The next morning, the village's emergency bell rang leisurely.
This signal meant a merchant had arrived.
Money didn't circulate in the village. But we did trade with merchants.
Just like how supply wagons delivered essentials like cookies and instant ramen to remote military outposts, merchants here brought the goods the village needed.
Of course, it wasn't free. They were merchants, after all.
"Oh, is Mr. Kirgil handling the payments again this time?"
The merchant was a relatively young man named Erba.
Probably late twenties.
Blond hair, sun-tanned face. Sitting all day in an open-top driver's seat must've done that to his skin.
So I called him "Golden Sun" in my head.
His personality? Overly friendly in a sleazy way— the type who buttered you up to squeeze more out of you or lock in the sale.
He'd crush it selling cell phones back home.
Word was, big shots or promising merchants didn't hit these backwaters—you couldn't make real money here.
So it was like sending mid-level company guys who could fend for themselves: an assistant manager or a perpetual section chief.
This guy was the former.
"Your calculations are too spot-on, Mr. Kirgil. Makes it impossible for me to pad the bill."
"Honest words. Wish your prices were as honest."
Around us, villagers were eyeing the rare goods they hadn't seen in ages, asking prices or just gawking.
I handled haggling and settling up with Erba for them.
Agnes used to do it as village chief, but I took over because I was good with numbers.
This world was full of people who couldn't even count on their fingers.
Didn't someone say it? "What's the point of learning math if you're never gonna use it in society?"
This place proved it.
You could get by without math—or even basic arithmetic.
That's why someone like me, who could add, subtract, multiply, and divide, was the go-to for dealing with merchants.
Of course, everyone paid their own way. I just helped with the math and bargaining.
"Oh, right. I brought that item you asked for, Mr. Kirgil."
A bit later, Erba pulled a set of leather armor from a box.
Agnes had ordered it for me.
"On the way here, I ran into Agnes and Ferio right by Prosek Castle.
They stopped me cold and started grilling me—'Is this okay? Does it fit? Does it suit him?' I was sweating bullets.
You know how picky they are, so the materials and craftsmanship got extra attention.
This belt isn't just slapped together either..."
The guy was pulling out all the stops to hype the quality with his silver tongue.
I let it go in one ear and out the other.
Anyway, this leather armor was bought by Agnes and vetted by Ferio.
I tried it on right away to test the fit.
But why leather? Low defense and all.
Not because I was just hunting. Anyone who's handled metal weapons or gear knows.
You gotta clean, tighten, and oil them constantly. Skip a day, and rust sets in.
Leather needs care too, but not like metal.
And leather's defense isn't that bad. Imagine getting stabbed in the gut with a kitchen knife, but you've got a book tucked in your waistband. Some impact, but it won't pierce easy.
That's about the level.
Unless it's a lance charge.
There are enchanted metal armors that don't rust, but those go to rich nobles or heroes saving the kingdom.
Full plate you see on grunts in games? Crazy expensive and rare in reality.
"...So that's the deal."
"Yeah... yeah..."
The guy was still talking.
"Since I've brought such fine, top-quality goods this time,
could Mr. Kirgil do me a little favor?"
"What kind of favor?"
"Well, I heard you've learned a lot of ancient language from Agnes."
Actually, the opposite. But I didn't correct him.
No need for extra attention.
"Yeah, we've been studying together, so I know a bit."
"Perfect. I need a translation for one ancient phrase. It's simple."
I could tell from how extra chummy Erba was getting.
"Ancient translations cost a pretty penny.
Feels like you're getting it for free, no?"
"Aw, c'mon. It's not that pricey—hardly anyone does it. Super simple phrase. Heh heh heh."
"A lump of iron might be cheap, but make it a chef's knife? Pricey. Takes years for a smith to master that."
"Ugh, fine, fine. I get it.
I'm not dissing your effort, Mr. Kirgil."
