Chapter 10 | Transmigrated Into a Poor Girl, Armed Myself With Heavy Armor

Sunlight squeezed through the gap in the window frame, landing on Rosie's eyelids.

She opened her eyes and let out a long, luxurious stretch.

Every muscle in her body felt as if it had been refreshed and revitalized.

This single sleep had lasted until the next morning.

“Ah, waking up naturally feels amazing...”

Rosie couldn't help but sigh in contentment.

Reflecting on her past life as an overworked corporate wage slave, she had rarely gotten to experience the luxury of waking up naturally.

Every workday back then had been a rushed, chaotic battle—recalling it now felt like a lifetime ago.

Well, technically, it was a lifetime ago.

Rosie lingered under the warm covers for a bit longer until her stomach gave a loud, unapologetic rumble. Only then did she resolve to flip back the blanket and sit up.

The chilly air immediately bit into her skin, making her shiver as she briskly began getting dressed.

First came the linen gambeson, followed by the slightly restrictive leather cuirass.

She buckled the short sword at her waist and tapped the pommel to ensure it was securely in place.

Finally, she put on her helmet, slung her backpack and round wooden shield over her back, and picked up the rolled wolf pelt.

Once everything was neatly packed and adjusted, she walked down the creaking wooden stairs to the first floor.

The inn's lobby was quiet. The fire in the hearth had burned past its peak, leaving only a few thick logs smoldering lazily, casting a warm orange glow across the walls.

Breakfast time had passed, so there were hardly any guests around, except for a merchant in a worn leather coat sitting in the corner, sipping a hot drink.

The landlady sat behind the counter with a steaming mug of herbal tea at her elbow. Seeing Rosie come downstairs, her face broke into a warm smile.

“Morning, lass! You sure slept for a long time. I checked your door yesterday afternoon and saw it was still shut, so I didn't disturb you.”

“Good morning, ma'am. I'd like to order breakfast, please.”

Rosie sat down by the counter and rested her gear beside her feet.

“Coming right up! Just a moment.”

The landlady got up and headed to the back kitchen, returning shortly with a wooden tray.

The breakfast was simple: a boiled egg and a large bowl of oat and bean porridge.

The egg was still warm, giving off a cozy heat when held in her palm.

The porridge was cooked thick, the oats and beans softened until they were nearly indistinguishable, emitting a faint, comforting scent of grain.

Though plain, it was clearly filling.

The landlady also included a small side dish of pickled radishes—crisp with a hint of saltiness.

Rosie scooped up a spoon of porridge and ate it.

The oats and beans tasted simple without excessive seasoning, but it was precisely the hearty meal a traveler needed.

She peeled the egg, devoured it in one bite, and paired it with the salty crunch of the pickled radishes. In just a few quick gulps, she scraped the bowl completely clean.

Burp~

Rosie let out a satisfied belch.

She pulled ten copper coins from her pocket and set them on the counter.

The landlady smiled warmly as she collected the money and added cheerfully, “Are you an adventurer, lass? If you're looking for work, you can check out the plaza in the center of town.”

Rosie thanked her, but she didn't plan to stay long in Mountain Wood Town.

Mountain Wood Town was far too close to the Royal City of Norman.

A fast horse could cover the distance in half a day—an experienced rider could probably make it even faster.

Whether because of her grudge with Hawk or her status as a murderer, she had to stay as far away from the Royal City of Norman as possible.

Oversleeping had been a total accident.

Grabbing her gear, she stepped out of the inn.

The biting wind slapped against her face like a cold, wet rag.

Rosie shrank her neck into her shoulders and pulled her collar up tight.

Most of the pedestrians on the street were doing the same—hunched over, walking hastily, puffing out cloud after cloud of white mist.

“It's getting colder and colder...”

Rosie exhaled a puff of mist, watching the white fog dissipate before her eyes.

The coldest days of winter hadn't arrived yet, but the season was already beginning to show its teeth.

