BAM! BAM!
Another series of blows on the door caused whitewash from the ceiling to rain down onto the floor.
"Open up immediately! We will break down the door!"
Izayoi sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling. His hair was a mess of artistic disorder, and his face expressed the universal sorrow of a person who had been robbed of a legitimate two hours of sleep. He scratched his stomach, yawned so wide his jaw cracked, and measured the shuddering door with a gaze that read a desire to incinerate whoever stood on the other side.
"What, is there a fire?" he grumbled under his breath, stretching lazily. "Or did the Count personally decide to bring me breakfast in bed? If not, you picked the worst time for a visit."
Dealing with bureaucracy, explaining who he was and why the gates opened "by themselves" yesterday, was the last thing he wanted to do. Especially on an empty stomach. Especially when his mouth was dry after yesterday's ale.
He stood up, shoved his feet into his boots without bothering to lace them, and walked to the window.
Second floor. Below—a narrow alley cluttered with empty barrels.
"Well, through the front door it is, then," he chuckled.
He threw the shutters open. The morning air, cool and fresh, hit his face, dispelling the sleepy stupor a little. Izayoi sat on the windowsill, dangled his legs while watching the guards bustling at the tavern's main entrance, and simply slid down.
The landing was silent. Like a cat, only weighing seventy kilograms of pure muscle.
While the soldiers upstairs were kicking down the door to an empty room, the guest of honor was already walking down the adjacent street, hands in his trouser pockets, whistling some tune.
The city of Baal was waking up. Shopkeepers were opening shutters, housewives were splashing water onto the cobblestones, patrols were lazily marching. No one paid attention to the guy in the strange clothes who looked like he had just stumbled out of a nightclub.
"So..." Izayoi stopped in the middle of the street, patting his pockets.
Empty.
No gold, no silver, not even a stray copper coin. Roderick had paid for yesterday's banquet, and Izayoi, like a true gentleman of fortune, hadn't thought about finances.
"Awkward," he concluded, looking at a counter with hot pies that smelled divine. "Socialism hasn't been built in this world yet, so 'thank you' doesn't buy food here. Need to get cash. And preferably fast."
He moved on, scanning the signs. Look for a job as a loader? Boring. Mercenary? Too many questions. Rob someone? Not his style, and the local purses looked too thin anyway.
His gaze snagged on a sign at the corner of the square.
Above the door hung a wooden board depicting a staff wrapped in a ribbon with some symbols. The text, as usual, was a set of beautiful but meaningless squiggles.
"'Magic Shop'?" Izayoi guessed. "Or 'Gardening Supplies'? Well, a staff is a universal tool. Let's take a look."
The bell above the door jingled, announcing a visitor.
Inside, it smelled of dust, dried herbs, and something vaguely metallic, like a kitchen pharmacy. The room was cramped, cluttered with shelves from floor to ceiling.
Izayoi walked along the shelves, examining the assortment with curiosity.
There were vials with multicolored liquids ("Mana potion? Or just colored water?"), stacks of yellowed scrolls tied with twine, and, of course, staves. Long ones, short ones, with crystals on top and without.
"Junk," Izayoi delivered his verdict, picking up one of the wands. "No balance, the wood is over-dried. Rank 'Common,' price—three copper coins on a market day."
He could feel the mana enclosed in the items. It was weak, sluggish. By the looks of it, these things were just conduits, "crutches" for those who couldn't form spells with their own bodies.
"Hey, don't paw it if you aren't going to buy!" a raspy female voice rang out.
Behind the counter, which Izayoi initially hadn't noticed due to the pile of books, sat a woman of indeterminate age. Thin, with a sharp nose and eyes as piercing as a bird's. She wore a robe that had seen better days.
Izayoi put the wand back.
"Just assessing the merchandise, ma'am," he walked up to the counter, leaning on it. "Let's just say, your selection is... for beginners."
The woman snorted, adjusting her glasses.
"For beginners? Kid, this is Baal. They bring here what soldiers need: consumables, catalysts, and the simplest amulets. If you need artifacts from the Age of Myths, you've got the wrong address."
