Rust-colored earth stretched beneath a dust-hazed sky, with sparse trees dotting the barren landscape. The wasteland below Windcrest Hill supported no substantial settlements—the land couldn't sustain large populations nor produce anything valuable enough to justify importing food.
Novan traversed this desolate terrain without encountering a single person. While the scenery initially intrigued him, its monotony quickly became tiresome after a full day's journey.
He maintained a moderate pace, balancing his eagerness to explore with the prudence of conserving magical energy. Even this relaxed stride equaled a normal person's run—a regular traveler would have taken three days to cover the same distance.
When hunger struck, Novan raised his hand skyward and commanded, "Come." A distant bird veered from its course and perched on his outstretched fingers. He swiftly broke its neck, then skinned and dressed it with practiced movements.
Making an incision in the bird's throat, he concentrated on the flowing blood, separating drinkable water from the crimson fluid—a technique Keorn had taught him, far more efficient than conjuring water from nothing. After filling his waterskin and roasting the meat to enjoy with his sheep's milk cheese, Novan continued his journey.
Near midday, he spotted six men descending a low hill ahead. They wore dust-covered traveling cloaks and carried short swords, pulling a large cloth-covered cart behind them—traveling merchants, he presumed, like those he'd heard occasionally visited the village below his hill.
When Novan blocked their path, a middle-aged man who appeared to be their leader asked warily, "Who stands in our way?"
"Just a solitary traveler. Could you direct me to the nearest city?"
As he spoke, Novan noticed several men exchanging glances, their gazes sharpening with predatory interest rather than caution.
The leader's tone hardened. "Follow our wheel tracks and you'll reach Murei. Even a fool couldn't miss it."
Novan frowned at the rudeness but nodded. He'd received the information he sought, regardless of their manner. "Thank you," he said with a slight bow, turning to leave.
Before he could depart, one merchant blocked his path, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Wait. Information has its price. You can't simply take without giving."
"Open your bag first. Looks quite full."
The group had encircled Novan, some drawing their swords.
"Bandits?" Novan asked.
"Consider it a side business. Leave the bag and you can keep your clothes. We don't particularly enjoy bloodshed."
Novan's enhanced smell detected their true intentions—the scent of predators preparing to strike. Their promise of mercy was merely a ploy to keep his possessions clean of blood.
"Perfect. I need the practice," Novan said calmly.
"What?"
Novan swept his palm horizontally, channeling his magic to amplify a gentle breeze into a ferocious gale. The wind hurled all six men through the air.
"Aaaagh!"
Creating wind through physical motion and magical enhancement consumed far less energy than conjuring it from nothing—another lesson from Keorn.
As the dust settled, one bandit lay motionless with a broken neck, another collapsed with a fractured leg. The remaining four struggled to rise.
Novan untied his waterskin, transforming the liquid into ice needles that radiated heat. With a gesture, he launched them toward one bandit, piercing his abdomen.
"Argghhh!"
"Mercy! Please!" begged the man with the broken leg.
Novan found himself dissatisfied with this new technique—the projectiles lacked the speed, power, and accuracy of his stone-slinging. After spinning a second ice needle before release, it flew considerably faster, piercing the throat of a fleeing bandit.
"Die!" Two bandits charged from behind.
Instead of kicking them away, Novan stomped the ground. Earthen spikes erupted from the rust-colored soil, impaling the attackers through various parts of their bodies.
Though these men could have been dispatched with a mere word, the practical combat experience proved valuable. Novan now better understood which techniques suited his natural abilities.
He approached the sole survivor, the man with the broken leg. Keorn had advised never showing mercy to roadside bandits—sparing one from misplaced compassion often resulted in harm to many innocent travelers later.
However, instead of finishing him, Novan paused. "Let me ask you something."
"A-anything, magic sir! I'll tell you anything!" The bandit bowed, disregarding his pain.
"Why attack me so recklessly? A solitary traveler could easily be a magic-user like myself."
After hesitating, the bandit answered, "B-because you bowed your head, magic sir..."
"What?"
"When the boss insulted you, you still bowed respectfully. We assumed you were an ordinary person."
So their rudeness had been a test—when Novan responded politely without objection, they judged him weak and vulnerable.
"Thank you. A valuable lesson." The insight that displaying deference in unpopulated areas invites aggression was worth remembering.
As payment for this education, Novan placed his finger on the bandit's forehead and commanded a painless death.
The bandits' cart contained various untouched merchandise—they had indeed been merchants originally. Finding it impractical to take everything, Novan collected only their money before continuing along the wheel tracks.
As he progressed, vegetation grew more abundant on the rusty soil, indicating proximity to civilization. With a clear destination in mind, Novan increased his pace significantly, reaching Murei by sunset.
"Remarkable," he murmured, gazing at the settlement spread below.
Over a hundred people moved through streets bathed in golden evening light—more humans gathered in one place than he'd seen in his entire life.
Entering the city, Novan walked slowly through the crowds, absorbing the unfamiliar environment. Dark brown brick buildings rose two to three stories high, with stalls occasionally positioned out front.
Passersby showed no interest in one another, neither greeting nor acknowledging those they passed. After observing this behavior, Novan approached an idle fruit vendor.
"Excuse me."
"Hmm? Buying something?"
"No, I was wondering where I might find lodging—"
The vendor interrupted with a snort. "If you're not buying fruit, move along!"
Novan's expression hardened momentarily. Should he assert himself to avoid disrespect? Or perhaps purchasing fruit was simply the unwritten price of information in the city.
After brief consideration, Novan nodded and produced his coin purse. "Very well. How much for this?"
"Apples are two depit each. For outsiders, similar-sized foreign coins will suffice."
When Novan inquired about the currency, he learned depit was the local copper coin. Finding comparable pieces among those taken from the bandits, he purchased the fruit, though it appeared withered and smelled unappetizing.
"Continue straight down this road, turn left, and you'll find an inn with a blue roof and painted beer mug sign."
Novan bit into the apple while walking but quickly discarded it—the fruit was unpleasantly sour and astringent. Had the vendor misdirected him, Novan planned to return and demonstrate his disapproval magically, but the inn appeared exactly where described.
Upon entering, a young serving woman approached. "My, what a handsome visitor! Seeking a room?"
"Yes," Novan nodded, internally flustered by her nearly transparent attire.
"How much per night?"
"Sixteen depit or one rum. For other currencies, consult the owner."
When he asked about rum, he learned it was silver currency. As he handed over payment, the woman smiled broadly and pressed subtly against his shoulder.
"Won't you be cold sleeping alone? I could warm your bed."
"No, thank you."
Keorn had cautioned against casual relations with such women, warning that diseases they carried could later spread to others, despite magic-users' natural resistance.
"I do have a question, though."
Novan intended to ask about nearby beasts with bounties—he could strengthen himself by absorbing their mana while earning money.
Instead of answering, the serving girl pointed to a large beer barrel beside her. Novan's second realization since leaving the hill became clear: in the city, no information came without cost.