the accuracy of their scales, the scales that merchants carried were doctored as a matter of course. With commodities like pepper or gold dust, a small "adjustment" to a scale's gradations could make a large difference, so both buyer and seller weighed items on their own scales.
However, it wasn't every day that Lawrence dealt with high-priced goods like pepper, so he had no scales.
"No, I don't have a scale—I trust in God."
The master smiled and nodded at Lawrence's reply. There were two sets of scales on a shelf, and he deliberately brought out the set farther away.
Though he was careful not to show it, Lawrence internally sighed in relief.


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

Input:
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Still, it's hard to give up pears," said Holo, turning to Lawrence and looking up at him.
Lawrence's only reply was to heave a long-suffering sigh.
Lawrence planned to sell his pepper to the Latparron Trading Company, whose name was every bit as odd as the town in which it was located—Poroson.
If one were to trace the name, it would surely hearken all the way back to the time before Poroson was a town and only pagans inhabited the area. The strange names were all that remained of the past, though. After all, everyone here was a true believer in the Church, from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes. The Latparron Company would soon have its fiftieth master, and each seemed to be more devout than the last.
Thus it was that no sooner had Lawrence called upon the company—which he'd not visited in half a year—than he was regaled with praise for the newly arrived priest, whose sermons he simply had to hear, as would they not save our very souls?
Still worse, the master of the Latparron Company seemed to take Holo in her robes for a nun on pilgrimage and exhorted her to minister to Lawrence as well.
Holo took the opportunity to rail at Lawrence at length, occasionally grinning in a way that only he could see.
After some time, their preaching ended, and Lawrence swore to himself that he wouldn't spare so much as a single coin for any honeyed peach preserves.
"Well, then, that went a bit long, but shall we talk business now?"
"I await your pleasure," said Lawrence, clearly tired—but the Latparron master had put on his business face now, so Lawrence couldn't let his guard down.
It was possible that the master's lengthy sermon was a tactic to wear his opponents down, making them easy prey.
"So, what goods have you brought me this day?"
"Right here," said Lawrence, regaining his composure and bringing out the pepper-stuffed sack.
"Oh, pepper!"
Lawrence kept hidden his surprise at the master's correct guess of the bag's contents. "You know your goods," he said.
"It's the smell!" said the master with a mischievous smile—but Lawrence knew pepper yet to be ground has little scent.
Lawrence stole a sidelong glance at Holo, who looked on amused.
"It seems I'm still a novice," said Lawrence.
"Just a matter of experience," said the master. As far as Lawrence could tell from the man's broad, easy manner, his mistaking Holo for a nun might also have been an act.
"Still, Mr. Lawrence, you always bring the best goods at the most opportune time. By God's grace, the hay grew well this year, and the pork has gotten fat merely walking the streets. Demand for pepper will be high for a while. Had you gotten here even a week sooner, I'd have been able to take it off your hands for a pittance!"
Lawrence could only offer a pained smile in response to the cheerful man. The Latparron master had taken complete control of the conversation. He could now use strong-arm negotiating tactics. It would be hard for Lawrence to regain the upper hand.
Traders like these in small companies were why the life of the merchant was a hard one.
"Right, then, let's take its measure. Have you a scale?"
Unlike the money changers whose reputations depended on the accuracy of their scales, the scales that merchants carried were doctored as a matter of course. With commodities like pepper or gold dust, a small "adjustment" to a scale's gradations could make a large difference, so both buyer and seller weighed items on their own scales.
However, it wasn't every day that Lawrence dealt with high-priced goods like pepper, so he had no scales.
"No, I don't have a scale—I trust in God."
The master smiled and nodded at Lawrence's reply. There were two sets of scales on a shelf, and he deliberately brought out the set farther away.
Though he was careful not to show it, Lawrence internally sighed in relief.

