I Need to Make Money (1)
In capitalist societies, they say money is the crystallization of blood and sweat. But in this fantasy world where life is cheaper than dirt, money holds a far more straightforward meaning: survival and reward. No matter how much hell you go through or how close you come to a knife in the back, the moment your pockets get heavy, all those memories get brain-corrected into tolerable little mishaps. That's the power of financial therapy. And there's one ironclad rule in this business: if you've earned it, spend it. The proverb "save it and it'll turn to shit" isn't a metaphor here—it's damn near physical law. So the money you've risked your life for? Pour it without mercy into your gut and comfort right now. The fanciest, the most luxurious. Not that I'm rationalizing some gluttonous urge to chew fatty meat and roll in a plush bed or anything. No, this is a thorough, rational reinvestment for tomorrow's survival.
"I'm heading out."
"Huh? This late? We've still got one night paid for."
"The service here is the absolute worst."
"What did you say?!"
Ditching the remaining night at a cheap inn—pure luxury.
"No refunds, so figure it out yourselves! Tch, broke asses always so picky!"
The innkeeper blew up at my jab, but whatever. We had enough cash now for 216 nights at a dump like this.
"Iris, that was too harsh. Grandpa always said not to be so sharp-tongued."
On the way out, Evel scolded me gently. Her words hit me like a shock. No way. Thinking about it, yeah—she was right. My attitude just now was miles from the respect Zepeto always stressed. But self-reflection only needs three seconds. I found the perfect scapegoat right away.
"Dusty, you bastard, I told you to cut it out. Using my mouth for that rude crap again."
I smacked my left arm a few times. This was my go-to ultimate responsibility-shift skill from the cabin days. Dumping all the blame on a speechless eye-monster? Ruthless, but it worked wonders on the innocent forest girl.
"Dusty, you again? Keep it up and you're in trouble!"
Evel's arrow turned straight to Dusty. Just as Zepeto and I hoped, she'd grown up keeping that pure, untainted innocence from childhood intact.
Woooong—
I ignored the aggrieved vibration crawling up my left arm and headed to our next stop. We'd said goodbye to the cheap inn, so now it was time for a new nest. One with comfy single beds per person and delicious meals!
"Let's go, Evel."
"Yeah."
The districts of labyrinth city Anomaly divide like this. First, the eastern district where we once went with Sigurd for that Red Beard gang job. Aka the "sewers." Third-rate mercenaries scraping by day-to-day, peddlers with their packs, and a slum-lawless zone where crime and backstabs happen like breathing. The sour stink of cheap ale, blood, and rancid sweat everywhere. Oh, and the inn we just left? Eastern district too. Not the real deep-slum core, sure—leaning toward the central commercial area—but still a rock-hard bed and watered-down stew extension of the sewer.
The western district? Total opposite. Wealthy big-merchant caravans, nobles, top-tier successful adventurers strutting the streets. Even the pavement's smooth-cut marble, magic lamps blazing day and night.
Which fits us better? Obvious.
We're Heart Image mages, after all. Gotta keep some dignity. We headed west.
No hard border, but soon the feel underfoot changed. Slick marble pavement instead of squelchy dirt. And the smells? Pure bliss. Buttery aroma, premium meat grilling.
"Smells so good!"
Evel's violet eyes sparkled. Destination: heart of the western bustle. Any fancy inn fit for us would do. Dinner time was closing in, so grab a room, drop bags, eat—all at once. From here on, single beds per person in comfort, meals sliced fresh by a dedicated chef. Top-shelf only.
We stopped at the flashiest lodging in the western strip, a building so grand it felt more mansion than inn.
Golden Lion Pavilion
Chandelier light poured through the full-glass windows. Perfect for us.
Stepping in, a plush red carpet lobby welcomed us. A sweaty man—manager, probably—rushed over.
"Uh, guests? Sorry, but this isn't a place for beggars..."
Classic door-bounce based on looks. But instead of groveling or raging, I pulled a leather pouch from my robe.
Take this: 3 gold coins, 6 silver. Enough for 216 nights at that eastern dump...!
Clink clink.
The manager stared at my life savings scattered on the counter, then cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Ahem. Sir..."
"Yes."
"Terribly sorry, but our standard rooms start at 5 gold per night."
"That expensive?"
"Er..."
"How about this, then."
Thud.
I plunked the Minotaur's magic stone from my pack onto the counter. His eyes widened in surprise, then a pro smile slid on.
