“What are you even saying?”

Risir smirked at Pean's suggestion, but then paused, considering it with a soft “Hm?”

“Actually... it might not be a bad idea?”

“...Excuse me?”

Pean, who had been watching Risir with a slightly anxious gaze, as if she'd made some ill-conceived joke, looked genuinely flustered.

“Are you serious? You want to share a room with me?”

“You’re the one who wanted to save money, remember?”

“…”

His casual indifference left her at a loss for words. Pean had clearly wanted this response, yet her reaction was oddly ambivalent.

In the meantime, Risir’s gaze drifted toward Lona.

“So, for the room… Wait a minute. What about Lona? What’s standard protocol for slaves in this situation? Should we just leave her in the stables?”

“...The stables?”

Risir observed Lona’s reaction for a few seconds before responding.

“Of course, I’m kidding.”

“If it was a joke, why the awkward silence?”

“I was just thinking about what other slave masters would do. I mean, this is my first time owning a slave.”

“Own…? Like I’m some pet or something—”

“Then, if the tables were turned, what would you do, Lona?”

“...If, if I were the master, I’d probably rent her a separate room!”

“Oh, I get it. And you’d just add that cost to her debt and work her even harder. Carrot and stick? I see where you’re coming from.”

“...That’s… probably not something you should understand.”

Pean cleared her throat, interjecting with a slight cough.

“Lona does have a point. A master and a slave sharing a room? That’s absurd. ‘According to Lona’s opinion,’ let’s get her a separate room.”

Pean’s tone made it sound as if she were merely following Lona’s wishes.

“Hm? Then what happens to our plan to huddle together to save on lodging expenses?”

“…”

Pean looked away from Risir’s gaze, feigning indifference with a rather brazen expression.

“I guess there’s no other option. Lona, you’ll just have to sleep in the stables tonight.”

“…”

Lona’s expression twisted. It sounded like a joke when Risir said it, but coming from Pean, it didn’t feel like one at all.

“Oh, come on, Pean. Don’t be so harsh. Lona worked hard, you know? Honestly, I’m impressed. I didn’t think she’d be this dedicated. She deserves a decent bed just like us.”

Risir patted Lona on the back in a casual, almost indifferent way. The touch of his sweat-drenched shirt gave Lona a strange mix of sensations.

“Eeek…!”

Lona instinctively backed away from Risir, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“I-I’m telling you now! If you’re expecting anything weird from me, you better forget it—I’m not some kind of woman!”

“Lona… I mean, Aeron, who doesn’t know that? And in case you need reminding, trying to seduce me in the middle of the night and getting rejected won’t change anything.”

“That…!”

“Anyway, stop making a scene out here and let’s go in. We’re all tired. Let’s rent a room and get cleaned up. There’s a private bath in each room, too? Ah, this is even nicer than the rooms I had at the mansion. Life’s really turned around for this illegitimate child.”

Risir strolled into the inn with a lighthearted step.

“…”

“…”

Pean and Lona watched him quietly. They had achieved their goal, and yet—
What was this strange, indefinable sense of humiliation?

In the end, both women declared they wanted separate rooms.

“Is that so? Well, it would be strange, really, for three people—two women and a man—to share one room. Sure, whatever makes you comfortable. Today’s on me, the illegitimate child’s treat.”

And with Risir so readily agreeing without a hint of reluctance, they shivered once more.

---

“Wait! Lona! Pean! I’ve changed my mind! Please spend the night with me in the same bed!”

He nearly shouted it when he was about to pay the room charges. He had mentally prepared himself for the cost since the inn looked luxurious enough, but the actual price far exceeded his expectations.

The pouch that he’d spent a year filling with hard-earned coins was already hinting at a life of newfound asceticism. His pockets felt light; his steps, heavy.

But the room rate was only part of the issue. After a bath, they ate dinner at a nearby restaurant, and that cost him just as much. What irritated him more was that, for the exorbitant price, the meal was less than satisfying.

In this second week of independence, he was coming to terms with reality in unexpected ways.

“Money… just evaporates…”

He finally understood why bastards like him clung so desperately to status.

When he’d been a bastard in Vendel, living in the mansion in the city’s center, he’d taken all its privileges (within reason) for granted. But now, simply existing in the city was an enormous privilege. In some ways, enduring the scorn of being a bastard was worth the lifestyle it afforded.

How much would it cost to maintain the standard of living he’d grown used to in Vendel while staying in Bondales?

“Urgh—”

A profound dizziness washed over him at the thought of depleting the savings he’d worked a year to accumulate in less than a week.

Was it the paltry income of an illegitimate son or the soaring cost of living in a bustling metropolis like Bondales? Likely both.

At this rate, he’d need to consider moving toward the city outskirts. His life’s genre was about to shift from “Hopeful Fantasy” to “Despair Fantasy.”

Out there, the innkeepers would likely stare at him like he was mad if he asked where to bathe. If he asked what was in the soup, they’d look at him the same way. And if he complained about the smell of the room or the presence of rats and insects, well, he’d get that same look again.

It was not an environment someone with refined, modern sensibilities could endure. Even if he could, he had no intention of living that kind of life.

His purpose for leaving wasn’t just to escape; it was to live better.

