Chapter 71 | Bound by Gear, Forged by Power

It was evening.

The sun had already sunk below the horizon, leaving only a smear of dark red twilight in the sky.

The silhouette of Anda Town gradually blurred in the gathering dusk. Here and there, faint glimmers of kerosene lamps seeped through the cracks of windows and doors, casting weak light onto the hard-packed dirt streets.

Following Sierra's guidance, Matthew and his group walked through the quiet streets on the eastern side of town, heading toward a tavern called the "Old Oak."

Along the way, Matthew had intended to spend a bit more money to secure comfortable lodgings for everyone, but Sierra shook her head and explained:

“Places like Anda Town don't get many travelers, so a standalone inn can't survive. The taverns here double as lodging, so eating and sleeping are lumped together.”

She pointed to a kerosene lamp swaying gently in the twilight ahead.

“The ‘Old Oak’ is like that. It's a bit crude, but the owner is decent enough, and the room fee includes a simple dinner.”

Matthew nodded thoughtfully.

Before long, the group arrived at the Old Oak.

Before they even stepped inside, the rowdy sounds of drinking games, boisterous laughter, and clattering plates drifted out. The warm yellow light and heat seeping through the cracks of the door stood out sharply in the cool autumn night.

The donkey carts stopped, and everyone got to work.

Uncle Delank pushed open the door to arrange food and lodging, while the teenagers began unloading the carts, carrying the bundled pelts and herbs into a small storehouse at the side of the tavern.

Sierra stood outside the tavern and said to Matthew,

“I live at the other end of this street. If anything comes up tomorrow, or if you need me to guide you to sell those materials... just come over. Walk to the end and ask for ‘Sierra's house.’ Everyone around here knows it.”

Matthew nodded in agreement. “Alright, I'll keep that in mind.”

Sierra said no more. With a slight nod, she turned and walked away, her figure quickly swallowed by the shadows of the street.

Matthew watched her depart, his heart untroubled by any deep emotion.

He knew he possessed the attribute panel, and his future path was destined to lead to a broader, more distant world.

Although Sierra was skilled and experienced, she was far from being able to keep pace with him.

With this thought, Matthew shook his head slightly, brushing aside the idle reflections.

He turned and pushed open the creaking wooden door of the Old Oak.

The moment he stepped inside, a gruff voice drifted over from the counter, carrying a mix of post-disaster relief and helpless resignation:

“...Those damn bastards hit hard, but at least they showed a bit of mercy and didn't strip us entirely clean.”

Matthew looked over and saw a dark-skinned, lean, middle-aged man standing by the counter, sighing and shaking his head at the tavern owner who was wiping cups behind the bar.

Judging by his attire, he was clearly a villager from a nearby settlement.

The tavern owner smiled and consoled him, “At least you have a small portion left. In the past, Mute Pass was all about killing and looting!”

“It is a bit strange... Have the bandits of Mute Pass changed their nature?”

The middle-aged man chimed in, his tone laced with confusion. Unable to make sense of it, he shook his head vigorously. Feeling that complaining alone wasn't enough to vent his frustration, he shouted gruffly to the owner behind the counter:

“Old Bal, give me another cup! The spiciest ‘Fire Throat’!”

“Coming right up!”

On the other side of the room.

Matthew listened to the exchange between the villager and the owner, falling into deep thought.

Mute Pass...

But it sounds like a new group of bandits took over?

Because as far as he knew—

Just as he was pondering, Uncle Delank walked over with a wooden room token, interrupting his thoughts.

He handed one of the tokens to Matthew.

“Matthew, the rooms are settled. You have a small, private room at the corner upstairs—it's quieter there. Sierra was right; the owner is quite fair, and the room fee covers a dinner, though it's rather simple.”

Matthew took the wooden token. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“I'll skip dinner. Today's journey took a lot out of me, so I want to rest early to recover.”

Uncle Delank paused for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Fair enough, traveling all day is exhausting. Go on and get some rest. Your room is at the very end. Go up the stairs, turn right, and it's the last door.”

“Alright,” Matthew replied. Saying no more, he turned and wove through the noisy tavern hall, heading toward the wooden stairs leading to the second floor.

Following the directions on the token, he quickly located his room.

As he pushed the door open, a musty odor greeted him. The room was extremely cramped, barely holding a single bed and a small table. Though the furnishings were sparse, it was reasonably clean.

Matthew bolted the door behind him, placed his traveling pack in the corner, and leaned his longsword against the bed within easy reach.

The clamor of the tavern downstairs drifted up faintly, but he paid it no mind. At his current level, he could easily tune out such an environment to enter meditation.

However, his empty stomach was a bit of a problem.

He reached into his pack and fished out a piece of rye bread.

He slowly chewed on the coarse ration, which tasted like wax.

As he chewed, his tongue couldn't help but yearn for those savory, chewy strips of dried meat...

That hearty texture, that energy-dense flavor...

At that thought, Matthew let out a silent, bitter smile.

After his near-frantic practice of 【Melting Slash】 over the past few days, his already meager stash of dried meat at home had been completely depleted, with not a single scrap remaining.

Gnawing on this bland bread now, he truly felt the essence of the old saying: “Literature is for the poor, but martial arts is a rich man's pursuit!”

He swallowed the last dry bite of bread, suppressing the hunger in his belly.

In this cramped, sparse room, there was no open space for him to hone his combat techniques, nor any targets to practice his swordsmanship.

Looking around, the only thing he could do was meditate.

Emptying his mind of other thoughts, Matthew sat cross-legged on the cold, hard wooden bed and closed his eyes.

The clamor of the tavern downstairs seemed filtered through a layer of chill, drifting up faintly through the floorboards.

Yet Matthew had indeed made significant progress. Even in such an environment, his consciousness rapidly quieted down, like sinking into a bottomless, icy pool.