The Value of 597 Oat Breads
After passing the checkpoint, Betten handed his wagon over to the guardsman in charge.
He pressed a few copper coins into the man’s hand and asked him to take especially good care of it, then came back to the rest of the party.
“Why don’t we eat first? There’s a restaurant nearby that I know.”
“No. I think we’d better part ways here.”
“What? Is it because of the money? Don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for whatever you order. I can’t accept money from my lifesaver.”
As if to prove his sincerity, he thumped his chest with a fist.
“I’ll accept your kindness, but I’m afraid what we consider a proper meal and what you consider one are probably very different, Mister Betten.”
“Oh… is that so? Last time I checked, the clergy seemed to eat the same things as everyone else.”
“I’m a pilgrim.”
The words came out in a firm tone that left no room for argument.
“Ah, I see. I didn’t know. Then I’ll buy you a meal some other time, if the chance ever comes. And this is just a small token of my gratitude.”
Accepting the refusal, Betten pulled a pouch from inside his coat.
“I won’t refuse. May the Goddess’s blessing go with you on your next journey as well.”
“May the Goddess’s blessing go with you, too.”
“And may the Goddess’s blessing go with the two of you as well. I really am grateful for this!”
They left Betten behind, waving energetically at them.
In one way or another, he was likely to be remembered as a remarkably friendly man.
Once his figure disappeared into the crowd, Lenard took the pouch he had been carrying and passed it to Lawrence.
“Keep it.”
“What about you, Lenard?”
“Didn’t you see the checkpoint? Money’s no use on the pilgrim’s road. This will help you more than it will help me, since you’re the one who’s going to be walking a harsher path.”
“...Thank you. I’ll take it gratefully.”
“It’s polite to refuse at least once, you little brat.”
Lenard gave a snort that sounded like he didn’t find it funny in the slightest.
Lawrence answered with an awkward smile of his own.
“Are you setting out on the pilgrim’s road now, Lenard?”
“I have to. It took longer than I expected. I’ll need to pick up the pace.”
“I’m sorry. I only slowed you down.”
“Put that apology away. This was my decision. The responsibility’s mine and mine alone. You don’t need to carry it, you little punk.”
His cold, sneering voice seemed to be mocking himself as much as anyone else.
It was almost as if he went looking for hardship on purpose.
They hadn’t even spent a month together.
And yet Lawrence felt as though he understood Lenard completely now.
“I’ve got one piece of advice for you, since you’re about to start walking a hard road yourself.”
“I’ll take it to heart.”
“Don’t trust people too much. The world isn’t full of simple, decent souls like the ones at Saint Charmant Monastery. If anything, it’s more like a monster that’s always looking for a chance to tear into you.”
“Do I look that easy to fool?”
He wasn’t saying that because he knew Lawrence well.
The boy had spent his childhood drifting through back alleys to survive.
He knew from long experience that people couldn’t be trusted.
“Don’t bristle. Just remember it. The more a kid thinks he’s clever, the worse that tendency gets. Pride makes you hate admitting it, so you keep falling for your own tricks over and over.”
“……”
Lawrence swallowed the retort that had risen hot and sharp to his throat.
If he got angry here, it would be as good as admitting Lenard’s jab had hit the mark.
At least he seemed to know money mattered, which was a relief. If he went to the mercenary guild, he would find out quickly enough that a Wood Plate mercenary could only do so much. Still, if he worked honestly, he could at least scrape together enough to keep his stomach full.
“Lenard already told me that the by-products monsters leave behind can be sold for money. If it comes to it, I’ll just go out and hunt an Under Wolf or two.”
“Act your age, you little brat. First you need to stay alive before you can start regretting things.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He hadn’t meant for it to sound so mocking, but somehow it did.
As if Lawrence’s reaction didn’t matter either way, Lenard reached into his coat and took out something else.
It was a sheet of pristine white paper, carrying the refined feel of something expensive.
Sealed with red wax, it was a letter.
“If you don’t have anywhere to go, find the nearest monastery or temple. Show them this letter, and at the very least they won’t turn you away.”
“Lenard….”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. The letter was written by that Blackwell bastard. Well, he did say it was up to me whether I gave it to you.”
“Thank you. I’ll never forget this kindness.”
Lawrence tucked the letter carefully inside his robe.
It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet he felt a strange warmth lingering in the paper, enough to make the corners of his eyes sting.
“If you’ve got time later, stop by a holy site or something. The Goddess will be waiting for you.”
Lenard hoisted the sack he had set down over his shoulder.
“See you around, Lawrence. May the Goddess’s blessing be with you, Vilma.”
