The trail back to the trellis was slow. Kevin’s legs burned, his fists ached, but his inventory grid glowed full: hides, tails, teeth, and more meat than he could ever eat. The sight of the archway made him sag with relief. He stepped through.
The courtyard beyond was warm again, lanterns painting gold light across the cobbles. The inn’s windows glowed. The chatter inside was muffled but steady. For the first time all day, Kevin let his shoulders slump.
He pushed open the inn’s door. Smoke, laughter, and the scent of stew washed over him. Garric glanced up from behind the bar, one thick eyebrow arched.
“You look like something the cat chewed and spat back,” the innkeeper said.
Kevin gave a weary half-smile. “Rats. Lots of them.”
Garric’s eyes flicked to the bulging satchel Kevin dropped onto the counter. “By the smell, aye. What’ve you got?”
Kevin willed the grid open, dragging the neat stacks of raw meat into the trade window. Dozens of cuts shimmered there, more than he cared to count. The innkeeper’s brows rose.
“Fifty? Sixty? Gods, lad, that’s a haul.” He whistled low, then reached beneath the counter. “Raw, but fresh. I’ll salt what I can and the hounds will take the rest. I’ll give you fair trade.”
Numbers flickered in Kevin’s vision.
Sold: 78 Raw Rat Meat
+78 Copper Coins
His purse icon shimmered with the new weight. Nearly four dozen bowl-of-stew’s worth in his pocket. Kevin’s stomach growled at the thought.
“You’ve done me a service, clearing out vermin and stocking my larder,” Garric said, scooping the meat into a bin behind him. “Best coin you’ll see for rat meat is here. But hides…” He pointed toward Borik’s table, where the dwarf was still hunched over leather scraps. “Take those to him. He’ll make something of them.”
Kevin nodded, too tired to argue. His arms felt like lead, his eyes burned. He swayed where he stood.
Garric’s gaze softened. “You’ve had enough for one night. Room’s waiting upstairs. Bed, blanket, no charge till you’ve coin to spare. Go.”
Kevin muttered something like thanks, though it came out slurred. He turned, climbed the creaking stairs, and found the little room Garric had promised.
He collapsed onto the mattress without bothering to undress. The straw poked through the thin ticking, but it felt like luxury compared to the dirt and blood outside.
As sleep dragged him under, his last thought was of two great shields, one in each hand, and a line of enemies breaking themselves against him.
He knew he was being selfish, just planning to get strong enough to keep himself alive, but it did ping into his head—Maybe if I do survive this, get stronger, maybe I can help others survive too.
He dreamt of beasts, small—like the rats he had conquered—and even large; wolves, bears, god-knows what else in this world.
The dream morphed into something more coherent than the vague slideshow. His dream self was a dark silhouette striding to the top of a hill. The winds were still, but the roars and shouts of enemies were loud, pounding in his ears. He shoved somebody backwards, down the hill he had climbed “Go! Run! I'll hold them back.” He said, his words echoed like he was in a large aircraft hangar all alone. A bright flaming light struck him as his twin shields collided in front of his face, protecting him. The shield hammered, beating with the impact of his enemies, and then it was still once more. A radiance protruded from them, from his very soul as it seemed to protect him too. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, he began to turn to see who it was, a white light blinding him instead.
Kevin woke to warmth.
For a moment he thought he was back in his flat, the glow above him nothing more than the weak orange cast of a streetlight sneaking through thin curtains. But no. The ceiling here was timber, broad planks bound by thick beams, and instead of mildew, the air smelled of hearth smoke and bread. His body felt heavy yet light all at once, like he’d sunk into a mattress deeper than he deserved and had been poured back out again without the aches that usually lingered.
A soft chime bloomed in the corner of his vision:
Long Rest Complete
All Health, Mana, and Stamina restored.
+Minor Buff: Well-Rested (12 hours)
Stamina regeneration increased by 10%.
Kevin blinked at it, groggy. Then he sat up sharply, realizing just how different he felt. His body wasn’t just healed—it was better. His shoulders carried no tension, his ribs didn’t ache from bruises, and even the raw knuckles that had stung last night were smooth skin again. He clenched his fists experimentally, rolled his shoulders, stretched his legs. It was as if someone had scrubbed him clean inside and out.