Following the direction the guard had given her yesterday, she crossed the town's main street and arrived at the blacksmith shop on the east side.

The shop's wooden door was shut tight, but a dull red firelight trickled through the cracks, and the wheeze of the bellows was clearly audible through the wooden planks.

Directly adjacent to the blacksmith shop, the fur store's front door was wide open, with several strips of dried leather hanging by the entrance, swaying gently in the breeze.

Before Rosie even reached the door, she saw a solidly built woman sitting at a workbench inside, hunched over with a broad knife, cutting a piece of dark brown leather.

“Excuse me, do you buy snow wolf pelts?”

Rosie stood at the doorway and called out.

The woman raised her head.

Her face was somewhat weathered, but her eyes were sharp and bright. She sized Rosie up, her gaze lingering briefly on the rolled wolf pelt in her hand, before nodding.

“I do. But I'll need to inspect the quality first.”

Rosie stepped inside and laid the rolled wolf pelt onto the workbench.

The woman set down her knife, pinched the edge of the pelt with both hands, and gently unrolled it.

The complete alpha wolf pelt unrolled across the workbench.

Its silver-gray fur gleamed with a soft sheen under the morning light. The base of the fur was a pale blue-gray, turning whiter toward the tips.

The woman smoothed her palm across the fur, running her hand from the neck down to the tail, then flipped it over to examine the grain on the leather side.

“Good pelt,” she praised first, before her tone shifted.

“Except there are two tears in it.”

She pointed at two damaged spots with her finger, then flipped it over again to inspect the cut marks on the back.

“The skinning technique was amateurish, too. Fortunately, it didn't ruin any crucial areas, so the overall quality is still intact.”

She flattened the pelt and looked up at Rosie. “This is an alpha wolf pelt, right?”

Rosie nodded.

The woman pondered for a moment. “If it didn't have those two holes, I'd give you a hundred silver coins for it. But as it stands, I can only offer fifty.”

“Fifty?” Rosie's voice instantly pitched up.

“I nearly lost my life for this pelt, and you're offering that little?”

The woman looked at Rosie.

She stayed silent for a brief moment, and finally said, “Sixty at most. Any higher and I won't take it.”

Rosie locked eyes with her for a couple of seconds.

Sixty silver coins was lower than expected, but it was still equal to twenty days of hard labor hauling cargo at the docks.

Of course, this was exactly why Old John didn't think highly of adventurers.

It seemed like a lot of money, but it was earned at the risk of one's life—and highly unstable at that.

“Fine,” Rosie agreed with a nod.

Without another word, the woman rolled the pelt back up and turned to head into the back room.

A moment later, she returned carrying a wooden bowl piled with a small heap of silver coins.

She placed the wooden bowl on the counter, making a crisp, metallic clinking sound. “Sixty coins. Count them.”

Rosie took out her cloth coin purse from her waist, dumped the silver coins directly into it, pulled the drawstrings tight, and tucked it back in.

“Thanks.”

As she was about to turn and leave, her eyes swept over a wooden shelf on the far side of the shop.

Several pairs of finished leather boots were displayed on it.

The styles weren't fancy, but the leather looked sleek and well-oiled, with sturdy stitching—clearly durable goods built to last.

Rosie looked down at her own cloth shoes.

They had already been worn out to begin with.

After a full night of non-stop marching, they were completely ruined.

Her toes could even feel the cold chill radiating from the ground.

“How much for these boots?”

Rosie pointed at a pair of leather boots on the shelf.

The woman followed her gaze, then looked down at Rosie's feet, shaking her head. “Those aren't right for you. Too big.”

She walked around the workbench, crouched down in front of Rosie, and used two fingers to measure the length of her foot and ankle.

Standing back up, she walked over to the inner shelf, bent down to rummage around, and pulled out a pair of mid-calf leather boots.

