"Good heavens, sir! What happened to you?"
The innkeeper, who had been wiping down a table, hurried over in alarm.
Vermoor stood in the doorway, drenched in sweat as though he had just been pulled out of a river.
Drops of sweat fell from his hair, and his thin shirt clung to his skin, revealing every contour of his powerful muscles. White vapor escaped his mouth with every breath.
The innkeeper hurriedly fetched a towel soaked in cold water and handed it to him.
"What in the world have you been doing to end up like this? Did you go out and move a mountain?"
"I was just exercising."
Vermoor wiped the sweat from his face with the damp towel.
One was not enough, so the innkeeper brought him another two.
'Just how much exercise would someone that size have to do to sweat so heavily? Surely he hasn't torn up my entire backyard?'
Concerned, the innkeeper hurried to the back door and flung it open.
However, the yard was as peaceful as though not even an ant had passed through it.
Not a speck of dust had been disturbed.
The innkeeper tilted his head in confusion and returned inside.
"Is breakfast ready?"
By the time the innkeeper returned, Vermoor had already wiped away his sweat and was sitting upright at a table.
"Ah, of course it is! I've heated the soup and roasted the meat, so just give me a moment. I'll bring everything out."
The innkeeper rushed into the kitchen and returned carrying an enormous tray.
He had reheated the soup prepared in a large pot the previous evening and poured it into a generous bowl. After sitting overnight, the ingredients had infused the broth with a deep, rich flavor.
A basket of somewhat—no, rather hard—black bread was placed on the table, along with a plate piled high with roasted meat.
There was also a whole, unsliced leg of ham and some cheese.
A basket of fresh, crisp vegetables completed the meal, followed by four red apples for dessert.
"Here you are. Eat your fill."
The moment the innkeeper finished setting down the food, Vermoor's hands began moving.
He lifted the entire bowl of hot soup and drank directly from it, an expression of satisfaction spreading across his face.
Drinking soup without a spoon was hardly proper table etiquette, but there was nobody in this small inn who would dare criticize him for it.
He tore apart the hard bread and soaked it in the soup before taking a huge bite of ham.
It was a vigorous meal, reminiscent of a starving beast tearing into its prey.
"You ate that much last night, and you can still put away all this?"
The innkeeper clicked his tongue in amazement as he watched.
As the man who had prepared the food, he could hardly be displeased to see someone enjoying it so enthusiastically.
Of course, the fact that this single customer was generating enough revenue for more than ten ordinary diners pleased him even more.
As Vermoor tore off another piece of hard bread, he fell into thought.
In human society, one could not survive without money.
Cold pieces of metal often held greater power than sharp claws or powerful fangs.
Without money, a person could obtain neither a place to sleep nor even a mouthful of water.
That was simply how this land worked.
'It's not as though I lived completely alone in the snowy mountains, either.'
The same had been true there.
Although it might seem possible to survive entirely through self-sufficiency, reality was different.
To obtain necessities such as salt and metal tools, he had eventually needed to carry his hunting spoils down to the villages below.
There was no such thing as complete isolation anywhere in the world.
'Kendon spent quite a bit on me.'
Vermoor roughly calculated their expenses from the previous evening through that morning.
There was the lodging fee Kendon had paid, the cost of bathwater, the alcohol they had consumed the previous night, and the price of breakfast.
At least ten to fifteen silver coins must have been spent.
'I should go sell those hides.'
All he had brought with him were carefully prepared animal hides and some homemade dried meat.
After all, hides and meat were about the only things a hunter had to sell.
He also had the bottle of sugar the coachman had given him, but he did not want to sell that unless absolutely necessary.
'The bear hide should be worth the most…… I wonder how much I'll get for it.'
Deep inside his luggage was an exceptionally well-preserved bear hide.
It was the finest of all the hides he possessed.
Most hunted animals inevitably had arrow holes or sword wounds in their pelts, but this bear had been different.
Vermoor had strangled it to death with his bare arms, without using a single weapon.
As a result, the hide was a premium specimen without so much as a scratch.
When he had mentioned it to Kendon the previous day, Kendon had advised him to visit a high-end shop that catered to nobles.
The more valuable an item was, the less likely it was to fetch a fair price at a low-end establishment.
'Good.'
He devoured the final apple in two bites.
As he swallowed the crisp flesh, he reached a decision.
He would head straight to a shop and sell his hides.
Then, with the money he earned, he would return to examine the weapons he had seen at the roadside stalls.
After finishing his meal, Vermoor went upstairs and collected his heavy luggage.
