📖 Chapter 8: The Road to the Town
The sack felt heavier after the first mile.
At the beginning, Akshy had adjusted it easily on his shoulder, his steps steady, his breathing controlled. It didn't seem like much.
But the further he walked, the more the weight began to settle into his body.
Not suddenly.
Slowly.
The road stretched ahead in a long, uneven line of dust and loose stones. It wasn't empty—just quiet. Every now and then, a bullock cart passed by, or a man walked in the opposite direction, glancing briefly before moving on.
No one stopped.
No one asked questions.
Akshy didn't mind.
He needed the silence.
This is the real cost.
The thought came as he shifted the sack slightly, easing the pressure on his shoulder.
In the village, the price difference had looked simple.
Buy low.
Sell higher.
But the road—
The distance—
The time—
All of it was part of the price.
His steps slowed just a little.
Not because he wanted to stop—
But because his body was reminding him of its limits.
This wasn't the life he had lived before.
There were no cars.
No quick transport.
No shortcuts.
Just effort.
After some time, he stepped to the side of the road and set the sack down.
Dust rose slightly as it hit the ground.
He rolled his shoulder once, then again.
The strain was real.
For a few seconds, he simply stood there, looking ahead.
The town wasn't visible yet.
But he knew the direction.
In the future, this distance would feel nothing.
That thought came without pride.
Without regret.
Just fact.
Roads would improve.
Transport would change.
Time would shrink.
But right now—
This was what existed.
Akshy bent down and lifted the sack again.
This time, he adjusted it better.
Closer to balance.
Less strain on one side.
Small changes.
But they mattered.
The sun rose higher.
The air grew warmer.
By the time the first signs of the town appeared, his shirt was damp with sweat.
Not from fear.
From effort.
The town was not large.
But compared to the village, it felt different immediately.
More movement.
More sound.
More people.
Small shops lined the road.
Some sold grains.
Others sold tools, cloth, or daily items.
Voices overlapped.
Deals happened openly.
Akshy slowed his steps as he entered.
He didn't rush forward.
Instead, he watched.
That was his first instinct.
Not to act—
But to understand.
A man nearby was arguing over price.
Another was weighing grain carefully on a balance scale.
A third one simply sat, observing everything with sharp eyes.
This is different.
The village had only one buyer.
Here—
There were many.
But that didn't mean it was easier.
If anything, it meant the opposite.
Akshy walked toward a grain shop.
Not the biggest one.
Not the smallest either.
Just enough to start.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and sharp features.
His eyes moved quickly—taking in the sack, the dust on Akshy's clothes, the way he stood.
This was not his first time judging someone.
"What do you have?" the man asked.
"Wheat," Akshy replied.
The man nodded toward the scale.
"Put it there."
Akshy did as told.
The sack landed with a dull sound.
The man opened it, checked the grains, rubbed a few between his fingers.
"Hmm," he said.
That single sound carried more meaning than words.
"Not bad," he added. "Where are you from?"
"Nearby village," Akshy said.
The man nodded again.
Then he named a price.
Akshy listened carefully.
It was higher than the village price.
But not by much.
Not as much as he had expected.
For a moment, he said nothing.
So this is how it works.
The gap existed—
But it wasn't wide open.
There were layers.
Middlemen.
Transport.
Negotiation.
Everything reduced the difference.
The man looked at him. "Well?"
Akshy took a small breath.
If he accepted immediately—
He would earn something.
If he refused—
He might find better.
Or nothing at all.
Don't rush.
That thought came firmly this time.
He shook his head slightly.
"I'll check a few more places."
The man didn't seem surprised.
He tied the sack loosely and pushed it back.
"As you wish."
No pressure.
No reaction.
But his eyes followed Akshy as he picked it up again.
Outside, the noise of the market felt louder now.
Akshy walked slowly.
Not looking lost—
But not confident either.
Because this—
This was new.
Not the idea.
But the experience.
He stopped near another shop.
Then another.
Prices changed slightly.
Not by much.
But enough to show something important.
The difference is small… but real.
And more importantly—
It can be improved.
His grip tightened slightly on the sack.
This wasn't failure.
But it wasn't success either.
It was something in between.
And that was enough for now.
Because for the first time—
Akshy wasn't guessing anymore.
He was learning.
📖 End of Chapter 8