A laugh burst from him before he could stop it. He hadn’t woken feeling good in… years. Not since before the ceiling stains, before the headset job, before his father left. Here, now, he felt alive. It was a confusing feeling, even after all he had been through to get here, it almost felt like a bribe.
He dressed quickly—which was to say, pulled his battered pyjamas back into order—and made his way downstairs.
The inn was already awake. Dwarves were bent over breakfast trenchers, wiping grease from their beards between arguments; a group of orcs were laughing too loudly over mugs of something that smelled stronger than beer; and Garric, the innkeeper, was already barking at a barmaid to mind the foaming head on the ale. The fire still roared, though now it smelled more of sizzling pork fat than last night’s stew.
Garric caught Kevin’s eye, “Afternoon!” He grinned—It must have been a really long rest Kevin thought as Garric gave a brisk nod toward Borik and Tharn’s table. The dwarves looked up as Kevin approached, their chalk-scribbled plans from yesterday still sprawled across the tabletop. Borik squinted at him with the unimpressed expression of a man already convinced of someone else’s incompetence.
“You bring hides?” he grunted.
Kevin nodded quickly, willing open his inventory. Neat stacks of rat hide shimmered into being on the table in ghostly projection, and with a thought he dragged them onto the surface proper. The hides dropped into reality with a series of wet slaps. The smell followed immediately—iron, musk, something halfway between damp fur and butcher’s scraps. Borik didn’t even flinch.
Tharn leaned forward, scarred knuckles pressing into the chalk lines. He picked up one hide, tested its stretch with thick fingers, then gave Kevin a nod that might’ve been approval. “Decent skinning. Crude, but not wasteful and an even cut overall.”
Borik grumbled something about beginners’ luck but hauled the pile toward himself anyway. “If you’re wanting armour, you’ll not just be standing there gawking. Leather don’t stitch itself. Sit.”
Kevin slid into the bench, heart thudding. The interface in his vision pulsed faintly, the Ratleather crafting recipes glowing expectantly. But Borik wasn’t about to let him skip the work.
“First, you scrape,” Borik instructed, slapping a hide down on a broad wooden board. He handed Kevin a curved knife, its edge dulled from use but still sharp enough to bite if careless. “Pull with the grain. Not across it, unless you want your seams tearing the first time someone sneezes near you.”
Kevin obeyed, dragging the knife awkwardly down the hide. Strings of fat and membrane peeled away. His hands trembled at first—it was grisly work, intimate and wrong—but Borik barked at him every time he faltered. Soon the rhythm settled: scrape, scrape, fold.
When a system notification chimed in the corner of his vision -
Leatherworking Skill +2 EXP
+2 Player EXP
- he nearly dropped the knife. Borik smacked his wrist with the back of his own hand. “Don’t gawp at the air. Work.”
They moved through the steps. Oiling the leather with a pungent mixture Borik called “oakmire tincture.” Punching holes along the edges with an awl. Threading thick sinew through in crisscross stitches. Kevin’s fingers cramped, the tough strands resisting his every pull, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.
Hours seemed to blur. At some point, Tharn set him to hammering rivets into bracers—the dwarf’s broad hands correcting his grip on the hammer more than once. Every time Kevin faltered, a notification chimed:
Leatherworking +1 EXP
Armoursmithing +1 EXP
The two dwarves never acknowledged the glowing messages only Kevin could see, but their grunts of approval or scorn matched the progress bars nonetheless.
Finally, sweat-slick and sore-fingered, Kevin held something whole. A crude jacket of stitched rat hide, rough-edged and smelling faintly of musk, but armour nonetheless. The system confirmed it:
Item Crafted: Ratleather Jacket
Armour Rating: 20 | Dodge: 0 | Magic Absorption: 0
+20 Leatherworking EXP / +20 Player EXP
Kevin stared at it, throat tight. His first real armour. Not a dream, not a projection—something he could wear.
Piece by piece, they assembled the rest. Gloves, boots, leggings, shoulder pads. By the time the last stitch was tied off, his inventory shimmered with a full set of ratleather gear. He equipped them one by one, the pyjamas vanishing from his equipment sheet until only the boxers remained.
When he stood, dressed fully in stitched hide, the difference was immediate. His silhouette was bulkier, his skin shielded by layers of rough leather. He felt… safe. Safer than he had since the countdown hit zero.
Ratleather Jacket
Stitched from dozens of giant-rat hides, oiled with oakmire tincture; its rough panels creak when you move, but they’ll turn aside a knife point all the same.
