Mastery Is Earned

After finishing their training for the day, Raymond and Henk left Carter's home together. Instead of returning to the Blackstone Inn side by side, however, they parted ways halfway there.

With the hand-and-a-half sword at his waist, Henk walked alone toward the inn, his face cold. Every passerby regarded him fearfully and went out of their way to avoid him. Watching from a short distance away, Raymond shook his head bitterly.

It seemed Henk would need more time before he could truly become part of Blackstone.

Large numbers of outsiders had recently poured into the town, and the town guard required every armed stranger to register.

Because Henk had rendered distinguished service in wiping out the bandits' camp, Marcus had personally entered his name in the register, while the hand-and-a-half sword had been recorded as legitimate spoils. Otherwise, his half-orc identity and fearsome appearance alone would probably have caused patrolling guards to stop and question him at every intersection.

Raymond considered this as he walked toward the smithy. He had to reach it before sunset, or the work would be delayed by another day.

With nothing else to occupy him along the way, Raymond summoned the system panel and examined it carefully.

[Basic Swordsmanship Lv. 1 (84/100)]

[Basic Tracking Lv. 1 (11/100)]

Hm? His Basic Swordsmanship had already reached eighty-four? As his experience grew, its Proficiency should logically become harder to raise. Yet only two or three hours of training had increased it by two points.

The increase surprised Raymond. He wondered whether sparring with Henk had caused his Proficiency to rise so quickly. If so, sparring with Henk more often might be the right choice.

In truth, he did lack ways to deal with enemies who far surpassed him in both size and strength. Although he had once faced a Greater Goblin, it had already been badly wounded at the time, and Carter had kept it occupied. Raymond had only landed the killing blow after finding the right opportunity. As he was now, Raymond had no chance of defeating a Greater Goblin in a one-on-one fight.

The smithy was not far away, and he soon arrived.

When the owner saw Raymond again, the same genial smile appeared on his face. “Good to see you again, young man. What do you need this time?”

“I need a secondhand, lightly padded arming coat suitable for wearing beneath a coat of plates,” Raymond said.

The owner nodded as though he had expected this. He soon brought several used arming coats from the storeroom and laid them on the table for Raymond to choose from.

Choosing a used arming coat proved far less straightforward than choosing a secondhand weapon. As long as a weapon was properly maintained, it could generally be used without issue. An arming coat was different. Since it was worn close to the body, the shoulders, chest, back, and underarms all needed to fit correctly.

Of the garments before him, some were the wrong overall size, while others fit poorly across the shoulders, chest, or back. A poor fit in any of those areas would interfere with raising his arms or swinging a sword. In battle, minor details like these were often crucial.

Worst of all, long use had warped the garments to the shapes of their previous owners. They had also absorbed sweat over time from being worn against the skin. Though they had been washed clean, Raymond could still smell the odor embedded deep in the cloth.

Noticing Raymond's difficulty, the owner added at just the right moment, “I can have one made to your measurements. I work with a tailor's shop, and they can finish it for you in three days.”

Raymond fell silent. A comfortable, close-fitting arming coat was extremely important, especially when paired with the coat of plates he had seized. There could be no carelessness here. A secondhand garment made more sense financially, but in the long run, one made to measure would be the better investment.

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After weighing the matter, he asked cautiously, “About how much would it cost?”

“That naturally depends on exactly what you want.” The owner's eyes lit up. “It depends on whether you want dye, embroidery, or perhaps patterns that symbolize your courage and charm, as well as—”

Raymond cut him off. “I don't want any decoration without a practical purpose. It needs to fit well, be sturdy and resistant to wear, and work beneath a coat of plates. Lightly padded, as you know.”

“Very well.” The smith sighed. After a quick calculation, he said, “Two silver coins and twenty copper coins.”

Raymond had no objection. He promptly counted the coins from his purse and handed them over.

The smith sent an assistant to fetch the tailor he worked with. Only after the tailor carefully measured Raymond did he leave the smithy and head back to the Blackstone Inn.

Upon returning, Raymond first went to the private room Sophie had prepared for him. Its door could be locked from within, and it was far cleaner than the crowded, noisy communal bunkroom.

