Chapter 1: Grace, The Hardened Farmer

The tombstones of Grace’s parents were bathed in gold as the sun rose.

Grace knelt before them, her white dress pooling around her knees in the moist grass, and clasped her tiny hands together. She’d repeated this same prayer every day for the last three years, to where it now spilled out from her lips on its own.

“Mother, Father,” she whispered, her voice carrying nothing but warmth. “Please, watch over me today, too.”

A gust of wind rushed past Grace like a hand on her shoulder. It stirred her long white hair, making Grace push a few strands away from her sunlight-colored eyes.

She stood up and stretched, a yawn escaping her mouth.

“Hm… The wheat’s growing well this season,” she murmured to both herself and the tombstones. “I think I finally figured out that irrigation system Father always talked about. Though…” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “I may have flooded the chicken coop the first few tries, hehe.”

Her soft chuckle sounded so much louder in the quietness of this hour. Suddenly, she noticed the shadows behind the grave markers stretching longer.

“Oh, frick. I lost track of time again,” she groaned. “I have to go into the village today,” she admitted, as if seeking permission. Naturally, she began pacing back and forth, speaking quietly as if she were doing some intense calculations. “We’re running low on salt, and the plow needs new parts. I know you always said to avoid town when possible, but…”

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress. She couldn’t keep putting it off.

“… Alright,” Grace put on a determined face, placing her small fists by her hips. “I’m going! I’ll be back before sunset,” she promised the stones, then added in a whisper, “I love you.”

She went back inside her farmhouse. Everything was exactly as she’d left it – neat and organized… if a bit shabby. The wooden floors were swept clean and the few pieces of furniture were arranged with great care. A collection of pressed flowers hung on one wall, carefully preserved between panes of glass – her mother’s legacy. Beside them, her father’s tools hung in careful order, each one maintained as if he might walk in any moment to use them.

Grace changed quickly into her “town clothes” – a simple blue dress that had fewer patches than her work clothes, though it was still far from fine. She counted out her coins three times before tucking them into a leather pouch at her waist. The mental list of supplies ran through her head again and again as she laced up her boots.

[Salt. Plow parts… Maybe some thread.]

She definitely couldn’t afford any books this time. Which was, of course, an absolute tragedy given that she’d almost gone through her mother’s entire collection by now. She checked her reflection in the cloudy mirror by the door, smoothing down her white locks. As she looked back at her own yellow eyes, Grace nodded at herself, putting on a very serious face.

“You can do this,” she told her reflection firmly. “You are a woman grown! At least, technically.” She briefly glanced down at her unimpressive chest but shook her head. “It’s just a quick trip to town. Nothing to worry about. Everything is going to be fine!” Mhm!”

Was that true? Maybe. She had no way of knowing but she said it to herself all the same. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Demons rarely attack during daylight hours. And, the villagers might whisper, might stare, but they were rarely hostile… even though some might consider the older men’s creepy grins and stares she usually got to be hostility, but oh well.

Grace squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped out into the morning light.

[I will NOT be eaten by demons today, I will NOT be eaten by demons today, I will NOT…] she chanted as she marched down the path like a soldier.

The path from her tiny farmhouse to the village wound through the wheat field, golden stalks swaying in the morning breeze. Grace kept her no-nonsense expression on the whole time. She would tolerate zero nonsense from herself. She would get in, get what she needed, and leave.

Simple as that.

—

At seventeen, just a month away from eighteen, she was small for her age, barely reaching the height of the average woman’s shoulder. It unfortunately made her stand out just as much as her snow-like hair or burning eyes did, and so, pretty much everyone noticed as she began to draw closer. But, Grace wouldn’t let it get to her. Sure, she was small, but like her father would always say, “even the tiniest, cutest little lady can command respect!”

[That’s right,] she thought, narrowing her eyes. [I am not cute. I am not tiny. I am a winter-hardened farmer, here for supplies!]

Grace marched into town with all the confidence of a general leading an army. The marketplace of Coldbrook was already busy despite the early hour. Grace kept her chin high as she walked past the first few stalls, channeling every ounce of “hardened farmer” energy she could muster.

[… Is it working?]

It was hard to tell while going out of her way to avoid eye contact.

[Remember,] she told herself sternly, [you’re here on serious business. You are NOT going to get distracted by the book merchant’s new shipment, even if—] Her head turned automatically toward the familiar storefront. [No! Bad Grace! Salt first!]

“Well, if it isn’t our little ghost!”

“EEK!”

Old Lady Maple’s voice carried across the square, making Grace jump about a foot in the air.

The elderly merchant waved enthusiastically from her stall, completely oblivious to how she’d just announced Grace’s presence to the entire market.

[… So much for being stealthy,] Grace thought, but she couldn’t help smiling as she made her way over. Old Lady Maple was one of the few villagers who’d never treated her like she was strange. Probably because the woman was pretty strange herself.

“I’m not little,” Grace protested weakly, even as she had to look up to meet the merchant’s eyes. “I’m practically eighteen.”

“Practically eighteen and practically tall enough to see over my counter!” Old Lady Maple cackled, already reaching for the salt she knew Grace needed. “How’s the farm, dear? Any demon trouble?”

“Nope, no demons!” Grace said quickly, then knocked on the wooden counter three times. Better safe than sorry. “Though the chickens staged another revolt when I tried to improve their coop.”

“Chickens,” Old Lady Maple nodded sagely, “those are the real demons. So,” she crossed her arms. “That’ll be fifteen coppers, dear.”

Instantly, Grace’s mood shifted and she narrowed her eyes.

Old Lady Maple’s face did the same.

Thus, the haggling began.