Armour Rating: 20
Dodge Rating: 0
Magic Absorption: 0
Ratleather Shoulder Pads
Twin crescents of hardened hide that strap tight across the collar, broad enough to catch a wild swing without biting into the flesh beneath.
Armour Rating: 10
Dodge Rating: 0
Magic Absorption: 0
Ratleather Gloves
Finger-length strips laced over a full palm wrap, giving just enough flex to keep a grip while warding off teeth and claws.
Armour Rating: 5
Dodge Rating: 0
Magic Absorption: 0
Ratleather Boots
Low-cut, double-stitched rat hide with reinforced toes; better than bare feet and far quieter on stone than iron shod.
Armour Rating: 5
Dodge Rating: 0
Magic Absorption: 0
Ratleather Leggings
Layered hide panels from hip to shin, cinched by rawhide thongs; stiff at first, but they’ll soften with blood-warmth and wear.
Armour Rating: 15
Dodge Rating: 0
Magic Absorption: 0
Tharn gave him a long look, then nodded once. “Not bad for rat scraps.”
Borik smirked. “Better than bleeding in your bedclothes, anyway.”
Kevin smiled faintly, though his chest felt heavier with gratitude than pride. “Thank you.”
The armour sat stiff upon his frame—dyed weather-worn brown with light patches and dark patches—based on the colour of the rat in question. The shoulder pads bulked his silhouette, he felt his posture change automatically at the feeling, like a more confident version of himself already. Kevin flexed his hand, gloved, it creaked slightly at the pressure, it felt good, solid—as did the rest of his body since donning the last part of the armour.
System Message
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Congratulations you have received a set bonus for being entirely rat-clad. You’re dripping! No really, you might need a wet-wipe.
+2 to Dexterity
+1 Base Damage to small sized enemies
His eyes drifted to the chalk lines on the table, to a sketch that looked like a crude square with a handle. A shield.
“What about… shields?” he asked.
The shift in the dwarves was subtle, but unmistakable. Borik leaned back, arms crossing, while Tharn’s brow furrowed with something closer to consideration.
“Shields,” Borik said, voice thick with gravel. “You’ll not find them falling from trees, boy. Every weapon, every armour, every tool sits on a ladder. You start at the bottom rung, you climb, or you break your neck. You probably won’t wield a shield like this one ever.”
Kevin frowned. “A ladder?”
Tharn tapped the chalk with a scarred finger. “Tiers. Ranks. A sword is not just a sword. You swing one long enough, your skill grows, and when it grows, you can lift more than just a farmer’s blade. Same with armour. Wear rat leather long enough, take blows in it, and you’ll be ready for wolfhide, then bear, then gods know what else.”
Borik jabbed a finger toward Kevin’s chest. “That jacket there? Rank one. Scrap leather. Same as your fists were before you learned to swing them. Same as shields made of wood. Start there. Earn the rest.”
Kevin swallowed. “So if I want to use better shields…”
“You’ll need to use them,” Tharn said simply. “Take hits. Block blows. Let the wood crack under your grip until you learn the feel of steel. Every strike you survive pushes the skill forward.”
“So… how do I get one?”
Borik snorted. “Wood’s cheap. Plenty in the forest. But you’ll need the hands to cut it, and an axe to start. You’ll not be splitting logs with your bare fists, lad.”
Kevin grimaced. “Where do I get an axe?”
Tharn’s scarred lips twitched into something like a smile. “Innkeeper sells them. One silver. Worth every copper if you plan to keep your head attached.”
One silver. Kevin’s purse icon shimmered faintly when he willed it open: 78 copper from last night’s sale. Less than a tenth of what he needed.
The job board in his mind’s eye flickered. Sheets of parchment fluttering. Bounties. Errands. Work.
Borik leaned forward, catching his hesitation. “You want shields? Start with coin. Start with work. Every blacksmith, every craftsman began by sweeping floors and hauling timber. You’re no different.”
Kevin nodded slowly, the weight of the ratleather pressing solidly against his shoulders. He thought of two great shields, one in each hand, but knew the first step was smaller. An axe. Wood. Work.
“Thanks guys, really.” He said to the two craftsmen, each already back to their scrawlings and arguing.
