Escort Quests makes for Easy Earnings

The rest of the journey was mostly uneventful. The peaceful route lived up to its reputation. The only thing worth noting was how the guards introduced themselves as soon as the captain admitted me in. I had a hard time remembering names, likely because I was not used to meeting people, so I used their distinctive features.

Karach the bald, and Jason the slim guarded the first cart. Floren the archer and Dominicus the big, guarded the third cart. Mando the balding, and Dorfin the ugly guarded the rearmost cart.

The captain's name which I already knew because of the prompt, was Osman. Osman, as the name would suggest, looked middle eastern. He had reddish skin, dark eyes, and a glorious beard. And it was hard to forget the name of someone as distinctive as him.

Charlie the annoying, to my misfortune did not stop talking until we were in front of the Whitefield Merchant Hall.

The town of Whitefield, which probably got its name from the swats of cogon grass surrounding it, was even smaller than Pinecreek.

The road was unpaved until the main square, where an even shabbier merchant hall awaited.

Our company was greeted by another merchant who was handed a letter by the captain. After scrutinizing the paper, he sent his aides to check the carts.

We stayed away and waited for them to finish their inspection. It got me wondering how they trust the caravan guards so much. The contents of those carts probably cost thousands of silver, and with the medieval world's lax security, running away with them would be very tempting.

Yet there they were. Content to get a very small fraction of the scales.

"All accounted for. Good work." the merchant handed the Captain a small pouch of coins.

[Quest: Caravan Escort Complete]

[You gain 5 Reputation]

[You gain 5 Stat Points]

[You gain 50 Experience]

The captain approached me, opened the purse, and handed me ten silver coins.

"Tens scales, as Aldo had promised." he said "Now that you have joined us, you might get better pay in your next contract."

"Thank you, captain." I said, happy that I have made the right decision. Of course, going rogue would pay a little less, than affiliating yourself to a reputed band of mercenaries.

"We retire for the day. You are all dismissed. We gather here tomorrow morning." the captain announced.

The mercenaries dispersed, like schoolboys released from school. I saw three of them heading to the tavern, happily skipping on their way.

I did not drink, as surprising as that may seem, so I headed to the Whitefield marketplace, to check on the market prices and see how much my money was worth.

If a silver coin could buy four pieces of bread, then ten coins must be much. I jiggled the coins in my hands as I navigated the not-so-crowded street. It was silly to think that those coins were the first money I got from working.

I tried working at a department store once but got kicked out before I got my pay. I think you already know what I did.

The stalls weren't as numerous and diverse as that of Pinecreek, but there was still something to explore.

They sold apples and fruits in large quantities just for half a silver coin. The cheapness was surprising since even in my hometown of just 2000 people, fruits were expensive. Even more surprising though was the fact that you could split a coin and it would still be considered valid currency.

Farm crops were slightly more expensive but not by much.

Bread sold for two pieces for a coin, which was double the price than that of Pinecreek's, and it did not look any better. Most likely because they had to import the grain.

Meat was where prices get serious. Bird meat stood at a silver coin for a pound. Venison stood at two silver coins for a pound. No stall sold pork and beef.

So far, the prices made me feel rich. It was like earning big-city wages in a small town.

Most stalls were selling produce or hunted meat, which was not surprising given the size and location of the settlement. They were heavily a rural community, reliant on farming and hunting.

But even in this small town, smithing was a thing. At least a couple of stalls displayed weapons and armor, and I excitedly approached.

"What are you looking for?" I almost jumped at someone suddenly speaking near me. I turned my head and to my dismay, saw Charlie's face.

"How long have you been following me?" I said.

"I was not following you. I just saw you scanning the marketplace like a kid. Eager to spend your first wages are you, newbie?"

I sighed. If I could, I would do everything in my power, to shoo him away. But offending him might affect my relationship with the party.

"I was just hoping to find a replacement for my chipped sword. And maybe a nice helmet." I continued walking to the stall where I saw the glistening of metals against the setting sun.

"Why would you spend your money on that? We're just token guards, Rospol. We never had to deal with anything worse than a small band of greenskins."

Thinking about it now, the caravan guards had been doing it for too long to be wearing beginning armor. Not to mention, they were too low level for a group that claim to have started a year ago.

The routes must be too safe then which was a good thing. In theory, I could complete the main quest just doing caravan escorts and gaining reputation in basically peaceful mode. That had me even more thrilled.

Nonetheless, having better equipment would hurt no one.

I reached the stall and took a closer look at the merchandise. Stereotypically, the stall owner was a bearded muscly guy with a black apron. Most litrpg stories, however, would not mention, the offensive body odor.

To my disappointment, the eleven-scale purse was not enough to be thinking of buying replacements.

The only thing I could afford was a small knife. A replacement short sword stood at a steep 20 silver coins. While a standard-length sword was at 30 silver coins.

The cheapest helmet was at 25 silver coins, and it was just some, boring and rusty round helmet.

Not only were they beyond my financial capability, but they were also not that much of an upgrade. Replacing my chipped short sword with a brand new one would only add 5 attack power, which I don't think was much at all.

So I stayed away with my purse intact. In the meantime, my current equipment will do.

I was not that much in a hurry, anyway.

Bob will have to wait. If he wanted an action-packed story right from the start, then he should have thought of giving me better powers.

"Where are you off to, now?" Charlie asked. He was blubbering while I was taking a look at the wares, but I had managed to shut his words off into background noise.

"Get to the tavern, maybe. Eat something and find a room." I said as the day was already ending. The setting sun was rudely, pointing its reddish rays on the road, making me shield my eyes.

"With ten scales? The tavern." he snorted. "You sure do love to waste money.

"What do you suggest I do then, starve and sleep on the streets?"

"No dumbass." he replied, making his punchability skyrocket "You buy a coin-worth of bread, and then you ask a relative to let you sleep in their barn shed."

He took off the sackcloth strapped to his back and revealed it had been bread he had been carrying the entire way.

"I don't... have a relative."

He raised his brow. "Well, I do... follow me then."

Charlie walked briskly through the dissipating crowd, and led me out of the main square, into the outskirts, where the buildings grew sparser.

I doubt what he said was true. Judging by the market prices, ten silver coins should be enough in the tavern. Unless of course, if the tavern owners were the biggest of sharks.

Before the sun finally dipped into the horizon, we stopped by a small stone cottage with a thatched roof. The door was closed but through the gaps, I know there was fire inside.

"Is this your relative's house?"

"Yes." when I thought he was heading for the door to knockc, Charlie proceeded to the back of the house. I followed him, thinking he'd knocked at the back door instead.

He did not, and headed straight to the small dark shed, a distance away from the house.

While we were traversing the knee-high grass in the dimness, I realized I was following a stranger into one shoddy place.

"Are you sure it's alright not to ask for permission first?"

"I come here every time I had to sleep in Whitefield. They no longer mind. And there's not like there's something inside other than hay." he replied.

"Be honest. Are they really your relatives?"

"Honestly... they are a bit distant. The man's my neighbor's friend's acquaintance."