They were simple in style—dark brown leather, reaching about halfway up the calf, with rounded toes and no fancy decorations except for a fine line of stitching along the cuff.

“These boots are great for long journeys. They're made of multi-layered cowhide with a reinforced sole for extra durability. Give them a try.” The woman handed the boots to Rosie.

Rosie didn't stand on ceremony. She sat down on a nearby low stool, kicked off her half-wrecked cloth shoes in two swift moves, and slipped her feet into the boots.

The moment her feet slid inside, she felt that the leather lining was already softened—no pinching or chafing anywhere.

The boot shafts wrapped around her ankles perfectly, neither so loose that they wobbled nor so tight that they felt suffocating.

She stood up, walked a couple of paces, and stamped her feet on the spot. The thick soles provided a solid, resilient bounce—neither too hard nor too soft—giving her feet steady support as they hit the floor.

They fit even better than expected.

The woman's eye for size was truly impressive; a quick gesture with her fingers had yielded a perfect fit.

“How much?” Rosie asked.

“Normally twelve silver, but I'll give them to you for ten.” The woman's tone was straightforward.

Rosie didn't haggle.

Ten silver coins for a pair of comfortable, heavy-duty leather boots was a solid deal.

She pulled out ten silver coins and handed them over.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Come again next time.”

The woman took the money, a slight smile breaking across her weathered face.

Wearing her new boots, Rosie stepped out of the leather shop, the feeling underfoot distinctly different.

The new soles were much thicker than her old cloth shoes, blocking out the cold seep of the road. Every step felt far more secure and grounded.

She gave the purchase a high rating in her mind, then wrapped her collar tightly and walked toward the town's stables.

Though called stables, it was really just a large shed made of wooden posts and straw at the entrance of town.

A few pack horses were tethered beneath the roof, while several public carriages waited in the open lot to pick up passengers.

Some drivers were feeding their horses, while others leaned against their wagon shafts smoking pipes, only lazily raising an eyebrow when someone approached to ask, “Where to?”

She walked up to a driver and was about to speak when she suddenly felt several eyes on her.

Turning her head, she saw three people standing not far away, staring at her with complex expressions.

Rosie froze for a moment, finding their faces somewhat familiar.

Then she remembered—they were the passengers who had shared a carriage with her yesterday morning.

Their expressions held shock, lingering fear, and an indefinable sense of distance.

Rosie didn't care.

She turned back, confirmed the fare and route with the driver, and picked an eastbound carriage.

She paid her fare and climbed into the carriage.

There were no other passengers inside yet.

She picked a seat near the side, rested her backpack on her knees, leaned her round wooden shield against her leg, and closed her eyes to rest.

After a while, other passengers gradually boarded, and the carriage slowly grew lively.

Before long, the driver took his place at the front, cracked his whip, and the horses set off at a steady pace, the carriage trundling along the main road.

Leaning back against the wooden frame, Rosie lazily watched the scenery slowly recede outside the window.

...

About two hours later, the carriage reached a fork in the road.

Rosie suddenly stood up.

“Driver, please pull over. I'll get off here.”

The driver called out, “Whoa!” and pulled the reins, bringing the carriage to a slow stop.

The other passengers in the carriage looked at her in confusion.

This junction was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by wilderness and woods. Where was she planning to go after getting off?

Nobody voiced their thoughts, however.

Rosie didn't offer any explanation either. She put on her pack, slung her shield, hopped off the carriage, and thanked the driver.

The carriage started up again and continued along the main road, quickly disappearing behind a thicket of withered trees.

Rosie stood where she was until the sound of the wheels completely died down. Only then did she turn around and march briskly onto the dirt road leading southeast.

Getting off halfway was just a precaution—a classic feint to cover her tracks, just like in the movies.

Whether it was useful or not didn't matter; it certainly couldn't hurt.

Rosie's goal was clear and simple: go on adventures, claim rewards, and build her strength, while fulfilling her past life's regret of never having traveled.