Kevin’s rat-leather boots squeaked faintly as he crossed the common room, the stitched hide still stiff against his calves. He paused at the quest board, letting the voices behind him fade to a murmur. Parchment sheets overlapped like fish scales—errands for stray pigs, roof repairs, a badly drawn wolf’s head promising “good coin” for pelts. His eyes skimmed past those until a creamy square near the top caught his eye, its ink glowing a soft turquoise where lanternlight touched it.
COLLECT 30 GLOW-CAPS FROM DEEP HOLLOW
Must be harvested at full glow, delivered intact to Renna the apothecary. Payment fixed: 90 copper. Bonus: 3 copper for each cap beyond thirty.
Glow-caps. The name stirred the herb-lore bar in his mind, a faint itch of curiosity. If they were anything like mintleaf or sunpetal, he could experiment, brew—maybe even stumble on another tier-two recipe. And ninety copper was nothing to sneer at. Not the silver he needed for an axe, but a solid bite out of it. He tugged the sheet free, the wax seal snapping with a dry pop. A ghostly tag winked into view above the parchment:
Quest Accepted: Deep Hollow Glow-caps
0 / 30 collected
He folded the notice into his belt and turned toward the door. Garric caught his motion and raised a brow; Kevin tapped the parchment at his hip, and the innkeeper lifted two fingers in silent good luck.
Outside, twilight leaked across the square in smoky violet bands. Two moons climbed the sky, one sharp as a sickle, the other a bruised coin edging the treetops. Perfect, he thought; glow-caps were said to dim when dawn touched them, but in full dark they blazed like candles. He cinched the rawhide straps of his shoulder pads, flexed his hands in their new gloves, and set off along the track that led north-east, toward the low ridge locals simply called the Hollow.
The forest greeted him with night voices: a distant owl’s question, wind combing high branches, the sigh of pine needles underfoot. He kept half an eye on the dirt beside the path, plucking familiar herbs as they caught the moons’ light—mintleaf tufts, pinebud clusters clinging to damp bark, a single patch of sunpetal whose gold faces had curled in sleep. Each stem winked out of his grip and into a waiting grid slot; soft chimes of +2 or +3 EXP nudged the herblore bar forward.
After an hour or so, Kevin’s only indicator—a dim circle that shone yellow during the day, slowly being eclipsed by a dark blue circle—the path narrowed, tilting into a shallow ravine where moss slicked every stone. Ahead, a hollow yawned in the earth: a throat of layered limestone, its rim crowned with brambles. Pale vapour drifted from it, smelling faintly of warm mushrooms and wet slate. A toast flickered:
Area Discovered: Deep Hollow Caverns
Recommended Level: 1
Kevin eased down the slope, palms braced on rock, boots whispering over damp leaves. Rat-leather was no match for iron, but it deadened the scrape of stone against knee and forearm. At the lip of the entrance he paused, unslotted a weak stamina tonic and replaced it with a pair of mint poultices into his quick bars beside the last two vitality draughts, then ducked inside.
The air changed at once—cool, still, and thrumming with faint blue motes that bobbed like fireflies. Glow-caps. They sprouted from every crack and stalagmite, each fungus no larger than a thumbprint, gills pulsing with inner light. Thirty, the notice had said, but he saw hundreds. He crouched by the first cluster, pinched a cap between finger and thumb, and twisted gently. A notification chimed—not the thin +2 of common herbs, but a deeper tone, heavier, almost musical:
Item Acquired: Glow-cap (Intact)
+5 Herblore EXP
+4 Player EXP
1 / 30 collected (bonus caps pay 3 c each)
A grin tugged at his mouth. Five EXP for a single pick, and with every ten his overall bar ticked onward. He worked methodically, dropping caps into his pouch until his grid filled three lines deep. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. He didn’t stop. The cave wound on, luminous pools reflecting the fungi like starlight caught in puddles. He harvested until the pouch pressed hard against his belt and his quick slots flashed a gentle yellow: inventory weight approaching limit. Most came away intact, but others fell apart in his hands, his gentle pinches enough to rupture the main cap, or squish the stem enough that the UI claimed it as a failure.
Forty-three intact caps in total. The system tallied them, whispering copper into the ledger of his mind—ninety for the first thirty, plus thirty-nine more in bonuses. A little over a quarter silver in one night, and he hadn’t swung a fist. His health bar remained untouched; even the bruises of yesterday felt like old rumours.
