In this sevenfold world, there are only four currencies.
Fans once flooded forums with questions like, "Why aren't there seven of them?"
But the author explained that he avoided tying currency to the number seven because it symbolizes a jackpot luck, which might ironically be seen as bad luck in a narrative setting.
At the bottom was Sevrin.
The copper coin of the common folk.
It jingled in the pockets of merchants, farmers, and anyone trading in the simplest goods.
A hundred of these coins could be exchanged for a single Sevtal.
Sevtal, the silver coin.
It held more weight—figuratively and literally.
It passed the hand traders that dealt in finer wares and modest luxuries. Gather a hundred, and there comes a Sevtic.
Now, Sevtic is a coin of gold.
It bought not only goods but trust among merchants, nobles, and the occasional ambitious mercenaries.
A hundred of these are needed to touch the pinnacle of currency.
The Sevzinium.
Reserved for the elites and royals, Sevzinium coins were said to gleam like diamonds.
These were treasures of kings used to fund wars, secure alliances, or even topple empires.
To see a Sevzinium in person was a rare privilege, and owning one was practically a legend in itself.
Seven stared at the jar full of Vitalis Pills handed to him by the old lady.
'10 Sevtals…'
It was all he had.
In the novel, a single Vitalis Pill cost 25 Sevrins—far more expensive than a loaf of bread, which cost only 1 Sevrin.
But he had no choice.
It was already in his hands.
As he took it, the system window, which had been silent earlier, suddenly flashed above the jar.
[Vitalis Pills - 77x]
He quickly did the math in his head.
'19 Sevtals and 25 Sevrins…'
The old lady, as if noticing his hesitation, returned to her work, pounding herbs with no further acknowledgment.
"I don't need money."
Embarrassed, Seven tried to hand over his 10 Sevtals anyway. But she didn't even glance at him.
"If I wanted money, I would've asked how many pills you wanted."
"B-But..."
As much as he wanted to avoid forming any close ties, he also hated the idea of owing someone. Back on Earth, even small debts had a way of spiraling out of control.
He extended the 10 Sevtals again.
"Buzz off. Before I take those back."
"Tha… Thank you!"
Reluctantly, Seven tucked the coins back into his wallet and clutched the jar tightly as he left.
'I'll definitely come back and repay this…'
Step.
After a few steps, Seven reached the door of the mercenary hall—just as a man holding a liquor bottle did.
Their eyes locked.
"Tch."
The man clicked his tongue before stepping inside, which made Seven frown.
Sigh.
'Calm down. He's drunk.'
With a deep breath, he took a step forward and also entered the building.
The wooden walls were weathered, and the beams were slightly warped. A single chandelier, made of tarnished bronze, hung from the low ceiling.
To the left was a small reception counter, manned by a bored-looking clerk flipping through a ledger.
Behind him, a wall was lined with request boards, each pinned with faded parchment.
And a menu to order.
It wasn't just all about mercenary works. Food is also important before taking a mission.
Scattered around the room were mismatched tables and chairs, many occupied by mercenaries.
Some sat sharpening their weapons, others leaned back with tankards in hand.
At the far corner, a notice read: "New recruits register here." The desk beneath it was empty, save for a stack of forms and a quill in an inkwell.
But Seven didn't come here to register as a mercenary.
Information.
And as he stepped inside, the information he wanted was already the topic of conversation.
But standing around just to eavesdrop would draw attention. Instead, Seven made his way to the bored-looking clerk behind the counter and took a seat in front of him.
"What would you like to order, sir?"
Seven leaned back in his chair and glanced at the clerk, who barely seemed interested in his presence.
"I'll take one bowl of stew, medium, with a dash of salt, no more than a sprinkle. And make sure the bread's fresh; I don't want any of yesterday's leftovers. Keep it as new as possible."
The clerk barely looked up, but Seven noticed a subtle nod. In this setting, nothing was ever straightforward, and he knew the clerk would get the message.
Information.
As new as possible.
An expert's word is definitely a lot more trustworthy than the drunk's banter.
"One more bowl of stew!"
The clerk turned around and shouted something into the backroom before turning his attention back to the paper.
Seven's gaze wandered around the hall, but stopped on the man beside him.
Long, messy black hair.
Ragged clothes.
Unshaved mustache.
The drunk man from the entrance.
"Long words just for a stew, huh, kid?"
"..."
"Name's Ronan. And yours?"
"..."
"Tch."
Seven remained silent, which made the man click his tongue again.
Silence.
None of them spoke.
The only sounds echoing inside the halls were the banters of drunk men right beside the entrance.
"The Havin girl's coming here, huh?"
"Ahaha, you mean the crybaby? Heard she's acquainted with that Seventh runt!".
"Sshhh… Watch your mouth."
"Why would I? Ahaha. Hart or Havin, makes no difference to me."
The drunk man slammed his mug on the table.
"Bring me the whole Seventh Kingdom, and I'll wipe the floor with 'em!"
"Pfft! You couldn't even wipe your own boots, old man."
A younger merc scoffed, and the drunk glared at him, his cheeks flushed.
"Say that again, brat, and I'll—"
"You'll what? Fall over—"
Seven's focus on the banters stopped as the clerk put a bowl in front of him. Immediately, he took a spoonful.
Gulp.
"Taste good?"
The clerk asked, casually flipping the newspaper in his hands.
"The chef added a seventh seasoning. Spice from Havins."
The code was clear.
The "seventh" wasn't about the seasoning at all.
It was about him.
'Spice from Havins…'
The Havin household, lineage of archmages, residing within the Seventh Kingdom. The rivaling family of the Harts.
And their complete opposite.
'So my fiancée is someone of the Havin...'
"This stew tastes so good I'm gonna die!!!"
The drunk man beside him exclaimed, gulping down the stew in one go, oblivious to what the clerk and Seven were talking about.
He only cared about his stew.
Gulp.
Seven took another spoonful and frowned.
'This stew tastes so bad I'm gonna die…'
After all, acquaintance between opposing family has never been good; one side is bound to fall.
'Fudge it.'
Seven stood up, leaving a bowl of stew that he only took two spoonfuls of.
But as he did, the door slammed open. A man, covered in blood, staggered into the room.
"Request... The Young Lady... has been kidnapped... along the... way..."
The man slumped to the floor.