Raymond wiped himself down with a damp towel. Then he carefully honed his one-handed sword and shortsword with a whetstone, applied oil, wiped them clean with coarse linen, and returned them to their sheaths.

Only after finishing everything did he sit on the bed, pour out all the money remaining in his small cloth pouch, and count it in secret.

He now had twenty-three silver coins and a little over forty copper coins on hand, with another eighty copper coins left with Sophie as advance payment for food and lodging. Of course, he and Henk also jointly owned three cartloads of spoils and other goods that had yet to be sold.

After dressing and putting away his purse, Raymond headed for the stairs again.

It was already evening. Work had ended in many places, and quite a few people sat on the inn's ground floor. Most wore plain clothes and were covered in black grime. They devoured the simple food before them and occasionally burst into laughter.

Raymond raised an eyebrow. He looked around without seeing Henk or Teddy. Several lightly injured women with nowhere else to go were helping Sophie serve food and clear the tables.

Most patrons had heard what had happened to the women and knew Raymond and Henk were staying there. Sophie also kept a constant eye on the common room. Even if someone made a few flirtatious remarks after getting drunk, no one truly dared lay a hand on them.

Raymond passed through the crowd and sat at an empty table, casually stopping the little girl darting around with an empty plate. “Little One.”

The girl had been working so hard that her small face was flushed. Being stopped without warning startled her, and she only relaxed slightly when she saw Raymond. She pouted, a little indignant. “My name isn't Little One. I have a real name. I'm Mira.”

“You're still a little one to me, aren't you?” Raymond smiled faintly. “Go get me something to eat. I'm hungry.”

“Oh, all right.” Mira nodded. Her little face flushed as she stole a glance at Raymond and asked uncertainly, “What would you like?”

“Anything is fine. Let the innkeeper decide, but make sure there's plenty of meat,” Raymond said uncertainly. “You should eat with me. You need to eat more if you want to grow. You're far too small and thin.”

Mira seemed unhappy at that. She immediately turned, clutched the empty plate, and hurried away.

Raymond smiled to himself but said nothing more. He had no intention of deliberately lowering the quality of his meals. Plenty of meat would help restore his strength, support the intense training ahead, and improve his physique.

Before long, a freshly baked loaf of rye bread, a large bowl of lamb stew, and a cup of ale were brought before him.

The person carrying the food was Mira's mother, the young woman Raymond had rescued from the bandits. She appeared to be around twenty-five or twenty-six, with a somewhat full figure and delicate features. She spoke little, worked efficiently, and had a dependable nature, making her well liked by Sophie.

“I'm sorry, sir. Mira has caused you trouble again.” The woman spoke respectfully as she arranged the dishes.

“What trouble?” Raymond was confused. “Where is she?”

“She's hiding over there and sulking. She heard you thought she was too small and thin.” The woman hid a smile.

Raymond laughed awkwardly. “That isn't what I meant. Anna, please explain it to her. I was only asking whether she wanted to eat with me.”

“It's all right, sir. She's already eaten. We both have.” Anna wiped the sweat from her cheek and smiled shyly before returning to her work.

Raymond shook his head slightly and said no more, turning his attention back to the food.

This was not the same coarse bread filled with bran and cheap grains that Raymond had eaten before. It was made primarily from rye flour, with small amounts of ground oats and barley mixed in, giving it a dense, chewy texture.

The lamb in the stew had been cooked until tender, and there was plenty of meat. It also contained chunks of turnip and onion, along with soft-cooked beans. The broth was thick and savory, with tiny beads of fat floating across its surface.

Raymond tore off a piece of rye bread and dropped it into the stew. Once it had soaked up the broth and softened, he ate it. The aroma of grain mingled with the rich lamb fat, giving him a simple, comforting sense of satisfaction.

A swallow of ale cut through the richness in his mouth. Before long, Raymond had finished the large bowl of stew and the bread, draining the ale as well.

After sitting a while longer to digest, he slowly climbed to the second floor and returned to his room.

Lying on the bed, Raymond replayed his sparring match with Henk and considered how he might deal with an enemy who far surpassed him in both size and strength.

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