His destination was a district of shops situated near the inner city walls.
Farther inside, deep within the inner city, there were even more luxurious establishments.
However, a northern outsider of uncertain social standing could not simply wander into those areas.
When Vermoor entered the shop he had chosen, the bell hanging above the door rang.
Jingle.
The subtle scent of leather mingled with the smell of refined beef tallow.
Various polished hides were displayed along the walls, while delicately crafted wallets and belts rested inside glass cases.
In one corner, there were luxury accessories such as leather-wrapped watch straps and expensive smoking pipes.
It was clearly an establishment catering to nobles and wealthy merchants.
Shops of this caliber did not discriminate against customers based on their appearance.
After all, nobles and wealthy people sometimes possessed peculiar tastes and might wander the streets dressed like beggars.
For that reason, the shopkeeper had trained himself to greet every customer with an unwavering smile.
Yet for the first time in quite a while, that seemingly impenetrable smile faltered.
Gulp.
As Vermoor approached, towering more than two heads above the average adult man, the shopkeeper suddenly felt like a puppy standing before a ferocious beast.
'Calm down. I'm a professional.'
Looking up to meet Vermoor's eyes, he desperately controlled himself and regained his composure.
"H-How may I help you, sir?"
"I've come to sell some hides."
"Are you a hunter? I don't believe I've seen you around these parts before……."
A merchant dealing in animal hides naturally knew every hunter in the territory.
He knew which hunters were skilled, and which were particularly talented at treating and preserving hides after a kill.
"I arrived yesterday. Before that, I lived in the snowy mountains farther north."
"The snowy mountains?"
For the first time, the fear in the shopkeeper's eyes disappeared, replaced by anticipation.
The animals inhabiting the northern snowy mountains possessed rare, high-quality pelts unlike anything found in this region.
In fact, hides from those mountains occasionally made their way into his shop, and they invariably sold for excellent prices.
When Vermoor opened his luggage, the shopkeeper's eyes widened.
The snow-white hides were in far better condition than those of the local animals.
Their tanning and preservation were also remarkably clean and thorough.
Then, finally, Vermoor pulled out the bear hide.
The shopkeeper nearly screamed.
"Oh? Ooooh!"
There were no arrow holes or cuts from spearheads.
The entire pelt had been preserved perfectly, without a single tear or crushed patch.
With proper processing, this exceptional hide could be turned into a carpet worthy of a great noble's bedroom.
A bear hide this flawless commanded a premium far beyond the price of an ordinary pelt.
"I'll buy them! Our shop will purchase everything!"
At the shopkeeper's enthusiastic declaration, Vermoor nodded calmly.
"Offer whatever price you think is fair. I'm not familiar with the local market rates."
For a moment, the merchant's instincts stirred.
'He doesn't know the market price?'
These hides should fetch at least several dozen gold coins.
But if he was dealing with an ignorant Barbarian, perhaps he could offer just five or six and send him away delighted.
Just as a hint of cunning began to creep into his smiling expression, the shopkeeper met Vermoor's gaze.
Vermoor was merely looking at him.
There was no particular thought behind it.
But the shopkeeper's mind began racing.
He could probably deceive the Barbarian for now.
But what if the man discovered the true market price later?
If someone capable of strangling a bear to death came back to demolish his shop, would calling the guards be enough to stop him?
Would he even survive?
"F-Fifty gold coins."
"Fifty?"
'That much?'
That was what Vermoor had meant by his surprised response.
"F-Fifty-five! I'll give you fifty-five! No, fifty-seven! I really can't go any higher than that!"
It was the highest price the shopkeeper could bring himself to offer while preserving his pride as a merchant.
Any more than that, and he risked taking a loss.
As a businessman, that was something he simply could not accept.
Of course, Vermoor was more than satisfied with the price.
A short while later, he emerged from the shop with a heavy pouch jingling in his hand.
"Please visit us again! You absolutely must!"
The shopkeeper's farewell rang out behind him.
After all, even from the merchant's perspective, merchandise of this quality was exceptionally difficult to obtain.
Despite paying a considerable sum, he considered it a satisfying transaction.
Vermoor felt the weight of the leather pouch in his hand and thought to himself.
'If they pay this well for hides, I could make a decent living hunting around here.'
At the very least, it seemed unlikely that he would starve.
With money in his pocket and a little breathing room, he headed back into the streets with noticeably lighter steps.
His first destination was the street lined with weapon stalls.
Unfortunately, despite his expectations, he failed to find a new weapon.
