Chapter 16: Quest 8: Prepare Your Equipment [Part 1]
Makoto woke to a faint noise.
He sprang upright on reflex and scanned his surroundings, but there were no undead.
He was not even in the dungeon anymore.
“…Right. I made it out.”
He scratched his head and got out of bed.
He was wearing the plain trunks Sherry had prepared.
Like the pants and shirt, they were too large.
They were tied with strings instead of elastic, so they would not slip off, but they were uncomfortable.
“Gotta buy new underwear.”
And weapons and armor too.
His expenses kept piling up with no income in sight.
It felt like his neck was being slowly tightened by silk.
When that happened, the best thing to do was act fast and solve the problem.
Thinking that, he dressed in the clothes Sherry had provided and picked up the dagger.
“How do I get a warrior-type job anyway?”
He slid the dagger into his belt and muttered to himself.
He should be able to handle average opponents, but fighting barehanded was still unnerving.
“No. Information first.”
He did not even understand what effect his jobs had on him.
Better to investigate before rushing in.
He left the room and locked the door.
Looking down from the stairs, he saw Sherry working at the counter.
What a dangerous staircase, he thought.
Part of the corridor simply ended in stairs.
How many people had fallen, he wondered.
Each step creaked ominously.
His heart pounded as he descended.
Halfway down, Sherry paused her work and looked up.
“Oh? Good morning, young sir.”
“Morning.”
Makoto sat at the counter.
“Last night was quite something.”
“Dealing with a drunk while sober isnât fun.”
“Youâre too young for alcohol.”
He had meant it as a jab about the lemon water, but she responded sensibly.
“Iâm not as young as I look.”
“I donât see that at all.”
“Try looking with your heart.”
“Unfortunately, these are the only eyes I have. Not the best quality, either.”
She pointed at her eye.
It felt like she was teasing him, but it was oddly cute.
“Youâve got a beauty mark under your eye.”
“Thatâs what you notice?”
“Iâm not jumping on self-deprecation.”
He sighed.
“Fair enough. So, breakfast?”
“Iâll take it.”
She placed vegetable soup and bread before him.
He took a spoonful.
“How is it?”
“The flavorâs soaked in better than yesterday.”
In other words, leftovers.
The bread resembled a round French loaf.
When he split it open, the inside was gray.
He bit into it.
The taste was indescribable.
Like chewing on rough paper.
He even wondered if dungeon bread had been better.
“I want miso soup.”
“We donât serve that here.”
“You have miso? Soy sauce? Rice?”
“We do.”
“You do?”
His face brightened.
Like meeting an old friend in a foreign land.
“But not here. Miso and soy sauce are imports from the Eastern Nation.”
“Eastern Nation?”
“Beyond the sea at the eastern edge of the continent.”
“Tell me more.”
“Sorry. Ask merchants or buy books.”
He sighed.
Imports were expensive.
“How much?”
“About 100 A per kilogram.”
“Thatâs steep.”
Like contraband, he thought.
“If I buy some, will you cook it?”
“Iâll lend you the kitchen.”
“You wonât cook?”
“Iâve never used miso or soy sauce.”
“Guess Iâll cook.”
“Oh? You can?”
“Rough stuff.”
Eight years living alone had taught him something.
Miso soup and fried chicken were doable.
“Then Iâll wait for you to get them.”
“Wait?”
“Theyâre controlled by major merchants.”
He sighed again.
“What kind of life did you live?”
“…Long story.”
“Then I wonât ask.”
“You wonât?”
“Everyone has things they donât want to say.”
He blinked.
She misunderstood.
“Never mind.”
“So whatâs your plan?”
“Buy gear today. Underwear and clothes too.”
“I meant your future.”
He felt a lecture coming.
“Earn money hunting monsters. Beyond that, no idea.”
“You need ambition while youâre young.”
He was nearly forty.
“Ambition, huh.”
“Back when adventurers filled this inn, theyâd talk about dreams.”
Her expression turned nostalgic.
“Sounds nice.”
“Talking about dreams?”
“Choosing poverty yourself.”
Most never succeeded, but still.
“Do you really have no dream?”
He folded his arms.
He remembered thinking about a slow life in the countryside.
Living comfortably without money worries.
“…A slow life.”
She stared.
“Thatâs an odd ambition for someone young.”
“Itâs huge.”
Retiring in his thirties required massive wealth.
She sighed.
“You should want to defeat a Lich King, slay a dragon, rescue a princessâ ahem.”
“There are dragons?”
“Yes. Slay one and your name echoes.”
“Iâll leave that to yesterdayâs trio.”
She shook her head.
“Youâre really fine with that?”
“Itâs big to me. Something I couldnât even hope for before.”
In this world, maybe it was possible.
“Youâve had it rough.”
“Yeah.”
He avoided elaborating.
“So what was that âhaââ earlier?”
“I said nothing.”
“You meant harem.”
“Donât make me say it!”
“I donât see the appeal.”
“My!”
“Doesnât mean I like men either.”
She flushed.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Youâre young and already dried up.”
“Not really.”
He remembered sleeping beside a high school girl in life-or-death conditions.
“It was rough.”
“I didnât hear that.”
She deflected smoothly.
“Whatâs your dream?”
“Working at my fatherâs inn was mine.”
She smiled mischievously.
“What about marriage?”
“No one wants an old woman like me.”
“Youâre not old.”
She was not even thirty.
“I could gift myself with a bow.”
“…Hard pass.”
“Ouch.”
“Not like that. Iâm not qualified yet.”
“Qualified?”
“I need money first.”
She burst out laughing.
“Youâre interesting.”
He looked away and bit into the bread.
“Welcome to Rogers Trading Company.”
A male clerk approached with a polite smile.
“What can I help you with?”
“Sherry from the Golden Sheep Inn sent me. I heard you sell weapons and armor.”
“Ah, I see.”
There was a slight pause.
“What are you looking for?”
“First job: Spirit Arts User. Second: Martial Artist.”
“Then light, flexible armor.”
They walked deeper into the shop.
Most items were clothing.
Food was absent.
“This is our weapons and armor section.”
Mannequins displayed armor.
Blades lined the walls.
“I thought blacksmiths sold these.”
“Too many complications. We handle sales.”
“Noise, space⌠makes sense.”
“What about sizing?”
“We standardize sizes and use adjustable straps.”
The clerk showed him a gauntlet with leather belts inside.
“Clever.”
“Thank you.”
“Your recommendation?”
“For a martial artist, these gauntlets and greaves.”
Makoto examined them.
“…Appraisal.”
Nothing appeared.
Maybe that skill was a mistake.
Then his eyes locked on a pair plated with overlapping metal.
“Thatâs adamantite alloy.”
“…Adamantite.”
So early, huh.
“Price is 1000 A.”
Expensive compared to others.
“Iâll take it. Matching greaves?”
“Are you sure?”
“Iâve got money.”
“Very well.”
The greaves resembled ski boots with metal plates and belts.
“Iâll take them. And armor.”
“For flexibility, chainmail.”
He nodded.
“That one is adamantite alloy as well. Donât wear it directly on skin.”
“Got it.”
“And clothes.”
On the way, he stopped.
“This coat.”
A glossy black one.
“100 A.”
“Iâll take it.”
After purchasing clothes and underwear, Makoto left the shop.