Output:
Lawrence gave God his thanks.
"Even if you believe in a just God, man should be able to discern whether the scripture before him is true or false. A righteous man still trespasses against God if he commits to memory false scripture, after all," said the master, setting the scales down on a nearby table.
He was probably trying to reassure Lawrence that his scales were accurate.
Although merchants were always trying to outsmart one another, that didn't mean trust was never necessary.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment," said Lawrence, at which point the master nodded and took a step back.
On the table was a beautiful set of brass scales, which gleamed a dull gold. It was the sort of set one would expect to see in the offices of a wealthy cambist in a large city and seemed a bit out of place in this shop.
The Latparron Trading Company's storefront was so plain it was easily mistakable for a simple home, and the only employees were the master and a few men. The interior of the shop was also plainly furnished with two shelves situated against the wall, one holding jars that seemed to contain spices or dried foodstuffs and another holding bundles of documents, paper, and parchment.
While the scales seemed not in keeping with the rest of the shop, the balance of those scales was clear.
The scales balanced in the center with plates of counterweights to the left and right.
They did not seem to have been tampered with.
Relieved, Lawrence looked up and smiled. "Shall we proceed to weigh the pepper, then?"
There was no reason not to.
"Let's see, we'll need paper and ink. Wait just a moment, please," said the master, walking to the corner of the room and retrieving an ink pot and paper from the shelf. Lawrence was idly looking on when a tug at his sleeve pulled him out of his reverie. There was no one else there—it was Holo.
"What is it?"
"I'm thirsty."
"You'll have to wait," said Lawrence shortly—but he immediately reconsidered.
She was Holo the Wisewolf after all. She wouldn't make a complaint like that out of the blue. There had to be some kind of reason behind it.
Having changed his mind, Lawrence was about to ask her to explain herself when the master spoke again.
"Even the saints themselves needed water to live. Would you like water or perhaps wine?"
"Water, if you please," said Holo with a smile. Evidently she had only been thirsty after all.
"Just a moment, then." The master left the contract paper, ink, and quill on the table and walked out of the room, going to fetch the water himself.
In this regard he seemed to be no merchant, but the model of a devout adherent of the Church.
Yet even as Lawrence was impressed at the master's faith, he gave Holo a sidelong glare.
"I know this may seem like nothing to you, but to us merchants this is a battleground. You could have had as much water as you wanted later."
"But I am thirsty," said Holo, looking away stubbornly—she hated being scolded. Despite her frightening intelligence, she could be strangely childish at times. There was no point in saying anything more.
Lawrence sighed, and to chase away his frustration with Holo, he set his mind on estimating how much pepper he had.
At length the master returned, carrying a wooden tray with an iron pitcher and cup. Lawrence's shame at having made a business associate and an elder perform such a menial task was very real, but the master's smiling face seemed to have dispensed with business for the moment.
"Well, then, shall we proceed with the weigh?"
"Indeed."
They began to weigh the pepper as Holo looked on, leaning against a wall a short distance away, iron cup clasped between her hands.
The weigh was a simple enough task, with a set weight being prepared on one side of the scales and the other being loaded with pepper until it balanced.
It was simple, but if one grew tired of seeing the counterweight sink and was tempted to call it good enough and proceed to the next load, a merchant could unwittingly sustain a significant loss.


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

Input:
Lawrence gave God his thanks.
"Even if you believe in a just God, man should be able to discern whether the scripture before him is true or false. A righteous man still trespasses against God if he commits to memory false scripture, after all," said the master, setting the scales down on a nearby table.
He was probably trying to reassure Lawrence that his scales were accurate.
Although merchants were always trying to outsmart one another, that didn't mean trust was never necessary.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment," said Lawrence, at which point the master nodded and took a step back.
On the table was a beautiful set of brass scales, which gleamed a dull gold. It was the sort of set one would expect to see in the offices of a wealthy cambist in a large city and seemed a bit out of place in this shop.
The Latparron Trading Company's storefront was so plain it was easily mistakable for a simple home, and the only employees were the master and a few men. The interior of the shop was also plainly furnished with two shelves situated against the wall, one holding jars that seemed to contain spices or dried foodstuffs and another holding bundles of documents, paper, and parchment.
While the scales seemed not in keeping with the rest of the shop, the balance of those scales was clear.
The scales balanced in the center with plates of counterweights to the left and right.
They did not seem to have been tampered with.
Relieved, Lawrence looked up and smiled. "Shall we proceed to weigh the pepper, then?"
There was no reason not to.
"Let's see, we'll need paper and ink. Wait just a moment, please," said the master, walking to the corner of the room and retrieving an ink pot and paper from the shelf. Lawrence was idly looking on when a tug at his sleeve pulled him out of his reverie. There was no one else there—it was Holo.
"What is it?"
"I'm thirsty."
"You'll have to wait," said Lawrence shortly—but he immediately reconsidered.
She was Holo the Wisewolf after all. She wouldn't make a complaint like that out of the blue. There had to be some kind of reason behind it.
Having changed his mind, Lawrence was about to ask her to explain herself when the master spoke again.
"Even the saints themselves needed water to live. Would you like water or perhaps wine?"
"Water, if you please," said Holo with a smile. Evidently she had only been thirsty after all.
"Just a moment, then." The master left the contract paper, ink, and quill on the table and walked out of the room, going to fetch the water himself.
In this regard he seemed to be no merchant, but the model of a devout adherent of the Church.
Yet even as Lawrence was impressed at the master's faith, he gave Holo a sidelong glare.
"I know this may seem like nothing to you, but to us merchants this is a battleground. You could have had as much water as you wanted later."
"But I am thirsty," said Holo, looking away stubbornly—she hated being scolded. Despite her frightening intelligence, she could be strangely childish at times. There was no point in saying anything more.
Lawrence sighed, and to chase away his frustration with Holo, he set his mind on estimating how much pepper he had.
At length the master returned, carrying a wooden tray with an iron pitcher and cup. Lawrence's shame at having made a business associate and an elder perform such a menial task was very real, but the master's smiling face seemed to have dispensed with business for the moment.
"Well, then, shall we proceed with the weigh?"
"Indeed."
They began to weigh the pepper as Holo looked on, leaning against a wall a short distance away, iron cup clasped between her hands.
The weigh was a simple enough task, with a set weight being prepared on one side of the scales and the other being loaded with pepper until it balanced.
It was simple, but if one grew tired of seeing the counterweight sink and was tempted to call it good enough and proceed to the next load, a merchant could unwittingly sustain a significant loss.