That’s not quite right,” Grace said, crossing her arms and trying to look intimidating. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she had to stretch up on her tiptoes to see properly over the counter, but she was committed.

Old Lady Maple was already wrapping up the salt, completely ignoring Grace’s attempt at a stern expression.

“Of course it is,” she argued, a clever smirk on her wrinkled face. “It’s what I always charge.”

“You know that’s not true!”

“Oh?” Maple raised a brow, eyes twinkling with mischief. “How much is it then? Did you, by chance, change careers to a businesswoman while I wasn’t looking?”

[Hehehe…]

Grace planted her tiny hands on the counter with all the authority her diminutive frame could muster.

“Perhaps I may have not changed my career, but I certainly have done my research this time.”

“W-What?” Maple pulled back, shocked.

Victory drew closer.

Grace inhaled deeply, drawing herself up to her full (if unimpressive) height, and declared:

“IT’S TOO LOW!” The entire market seemed to pause.

A chicken clucked in the distance, as if to emphasize the dramatic moment.

Maple nearly fainted. She’d been caught.

“You know you should be charging me more for these. I DEMAND to pay full price!” Grace continued, jabbing a finger at the merchant. “Twenty coppers, not a penny less!”

Old Lady Maple sternly shook her head.

“Nope. No deal. You’re getting a discount and that’s final.”

“M-Ma’am! I will never be respected as a proper businesswoman if I cannot pay my fair share! L-Let me pay you nineteen, at least!”

Maple sighed.

Yes, they did this just about every time, albeit with a different product. She tried to give Grace a discount, Grace would go back and make sure she actually paid the right amount and when she found out she hadn’t, she would run over and insist on paying market value.

Grace wasn’t about to be some freeloader.

“… Seventeen,” Maple conceded. “You don’t take that, I’ll give you the damn things for free.”

Grace sighed. This would have to do.

“Deal.”

With that, the haggling concluded.

“Honestly, girlie, I don’t know why you’re so against having people spoil ya every now and then,” Maple continued as she wrapped up the usual herbs as well. “We ladies have enough struggles in our lives.”

“Struggle builds character, Pa would always say,” Grace replied. “Besides, you need to eat more! I’ve heard that all you do is stand around here, selling stuff!”

“It’s my job.”

“It’s not healthy,” Grace countered. “In fact, I-”

Nearby voices suddenly took hold of Grace’s attention, though. She turned toward them.

“—three attacks in the past week—”

“—getting closer to the trading routes—”

“—heard Hearthbrook’s requesting more patrols—”

Grace’s ears perked up at that last bit.

“Are the demon attacks really getting worse?” she asked, trying to sound casual and probably failing miserably.

Old Lady Maple’s usual smile dimmed slightly.

“Nothing for you to worry about, dear. We’ve been… Getting some help lately.”

“Oh?”

“What? You didn’t notice? I’m shocked, what with all the time you spend pining after every other pretty face.”

“I-I do not pine!” Grace replied.

And, as Maple gestured toward the western gate with her chin, she looked.

Her world stopped spinning.

[Oh…]

There, bathed in morning light that somehow made her glow even brighter than the sun itself, stood an angel.

Not that Grace had ever seen one before, but she’d heard of them, and there was no mistaking what she was looking at. The massive white wings alone would have given it away, each feather edged in gold that caught the light like liquid fire. But it was more than that.

The angel wore armor that should have looked heavy, should have been intimidating, but instead it hugged her tall frame like it had been painted on, highlighting her elegant curves. Her skin tone was dark and her hair was the color of midnight, falling in waves past her shoulders, a stark contrast to the brilliance of her wings. Even from this distance, Grace could see how the angel’s mere presence commanded attention – everyone who walked past either stared openly or quickly looked away, as if afraid to be caught staring, even though she hardly acknowledged anything around her.

[Wow…] Grace thought, and then immediately wanted to smack herself. [No! Bad Grace! Stop staring! She’s probably here on important angel business and doesn’t need some tiny farmer girl gawking at her like—]

The angel’s head turned, and for one heart-stopping moment, their eyes met across the square.

Grace promptly dropped her bag of salt.

“Careful there, dear,” Old Lady Maple’s amused voice broke through her daze. “Though I can’t blame you. She’s been standing guard there since dawn, with that massive mace of hers. Quite the sight, isn’t she?”

“I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—I was just—” Grace scrambled to pick up her salt, face burning. “Is she… is she waiting for something?”

“Word is they’re expecting some kind of trouble,” Old Lady Maple said, her voice dropping lower. “But, well, if an angel decided to bless us with her presence, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Grace finally managed to tear her eyes away from the angel, who had thankfully turned her attention back to scanning the surroundings.

Old Lady Maple waved her hand dismissively.

“Now, you’re probably looking for plow parts too? Better hurry to the smith before he takes his mid-morning nap. You know how he gets!”

[Right! Mission! Focus!] Grace gathered her purchases and her scattered dignity.

“Thank you, ma’am!”

“Any time, dear! Try not to trip while staring at any more angels!”

Grace’s face burned as she hurried away, but she couldn’t help stealing one more glance at the western gate.

The angel was still there, still radiant, still completely out of place in their humble village. That brief moment where their eyes met flashed through her mind.

She looked away.

[Don’t be ridiculous,] Grace told herself firmly. [Angels don’t notice people like you. Besides, you’re here for supplies, not to daydream about beautiful women with wings who could probably lift you over their heads one arm and—NO! Salt acquired, moving on to plow parts! Focus!]

She squared her shoulders and marched determinedly toward the smithy, pointedly NOT thinking that woman in golden armor.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep