First Guests — The Orc Mercenary Band (1)
Orcs.
In most fantasy stories, they were treated as monsters.
But in this world, for all their barbarism, they were a proper demi-human race — intelligent beings, not classified as monsters at all.
…Why do I even know that?
Ah. Right.
The Dragon's Contract.
Just as Grace had shared in my knowledge, I had shared in hers.
And the orcs of this world… usually live in tribes, or else wander from place to place as mercenaries…
Which meant the orcs who had just walked into the inn were mercenaries.
The armor and weapons they wore made that plain enough — they practically screamed hired blade.
And right now, those same orcs had dumped some kind of meat they'd brought themselves onto our tables and were tearing into it with their bare hands, stuffing it into their mouths.
They really love their meat, huh.
No wonder they'd gotten angry when I apologized for not having any.
Still, they hadn't gone so far as to attack me over it. Small mercies.
"We have guests."
Grace came down the stairs after finishing the work of moving the artifacts upstairs and organizing them, and stepped up beside me.
"Yeah. They're just eating the meat they brought themselves, but…"
I opened the inn management status window.
"They're still guests."
Upgrade Condition: Receive a set number of guests
✓ CONDITION MET
And there it was — the condition for upgrading the inn, the requirement to receive a certain number of guests, marked as complete.
I'd assumed that being stuck in the Dragon Canyon would make upgrades impossible for a long time. Turns out it was easier than I'd expected.
"I can tell what you're thinking. Did you really believe no one ever crossed the Dragon Canyon?"
"…Wasn't that the case? You said it was one of the most dangerous places in the world."
"It is. Dragons live here. But dragons don't go out of their way to hunt down every single person who enters the canyon."
And those who already know that — people skilled enough to punch through the monsters that come out of this place — use the Dragon Canyon regularly.
"If you want to reach the other side without going through the canyon, you have to take a long detour around the northern or southern mountain ranges. Compared to that, risking the Dragon Canyon is better both in time and in money."
"I get the time part — cutting straight across instead of going the long way around. But better for money? What does that mean?"
"Taxes."
"Ah."
Taking the long way meant crossing other nations' borders, and that meant tariffs, tolls, and the like.
I was still listening to Grace's explanation when—
Thud!
Someone shoved the door open hard and walked in.
…One of their party?
It was an orc.
He'd arrived a little late, but he clearly belonged with the ones currently holding a drinking party on the first floor of our inn.
That said, the last orc to enter was different from the others — in dress, and in bearing.
"Hmm…"
He surveyed his drinking companions and the overall state of the inn, then walked over to me.
And then—
"For the repairs."
"…?"
He pressed silver coins into my hand.
"Repairs?"
"My companions damaged the furniture here."
At that, Grace and I both looked over at where the orcs were carousing.
…Chairs already cracking under orc weight. A table listing slightly under the pile of food they'd heaped on it. And a section of floor smashed where they'd dropped their weapons without a care.
"…I see."
Yeah. We were going to need that repair money.
I quietly pocketed the silver.
"Unexpected. I didn't think there were orcs who thought about things like that."
Grace regarded the orc who had given me the coins as she said it.
"We orcs revere strength. We honor duels, and we make dying in battle the purpose of our lives. That said, not every orc has to be that way. Mutants like me exist, after all."
A polite orc, was he?
That was how he answered Grace's question.
Then, as if it were his turn to ask something, he turned the question on us.
"By the way — even if this place only just opened, it's still an inn, isn't it? Why are my kin eating the food we brought instead of anything from here?"
"Ah, well…"
"Your people did barge in on your own, but the truth is this inn hasn't officially opened yet. So our only ingredients are grains."
I'd been about to fumble through an excuse, but Grace got there first — and smoother.
"No meat, then?"
"None. Once we open properly, we can hunt nearby, but for now we don't have any."
"Hmm…"
The polite orc fell silent for a moment, thinking over Grace's words.
Only briefly. Then, as if some calculation in his head had finished, he asked us another question.
"In that case — do you have a lot of grain?"
"We do. Rice, flour, corn… the storeroom is full of that sort of thing."
"Then let's make a deal."
At Grace's answer, the polite orc pulled a coin purse from his coat.
"I'd like to buy enough grain to fill the wagons we brought."
"Hmm… What do you think, Master?"
Instead of deciding herself, Grace deferred to me.
…I see.
The way she'd been reading my thoughts all this time, I felt like I could read hers right back.
In her judgment, selling our inn's grain was pure profit.