"This... third-stratum gatekeeper grade. Size and purity? Easily over 20 gold—top quality."
Nice, a high-end manager with an eye for it. I puffed my chest.
"That covers it, right? Best suite, meals included."
But he didn't grab it—instead, a troubled smile, hands clasped politely.
"Your funds are more than proven, sir... but entry's still impossible. Terribly sorry."
"Why?"
He couldn't tsk outright, but his eyes politely scanned my worn robe and Evel's mud-caked hem.
"We serve nobles and caravan lords. The rates cover premium hot mana baths, perfect security, and above all, a 'dignified environment.'"
"Dignity."
"Yes. Sorry, but with your... heavy labyrinth traces, even full payment won't allow entry. Can't discomfort other VIPs. No exceptions—please understand."
Beating around the bush: got money, but you look like beggars, so scram.
I quietly swept up the stone and coins. Grabbed Evel's hand, walked out the front door.
Just you wait, Golden Lion Pavilion. I won't forget this.
We're Heart Image mages.
Everyone from Oldmill Town kids knows how scary a mage's grudge can be. I pulled parchment, etched "Golden Lion Pavilion" at the top of my "Someday Payback List." Sigurd's second, FYI. I'll be back someday.
"...Evel, let's go."
"Yeah."
Anyway. We'd confirmed our funds weren't western-rich yet. Luxury later. We turned to a decently clean street a few blocks off.
Stares stuck like glue the whole way. "What're those beggars doing here?" Gross. We're no beggars. Heart Image mages. This city disrespects mages way too much.
"Clothes first."
Appearance was the issue. Not fancy, but clean enough not to stand out. Picked a plain shop, bought some decent robes. Total: 1 gold, 4 silver.
Left: 2 gold, 2 silver. A few outfits, and 216 cheap nights dropped to 132.
Next, a neat-looking inn a few more blocks. No Golden Lion grandeur, but worlds from eastern dumps—cozy 3-story wooden build.
Blue Moonlight Inn
"7 nights, meals included."
"2 gold."
I slapped 2 gold on the counter coolly. Now left: 2 silver. 132 cheap nights to 12 in a flash.
"Room's second floor, end of the hall. Make yourselves at home. Meals anytime downstairs."
Dropped bags, headed down for dinner. Sizzling hot plate: two thick bone-in ribeye steaks steaming up. Roasted veggies, fresh white bread's nutty scent hitting hard.
"Iris! Meat!"
Evel's eyes lit up like stars. Mine too. Forks and knives in hand, we savored a real meal at last. Worlds from watered meat stew. Juices burst, butter caressed the tongue.
"Nngh..."
This oily bliss filling my mouth. We demolished one plate, then three more, before setting down forks.
"Thanks for the feast."
Patched bellies thumping, up to our room. Soft, clean single beds—not even comparable to eastern rocks. Single beds per person, comfy and cozy!
"Evel, shower and bed."
"Yeah... so full..."
Hot mana shower done, we burrowed into crisp sheets all fresh. Drowsy fatigue rolled in, but 2 silver left nagged. Whatever. Like I said: rational reinvestment for tomorrow. And rooms-plus-meals? Total steal!
Money? Earn more in the labyrinth. Got the Minotaur stone for emergencies.
Then it hit through the haze. Wait. Earn in the labyrinth?
Sure, kill enough monsters, profits are fat. Magic stones are universal cash cows—80% of adventurers' income.
But me? Different story. Got Dusty.
Others hunt, profit direct. Me? Hunt needs Dusty, Dusty burns fuel, hungry Dusty devours loot stones. Hunt → Dusty stamina drain → stone munch → profit poof. Miracle loss cycle.
Can I even dive tomorrow?
Realignment. That word flashed.
Worse: labyrinth closed tomorrow. Guild guy said realignments take at least ten days.
Ten days. I paid for 7. 2 silver left.
...Math don't add up.
Labyrinth shut, 3 days' room and board empty. No choice. Hit guild tomorrow, sell Minotaur stone. Fee sucks, but better than cheap inn...
Then—
—Woooong.
Familiar buzz from under the left-arm bandages.
'......'
No way. Nah. Just imagination. Ate tons of stones in there. Should last 2-3 days at least.
—Woooong! Wooong wooong!
But this pissy vibration? Cabin-days classic. Hunger protest.
"Why the hell so soon!"
I kicked off the covers and bolted up.