The carriage soon stopped at the checkpoint in front of the city gates. The coachman gave the guards a casual nod, clearly accustomed to the procedure.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the inspection of the cargo was completed as a mere formality.
Since the goods consisted of small shipments of sugar, salt, and spices, there was little worth inspecting in the first place.
The guard was recording the travelers' identities in a ledger when he reached Vermoor and visibly flinched.
"A-Ahem. A Barbarian, are you? Which tribe do you belong to?"
"I lived alone in the northern snowy mountains."
Vermoor looked down at the guard without changing his expression.
Even while seated, his enormous frame seemed to fill the surrounding space, and his intimidating presence was impossible to ignore.
The guard involuntarily swallowed.
"……Ahem! Don't cause any trouble inside the territory. We enforce our laws strictly here."
Clearing his throat, the guard hurriedly waved them through.
As the carriage passed through the open gates, Vermoor was greeted by an atmosphere entirely different from that outside the walls.
The streets within were a merchant's paradise.
The peaceful rural scenery was nowhere to be seen. Spices from the south, glassware from the west, and exotic fabrics and ornaments from distant lands filled the streets with dazzling colors.
Of course, the mouthwatering aromas of roasted meat, baked potatoes, and fresh fruit were equally worthy of attention.
Yet amid all that splendor, one thing stood out above everything else.
Weapons.
"They sell weapons right on the street?"
Even the roadside vendors, rather than operating proper shops, had set out crates overflowing with weapons.
Puffing away on coarse tobacco, they displayed gleaming swords and axes as casually as though they were selling fish at a market.
"Sylvrant produces some of the finest iron on the continent."
Kendon pointed through the carriage window as he explained.
"See that tower over there? That's the Magic Tower of the Tenever School. Ultimately, all their research revolves around working with iron. The purer and more refined the metal, the easier it is to infuse with magic, and the more useful it becomes."
Iron was worth less than gold or silver.
However, the military power it represented was something neither gold nor silver could replace.
Where there was power, money gathered. And where money gathered, people followed.
Sylvrant was a territory destined to prosper.
"What an enormous city."
"Didn't you say you'd spent your whole life in the snowy mountains? You're fortunate to have Sylvrant as the first city you visit. It's considered the second-greatest city in the Empire."
"Which is the first?"
"The capital, where His Imperial Majesty resides, of course! Though compared to the capital, Sylvrant does have a somewhat rough and rustic character."
Vermoor carefully surveyed his surroundings.
Weapons filled the roadside stalls.
There were inexpensive swords with seemingly dull edges, spears with silver wire wrapped around their handles, and axes bearing subtle patterns engraved into their blades.
Although he appeared to be looking around casually, his eyes were assessing the thickness and balance of each blade, along with the quality of the handles.
Much of the merchandise was obviously worthless junk.
Yet Vermoor's keen eyes occasionally caught an unusual gleam among the cluttered pieces of iron.
As long as one knew how to judge weapons properly, it might be possible to uncover a treasure even among these junkyard-like stalls.
'Excellent.'
His first impression of the city was extremely favorable.
Vermoor was a warrior to the very marrow of his bones.
Whenever he saw a finely forged blade, his blood stirred almost instinctively.
Although his expression remained indifferent, he was as excited as a child who had discovered a new toy.
However, he occasionally spotted weapons that even his experienced eyes could not fully assess.
They possessed an unfamiliar quality.
Mana.
The difference was exceedingly subtle, but Vermoor had honed his senses in the pure air of the snowy mountains. He could distinctly perceive the foreign energy within them.
'Are these the Crafted Weapons I read about in Hyunwoo's book?'
The Mages of the Tenever School conducted tens of thousands of experiments to imbue iron with magical properties.
The finest results of their research ended up in the collections of nobles, while failed experiments and seemingly useless byproducts frequently found their way out through the back of the Magic Tower.
Those cheap discarded creations eventually filtered through Sylvrant's underworld markets until they reached even the roadside stalls.
[#Crafted Items: Items created by imbuing lower-grade equipment with magical properties to grant special effects. Most are not particularly useful, but occasionally, items superior to Rare-grade equipment can be found. Some can also serve as excellent materials for reforging higher-grade items.]
