From Rags to Riches

Xia Lin walked over to the dusty full-length mirror.

The figure in the mirror was indeed sturdier than he had been a week ago. His eyes held less emptiness now, replaced by something he could neither name nor explain.

But this outfit... Xia Lin tugged at his faded old clothes, then looked down at the ruined boots racing against time to become flip-flops.

"Mm." He nodded at the unlucky bastard in the mirror, who looked like he had just been dug out of some ancient battlefield ruin. "Trying to fight someone dressed like this is probably about as brave as charging a hungry dragon with a salted fish."

The Golden Finger was right. He was only one shudder away from fighting barehanded, with both his weapon and armor on the verge of giving out at once.

Getting stronger was a good thing, but he only had one life. He still needed to arm himself first.

At least up to his gums.

He pulled out the Space Bag from inside his clothes, still marked with dark, dried bloodstains, and felt the cold, reassuring weight of fourteen silver coins and a heap of copper coins within.

Five silver coins for a week of quality rations and seclusion had been worth it.

Of the remaining fourteen... he decided to keep five. That was his "crossing money." If he ever had to run, at least he could buy a one-way ticket to hell. Maybe he could even get a window seat.

That left only nine silver coins and a jingling pile of coppers that he could spend.

As for the scroll he had taken from the mage's bedroom... Xia Lin pulled it out again. The parchment was so dry it seemed ready to crumble at a touch.

[Item: Unknown Magic Scroll]

[Status: ???]

[Evaluation: Finding a needle in the ocean is hard, right? Trying to find one intelligible sentence in a pile of encrypted gibberish feels about the same. Perhaps you need a "decoder," or... a fire?]

"If I burn it, it'll really be gone." Xia Lin muttered as he carefully tucked it back into the deepest part of the bag.

The Iron Box with its magical lock received the same treatment.

He had no time to wrestle with riddlers and locked metal lumps right now.

He gently patted the Space Bag at his waist. "Buddy, you're the most valuable thing I own now."

His objective was clear: upgrade his equipment.

Xia Lin pushed open the heavy oak doors, and their creak echoed through the empty manor.

He stepped back onto the streets of Changhe City.

The morning mist had yet to fully disperse. The cobblestones gleamed with a damp, chilly greenish sheen, while the sour reek of cheap ale fermenting filled the air.

Changhe City sounded like a name with a touch of pastoral poetry, but in truth, it was an utter frontier cesspit of chaos.

It stood in a broad but far from fertile river valley, with a muddy river cutting through the city—the very "stream" that sustained Sewer Giant Rats and countless legends.

To the north lay endless hills and barren mountains. To the south stretched a desolate wasteland said to be so barren that even the hungriest desert lizards refused to set foot there.

According to rumor, this place had once been the ruins of some powerful magical city-state long ago.

The city had been built atop those ancient, forgotten foundations. In its early days, quite a few lucky people had struck it rich by digging up relics from the previous dynasty underground, drawing countless gold prospectors and adventurers to swarm here.

But as time passed, the "treasures" in the shallow layers had long since been stripped clean. All that remained were deeper, more dangerous unknown regions, along with fading legends of getting rich overnight.

Changhe City now existed more as a gray zone at the intersection of several powers.

It was not far from the Brewo Commercial Alliance to the east, and all sorts of people gathered here—mercenaries with nowhere left to turn, adventurers seeking thrills, shrewd merchants, fugitives living under false names... and unlucky bastards like Xia Lin, ground into the dirt by life and struggling to survive in the mud.

Like its river, the city seemed calm on the surface, while dark currents churned beneath, mixing opportunity, danger, filth, and a sliver of hope.

He walked straight through the increasingly noisy crowd, heading for Anvil Alley on the western side of the city.

Weapon shops and leatherworking stores of all sizes clustered there.

Anvil Alley lived up to its name. The clang of hammering never stopped, and the air was thick with coal smoke and the scent of red-hot metal.

Xia Lin entered a weapon shop with a small storefront but a complete stock of gear inside.

The shop was dimly lit, its walls covered with swords, sabers, axes, and hammers that gleamed with cold metallic light.

A broad, stocky Dwarf blacksmith wearing a scorched leather apron was lazily hammering a red-hot billet with a heavy sledgehammer, sending sparks flying.

"Buying something?" The Dwarf did not even look up. His voice was deep and muffled, as though it came from inside an iron barrel.

"A longsword and a set of leather armor." Xia Lin kept it brief.

Only then did the Dwarf set down his hammer and look Xia Lin over with small eyes reddened by the forge fire. "Got enough money, kid?"