On the walk back he slowed only to snip a vine of dusk-thistle he didn’t recognize—spines soft as feathers, sap glinting silver. The system tagged it unknown, question marks dancing above the icon, and curiosity warmed his chest. New experiments waited.
When the trellis arch came into view again, moons dipping westward, he paused to breathe the forest’s last cool kiss. Rat-leather creaked as he shifted the bulging pouch. A night’s work, he thought, and more than just coin: herbs for the pot, caps for Renna, dusk-thistle for tomorrow’s trials, EXP pushing him inch by inch toward the next level.
He stepped through the arch. Lanterns still burned in the square, and the Laughing Minotaur’s shutters glowed like a promise. Kevin tightened his grip on the pouch, already imagining Renna’s wide-eyed appraisal and Garric’s knowing grin. Ninety-plus coppers closer to silver. Closer to an axe. Closer, one sliver at a time, to a pair of walls he could plant in the dirt and let the world break against.
The Laughing Minotaur’s kitchen door sighed shut behind Kevin as he cut through the alley toward the apothecary’s lamp. Renna kept late hours—Garric had told him she preferred moon-light for tincture work—and sure enough a sputtering blue lantern hung above her lintel, its glass chimney etched with curling vinework. Faint violet fumes drifted through the half-open shutters.
Inside, shelves bowed under jars: powders the color of rust, oils that shimmered green, roots floating in amber. A squat copper pot still ticked in the corner, mist beading on its coils. Renna herself stood at a mortar big enough for a soup pot, pestle flashing in quick circles; strands of white hair escaped her bun and glowed in the lantern light.
Kevin cleared his throat. “I’ve brought your glow-caps.”
She looked up; the stern line of her mouth bent into something like a smile. “AH, so you’re the rat-hide boy.” She wiped mushroom pulp from her palms. “Very well, how many?”
He unhitched the bulging pouch, counting out his haul in neat stacks on her counter: one… ten… thirty. Then eight more, setting each pale fungus stem-up so the gills kept their soft blue pulse. The remaining five he tucked pointedly back into a side pocket.
Renna raised an eyebrow but said nothing about the ones he kept. Instead she inspected the offering—pinching a cap, snapping a stem to check its glow, nodding approval each time. “All intact. Good fingers, for a novice.” She lifted a brass weightbox, counted out coin: nine tens of copper for the quota, then eight more threes for the surplus. One hundred and fourteen in ringing disks that clinked into his palm.
Quest Complete: Deep Hollow Glow-caps
30/30 delivered (+8 bonus)
90 c + 24 c = 114 copper received
+150 Herblore EXP
+120 Player EXP
Copper warmed the inside of his belt pouch—one step closer to silver. Renna slid a small stoppered vial across the counter as well, its liquid faintly lilac. “My thanks. A sample: distillate of glow-cap. Add a drop to any draught and you’ll see why the mushrooms are worth the bother.”
Kevin tucked the vial away and thanked her, “I… Um… I’m kind of new to all of this. I don’t want to sound like a rube or anything, but is there any chance you can tell me anything about Herblore and Alchemy?”
Renna’s eyes narrowed, her expression sharpening as though she were assessing Kevin not as a lad fumbling with herbs but as raw material in need of tempering. She set aside the pestle with an audible clack and folded her ink-stained hands before her.
“You are new,” she said, her voice clipped, each syllable deliberate. “But that is no excuse for flailing about like a child with paints. Herblore is not chance, nor is alchemy the art of lucky muddling. It is discipline. Method. Observation.” She leaned forward, the lamplight catching silver strands in her dark hair. “Over time, you will learn—at least, you should learn—what each ingredient does, what qualities it carries, what influences it can exert upon a mixture. In that way, you may craft not merely what chance hands you, but what you need, when you need it. A draught to mend flesh, one to lend swiftness, another to cloak you in silence—all by design, not by accident.”
She reached behind her and plucked a jar from the shelf, holding it up to the light. Inside, pale green shreds floated in oil. “Take Mintleaf. A Rank One herb. Potency I. Its major effect is simple enough: healing. But its minor effects?” She tapped the glass. “Healing Potency: I, Duration Decrease I. In other words—yes, it will mend wounds, but the effect fades swiftly. Understand these distinctions, and you will know when Mintleaf is your friend, and when it is a waste of good space in your satchel.”