According to Hyunwoo's records, finding valuable items required not only a discerning eye but also considerable patience and the diligence to search thoroughly.
Vermoor was confident in all those qualities.
There was only one problem.
'I have no money.'
The large backpack on his shoulders contained animal hides, small handicrafts, dried bear meat, and medicinal herbs he had brought from the snowy mountains.
But this was not some small mountain village where people relied on barter.
These merchants wanted gold and silver coins.
'I suppose I'll come back to look at the weapons another time.'
Reluctantly, Vermoor turned his attention elsewhere.
By then, the carriage had reached a square so crowded that there was barely room to stand.
With the throngs of people making further progress impossible, the coachman pulled on the reins and brought the mules to a halt.
"All right, everyone, time to get off! This is the final stop for traveling merchant Decarmel's transportation service!"
The coachman approached the side of the carriage and helped the elderly couple down.
Ethan jumped off, followed by his parents, who supported each other as they descended.
Once everyone had disembarked, they did not immediately go their separate ways.
Instead, as though by prior agreement, they gathered around Vermoor.
"Thank you so much, young man. Thanks to you, these old bones made it here safely to see our grandchildren."
The elderly woman clasped Vermoor's thick hand in both of hers.
Then she reached into a bundle she had carefully kept with her and took something out.
It was the woolen scarf she had been knitting during the journey.
"I'm sorry I have so little to give you. Would you accept this, at least?"
Vermoor had survived his entire life in the snowy mountains with little more than leather clothing.
To him, a woolen scarf was nothing but an unnecessary accessory.
Nevertheless—
"Thank you."
At his brief response, the elderly couple's faces lit up.
"See you again, Mister!"
Ethan ran over and clung to Vermoor's forearm before cheerfully running off again.
His parents bowed deeply and hurried after their son.
The coachman also removed his hat and waved.
"I hope we have the opportunity to travel together again."
They all departed with smiles.
The square remained as noisy and lively as before, but for some reason, Vermoor felt a little lonely.
"Aren't you leaving?"
Kendon, who had remained standing nearby, answered Vermoor's question.
"You're heading to the Magic Tower, aren't you? I came here on business with them myself, so we might as well go together."
Kendon glanced at Vermoor's belt and belongings before continuing.
"Besides, you don't have any money on you right now, do you?"
"I have a few things I could exchange."
"Vermoor, this is Sylvrant. Do you intend to shove a rabbit pelt in an innkeeper's face and ask for a night's lodging?"
"I was planning to exchange my goods for money first."
"Come now, look at the state of us. Where could we possibly go looking like this? The moment we set foot in a proper shop, they'll chase us out with a broom. 'What business does a filthy beggar have eyeing the goods in my shop?' That's what they'll say."
They certainly were a little dirty.
No, they were extremely dirty.
In their present condition, it seemed unlikely that they would receive a fair price even if they managed to sell their belongings.
"Let's get some rest today. I'll lend you whatever money you need for now."
Without waiting for an answer, Kendon started walking.
He moved with the confidence of someone who had visited Sylvrant many times before.
Vermoor followed him, conscious of the unfamiliar feeling of the woolen scarf draped around his shoulders.
Sylvrant, the great city of iron.
Its winds and warmth were unlike anything he had known in the snowy mountains.
After securing rooms at an inn, the first thing they did was bathe.
When Kendon saw the amount of water Vermoor had requested for his bath, he clicked his tongue in disbelief.
"Listen here, my enormous friend. I know you're a big fellow, but if you use this much water, the bathing fee will cost as much as the room itself! Can't you hear my purse growing thinner?"
"My apologies."
At Vermoor's brief apology, Kendon waved his hand dismissively.
"Never mind. There's no need to apologize. I'll keep a record of everything, so you can pay me back all at once later."
Vermoor did not bother refusing.
He immersed himself in warm water, washing away the exhaustion of his journey, then thoroughly scrubbed his body.
Using an oily ash-based cleansing powder, he scrubbed away the dust of the snowy mountains, along with the blood, sweat, and earthy smells that clung to his skin.
At dinner, he generously helped himself to steaming meat dishes.
He also enjoyed several cups of strong liquor while exchanging a few reflections on their journey with Kendon.
