Chapter 6 | Just How Many Skills Do You Have?

Baron Raymond's squire stepped forward and explained their business to the gate guards. Soon after, the city gates slowly creaked open, allowing the troop to enter.

The troops were stationed in the city's military barracks. Baron Raymond ordered everyone to rest and stand by until the forces of other nobles had fully assembled.

Before long, Roger saw Baron Raymond riding off on a tall warhorse, accompanied by several squires, heading toward the city center.

With nothing to do for the moment, Roger decided to postpone his training and explore this otherworld city first. After all, he was just a mercenary; his only duty was to fight when the time came. He wasn't bound by strict military discipline during off-hours, as long as he returned to the barracks before dark.

After obtaining Knight Stine's permission, Roger left the barracks.

Unlike the stereotypical medieval cities littered with waste, the city's main roads were reasonably clean. Aside from the occasional loose pebbles by the wayside or rotten apples and cabbage leaves that had fallen from carriages and been run over several times, Roger barely saw any trash.

Although the drainage ditches on both sides of the street were open channels, the water flowed smoothly without stagnating into any overpowering stench.

From the conversations of passersby, he gradually pieced together the outline of this city and the wider world.

This city was called Orland City, the capital of the territory ruled by Count Nigel. The country they were in was the Kingdom of Arank, a feudal fiefdom state located in the northeastern part of the continent, with humans making up the vast majority of the population.

From the fragments of conversation he overheard, he learned that other races like elves, beastkin, dwarves, lizardmen, and vampires apparently existed in this world. However, because the Kingdom of Arank was situated in the human-dominated northeast, these non-human races were virtually never seen, existing mostly as legends and tavern gossip.

For Roger, whether he could meet other races was a secondary concern; his immediate priority was to establish a solid foothold.

And to do that, gathering information was an indispensable step.

Based on his past experience from reading novels and playing games, the best place to gather rumors was naturally a tavern.

Thus, Roger stopped in front of a tavern and pushed the door open.

A mixture of roasted meat, sour sweat, and cheap ale assailed his nose. Ignoring the odor, Roger walked straight to the counter. The owner, who was wiping a glass with a rag, looked up at him.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a cup of your cheapest ale,” Roger replied.

He had the fifteen gold coins Knight Stine had given him stored in his system inventory, but he had no intention of squandering them on a lavish lifestyle.

The owner immediately shot him a look reserved for paupers. He held out the half-wiped glass in his hand, hesitated for a few seconds, and then swapped it for a slightly cleaner one. He then pulled a pitcher from beneath the counter and poured an amber, bubbling liquid into the cup.

“Five coppers.”

Roger calmly slipped his right hand into his pocket. With a single thought, he transferred a gold coin from the system storage into his palm, pulled it out, and placed it on the counter.

The tavern owner looked surprised. He took the gold coin and began rummaging under the counter, eventually sliding nine silver coins and ten copper coins over to Roger.

Among the coppers, nine had a face value of ten, while the last one had a face value of five.

Roger did the math in his head. One gold coin was worth ten silvers, and one silver coin was worth a hundred coppers. Simple enough.

He took back only eight of the silver coins, leaving the remaining silver and all the coppers on the counter before speaking.

“I'm from out of town and plan to stay in the city for a while. I was wondering if there are any opportunities around here? Also, which is the best blacksmith shop in town?”

The owner swept the coins away as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his attitude softening considerably. “By the looks of you, you must be a mercenary. Then you've probably heard that the goblins have been acting up lately. The lord is gathering his army and recruiting mercenaries. You could try your luck there. As for blacksmiths, you can head to Old Sam's shop. It's not far from here.”

“What's the deal with those goblins, anyway?” Roger asked probingly.

“How should I know? Instead of asking a tavern keeper like me, you'd be better off asking the noble lords directly,” the owner said, shaking his head vigorously.

Roger didn't press further, changing the subject. “Has anything major happened in the city recently, then?”

“Nothing too major, just that public order has been poor lately. People fight in the streets from time to time after dark. So, my advice to you is, unless you have urgent business, you'd best stay in an inn at night and keep off the streets.”

At this point, the owner looked up. “If you haven't found an inn yet, I have rooms upstairs. It's only fifty coppers a night.”

Roger thanked him, got up, and left, heading toward the blacksmith shop according to the owner's directions.

In many novels, protagonists always managed to fish out divine artifacts from piles of junk. Roger didn't expect such blind luck to fall on him, but there was no harm in utilizing the system's Appraise function.

Even if he only managed to scavenge a few pieces of junk that could be recycled for a decent amount of points, the trip would be worth it.

If he was exceptionally lucky, he might even be able to use this ability to work as a part-time appraiser and earn some extra cash.

The "Old Sam" mentioned by the tavern owner was a broad-shouldered, stout middle-aged man with a scruffy beard. If not for his height, Roger would have easily mistaken him for a dwarf.

Seeing the owner about to approach and pitch his wares, Roger beat him to the punch.

“I'd like to browse around first. If I see something I like, I'll buy it.”

“Suit yourself,” Old Sam shrugged indifferently, turning around to attend to another customer who had just entered.

Roger scanned the weapons on the racks, using Appraise to check their quality. Most of them were of Common quality, worth only a few dozen recycle points at most.

Just then, the other customer walked over nearby, accompanied by the owner. Roger's gaze happened to fall on a two-handed greatsword, and he was about to appraise it.

Suddenly, the sharp rasp of a blade unsheathing echoed from behind him.

Roger whipped his head around, only to see the customer wielding a longsword, roaring at him, “I saw this first! No one is taking it from me! Die!”

The strike came entirely without warning. Roger even wondered if the man was out of his mind, but his body reacted before his brain could process the thought.

【Iron Wall】 was instantly triggered, coating his body in a gas-like barrier. Roger sidestepped to dodge; the blade grazed past his shoulder and slammed heavily into the weapon rack behind him.

“Whoa, buddy, I just looked at that sword. Did I really deserve to die for that?” He casually grabbed a spear from the rack, pointing it diagonally at the ground as he backed away to create some distance.

“Don't cause trouble in my shop! If you want to fight, take it outside!” Old Sam, who had already expertly ducked behind his counter, poked half his head out to shout at them.

The attacker seemed completely deaf to the shout, raising his sword high over his head and lunging recklessly at Roger.

To Roger, however, this stance was riddled with openings. Meeting his opponent's charge, he lowered the spearhead slightly, timed his thrust perfectly, and skewered the man's thigh.

The attacker lost his balance and tumbled forward. As he did, his left sleeve slid up, exposing a necklace on his wrist.

The necklace was made of bone, engraved with twisted patterns.

It was identical to the ones looted from the goblin corpses.

Without hesitation, Roger raised his spear and drove it straight through the man's neck, pinning him dead to the floor.

“Points +70. Total: 142.”

The cold system notification chimed, confirming the intruder's instant death. Roger pulled out the spear and turned to look for the blacksmith, only to find that Old Sam had slipped out of the shop at some point.

Soon, however, his voice echoed from outside:

“The brawlers are right inside my shop!”

Hurried footsteps drew near. A man wearing an arming doublet stepped into the shop. Upon seeing the corpse on the ground, he immediately unsheathed his sword and confronted Roger.