She measured him with a look, lingering on the headphones.
"You don't look like a mage. You have as much mana in you as a stool. Why did you come?"
"Finances are singing sad songs," Izayoi admitted honestly. "Looking for a way to fill my pocket. Tell me, madam, does this... antique shop of yours accept anything? Or do you only sell?"
The woman chuckled, wiping some piece of glass with a rag.
"I buy what has value. Rare herbs from the Northern Forest. Monster parts suitable for alchemy. But what interests me most are mana crystals."
"Mana crystals?" Izayoi repeated.
"Did you fall from the moon?" she looked at him over her glasses. "Concentrated mana. Crystallizes in the bodies of strong monsters or in places with anomalous background radiation. Demons, after they crumble, sometimes leave such things behind. It's fuel for barriers, the basis for enchantment. The army pays good money for them, but they are eternally busy with the war, they have no time to collect pebbles."
Izayoi's eyes gleamed.
The puzzle pieces clicked into place.
Monsters. Forest. Kill. Loot. Sell. Profit.
A simple, understandable, and, most importantly, fun scheme. No bosses, no schedules. Pure grind in real life.
"Crystals from monsters, you say?" he tapped his finger thoughtfully on the counter. "And the bigger the monster, likely the bigger the stone?"
"In theory," the woman nodded, losing interest in him. "But to get such a stone, you need to kill the beast carrying it. And judging by your look, the first wolf will eat you."
Izayoi smiled broadly.
"We'll see who eats whom. Listen, do you have anything... spacious?"
"Spacious?" she didn't understand.
"A sack. A bag. A pack. Something to put stuff in."
The woman looked at him like he was insane. A guy with no weapon, no armor, no mana, asking for a sack to go hunt monsters that keep a fortress garrison in fear?
"Over there, in the corner," she waved her hand. "Old grain sacks. Take one for free, I was going to throw them out anyway."
"Much obliged!" Izayoi grabbed a rough canvas sack, shook it, checking its strength. "This will do. Thanks, madam! Expect me by evening, I'll bring you the best samples!"
He walked out of the shop, whistling even louder.
"Crazy," muttered the shopkeeper, returning to her abacus. "Another dreamer who thinks life is a fairy tale about a Hero."
Izayoi didn't bother leaving through the gates. There were surely posts there already, reinforced because of his recent stunt, and explaining himself to the guard was too much of a hassle.
He turned into a deserted alley that dead-ended right at the fortress wall.
The wall of Baal was a marvel of engineering. Twenty meters of smooth stone, patrols on top, magical protection. Overcoming it unnoticed was considered impossible.
Izayoi looked up, squinting against the sun.
"Twenty meters?" he estimated. "Pffft..."
He crouched slightly, bouncing on his legs.
No flight magic. No levitation. Only pure, explosive muscle power capable of launching an object into orbit.
"Hup!"
Thrust.
The cobblestones beneath his feet cracked, but the sound was drowned out by the rush of wind in his ears.
Izayoi soared vertically upward. He flew past the arrow slits, past a surprised guard who was yawning at that moment, looking at the forest, and didn't even notice the blurred shadow flash behind his back.
He cleared the wall's battlements with a margin of a couple of dozen meters.
Finding himself in the air above the outer side of the fortress, Izayoi didn't just fall down. He tucked and, using inertia, pushed off the air—or rather, performed a kick with such force that the atmospheric resistance itself became a foothold for him.
Double jump!
He flew far forward, soaring over the moat, over the cleared security strip, and began his descent already over the edge of the forest, about three hundred meters from the walls.
"Yee-haw!" escaped his lips as he fell into the green abyss.
Branches whipped at his clothes, but he didn't even feel it. The landing was rough—he slammed feet-first into the loose earth, leaving two deep furrows, but immediately straightened up, brushing himself off.
The forest around him went quiet. Birds fell silent. Animals froze.
Nature sensed: a predator at the very top of the food chain had invaded its domain.
Izayoi unfolded the sack and smiled predatorily.
"Alright, mobs. Time to farm some gold. Who wants to be the first sponsor of my lunch?"