"Get lost!"
Once again, he'd had a deal stolen from right under his nose—not that it was going anywhere—and the blacksmith was so furious he nearly turned red with rage, booting William clear off the street.
Eric had no choice but to trail after him.
"Huff—puff—Sir, I heard you loud and clear. You're looking for gold, right?"
William was gasping for air after the sprint, but he still managed to keep his salesman smile on.
"Yes, I need gold. But I've got to ask—do you just lurk outside shops hoping to poach customers? If I were that blacksmith, I'd have socked you too."
"Haha, no, no! Not every day—I just happened to be around today."
Eric's eye twitched.
So... not every day. Which means... often.
"Alright, whatever. Tell me what you've got. How are you selling your gold?"
"As one of my valued repeat customers, I'll give it to you at 80% of the market price. Special deal."
"That generous?"
"We street vendors are known for our generosity," William said, hand on heart like he was taking an oath.
Eric wasn't buying it. He still remembered that last batch of gear William sold him—it had practically crumbled into dust.
You better not be trying to sell me gold-painted scrap metal again.
But he wasn't too concerned. After all, anything he put into his inventory would instantly be labeled and identified by material. There'd be no hiding fake goods.
Still, Eric followed William to his "warehouse" with a healthy amount of suspicion.
The small, tucked-away street hadn't changed a bit: dark, quiet, and borderline abandoned.
Well, maybe a few buildings had gathered a thicker layer of dust. Looked like no one had touched them in weeks.
"Here we are, sir," William said, rummaging deep in the back before dragging out a small box.
Eric opened the box... and blinked.
It was full of jewelry—dull, spotted, and heavily tarnished.
"Sir, behold! Pure gold!" William said proudly, holding up a bracelet like it was a sacred relic.
"You've got to be kidding me…"
Eric picked up the heavily blemished bracelet, its original color nearly hidden under the filth, and dropped it into his inventory.
[Tarnished Gold Bracelet]
Estimated salvage: 2–3 gold bits.
Ah, that explained it.
It was gold—but poorly stored and probably decades old. While gold itself doesn't corrode easily, it can still collect grime and residue over time, making it look like trash.
"I'll take the lot," Eric said, shrugging.
Appearance didn't matter to him. Once it went into the smelter, it all melted down the same.
William's eyes lit up as he rubbed his hands together and held up ten fingers.
Eric didn't have enough silver coins on hand, so he had to trade away a chunk of antique silver jewelry instead—almost half of his stash.
But the gold haul wasn't bad. Not bad at all.
Most of the antiques Eric had looted from the ghoul corpse were made of silver. Yet now, he'd managed to trade them for over double the volume in gold.
In fact, silver was highly valued in this region—especially among elves. Rumor had it, elves preferred silver over gold.
So, seeing that smug little grin tug at William's lips, Eric knew the guy had definitely turned a profit.
Not that he minded. The deal was fair enough, and he got what he needed.
Say what you will, but William knew how to run a business. His warehouse was full of junk, but somehow, he always found something vaguely relevant to sell.
This guy was definitely not as broke as he pretended to be.
Once the transaction was done, Eric didn't linger. He headed straight back to the inn.
Behind him, William wiped sweat from his brow as he watched Eric disappear down the street.
"Well?" came a voice from a shadowed doorway nearby.
A scruffy man with a tangle of beard and soot-colored clothes stepped out from a dilapidated building.
"Barely broke even," William muttered, lips twitching.
"Did he notice anything?"
"Doesn't seem like it. Not yet."
The bearded man's voice turned grave. "For your own good, make sure he doesn't. The night of the fire, I was out on the main road. Heard thunder without clouds. Flames lit the forest, then some water from the heavens put it out like it never happened. I couldn't resist checking it out. Found nothing but craters… and orc corpses. Not a single one intact."
William's legs nearly gave out.
"I told those thugs not to mess with him…"
"But you're the one who supplied them with weapons."
"You were dealing with orcs too!" William snapped back in a whisper.
"That was the past. I'm telling you—drop it. Leave this place. If he finds out what's going on, we won't survive long enough to regret it."
William fell silent, deep in thought.
Eric, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of any of this.
Still, for some reason, a system message popped up in his mind:
[Reputation in Bree Region +10]
Apparently, he'd done something good. Somehow. Somewhere.
Back at the inn, with nothing else to do, Eric started sorting through the day's haul.
The gold jewelry, once melted down, would probably yield two or three solid ingots.
Not a massive amount—but enough to craft two golden carrots.
The next two days passed uneventfully. Eric spent most of it eating, napping, and wandering around Bree to experience the local flavor.
During his walks, he even stopped by a small farm and bought two chickens to take home. As for livestock like pigs or cows… well, managing that solo sounded like a pain, especially with two horses already in tow.
It was moments like this that made Eric realize traveling alone did have its downsides.
Still, it wasn't hopeless. The forest and plains near Fort Road were full of wild animals—boars, buffalo, even the occasional elk. Up until now, he'd always hunted them for meat. But on the way back, maybe he could try capturing some live ones for a small ranch.
On that note...
Bree was mostly populated by humans and hobbits, but every now and then, a few other races would pass through.
Like dwarves.
"Every time a dwarf caravan rolls through town," said a local brewer, "my silver coin pouch gets fat—and they empty my entire wine cellar."
Eric happened to catch sight of one such caravan during his stay and followed it out of curiosity. To his amusement, it was either booze or finely crafted metal tools. Beautiful stuff—but not really useful to him.
Still, it was fun to see dwarves up close.
Short, burly, bearded little tanks—and incredibly lively. Their conversations were more like comedic performances, full of dramatic flair and booming laughter.
Also, surprisingly tough.
[25/25 HP]
Same as the Dunedain.
The dwarf he chatted with was friendly enough, though every third sentence was an attempt to get Eric to buy something.
Eric didn't buy a single thing.
He walked back to the inn under the dwarf's disappointed, hairy glare.
Upon returning, the innkeeper approached him.
"Sir, your horses are ready."
"Great. Let's take a look."
Sure enough, two energetic-looking horses were waiting in the stable.
Eric inspected them, and their stats appeared instantly:
[26/26] – Max Speed: 11 m/s
[24/24] – Max Speed: 10 m/s
"...Eh."
Truthfully, they weren't anything special. But as riding horses, they'd do just fine.
At this point, everything was ready. It was time to head home.
That is… until Eric took the reins and froze mid-step.
Right.
There was just one small problem.
He… didn't know how to ride a horse.