The Life of a Commoner
The night sky in this world was vastly different from my previous life. Was it because of the moon's unusual color? Instead of a faint yellow glow, it shimmered with a pale blue hue, standing out sharply against the inky black sky tinged with a bluish sheen. The white stars gleamed vividly in contrast. The Milky Way in one corner of the sky looked nothing like the one back home either. If my old world's galaxy had been whites, silvers, and pale yellows, this one ranged from light cyan to silvery blue. It felt like silver dust spilling over blue silk.
At our campsite, where the bonfire crackled under the blue moon, the flames burned an especially vivid red. The orange reflections danced against the cold shadows draped in deep indigo, breathing life into the objects around us. Standing quietly at the edge where firelight met moonlight, watching my surroundings, it all felt surreal—like I wasn't living in this world but admiring a high-quality illustration somewhere.
But no matter how stunning the scene, stare at it long enough and it becomes ordinary. After over an hour on watch during our first campout, the awe from that initial night view had vanished without a trace.
Ah, I want to sleep.
Aura kept my body from tiring, but mentally, I was a bit drained. Even if they were harmful beasts, killing living creatures with my own hands for the first time must have shaken me more than I realized. Hours later, the sensation of slicing through that wolf with my sword still lingered vividly. How long would it take to get used to this?
I checked the hourglass by the fire. It was on its fourth flip since I started watch, and once the remaining sand ran out, it would be time to switch. Each flip was about thirty minutes, and with half the sand left, I had less than five minutes.
I zoned out staring at the flames until the sand finished, then woke the next soldier and found a spot to lie down. I pulled my cloak over me and closed my eyes.
*
We cleaned the wolf byproducts overnight and dried them near the river, then loaded them onto the cart at dawn and headed back to the village. Normally, we'd patrol for two nights and three days straight, but we had to process the wolf parts before they spoiled, so we returned early. We'd accomplished our goal enough for this patrol to end ahead of schedule.
Unlike the outbound trip, we took the road cutting through the fields, probably so the farmers heading out to work could see what was on the cart.
Half a day later, we were back in Bayfort Village. We passed through the palisade gate and the guard post, following the path up to the manor.
As we neared the square, passersby murmured at the cart loaded high with goods. The patrol soldiers pulling the cart strutted more proudly than usual, chests puffed out as they marched down the main road. I overheard them whispering behind us about hitting the tavern for drinks if they got their bonuses.
They must've thought Sir Roland Ashford and I couldn't hear. A minor side effect of aura.
We arrived at the manor quickly. The gatekeeper swung the doors open and bustled off to inform the steward. We pulled the cart up to the entrance and waited, and soon Hermann emerged with a servant in tow.
"You've worked hard, Sir Roland."
"Haha! We got lucky this time. Found traces on the first day."
While Hermann and Sir Roland talked, the servant inspected the wolf byproducts on the cart. According to the territory's hunting laws, spoils from beasts killed inside the fief belonged to the lord, so no one else could sell them freely. You'd bring them to the lord's manor like this, and he'd—or his agent—award a standard bounty based on the haul.
This time, the external patrol had bagged two alphas, one adult, two juveniles, and two pups. Seven wolves total.
The steward nodded at the servant's report on the carcasses and handed out pouches to each patrol member.
I opened mine: four coins glinting silver in the sunlight.
With my enhanced senses, I caught the rest—Sir Roland got seven silvers, I got four, and each soldier four coppers.
Sixteen coppers to a silver, right? That came to about twelve silvers total. Decent money, but...
From what I'd learned, I didn't know the exact bounty per wolf, but just those hides, properly tanned and sold, would fetch at least sixty silvers. Wolf meat wasn't eaten due to parasite risks and people wasting away after—though excluding that, the bones and tendons could make quality glue and bring in good coin.
Even subtracting labor and processing costs, it'd be five times the bounty.
...They make a killing.
Treating the bounty like a flat tax made sense. The lord could commandeer territory craftsmen for free, basically corvée labor—no wages needed.
Was that why Dad was always out on extermination runs?
To sell beast carcasses from outside the village at full value, you'd have to haul them to a city. Big places had too many people for lords to collect spoils one by one, so they levied tariffs at the gates instead. Those were set reasonably high to avoid scaring off merchants... or so a trader who'd visited the village told me.
But even the nearest city was three days away on average, so unless you killed nearby, spoilage would tank the value en route. In a village like this, handing spoils to the lord for a bounty was the best shot at any profit.
Once the payouts were done, we left the cart and scattered to our duties. The soldiers, grinning ear to ear over their coin, chattered noisily as they headed downhill—straight to the tavern to eat, drink, and brag, just like they'd planned.
Professional soldiers were solid earners. Pay varied by manor, but here it was about fifteen silvers a month. Eight coppers a day, so their four-copper bonus wasn't huge.
Yet they were thrilled, and there was good reason.
A typical household needed rations for four. Kids ate less than adults but more than two made it average out. Skimping hard on grain (bread), meat, and beer for bare-minimum meals ran about four silvers monthly. Add housing, firewood for cooking and heat, clothes to make or mend: two for rent, one for wood, one for fabric and thread.
Village facilities like the mill and communal well charged fees; the temple required tithes. That bundled to another silver. Weapon and armor upkeep was out-of-pocket, plus emergency funds for illness or mishaps—another silver.
Total minimum: ten silvers a month. And that was bare minimum.
For a bit more comfort, decent clothes, and basic schooling (reading, writing, arithmetic) for the kids: one to one-and-a-half more for food, one for clothes, half a silver per kid at the temple. For three kids average, four extra silvers. Fourteen total.
Advanced vocational training added half a silver for soldier or craftsman paths, one for clerical work. Squeeze that in for one or two kids, and nothing left.
Four coppers extra was breathing room—pure surplus after feeding the family. No wonder they were pumped; they could blow it on fun.
I glanced at my pouch. Four silvers.
The kind of money those soldiers would have to scrimp and save months for in daily life.
I didn't get a salary like them, but the manor covered food, shelter, and clothes. Ask Hermann, and most goods were free. I got three silvers pocket money monthly, and bonuses like this were all gravy.
Just saving quietly, I'd have over two hundred silvers before leaving home. A lifetime's savings for a skilled commoner, maybe.
The class gap hit hard.
If I took a regular commoner job after knighthood, I'd scrape by like them—tightening my belt forever.
The thought led straight to one conclusion.
I can't work for anyone else.
Buy a farm with serfs, run a caravan for arbitrage—whatever. I needed to employ people, create value myself. Labor was too cheap here; slaving as a wage earner or freelancer like my old life meant lifelong poverty.
If I didn't want to grind like before, I had to build a foundation to live off.