There were plenty of interesting items, but nothing he considered suitable.
'There certainly were some intriguing weapons…….'
Every one of them had a fatal flaw.
It was not simply a matter of age or poor maintenance.
The problem was more fundamental.
'None of them can withstand my strength.'
There was not a single weapon sturdy enough to endure Vermoor's physical power.
Swinging one a couple of times might have been fine.
But finding a weapon that would neither break nor bend when he swung it with all his strength was another matter entirely.
In the end, he purchased no weapons.
Instead, he wandered through the streets and indulged in plenty of food from the roadside vendors.
That evening, Kendon returned from the Magic Tower.
The moment Vermoor saw him, he held out some money.
"This is what I borrowed yesterday."
"Hmm? Ah, the lodging fees, meals, and everything else. Never mind. Keep it."
"Didn't you tell me to pay you back?"
"I was just saying that. What kind of man would take money from someone who saved his life? If we were talking about gold coins, I might have to think about it, but I can certainly spare a few silver coins."
So that was why Kendon had been so willing to lend him money.
Apparently, he had never intended to collect the debt in the first place.
"You said this was your first time living in a city. You'll need plenty of money. Keep it for yourself."
"I appreciate it."
Seeing no reason to refuse, Vermoor returned the coins to his pocket.
"How are your studies coming along?"
"Haaah……."
Kendon sighed the moment the question was asked.
Things did not appear particularly promising.
"Vermoor. How about a drink?"
The examination was only two days away, and he wanted to drink at a time like this?
Vermoor hesitated, wondering whether that was really a good idea.
However, resisting the temptation of alcohol was difficult.
Having endured the freezing temperatures of the snowy mountains with the help of strong liquor, he was a drinker through and through.
"Sounds good. I've got money from selling the hides, so I'll treat you."
Another drinking session began in the inn's ground-floor dining room.
There was a dish of thinly sliced pork stir-fried with vegetables in a sweet sauce.
Another consisted of chicken stuffed with various ingredients and roasted over a wood fire.
There were even snacks made from finely crumbled bread, deep-fried in oil and sprinkled with bean powder.
"Haaah…… I really have to pass this time. It's been ten years already. Ten whole years."
After his first drink, Kendon let out a deep sigh.
He had been taking entrance examinations for magic schools for more than a decade.
"Ten years of examinations?"
Vermoor asked without much expression.
Kendon's emotions suddenly surged.
"That's right! Ten years! Ten! And it's not just this place I've failed to get into! I've tried the Genoa School in the Valerius Territory, and I even applied to the Callios School down south. They're branch schools, but they're still fairly prestigious!"
There were dozens of magic schools throughout the world.
However, only four were considered the original Main Schools.
The Tenever School was one of those Four Great Main Schools.
Every other school was merely a branch, developing or applying the teachings of the Main Schools from different perspectives.
"So you failed them all."
"If I'd passed, do you think I'd still be sitting here like this? Haaah."
Kendon gulped down his beer with a thoroughly disgruntled expression.
Then he turned toward Vermoor with an unusually serious look.
"Anyway, the examination is in two days. You said you wanted to learn magic too, didn't you? Unless you're fortunate enough to encounter some extraordinary master willing to teach you, or you can throw mountains of money at a teacher like the nobles do, entering a Magic Tower is your only option."
"What kind of examination is it?"
"It depends on the field. Age matters too. For young children, they mainly examine potential, such as talent and natural aptitude. For older applicants like us, they focus on knowledge and practical ability. From the Magic Tower's perspective, teaching an older disciple everything from the basics would be a waste of time."
At those words, Vermoor quietly clenched and unclenched his fist.
"I've had plenty of practice throwing Fireballs, so I should pass comfortably."
"Hmph! Something that doesn't produce so much as a spark or a puff of smoke is hardly a Fireball. Let me tell you right now, you're going to fail. One hundred percent! No matter how stubbornly you insist on calling it Fireball, everyone else will see it for what it is: throwing rocks. Nothing more than the ignorant stone-throwing of an unusually strong Barbarian!"
"Well, we won't know for certain until we try, will we?"
Kendon let out an incredulous laugh.
"Sometimes your insight genuinely astonishes me, but at times like this, you're every bit the stereotypical Barbarian. Your ignorance and stubbornness are tougher than iron!"
"Would you care to make a bet on which of us passes?"
"Gladly! The one who passes gets three silver coins from the other…… No, make it five!"
With that solemn wager, the night drew to a close.
And two days later, the morning of the Tenever School's entrance examination finally arrived.