"Just like that skill turns scrap into value, my time and effort should factor into the fee. Especially when so few can do it—can't exactly cheap out, right?"
"Sorry, sorry. I know smithing, but ancient language? No clue. Didn't realize the work involved.
That was rude of me."
Looked like my hunch was spot on.
Trying to lowball a clueless middle-aged villager on translation fees.
Shady, but he's the village's only lifeline to the outside. Can't make him too mad.
"Alright. One condition, then. I'm cutting you a deal."
I picked up a fancy women's comb.
Agnes didn't have one at home.
"Whoa! Thanks, mister! Awesome!!"
Didn't even say who it was for, but Reshi came barreling over from the crowd.
Was gonna give it to you anyway.
But people are watching—wait a sec.
"Anyway. Deal. Can't win against you, Mr. Kirgil. Didn't realize you were as sharp as Agnes.
Here, some extras on the house."
Erba tossed in some hairpins and ornaments.
This time Reshi straight-up tackled me.
Hugging so tight I could barely breathe.
Still felt good, though.
Ahem... what can I say.
She's growing up so fast, day by day.
Anyway, Erba might have a dead-end route in this backwater village, but he's a merchant through and through.
He knew how to leave customers happy.
And he targeted Reshi, not me.
Aiming for the long game, huh.
My translation might be worth more than I thought.
"Eh!? Hold up—this pup. No, this white wolf pup?!"
Just as he pulled out a roll of cloth, Erba spotted the white dog trailing Reshi, like always, and freaked.
"That shimmering white fur... don't tell me it's got Fenrir blood? You're raising it in the village? Sell me one?"
"Feed's not for sale. Give it up."
"Just say the word—I'll cover any shortfall later. Plenty of upfront gold, so let me..."
He reached for Feed with greedy eyes, but I blocked him.
"Whoa, whoa, easy. See that big white furball over there?"
"Eek!?"
"Mom's watching. No leash, right?
Money's nice, but you gotta get home safe."
Baetegi might sound funny, but she's man-sized wolf. Even from afar, she'd feel like death staring you down.
Her white fur had this mystical sheen—purebred, huh.
Gotta remember that. And stay cautious.
"R-right. Just kidding. Kidding.
Anyway, that translation we talked about."
Erba unrolled a small scroll, showing the script there... script? More like abstract scribbles??
And the content? Shocking!
"Some bigwig hired a famous mage to inscribe an ancient blessing. But even as a blessing, no one can make heads or tails of it. So it's been passed around to traveling merchants like me."
Hmm... no wonder ancient language is tough to learn here.
With assholes writing it like this.
Did that mage know what he wrote? Or copy-paste from somewhere?
The scroll read:
— Ancient Inscription —⟨Indecipherable Glyphs: Wigdethin Nihbron, Norheth Zindorin⟩
Back home, reviews like this at a hotel would've stumped even translators.
"Erba, make it two more combs for the fee."
Gonna grab some for Ferio and Agnes too.
Worth it.
"Erba, this is dirt cheap for me."
"Y-yes!? That profound?"
Even Agnes couldn't crack this.
Only a native would get it.
"Simple meaning, but shocking. Method's sneaky as hell. Wonder if I should translate straight.
Lucky we're researching something related, or most folks would miss it."
"Please do. Client wants accuracy."
No choice—I explained the real meaning in detail.
"Great Moron, Merciful Moron, Moron Leader." Toned it down a bit.
And footnoted the dick symbols—tons of 'em in there.
Erba went pale hearing it.
Probably some noble's commission.
Reading that straight? Straight-up humiliation.
Might get executed reciting it to a lord.
He'd handle the report smartly.
Much later, I heard my translation sparked a war somewhere.
I didn't know, but Agnes's ancient interpretations were highly trusted.
Coming straight from her village? Even shocking content couldn't be dismissed as a joke.
Dunno the war's outcome, but hope that mocking scribbler got wrecked.
If he knew? Evil bastard.
If not? Irresponsible fool.
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