Did the pilgrim, so cynical even toward himself, realize it?
That today was the first time he had called the boy by his name.
“Yes. I’ll be praying that the Goddess’s blessing goes with you too, Lenard. And please don’t smoke too much tobacco. It’s bad for your health.”
“You’re ten years too early to be giving me advice, you little brat.”
Lenard, who had absentmindedly moved a hand toward the tobacco in his coat, let out a rough laugh.
The wandering man who always seemed to know where the road led left Lawrence behind just like that.
He couldn’t lift his head until the older man’s back had vanished from sight.
He had received so much.
The friends he’d made in Hilton Village.
The kindness of the innkeeper and his wife.
The goodwill and generosity he had been shown at Saint Charmant Monastery.
All of it had turned into courage and given a gentle push to the small back of a boy standing at the edge of the road.
A handful of unease, and a pulse of anticipation beating hard in his chest.
Now the boy stood before the wide world.
* * *
Now that he was alone, Lawrence checked his money first.
In the pouch Betten had given him as payment, copper coins were piled so high that silver flashed through them here and there.
Added to the wages he’d carefully saved from the inn, it came to a staggering total of about 5 silver and 97 copper.
It was more money than he had ever held in his life.
At the price of one copper for an oat bread, that meant he could buy 597 of them.
The number was so absurd that he shook his head before he even realized he was doing it.
For a boy who had once rummaged through trash because he couldn’t scrape together even a single copper, it was a shocking amount in every sense.
Both Betten and Lenard, who had casually handed over such a sum, were beyond the reach of Lawrence’s common sense.
Still, there was no room for waste.
Once money started moving, it vanished like water.
For the time being, he would make Redantus his base.
He needed firsthand experience to understand what mercenary work was really like.
He also wanted a safe place where he could practice magic without worrying about other people’s eyes.
If he planned to fight monsters, equipment mattered too.
A crossbow was undeniably a good weapon, but it was practically useless in close combat.
If he had to choose, a sword or spear would be better.
Or maybe even a shield.
The problem was how to afford it.
But with enough money to buy 597 oat breads, he honestly wasn’t worried all that much.
He intended to stay at an inn for the night.
Lenard had told him to visit a monastery or temple if things got tight, but Lawrence had just escaped one monastery and wanted, if possible, to stay out from under the Church’s shadow for a while.
More importantly, Lawrence was a mage.
He wasn’t an apprentice priest, nor a novice cleric, and he had no desire to become a pilgrim.
Then, all at once, a magic shop came to mind.
In a town this size, there was probably a shop that dealt in spellbooks.
It would be a lie to say he had no desire to learn other kinds of magic.
So far, the only magic he had learned through the dream world was Shadow and Fire.
If there really was a magic shop, he might even get to see another mage in person.
Not someone on the level of the great mage Reano that Lenard had spoken of, perhaps, but maybe someone who could answer the questions of a boy who had only just stepped onto the road of magic.
Yes. Once he had secured a room, he would go looking for a magic shop first.
Finding a decent inn wasn’t difficult.
Lawrence had been working in inns since he was little, so he knew what to look for.
An inn’s appearance mattered, of course, but it was just as important to watch how often the guests came and went.
Some places attracted customers who only stopped in to eat, much like an ordinary restaurant.
Those places were usually cleaner, too.
No business cleaned as often as an inn did.
If a place could keep customers by being known as clean, that was practically enough to get by.
After watching quietly for a while, he decided the inn nearest the square seemed to be the best of the bunch.
The finest inn was over in the busier district, but the lodging fee looked brutal, so he let that one go without hesitation.
He couldn’t forget this: no matter how good the facilities were, if they cost too much, the tail would wag the dog.
“A night’s lodging is 10 copper. Breakfast and dinner will cost you another 4 copper. If you want bathwater as well, that’ll be 1 copper more.”
Expensive.
The moment he heard the price, he failed to keep his face steady.
The meal cost, at least, was within a range he could understand.
In fact, the food the guests were eating didn’t look shabby at all.
“How much would you take off if I stayed for a month?”
Fortunately, Lawrence had once watched a peddler haggle while staying at an inn, so he had some secondhand experience to work with.
Combined with the very real problem of money, the boy’s voice turned serious.
“8 copper. No more than that.”
“Come on, make it 5. I’ll add breakfast and dinner on top of that.”
“Then I’ll knock off one more copper. With meals included, that makes 11 a day.”
“8 seems fair. It’s not like you have many long-term guests anyway, is it? It feels like it’d be better to have the room occupied than to leave it empty.”