If he’d been content with merely escaping the scorn directed at him as a bastard, he wouldn’t have left the family.

He wanted a better life.

Better than what he’d known as Vendel’s bastard.
Better than the lives of those who’d looked down on him in Vendel.
If possible, even better than his past life in modern times.

And most importantly, he now had the means to achieve it.

The power… of purification, and magic.

---

After dinner, Risir returned to the inn and sat on the bed, gathering his breath. He cleared his mind, preparing to focus.

The private bath, high-quality meal—it wasn’t just a celebratory indulgence for starting anew in this city.

From Hiyern to Bondales, it had been a long journey, more grueling than he’d imagined. He’d tried to practice magic along the way, but his focus had kept slipping.

It was all to address that missed opportunity. He wanted to consolidate the insights and progress he’d made on this journey while in perfect condition.

“Originally, I was going to sleep and tackle this in the morning, but—”

Now, even that seemed like a waste. Tomorrow morning, he’d have to leave this inn.

“Money just drains while you breathe.”

The slight unease gnawing at him was turning into the ideal motivation.

With his thoughts now settled, his breathing relaxed.

He cleared every last lingering thought from his mind.

His focus zeroed in on his mana, flowing through his body, on that sensation, on the rhythm of the flow itself.

This was… what, a setup? Whatever it was, he was ready.

“Good.”

The first thing he did was take out the coin from his pocket.

The lucky coin.

He intended to recreate its enchantment.

According to Pean, it was an act of enchanting—embedding a particular quality into an object.

“Surely that’s not something you can accomplish at the mere third level?”

At the time, Pean had been so exasperated that she demanded an explanation from him, incredulous at how he’d managed it.

He wanted to ask the same question. How had he done it?

It was the product of his unconscious mind.

The goal of this attempt was to bring that skill from his unconscious into his conscious awareness. To systematically master it.

“Ha.”

He chuckled at himself, thinking about the idea of “systematizing” it.

Secluded in his room, without a mentor or reference material, relying solely on his instincts for magic—what kind of “systematic” training was that?

Wouldn’t traditional wizards blow their beards in anger if they found out?

Yet, what could he do? An illegitimate son like him wouldn’t have a magical master or reference books to guide him.

“My disciple… I am the book.”

“…”

For a second, he thought he’d heard a strange voice. It must’ve been his imagination.

He rolled the coin around in his hand, recalling the sensation he’d felt in the carriage.

The highly controlled action did not disappoint him.

“There it

 is.”

A vivid sensation came to him. He held onto it firmly.

He didn’t let it slip, even as the sky outside the window changed color and something warm trickled down from his nose.

---

Pean was in a sour mood.

*Pean, want to go out for dinner together?*

Her expectations for this morning had crumbled, just like last night’s.

She had woken early, meticulously choosing a casual yet not unkempt outfit. Then she had lain on the bed, pretending to sleep as she waited for Risir. But he never came.

But she wasn’t giving up yet. She still had hope.

“I’m just returning the favor from yesterday.”

Pean hummed lightly, her steps lively, as she made her way to Risir’s door, intent on inviting him to breakfast.

*Knock knock.*

No answer came.

*Knock knock.*

Again, silence.

“Risir?”

Strange. She could sense his presence inside.

“You’re in there, right? I’m coming in.”

As Pean entered, an unusual sight greeted her.

“Risir!?”

His jaw, shirt, pants, and bed—everything was soaked in blood.

Pean leapt forward, rushing to his side.

“Risir! Risir! Are you alright?”

Risir didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All his concentration was fixed on seizing a fleeting sensation that shimmered before his eyes.

“...Phew.”

After examining him with a serious expression, Pean let out a sigh of relief, though her face soon scrunched with irritation.

“Honestly, he’s unbelievable.”

She extended her arm toward him, and a gentle warmth enveloped Risir, visibly restoring some color to his face.

Standing nearby, Pean watched over him in silence.

How much time passed, she wasn’t sure.

“Oh? Pean?”

Risir, emerging from his focus, saw Pean standing before him, arms crossed and looking down at him.

“Did you sleep well?”

Her voice was laced with sarcasm as she spoke.

“Feels like I’m still dreaming? I see an angel.”

“You must be well-rested; I can tell by how the nonsense flows freely from your mouth. So, mind explaining what exactly is going on here?”

“Well, I was working on mastering an enchantment, but I ended up overdoing it when a good idea struck.”

“A good idea?”

Pean only then noticed something scattered around Risir.

The coins.

And they weren’t ordinary coins. Pean let out an astonished breath as she realized it.

---

Salana, a high-level adventurer with half her face disfigured, stirred as the morning light filtered through her window, her face sour as if preemptively bracing herself for the unpleasantness the day would bring.

Sitting up in bed, she reached first for her hand mirror, then a soft cloth, beginning her daily ritual: wiping away the secretion that had accumulated on her face overnight.

With an expression mingling resignation and disgust, she sighed deeply, about to press the cloth to her face when—

“...?”

Salana’s hand froze, her posture suspended.

---

Outside her door, a voice called out.

“Risir? You’re in there, right? I’m coming in.”

Nothing of concern to Salana.