Output:
For all its simplicity, the weighing was sensitive work, and it took forty-five loads to finish. Pepper varied depending on its origin, but a load of Lawrence's product balanced roughly with a single counterweight should have been worth about one gold lumione piece. Based on his most current knowledge of exchange rates, one lumione equaled thirty-four and two-thirds trenni, the silver coin commonly used in the port town of Pazzio. Forty-five loads at that rate would come to 1,560 trenni.
Lawrence had bought the pepper for a thousand trenni, so that meant a profit of 560 pieces. The spice trade was indeed delicious. Of course, gold and jewels—the raw materials for luxury goods—could fetch two or three times their initial purchase price, so this was a meager gain in comparison, but for a traveling merchant who spent his days crossing the plains, it was profit enough. Some merchants would haul the lowest-quality oats on their very backs, destroying themselves as they crossed mountains, only to turn a 10 percent profit when they sold in the town.
Indeed, compared with that, clearing more than five hundred silver pieces by moving a single light bag of pepper was almost too savory to believe.
Lawrence grinned as he packed the pepper back into its leather sack.
"Right, that's forty-five measures' worth, then. Where does this pepper come from?"
"It was imported from Ramapata, in the kingdom of Leedon. Here's the certificate of import from the Milone Company."
"From Ramapata, then? It's come quite a ways, then—I can scarcely imagine the place," mused the master, narrowing his eyes and smiling as he took the certificate parchment Lawrence offered him.
Town merchants often spent their entire lives in the villages of their birth. There were some who would go on pilgrimages after their retirement, but there was no time for such things when they were actively working.
However, even Lawrence the traveling merchant knew little of the kingdom of Leedon, save that it was famous for its spices. To get there from Pazzio, one had to take the river all the way to the coast and then board a long-distance sailing ship south across two separate seas, a journey of roughly two months.
The language was different, of course, and apparently it was hot like summertime year-round in Leedon, and the population was permanently tanned near black from the time they were born.
It seemed unbelievable, but there was spice, gold, silver, and iron that supposedly came from the place, and the Milone Company vouched for the origin of the pepper, which the certificate claimed was Ramapata.
Was it a real country?
"The certificate seems authentic," said the master.
The kinds of bills of exchange, trusted promissory notes and contracts that passed through town merchants were huge. Supposedly they could even recognize bills signed by small companies in faraway lands to say nothing of huge organizations that had their main branches in a foreign country.
Recognizing the seal of a company as large as Milone would be but the work of a moment. Signatures were important, but the soul of a contract was the seal.
"Right, then, it'll be one lumione per measure. Will this do?"
"Can you tell me what the lumione is trading at currently?" Lawrence asked suddenly, even though he had some grasp of the coin's market value.
Gold coin was generally used as an accounting currency—that is to say it was the basis for calculating the values of the many other currencies in the world. Calculations were performed in gold currency and then remitted in other, more convenient forms. Of course, in that situation the market value of the currency in question became an issue.
Lawrence was suddenly very nervous.
"Mr. Lawrence, as I recall, you follow the path of Saint Metrogius in business, like your teacher did, correct?"
"Yes. Perhaps it's the protection of Saint Metrogius that's kept my travels safe and my business sound."
"So I presume that you'll take payment in trenni silver?"