“10 copper. If you don’t like that, find somewhere else.”
He wasn’t going to haggle any more.
When the innkeeper’s voice sharpened, Lawrence gave a step of his own in return and yielded.
“All right. Then 10 copper a day it is.”
He paid 3 silver for lodging, which was half of everything he owned.
The innkeeper snatched up the silver the instant Lawrence handed it over.
“Room 211.”
“Thank you.”
Taking the key, Lawrence climbed to the second floor.
Once he found the room and unpacked his things, a sigh escaped him all at once.
Three silver.
Three silver for a room to sleep in.
Did this room really have the value of 300 oat breads?
All his life, he probably hadn’t once spent more than 1 copper at a time, and now the pain in his chest felt so sharp it was almost enough to bring blood to his eyes.
The room itself was fairly clean.
There was a bed and a desk. On the desk sat a nearly burned-down candle as well.
There was also a wooden basin for washing up, which was probably the bathwater the innkeeper had mentioned.
Would it have been better, in the end, to swallow his pride and simply lean on the Church?
Lawrence shook his head.
No. That wasn’t right.
It stung, but this too was part of the cost of standing on his own.
And besides, the money he had now was an unexpected stroke of luck.
Even if he hadn’t had it, he would still have taken a room at an inn.
There might have been some difference in how long he could stay, but still.
Thinking about it that way made the stone on his chest feel a little lighter.
He raised the wooden window frame.
The view from the room, looking out over the busy street, wasn’t bad at all.
The forest beyond the city wall was hidden by the absurdly high barrier, but the streets full of passing people were enough of a sight on their own.
After putting his belongings in order, Lawrence secured the door and went back downstairs.
Maybe because it was after lunchtime, the dining hall, where plates were being cleared away, felt a little quiet.
A few customers were still eating a late meal.
He found a seat near the counter and sat down.
“What menu items are famous here?”
The innkeeper glanced at Lawrence and answered.
“...I don’t sell liquor to brats.”
Laughter broke out around him.
Feeling his face heat up, Lawrence looked at the dishes other customers were eating.
Bread and soup. There was also smoked meat, the sort served alongside drinks as a snack.
“I’ll have the oat bread and a bowl of hot soup. Oh, and a glass of milk too.”
“Look at the little brat asking for milk instead of liquor!”
“Wahaha!”
“Milk’s good for you. Just don’t drink too much or it might make you drunk!”
...Maybe the problem was that he had driven the lodging price down to the barest edge of decency after all.
Despite the mocking tone, the meal was excellent.
Oat bread was always a little dry, so that was to be expected.
But the soup, with pork in it, soaked warmly into a body that had spent so long on the road living off dried meat.
And when he finally washed it down with a glass of milk that tasted like something he had missed for far too long, strength began to return to him at last.
“Can I ask you something?”
“If it’s an extra order, you’re welcome to it.”
The voice carried the pride of a man who knew his food was good.
He did feel a little guilty about the room rate. Since he was already at it, Lawrence ordered another bowl of the same soup and asked the innkeeper,
“Do you happen to have a magic shop around here?”
“A magic shop?”
Just from ordering another bowl of soup, the innkeeper’s attitude had already softened.
But only for a moment.
Then an incredulous smile crept onto his face.
“What in the world would a place like this have a magic shop for?”
“There isn’t one?”
“You have to look for what actually exists. I can tell you this much for sure: if a magic shop came to this backwater, it wouldn’t last a month before going under.”
That was an unexpected answer.
“It’s that unpopular? A magic shop sounds like the kind of place that would have plenty of customers.”
“What nonsense is that? It’s because it’s expensive, obviously. From what I hear, the goods in a magic shop are priced however they feel like charging. Do you think there are many travelers in this town who’d be willing to spend that kind of money? Of course not.”
The answer was brutally practical.
He had been wondering just how expensive “expensive” could be, but it seemed a magic shop needed far more money than Lawrence had imagined.
“It costs that much?”
“A magic book alone would probably cost anywhere from a few gold to dozens of silver. You must not know the first thing about how expensive anything tied to magic is.”
“……”
Lawrence was left speechless.
Gold…?
He had only just gotten his hands on silver, and even spending that had felt like bleeding from the eyes.
This was no time to be disappointed that there wasn’t a magic shop.
Now that he was out of the monastery, the problem he had forgotten had come back to him in the most real way possible.
To live in this world,
to learn knowledge,
you needed money.
Magic was no different.
He had forgotten that, because he’d lived inside monastery walls for so long.
In the end, this world was ruled by money.