“Fight! Fight!”

This was still a world that hadn’t quite shed its medieval trappings.

Here, when a brawl broke out, there were always more people cheering than stepping in to stop it.

“Fifteen coppers on Lennon!”

“Then I’ll put ten on John!”

It was standard practice for a gambling pool to spring up almost instantly.

The adventurers and mercenaries in the inn began placing their bets.
To their credit, the wagers weren’t particularly large—just about a day’s wage, maybe half.

“Currently, we have 65 coppers on Lennon and 48 on John!”

The innkeeper himself acted as the bookie, likely to make a little commission to cover the cost of repairing whatever would inevitably get broken in the fight.

“Lennon lands a punch to John’s stomach! Will John vomit up the stew he just ate?!”

The innkeeper’s son, a young server, enthusiastically provided live commentary.

“Lennon! You’d better win, or else!”

“John! If you lose, don’t even think about showing your face in Haven again!”

This event unfolding on the first floor of the inn was a fresh shock to my system on my first day in this otherworld.

"Is this another effect of my Luck stat?"

My mind naturally turned to my Luck stat, which was over 100.

"If so, is this situation trying to tell me to take advantage of it to make some money? But how? I don’t even have any money to bet with."

I stood up from my seat, carefully observing the fight.

"My current stats as Arad… Luck at 101 and Dexterity at 300. Max level."

With those two stats, surely there was some way to make something out of nothing.

Meanwhile, the fight and betting were reaching their peak.

“Fight! Fight!”
“That’s it!”
“See? Low-level brawls are the most fun to watch!”
“Hahaha!”

“Lennon trips John with a kick! John’s taking a beating—can he make a comeback?!”

“Currently, Lennon has 135 coppers bet on him, and John has 54!”

"So when will this end? From the looks of it, that John guy is getting beaten one-sidedly."

I kept watching the fight, racking my brain for a way to earn some money.

“I’ll kill you… I’ll kill you!”

That was when it happened.

Schwing.

Cornered, John drew a crude sword.

“Oh no!”
“John’s drawn his sword!”
“Lennon wins!”

It seemed even the rough North had its own rules.

The moment John drew his sword, the victory automatically went to Lennon. The justification was clear.

“Lennon! What are you doing? Grab your sword and subdue him!”

“Damn it, my sword!”

But Lennon’s face was painted with panic rather than triumph.

When John drew his sword, Lennon rushed to grab his own, only to realize it was lying out of reach.

“Hyaaah!”

John, of course, didn’t wait for Lennon to arm himself.

“Die!”

At this point, the cause of the fight—whether it was John or Lennon—no longer mattered.

To be honest, it probably hadn’t mattered in the first place, given the nature of the North.

What mattered now was one thing:

John had drawn his sword and was swinging it with lethal intent.

Whoosh!
Slash!

“Ugh!”

John’s sword cut deeply into Lennon’s chest.

“No killing in my inn!”

The innkeeper, who had been watching, finally intervened.

Thwack!
Bam!

Living up to his reputation as someone running an inn in the harsh North, the innkeeper subdued John with practiced ease.

He was probably an adventurer or mercenary back in his day.

John, despite his struggles, was knocked unconscious by the innkeeper’s punch.

“Argh!”

However, the innkeeper hadn’t come out unscathed. Blood dripped from his right hand, from his palm all the way to his elbow—a long, deep slash.

“Dad!”

The young server boy rushed over, frantically examining his father’s wound.

“Ugh…”

Nearby, Lennon lay groaning, blood pouring from his chest.

“Damn it, John, you crazy bastard…”
“Call the guards, now!”
“Damn it, this wound’s too deep! He’s losing way too much blood!”
“Oh, ancestors above!”
“Dad! Someone, please help my dad!”

The inn, which had been in a festive uproar moments ago, plunged into chaos.

"Wait, I have a max-level Healing skill, don’t I?"