A dry snort from the air beside Kevin announced the AI’s arrival. “Oh yes, thrilling. Watch the human catalogue leaves as if he’s preparing a salad. Would you like me to keep track for you? A little ledger? Or perhaps flashcards, since your intellect score is a mighty one?”
She slid the jar back into place and drew another, this one filled with a murky powder. “Some herbs work in harmony. Others… do not. Pinebud mixed with Mintleaf will fortify its healing, but pair poisonwort with the same and you will have wasted both—mundane water, nothing more. The world itself will cancel your carelessness.”
She rose and moved to a narrow table by the window, where an array of odd instruments lay: glass prisms, thin blades, a loop of polished bronze on a handle. “To spare your purse and to save wasting rarer specimens, you inspect before you brew. Tools reveal truths the naked eye will miss—the sheen of potency, the spark of volatility, the sluggish rot of a spent sprig. These signs are there for any who care to look. Only fools throw their entire harvest into a cauldron and hope for a miracle.”
Kevin shifted, his throat working. “So… I need to study them. Experiment with them. Learn their patterns? Then I can know exactly what influences they will have in a concoction?”
Renna gave a brisk nod. “Exactly so. Record everything. Track what you discover, so that you do not stumble twice upon the same stone. With practice, you will cease to think of Mintleaf and Pinebud and Glow-cap as curiosities and begin to see them as parts of a language. And once you are fluent, the draughts will speak your will, not chance’s.”
The AI chuckled low. “Hear that? Homework! Charts! Spreadsheets! Just the adventure you were hoping for. Don’t worry—I’ll be here to remind you whenever you forget which end of the herb to sniff.”
“Do the work, boy. Observe. Test. Record. If you do, you will not only save your coin—you may one day save your life.”
He stepped back onto the night-damp cobbles, mind already racing. Five glow-caps left for experimentation; pockets of mintleaf shreds, pinebud powder, sunpetal flakes, and the unknown dusk-thistle he’d harvested in the hollow.
Upstairs in his tiny room he cleared the bedside table, willing the experimentation grid open in the air above the boards. Four slots pulsed.
First try: Glow-cap, Mintleaf Shreds, Sunpetal Flakes. Combine.
The bar filled—slow, thoughtful—then chimed deep.
Recipe Discovered: Luminous Remedy
Restores 20 Health instantly and 20 more over 10 seconds; grants a faint glow around the user for 5 minutes.
+14 Alchemy EXP / +14 Player EXP
A slim vial materialised in his inventory, fluid opalescent like moonlight skimmed from water. Good—he could see in dark tunnels and patch wounds.
Second attempt: Glow-cap, Pinebud Powder, Dusk-thistle Sap. The progress bar shimmered yellow on the last third, threatening failure, but resolved green.
Recipe Discovered: Night-Sight Elixir
Grants low-light vision and +5 % Dodge in darkness for 30 minutes. Causes mild nausea in daylight.
+18 Alchemy EXP / +18 Player EXP
Kevin’s heart thumped. Dodge—even five percent—meant fewer claws raking his arms. The side effect? He’d just stay out of bright sun after drinking it.
Third mix: Glow-cap, Minor Vitality Draught, Pinebud Powder, Sunpetal Flakes. Four-slot tier-two. The bar crawled, paused, then flashed a brighter gold he’d never seen.
High-Tier Recipe Discovered: Radiant Salve
Thick paste; apply to shield or armour piece. For next 15 min it emits blinding flash on first heavy impact, stunning attacker (≤ Tier 2) for 3 s. Single-use coating.
+30 Alchemy EXP
+30 Player EXP
A cork-stoppered tin appeared. He imagined a rat—or bigger—smacking his shield, only to be met with a burst of searing light. He smiled.
His Player EXP bar nudged past the midpoint toward Level 2, and Herblore crept near its own next rank. Five glow-caps had yielded three potent discoveries; he stowed one final cap untouched, a seed for future ideas.
At last he closed the grids, palms aching from invisible labour. One hundred fourteen copper clinked reassuringly when he set the pouch on the bedside table—one-tenth of a silver left to go. Tomorrow he would study the board again: escort the tinker, perhaps, or map the stone well. Jobs worth a solid coin, each step a rung on Borik’s ladder.
But tonight the Well-Rested buff still hummed in his veins. He drew a slow breath, stretched until rat-leather creaked, and let the new recipes file themselves among mint poultices and stamina tonics. A little stronger; a little richer; five caps wiser.
