Chapter 21
I woke up around lunchtime the next day.
“Good afternoon. Breakfast is 1 copper.”
“Ah, fuck, I forgot.”
“Heh heh heh heh.”
Last night, I stopped by the bathhouse, returned to the inn, worked on my thesis, and went to sleep. I had held out without any caffeine and then passed out the moment I got into bed, so the thought that I should eat breakfast never even occurred to me.
‘This is why you shouldn't eat out.’
Other people make 20 coppers last a month, but I think I've already spent a goddamn 30 coppers.
Now I understand the plight of those low-level adventurers who work 3-copper day jobs every day without a day off. This is why they live in 1- or 2-copper inns, prepared to be stabbed in their sleep.
‘Or am I just bad at managing money?’
That was probably part of it too.
This was the sorrow of an outsider. With no fixed income and no home, money just kept flowing out. Starting tomorrow, I should buy some bread or something and keep it in my room to eat. The fact that my money was only decreasing instead of increasing was downright horrifying.
For some reason, my lower back felt heavier than usual this morning, and I seemed to be showing signs of low blood pressure. I was so tired that I couldn't even get a morning boner.
“Hey, adventurer. You need to pay.”
As I headed out of the inn, grumbling under my breath, Dorka called me back. You money-grubbing bastard.
“Hold on. I'm going to eat breakfast after exercising.”
“Not that. Your room fee.”
“Fuck.”
Had it already been that long? Today was my third renewal day. It had already been six days since I came to this inn—almost a week.
─Whoosh! Clack!
I flicked a ten-copper coin forward. Dorka caught it cleanly and grinned.
“For our valued customer, I'll give you breakfast free of charge today. Just bring over whatever bread is left in your room.”
“Wow, I'm thrilled beyond words. But you're not going to heat the food up for me, are you?”
Inns in this otherworld hardly used small cooking utensils. Running an inn required cooking in bulk, so they used fairly large pots, like an army mess hall.
Since the pot was large, the hearth was naturally fucking huge too. Lighting that enormous hearth just to warm a little food for me would honestly be a waste of firewood.
“Sorry about that. I can't use that enormous pot again and wash it just for you.”
“Free food is free food. Next time, I'll wake up early even after returning from a request, so look forward to it.”
Even hotel breakfasts on Earth in the twenty-first century couldn't be eaten if you were late. But this was an otherworld where cooking was even more expensive and bothersome than on Earth. I should have been grateful to Dorka for preparing food separately for me.
─Creeeak.
I went to the well beside the inn.
One thing this world had over medieval Earth was its drinking water and sanitation. Since it was a city with sewers, its water-supply facilities were also highly developed.
But I hadn't come here to drink well water. Even on Earth, I hadn't drunk much water. At most, coffee, cola, and alcohol were all I drank.
I had come for my morning exercise.
‘I can't smash through the floor while lifting weights on the second floor.’
Fortunately, there was a rock lying around beside the well that was just the right weight, so I had gotten Dorka's permission to use it for weight training.
Though, to be honest, I'd only used it once a few days ago. I didn't work out my upper body every day.
“Gnnngh.”
After stretching my upper and lower body and my wrists and ankles, I picked up the rock I always used. It was about the size of a washbasin. Its ends were tapered, making it easy to grip.
“Huh?”
But today, for some reason, it felt a little lighter. It wasn't exactly light, but it put far too little strain on my arms. I couldn't use it for weight training anymore.
‘What the fuck?’
It had been just the right weight until last time.
Had I leveled up while hunting goblins and gotten stronger? No, this wasn't a game, so that couldn't be it. I put down the rock and tilted my head.
‘…It must be because of Beast Regression, right?’
That was the only variable.
Ever since I used Beast Regression, mana had begun circulating through my body in earnest. Could it be strengthening my body even when I wasn't using it?
In this otherworld, people who began handling mana gained strength that surpassed the limits of the human body through mana. That was why I'd been able to chop kobolds in half and hurl Francesca even before acquiring Beast Regression. I'd already adapted to mana, if only slightly, by then. Three cheers for Professor Brammathon.
Anyway, perhaps the effect of the mana catheter I'd felt the moment I used Beast Regression was feeding back into my physical body.
I stripped off my shirt to check my condition. I didn't exercise for the sake of my physique, but they said good-looking rice cakes tasted good too.
So I sometimes checked my physique as well. True gym rats checked their bodies in the mirror every day and even took pictures to keep a record.
─Bulge, bulge.
My body shape and outward appearance hadn't changed much. As always, I had a sturdy six-pack and well-developed pectorals.
─Press, press.
I pressed my chest muscles with my fingers to test their firmness. They felt no different either. It was the same macho body with around ten percent body fat as usual.
Wait, didn't training mana make your skin tougher too? I'd heard it only increased your resistance to damage.
So I threw a light self-inflicted punch at my own body.
─Thud!
“Oh?”
Even though I wasn't putting any strength into it, I felt almost no pain, just as when I was tensed up. I didn't know exactly how it worked, but it was certain that mana had affected my body.
─Glance.
