98: Field Inn

At this time, the Goresberte market already had twelve merchant teams, setting up tents of various sizes, arrayed along both sides of Wan'an Highway.

The twelve tents, like faded mushrooms, were scattered in the mud, their worn canvases flapping in the salty, cold wind.

The most eye-catching was undoubtedly the abrupt wooden house of a certain merchant group from Baldur's Gate—the rough fir planks still carried the raw scent of fresh resin, clearly a fast-built structure grown by magic.

I had Old Hather cordon off a large area, this street-front plot directly adjacent to the six faded tents on the north side.

I heard that when I paid the full security fee, the city official looked at me like I was insane—after all, a venue of this scale outside the city was usually reserved for temporary markets for passing merchant teams.

“Thirty-seven,” Randall relayed to me from Old Hather when he returned to the team this morning, “that’s the number of merchant teams that participated in the market on this day last year.”

The sound of seven horses simultaneously bending their knees was like a tide washing over gravel.

The knight escort formed this morning, with my luxurious carriage, continued north into the city.

The merchant team, however, stopped on the roadside outside the city and began to unload goods.

After entering Gorebest, we did not head directly for Feierde Inn in the town center, but instead, surrounded by the crowd, circled a large part of the city.

As the magnificent carriage rolled over the iris-patterned flagstones of the noble district, I deliberately leaned out again to greet the surrounding populace.

The gilded wheels arced in the warm winter sun, startling cats dozing on walls; those noble ladies peering from behind stained-glass windows would likely discuss this carriage rut all afternoon.

When the carriage rounded the shaded side of the obelisk, inscribed with the achievements of past city lords, it deliberately did not go in the direction of Feierde Inn, but instead turned into the wealthy community to the west and circled again.

By the time the carriage finally stopped beneath the mottled oak sign of Feierde Inn, all the idlers in the entire city had crowded along both sides of the long street.

Old Hather, who had been waiting at the inn entrance, directed ten hired soldiers from the Flame Fist Legion to form an iron human corridor from the inn entrance to the carriage door.

The innkeeper, accompanied by eight maids, unfurled their amber cloaks trimmed with rabbit fur, and marigold petals danced in a shower of flowers above the red carpet.

Randall led four armored soldiers, standing behind the maids, and their five long spears struck the ground three times in unison.

As I stepped onto the gilded footstool and landed, Randall shouted loudly, “The master of Cloud Mist Mountain Northern Foothills, the Dire Wolf Slayer, Friend of Nature, the genius mage—Lord Lion Black, has arrived!”

As his voice fell, it immediately caused a commotion among the crowd.

“Oh, Lord! This is Lord Lion Black! So young! So adorable!”

“morning light lord!” A washerwoman wrapped in a faded headscarf stood on tiptoe behind the knight’s spear tip, “His eyelashes are dusted with gold! Is he a Holy Son who walked out of a temple mural?”

“Tsk, isn’t he just a little brat… Ouch, why did you step on me, ouch…”

“Look at the dragon blood gemstones on Lord Black’s collar, those two alone could buy the entire street!”

“Look! The Holy Knight beside Lord Black, so handsome! So tall! I’m going to faint!” Two young women carrying vegetable baskets suddenly fainted into their companions’ arms.

“John! George! Look over here…”

Suddenly, a lute glissando echoed from within the inn lobby, and a bard spontaneously began to sing: “From the south rides a young lord, oh, his wealth is as numerous as the stars in the sky, his lands are so vast they cannot be seen… his cloak whips up a silver-salt wind…”

As Old Hather bent down to help me, his aged knuckles quickly scrawled a secret message in the folds of my cloak—his little finger was pointing to a scar-faced man in the crowd, wrapped in an Amn satin headscarf.

I raised a child’s characteristic innocent smile and scattered coarse salt grains from my palm to the nearest commoners, who immediately knelt to scramble for this pure, shining bounty.

Old Hather had booked half of the second floor.

This was an inn with a long history; those dusty crystal chandeliers were refilled with whale oil because of our arrival, and the oak staircase carved with spring hunting scenes creaked like century-old wine under the trampling of leather boots.

As I ascended the last step, surrounded by guards, my peripheral vision caught a sword mark left by a former city lord on the handrail; the dark red bloodstains congealed in that notch were as dazzling as the fresh salt crystals newly stained on my cuff today.

The moment Randall closed the gilded door, I fell backward into the goose-down pile of the four-poster bed, like a snake with its spine removed.

The silver-embroidered bed curtains stirred up dust particles like fine snow, which, in the evening light slanting into the full-length mirror, transformed into miniature wolf-shaped phantoms.

“It’s more tiring than just killing two Dire Wolves,” I mumbled to my distorted reflection in the mirror, “This is more exhausting than soloing an entire Phase Spider nest.”

The Holy Knight’s sword was propped against the gap in the pearl-inlaid drawer of the dressing table—where a half-nail of the previous occupant remained.

He individually flicked the brass bells behind the tapestries to test the sound, until one bell produced the dull thud characteristic of a hollow space. “At least three secret passages.” Randall tapped the carved bedpost with his scabbard.

I rolled over and stared at the faded image of the goddess Sune in the dome fresco. “Have the Flame Fist guard it,” my fingertips unconsciously caressed the dragon blood gemstones, “Tomorrow, I’ll have the Flame Fist commander come to discuss long-term cooperation. Old Hather will see me in a moment; I’ll personally brief him.”

The lingering clamor of the crowd drifted in from outside the wooden window. Randall lightly tapped the ceramic cup twice on the edge of the oak table, and a brown hot mist rose in the morning light.

He took a sip of the steaming drink; as his Adam’s apple bobbed, the holy emblem-inlaid necklace shimmered intermittently at the collar of his chainmail. “The laborers Old Hather hired have started building the wooden fence.” He pushed the ceramic cup towards me, wiping away the residual cocoa stain from the rim with his thumb, “But do you really intend to personally participate in the tower project? Those timbers…”

I took the still-warm ceramic cup; the rich bitterness of cocoa spread on my tongue, mixed with a faint hint of cinnamon. The coarse sugar grains settled at the bottom of the cup crunched between my teeth.

“A large, five-story building is not something ordinary craftsmen can complete in a short time.” I rotated the cup, “Hand over the poison-testing work to a suitable person as soon as possible. If both you and I fall, it will be a big joke.”

Randall’s heavy sword’s leather buckle clinked against his armor with a crisp sound. He walked to the door and then paused, the sunlight melting half of his silhouette into a pale gold. “Old Hather will see you in ten minutes, and we’ll leave through the secret passage in thirty minutes.” The silver-plated doorknob behind him gently swayed, shaking off a few years of accumulated dust.

The goose-down quilt beneath me had absorbed too much sunlight, as if it wanted to pull me back into the abyss of dreams.

It had been too, too long since I had slept on such a soft bed.

I suddenly bit the tip of my tongue and sat up; there was still much to do today.

The discarded noble youth attire was piled at the foot of the bed, and the Qiankun Ring spat out coarse linen clothes and old leather armor.

The three magic brooches were still hidden and worn inside my clothes.

When the last leather strap was buckled into the bronze clasp, the figure in the mirror had shed the lord’s grandeur.

The napped animal hide armor was patched, and the folds of the dusty cloak were still stained with mud.

The shadow cast by the hood perfectly covered everything above the bridge of my nose.

A knock on the door, accompanied by the distinct fresh scent of pine, drifted into the room. It must be Old Hather at this time. “Come in!” I called out.