The grain that came out of the kitchen was effectively infinite, after all.
And more than that—
This is theater. She's putting on a show that I'm the master of this inn, and she's nothing more than an employee.
Personally, I'd have preferred to just leave everything to Grace. But she seemed to have decided that, long-term, it would be bad for her master — the inn's owner — to look like a pushover.
Fine. I'd play along with her intent.
"Before we sell… may I ask why you want to buy grain?"
Though not before asking the question that needed asking.
Looking at the orcs holding their feast over there, they clearly loved meat. So why go out of their way to buy grain?
"Hmm. You don't know much about the Demon King's Territory, do you."
…The Demon King's Territory?
Given that heroes existed, I'd figured a Demon King might exist too — but a whole territory?
It's in Grace's memories as well. Though even she doesn't seem to know much about it?
At most, the knowledge that if you came out the eastern side of the Dragon Canyon, you hit the Demon King's Territory. That was all.
"Before I explain… we came from Coreloot, west of the Dragon Canyon."
Coreloot.
According to Grace's knowledge, Coreloot was a small city west of the Dragon Canyon — a peculiar place that belonged to none of the neighboring nations.
Its defining traits… it sat in something like a buffer zone that kept four countries from going to war, and those same four countries often routed their trade through it, so commerce thrived. And—
With that much commercial traffic, the mercenary trade for caravan escorts thrived right along with it…
This orc mercenary band was one of those outfits, then.
"Like many demi-humans in Coreloot, we were discriminated against by humans. Plenty of merchants hired us on the principle that a mercenary only needs to do mercenary work well — but there were far more swindlers who just wanted to fleece us."
"……"
Given the image orcs had, people must have figured they were easy marks.
"So we couldn't take it anymore, and decided to return to our homeland — the Demon King's Territory. We sold the house we'd been living in, bought wagons, and planned to stock up on things rare in the Demon King's Territory before we left."
But—
"Once the merchants realized we'd bought wagons, they wouldn't sell us a thing. We only meant to go home. They decided a new competitor had appeared."
So we ended up hauling empty wagons through the Dragon Canyon on our way back to the Demon King's Territory.
"And then we found this inn."
"Hmm…"
And?
"You still haven't said why you want to buy grain."
"Because grain is rare in the Demon King's Territory."
At that, Grace tilted her head.
This was news to her as well.
"Constant war has left the land there barren. People mostly survive on meat from hunting monsters. Farming is a pipe dream."
"…So grain sells for a high price there."
"Exactly. And of course, considering we hauled it all the way through the Dragon Canyon, we intend to pay accordingly."
Something like… this much?
The orc said, and produced several gold coins.
"…Let's start by looking at the size of your wagons. We should check how much we can actually fill before anything else."
"Ah — of course."
At that, Grace and I followed the polite orc out of the inn, toward where the orc mercenary band's wagons stood.
…So there was a stable out here?
Calling it a stable was generous — it was little more than a roof for horses to get out of the sun — but a stable it was.
Come to think of it, the only time I'd stepped outside the inn was right after I'd been transferred to this world yesterday. I hadn't even known what the grounds looked like.
Wagons first. I can take in the scenery later, at my leisure.
Like it or not, I was going to be living here a long time.
"These are our wagons."
"Hmm… At this size…"
I ran the numbers in my head.
How much kitchen grain it would take to fill these wagons.
And what that grain would convert to in coin.
"…Factoring in transport costs, that's a fair price."
Before I could finish calculating, Grace spoke first.
Her math was faster than mine, apparently.
"Yes. I did my own calculations before making the offer."
"However…"
Grace shook her head at the orc's words.
"That would only be true if the grain our inn uses were ordinary."
"…You're saying the grain this inn uses is different from grain elsewhere?"
At Grace's words, the polite orc's eyes narrowed.
The look of a man who had just met a troublesome counterpart.
"I've heard it all before. People claiming their grain is higher quality so they can jack up the price. Are you the same?"
"No. The grain our inn uses really is high quality. You're welcome to check for yourself, if you'd like."
I looked at Grace.
What was she thinking, saying that?
"Ohh…!"
I watched the orc marvel at the wheat Grace had brought out.
"I see! I understand completely! Wheat with not a single grain of sand mixed in! And the other grains are the same?"
"Of course."
Grace smiled as she answered.
…Only then did I grasp what she'd meant by the grain being high quality.
So in this world, grain mixed with sand is the norm. Sand-free grain exists, sure — but only nobles and royalty ever get to touch it?