Just then, I noticed a rock a full size larger all around than the one I'd been using. It also looked much heavier than the original.
“Heh heh.”
I pulled the Rockcalibur embedded in the ground and lifted it.
The cool touch and heavy weight pulling on my arm. Now this was a satisfying weight.
Heavy weights were a gym rat's instinct.
***
‘I should tend to my sword.’
That was the thought that came to me after eating until I was full.
Lately, I'd had an unusually large number of opportunities to use a weapon. As a result, the blade was in terrible shape, but I had yet to do any serious maintenance beyond wiping and drying the sword.
The sword I received from Carmine University was a mid-to-low-end model. I needed to maintain it regularly, or I'd regret it later.
About half a warrior's combat power came from equipment. You shouldn't skimp on the effort you put into your gear. The maintenance method was explained in detail in my bible, Professor Brammathon's book ‘The Alchemy of Adventurers,’ so it wasn't difficult.
‘The problem is the whetstone.’
The whetstone I'd been using had received considerable criticism from the commie-and-skinny adventurer duo I met on the carriage to Sargadis.
─Penny-pincher. You use this to maintain your weapon? You probably brush your teeth with dog grass too.
─Even if your equipment is cheap, you should use expensive maintenance tools.
Those guys said, “Whetstones need maintenance too.”
I'd simply left the whetstone I'd acquired during university lying around in my dorm room, so its condition had become a complete disaster.
But fuck, even the maintenance tools needed maintenance? It was an utterly blasphemous and unrealistic truth. It was a cultural shock on par with seeing a machine for sterilizing toothbrushes in a friend's bathroom when I was a child.
Maintenance for maintenance's sake!
It was as contradictory as sterilization for the sake of sterilization and war for the sake of peace.
Still, as an adult, I now understood why you had to disinfect a toothbrush. A toothbrush left damp was an ideal environment for bacteria to multiply. The reason a whetstone being in poor condition made sword maintenance pointless was probably similar.
A whetstone was a tool for sharpening a sword's blade.
In other words, for a sword, it was a kind of onahole.
Thinking of it that way made me feel as though I'd attained enlightenment. What man didn't choose his onahole carefully? There were people who didn't use one, but nobody used just anything.
I couldn't give my partner a cheap real doll (real-stone). Even if I changed weapons in the future, this sword would be the weapon I entrusted my life to for the time being.
“And that's why I came here. The smithy.”
─Jingle-jangle.
I entered the modest smithy, the bell on the door jingling.
It was a smithy bathed in reddish light from candles hanging from the ceiling like in an old-fashioned tavern. In a place where iron weapons gleamed, a middle-aged man sat with a long-stemmed pipe in his mouth, his entire body dominated by swagger.
“Hoo─.”
The smoking middle-aged man didn't even seem to be thinking of looking this way. He had the attitude of a convenience-store clerk who'd been on the job for a while.
You could excuse them since it wasn't their store, but this guy owned the place and looked completely uninterested in selling anything. In this otherworld, overflowing with machismo, rank obsessives, and posturing, it wasn't unusual enough to surprise me.
─They say old Japanese ramen masters used to snatch away the ramen they'd made from customers who ate the noodles before the broth.
Then they'd refund the money and tell them to get lost because they weren't worthy of eating their food. Fucking hell, what was I supposed to do about the time I wasted waiting for your food during the busiest part of lunch?
Anyway, all those bastards had been swept aside and vanished with the tide of the times on Earth in the twenty-first century, but in this goddamn otherworld, self-proclaimed masters like that were still common.
But I, too, had long since become steeped in machismo in order to survive in this otherworld.
I, Nord, who walked the path of the macho man, no longer used phrases like ‘Excuse me’ or ‘Is anyone there?’
“I would like to inspect your wares.”
Step. Step.
I deliberately spoke as though making a declaration and stepped into the shop. I also made sure to use that fucking Paragon-like hao-style speech.
Without even glancing at the weapons displayed in the most macho fashion, I approached the middle-aged man sitting behind the counter.
The middle-aged man had a cloth wrapped around his forehead. If he'd had a circlet there, I might have suspected he was a ninja, but it was just a white cloth. He was unmistakably a blacksmith.
“Did your mommy send you on an errand, kid?”
Only then did the man speak to me. His tone sounded like that of some cowboy bastard who'd just stepped out of a fucking Western movie.
‘Fuck. I can't take this.’
Unable to endure it, I squeezed my eyes shut.
It was proof that my machismo still couldn't match that of a truly, genuinely, utterly insane full-blooded macho bastard.
─Bang! Bang bang!
From deeper inside the building came the ceaseless sound of someone hammering away. I concentrated with my eyes still closed.
‘I am a cowboy. I am a cowboy and a sheriff….’
As though hypnotizing myself, I recited the suggestion and merged with the image of a polite but taciturn macho man. Then I spoke as if reciting a line.
“I've come to buy a whetstone. Give me one.”
“Get lost. I have nothing to sell a kid.”
Around here, it was as common a line as “Were you drafted into the army?”
