The town of Freeacres was a quaint farming town, given its large population of farmers and being built around prime farmland. Its buildings were made of mostly whole, bark-stripped logs, with the newer ones utilizing cut stones and bricks in addition. Rather than paved roads, the entire floor of the town consisted entirely of dirt and gravel, with bits of grass and weeds poking out occasionally. Artyom took a deep breath to appreciate the rustic atmosphere. Most of his missions had taken him to fancy throne rooms that smelled of suffocating perfumes or battlefields that reeked of blood. It had been a while since his assignments had brought him anywhere so… peaceful.

The town was near-deserted by the look of it, with only a smattering of people out and about. Not so surprising since it was high noon. Artyom made his way down the main dirt road past an outer ring of houses into the village center. One of the people walking around was a man with a dark farmer’s tan and somewhat muscular build. Like the boy Artyom had met on the road, he had similar racial features with his overall semi-white skin tone tinted brown beyond the tan and facial shape that emphasized the cheekbones and jawline divergent from any particular group on Earth. The boy could’ve been this man’s son, or everyone here simply looked like that. When he noticed Artyom, he looked over and waved.

“Why hello there, stranger! I take it you’re new in town?” he asked.

“Yes I am,” said Artyom. “Would this happen to be Freeacres?”

“It is indeed, sir. The only free village in the kingdom! That’s our catchphrase, you see.”

Villages usually didn’t come with a catchphrase, in Artyom’s experience. There was definitely a backstory behind it, and as was his duty as a scout, Artyom didn’t hesitate to ask about it.

“Our wonderful king had this great farmland he wanted to make a village out of, but there weren’t any nobles who wanted to move so far away to govern!” exclaimed the man, with a hint of outrage. “So us members of the village petitioned him to let us move out and govern it ourselves, and he said yes! We chose who among us would be the best leader and made him our alderman instead of one of the kingdom’s lords,” he finished with a face full of pride.

“That’s quite a rich story, thanks for sharing!” Artyom replied in a much lighter exuberance. While he was ready to lay on a false-saccharine tone, something about the man’s excitement was contagious.

“Oh, no problem sir. Now how about your story? What brings you to Freeacres?”

“I’m just a traveller, exploring the land. Freeacres seems to be where my wanderlust has taken me today,” said Artyom, providing a vague yet technically true backstory.

“The kingdom is definitely a beautiful place, sir.” the man replied.

“You don’t have to call me sir, Artyom is fine.” It’s easier to get closer to the locals if you don’t lord yourself over them. And that means more information.

“Ah, how humble! Very unlike the other travellers who arrived today,” said the man, his mind somewhere else. “Anyway, you can call me Chey!”

“Nice to make your acquaintance then, Chey. What about these travelers? Are they causing the town any problems?” asked Artyom. If they were bandits or other troublemakers, then disposing of them would help ingratiate him to the village.

“Trouble? They’re supposed to be getting rid of it! That adventurer team is holed up at Ruba’s inn, trying to get rid of the rat problem. I don’t see why they bother, all of the other teams that have tried in the past year have never succeeded.”

Artyom couldn’t help but smile at Chey’s small rant. “Who knows? Maybe this team will get it right?”

“Hah, I’d love to see that! No truly, I would, for poor old Ruba’s sake. If you want to take a look at them and make a judgement for yourself, the inn is right over there,” said Chey, pointing to a two-storey building with a small sign hanging from it. “Besides, it’s lunch time and you don’t look like you’ve eaten. Ruba’s making barley soup today, the best in town!”

“You know, I think I will take a look,” replied Artyom. “Nice talking to you.”

“Likewise!” said Chey.

Before Artyom could walk further than a few steps, he turned around in sudden realization. “Hold on, you wouldn’t happen to know the boy with a basket of wheat riding a donkey, would you?”

“Oh, Bram? I sent him just this morning, it’s a full day’s trip into town. How is he?”

“He was doing fine when I met him,” replied Artyom. “Though he was carrying the wheat basket on his back while riding the donkey.”

“What a considerate boy, trying to keep the extra weight off of it. The donkey’s getting pretty old, you know,” said Chey, without a hint of sarcasm anywhere on his face or in his voice.

“Uh, yeah… definitely true,” said Artyom, as he headed towards the inn.