However, their main topic of conversation was naturally the tower rising above the city.
The Magic Tower of the Tenever School.
"The Tenever School specializes in magic involving iron."
"Mages working with iron. That's unusual. I would have thought iron was more closely associated with knights and soldiers."
"Not necessarily. After all, the history of iron is practically the history of humanity itself. Magic is also a human discipline."
"True enough. There's no rule saying a Mage must wander around carrying a staff made from some rotten old tree."
Even a Mage would benefit from carrying a small dagger for emergencies.
And if that dagger had magic engraved upon it, all the better.
"The Magic Tower's entrance examination will be held in three days. However……."
"What is it?"
"Are you truly planning to take the examination? With that 'Fireball' of yours?"
"Of course. I'm confident I can throw it harder than anyone else."
"Fireball isn't something you physically throw in the first…… Oh, never mind. We've come all this way, so it would be ridiculous to give up without even taking the examination. Let's both do our best."
"Agreed."
Clack.
Their wooden mugs collided, sending the liquor inside sloshing.
It was a toast wishing each other success.
'So this is where it begins! My life as a Mage.'
Feeling the fiery liquor slide down his throat, Vermoor smiled with satisfaction.
Once their cups and plates were empty, the two men retired to their respective rooms.
Vermoor's room was old.
The wallpaper was peeling, and the floorboards creaked.
Still, the furniture was sturdy.
It seemed to have been properly assembled when it was first made.
Although the corners were chipped and the wood grain had split in places, the furniture remained solid and free of warping.
It did not budge even when he put his considerable weight on it.
There was only one problem.
The bed.
It was an ordinary bed stuffed with straw, but it was a little too small for Vermoor's enormous frame.
When he lay down, his legs protruded beyond the edge from the ankles down.
'Next time I stay at an inn, I'll have to check the size of the bed.'
It was somewhat disappointing.
Nevertheless, he soon fell asleep, snoring peacefully.
Compared to sleeping outdoors on freezing snow or damp moss, this was a heavenly place to rest.
Early the following morning, before dawn, Vermoor opened his eyes out of habit.
It was still an hour when the other guests were sound asleep.
When he went downstairs, the innkeeper was rubbing his eyes as he began preparing for the day's business.
"Good heavens!"
The innkeeper had been yawning widely when an enormous shadow suddenly appeared before him, causing him to jump in fright.
Realizing that it was one of the guests from the previous night, he patted his chest and gave an embarrassed laugh.
"Haha! You're up early, sir. For a moment, I thought some wild beast had wandered in."
"An old habit. Can I get breakfast?"
"Ah, I've only just started the fire, so you'll have to wait a little…… I could bring you some cold bread and ham right away if you don't mind a simple meal."
Vermoor shook his head.
"I'll return after finishing my morning routine, so I'd prefer something hot. I need to loosen up my body anyway."
"Very well. I'll have something ready for you."
The innkeeper watched the rugged man's retreating figure.
Vermoor opened the inn's back door and stepped outside.
The backyard was an open space cluttered with rubbish, miscellaneous objects, and empty oak barrels.
The cold morning air pierced his lungs.
Vermoor found a relatively level patch of ground among the scattered junk and took his position.
Then he began to move.
Slowly, yet with unmistakable weight behind every motion.
His training was nothing like what one might expect.
A man with a body as enormous as his would ordinarily be expected to shake the ground beneath his feet and produce thunderous sounds as his limbs tore through the air.
But Vermoor's movements were far removed from anything violent.
They were quieter than silence itself.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
His massive arms swept gently through the air, while his powerful legs glided across the ground.
His movements, already slow from the beginning, gradually became even slower.
Eventually, it was almost impossible to tell whether he was still moving or had become completely motionless.
A sparrow wandering along the rooftop fluttered down and perched on Vermoor's shoulder.
Without the slightest wariness, the bird tilted its head and rubbed its beak against his thick neck.
Another sparrow soon followed, settling directly on the crown of his head and beginning to preen its feathers.
Apparently, the birds had mistaken the enormous warrior for some ancient tree.
Yet Vermoor had not stopped moving.
Even now, he was continuously twisting his limbs, tightening his muscles, and tracing the movements of martial arts.