So I calmly drew the sword, scabbard and all, and showed it to the man. I didn't forget to draw the hilt slightly to reveal the blade.
“I know my skill is lacking. But if I leave it like this, I won't be able to face the blacksmith who gave me this sword.”
“So?”
“I'm not asking you to sell me an item. As one artisan to another, I'm asking you to show some consideration for the artisan who made my sword.”
For fuck's sake. Did I really have to say all this just to buy one item? A wave of self-awareness hit me while I was talking, so I stopped there and shut my mouth.
I had even adopted a tone that gently flattered his artisan sensibilities. If he told me to fuck off after hearing that, I'd just fuck off and go to another smithy.
“Hmph. Let me see it.”
The blacksmith snatched my sword away. He was so damn brazen that it seemed like the bastard was reclaiming his own property after leaving it with me.
“Tch. It's in a sorry state.”
He inspected my sword this way and that, then clicked his tongue.
“It needs a lot of work. I'll fix it for you.”
“No need. Just sell me the whetstone.”
Scams where they took it away, serviced it, and then demanded a few coppers were common. It was the same kind of sales scam as asking the price of ice cream at a Japanese tourist attraction and immediately having it shoved into a cone and forced on you for 500 yen.
“You said you didn't want to let down the artisan who sold you the sword?”
“If I can't maintain it myself, there'll be no point.”
“Oh, aren't you something? Fine. Wait here while I fetch it.”
When I firmly refused, the blacksmith went into the smithy without even returning my sword. Every word out of this bastard's mouth was relentlessly fucking obnoxious.
A few minutes later, he returned holding a cloth, a whetstone, and an iron bottle containing oil.
“The whetstone is 10 coppers. For just 1 copper more, I'll give you the cloth and oil for maintaining it too.”
─What the fuck did you say?
I nearly collapsed as if I'd just seen fish-shaped pastries being sold for 3,000 won each in front of a subway station. What? A whetstone cost 100,000 won?
“…11 coppers in total. Are you insane?”
A mere whetstone cost 110,000 won? Was the damn thing the Emile Bell? Unless it had been made through some kind of grotesque human sacrifice, there was no way to justify that price.
Clearly—as far as I knew—110,000 won was about the average price for an onahole. But a whetstone, in terms of its purpose and structure, was practically no different from a smartphone charger.
What kind of lunatic sold a charger for 100,000 won? And charging 1 copper for a bit of oil smeared onto some leftover cloth was absurd too.
‘This bastard's a Yongpal, isn't he?’
Fuck, I couldn't pay 100,000 won for a properly squared-off rock. When I scowled at the thought, the blacksmith—the Yongpal, or rather the stone-scalper, since he sold whetstones—took a shameless stance.
“If you don't like it, go to another smithy. Though you won't find it cheaper than here.”
Fuck, they were even fixing prices. My vision went dark.
Was this Yongsan instead of Sargadis? Holy fuck, I never knew there was a way to return to Earth hidden in a neighborhood smithy.
─Gurgle-gurgle.
After running into such a pure, 100-percent spicy otherworlder for the first time in ages, the free soup I'd polished off began breakdancing in my stomach. I drew on the madness resistance unique to graduate students, chewed on the character for patience three times, and smiled.
“I understand. I'll do that, so would you return my sword?”
“Huh? You're just asking the price and then leaving? Are you playing games with me?”
You bastard, you told me to leave if I didn't like it.
─Crrrk.
At last, I lost my patience when I saw the stone-scalper using my sword to smack his own shoulder like a massage tool. I realized I disliked the bastard from the moment I saw his face.
─Enough. I've been patient long enough.
I felt the last thread of my patience break.
“Ten coppers. That's right—ten coppers?”
I picked up the whetstone the stone-scalper had brought me. Then I muttered in a voice trembling violently with rage.
“《Pray to the Sky God(yáǵeswō deiwōm dyēus)》.”
Kwoooaah!!
As though answering my anger, my right arm was wrapped in mana. It was a partial activation of Beast Regression. The strength of the Earth hero (勇力) flowed into the hand gripping the whetstone!
Crack…!
Under the force of my grip, the whetstone began to scream.
A whetstone for sharpening a blade was supposed to be made from specialized stone and be extremely sturdy. No matter how strong I'd become—strong as a bear—it shouldn't have cracked this easily.
‘This fucking whetstone is made from cheap-ass rock, and it costs 10 coppers?’
My rage increased the strength in my hand. I became a merciless real-doll destroyer and smashed the whetstone to pieces.
─Krrrck!!!
Rattle-rattle!
The whetstone shattered in my hand and fell in a heap onto the floor. I stared straight at the stone-scalper and asked:
“All right, how much is it now?”
“Uh, uh…?”
The stone-scalper was left speechless at the sight of a rock being crushed by grip strength alone. It wasn't an apple but a rock, so it was only natural for him to be stunned after I'd crunched it to pieces, but that wasn't what I wanted to hear.
I roared, filled with enough fury to make my eyes roll.
“I said, how much is it now!!!!!! You fucking piece of shit!!!!!!!!!!!!”