After a brief exchange—mixed with the Dwarf's disdain for human taste in aesthetics—Xia Lin spent seven silver coins on a well-balanced standard longsword with forging patterns gleaming along its blade, as well as a suit of armor sewn from Hardened Boarhide and reinforced with iron plates over vital areas.

[Item: Mercenary Standard Longsword]

[Durability: 80/80]

[Kill Count: 0]

[Evaluation: An honest, reliable steel companion—at least until you swing it into a rock. Maintain it, and you'll live longer.]

[Item: Iron-Clad Hard Leather Armor]

[Durability: 60/60]

[Kill Count: 0]

[Evaluation: Covers the major parts of your torso and effectively protects against most claws, fangs, and not-too-forceful slashes. Of course, if you take a battle axe to the face, it can't help you.]

Under the Dwarf blacksmith's stare, which plainly said "get lost and stop blocking me from forging," Xia Lin struggled out of the heap of rags that reeked of sweat and old memories.

Tough leather wrapped around his torso, and cold steel rested in his hand. A long-lost, tangible sense of security rose within him.

Then, at a neighboring shop that sold general goods and hunting supplies, he spent one silver coin on an exquisite Light Crossbow and a small bag containing ten short, thick bolts.

[Item: Light Crossbow]

[Durability: 40/40]

[Kill Count: 0]

[Evaluation: A little darling for Sneak Attacks, shooting people in the back, or bolstering your courage when you don't have the guts to charge into melee. Friendly reminder: remember to buy bolts. This thing cannot fire saliva, nor can it reload itself.]

With the rest of his money, he bought enough jerky to last several days, a roll of sturdy hemp rope with a faint oily smell, a gleaming set of Lockpicking Tools, and a bottle of Potent Ant Acid that intrigued him greatly. Its pungent odor could be smelled even through the stopper.

"Perfect." Xia Lin weighed the bottle of ant acid in his hand, wondering whether it could be used for more than picking locks. Maybe it could clean up certain "hard-to-handle stains," or give some fool a "surprise facial."

Newly outfitted, Xia Lin once again stepped through the weathered doors of the Adventurer's Guild.

The smell in the hall was as complicated as ever, mostly body odor mixed with fermented alcohol, like a pot of spoiled cheap ale stew.

The roar of noise battered his ears. Drunken mercenaries boasted loudly, gamblers slapped tabletops while crowding around tables, and the notice board was packed with people seeking work or a chance to get rich overnight.

Xia Lin squeezed his way to the notice board and roughly scanned the job postings written in ink or some unidentified liquid.

"Lost Item Notice: My cat is missing. Her name is Mimi. She's white, and her tail is a little bald. If found, please contact..." Reward: one kiss? (crossed out) 10 copper coins.

Xia Lin figured the cat probably did not want to be found. He skipped it.

"Recruiting brave warriors! Travel to Weeping Marsh to collect troll snot! High risk, high reward!"

Troll snot? Were they tired of living, or did they want to know what it felt like to dissolve? Pass.

Every task was unreliable.

Xia Lin frowned. Finding a job here that was both safe and profitable was harder than finding a gem in a dragon's ass.

Just as he was starting to feel discouraged and considering whether to take the cat-finding job to experience the joys of being a pet detective, a slightly gravelly voice spoke behind him.

"Hey, new face."

Xia Lin turned around to find a middle-aged man in worn chainmail standing there.

A pale scar ran across the man's face, from his brow bone all the way to the corner of his mouth. His eyes were sharp, as though he were assessing merchandise.

The axe blade of the battle axe at his waist had several small chips in it. This was clearly someone who had seen blood.

"Looking for work?" the man asked, his gaze quickly sweeping over Xia Lin's new equipment.

Xia Lin nodded. "Yeah, but it doesn't look like there's much worth choosing."

The man gave a smile that mixed understanding with calculation, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. "Forget the junk on those boards. Most of it's a trap. Listen, kid, a few of us old hands are going to take on a little private job."

He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, carrying the air of an underground deal. "You know the abandoned mines north of the city? A bunch of Kobolds have made a nest there. Those cowardly, greedy little things are like rats, always stealing whatever they can, and they've dug up quite a few shiny things to stash away."

"We're planning to wipe out their nest, clear out the pests, and while we're at it... see if we can recover some 'lost property.'" He gave Xia Lin a meaningful wink.

"We happen to need someone quick-witted and fast on his feet. You look reasonably built, and your equipment isn't bad. So, what do you say? Got the guts to help us raid a Kobold nest?"

"Kobolds?" Xia Lin rubbed his chin and quickly weighed his options as he studied the scar-faced man who called himself an old hand.