Without realizing it, my feet began to move on their own.

This was a world where mana existed.

For the privileged, healing came in the form of magic, potions, or divine power.

But that was a luxury reserved for the elite.

Even in the arcane-punk world of Era of Silver a hundred years later, commoners rarely benefited from such blessings.

Instead, they relied on folk remedies and healers for treatment.

“Bring me clean cloth, boiling water, a needle, high-proof alcohol, and savage leaves and baron roots. Those last two should be easy to find in an inn frequented by adventurers!”

I shouted at the panicking young server, deliberately raising my voice so the others in the room could hear.

“Are you a healer?”

“I’ve trained in healing arts.”

“Understood! I’ll get everything right away!”

The young server, who had previously looked down on me, now nodded with a newfound respect in his eyes and dashed to the kitchen.

“I’ve got some savage leaves and baron roots with me.”

One of the adventurers, who had been observing the situation, handed over the herbs I had requested.

“Charge the cost to these two later.”

“Will do.”

It seemed that these rough-and-tumble folks often carried emergency supplies like medicinal herbs for situations like this.

“The injuries on both of them are too severe for just herbs to fix.”

Experienced adventurers and mercenaries often had basic first-aid knowledge. From their perspective, the wounds of the innkeeper and Lennon were indeed grave.

“They’ll need stitches.”

With that, I grabbed a handful of Lennon’s hair and yanked it out.

“Here’s the alcohol, needle, boiling water, and the cleanest cloth we could find in the inn!”

Soon, the server returned quickly with the items I had requested.

From then on, the treatment process was lightning-fast.

My max-level Dexterity stat came into play, allowing me to stop the bleeding and suture the wounds in no time.

“Wow…”
“What in the world…”
“I can’t even see his hands moving.”

My hands moved so quickly that the onlookers couldn’t help but gasp in amazement.

Finally, I crushed and ground the two herbs into a paste, applied it to the sutured wounds, and wrapped them with clean cloth. With that, the treatment was complete.

“Make sure to clean the wounds with fresh water every night, apply the herbs, and replace the bandages. If you do this, they should be fully healed by spring.”

“Th-thank you.”
“Thank you, sir.”

The two men, now looking at the hastily sutured wounds that had stopped bleeding, expressed their gratitude with dazed faces.

Their complexions were pale from blood loss, but they were no longer in any immediate danger.

For now, the crisis had been averted.

“Let go of me! Let go!”
“Shut up and come quietly!”

From behind me, I heard the sound of the guards dragging away a now-conscious John.

“Wasn’t that John guy in trouble last year for causing a ruckus in the streets? Didn’t he spend the entire summer in the labor camp?”
“This time, he’ll probably be stuck there for at least five years.”
“Five years in the labor camp? That’s practically a death sentence.”
“He’s ruined his own life, as always.”

The gazes of the inn’s patrons held no sympathy or pity for John as he was dragged away.

With the situation finally resolved, the inn returned to normal, and the time came for proper thanks and rewards.

In this world, “resolved” meant dividing the gambling pot and cleaning up the aftermath.

“Thank you so much, sir. If I’d known you had such skills, I would have served you food without asking for payment earlier…”
“If my son was rude to you, I apologize on his behalf.”
“My chest wound… it was really bad, but you saved my life. Please accept this as my thanks.”

Lennon was the first to express his gratitude, handing me a silver coin.

“This… thank you.”

I quickly pocketed the silver coin, which was worth 100 copper coins—a significant amount. For reference, it was about two weeks’ average pay for a C- or D-rank adventurer.

And I had earned it just a few hours after being thrust into this world.

“I should thank you properly, too. What do you say? Would you like another silver coin?”

The innkeeper, with his bandaged hand raised, offered me another reward.

Their insistence on showing gratitude stemmed not just from common decency but also from the superstitions of the North.

Here, people believed that repaying a favor was necessary to attract good fortune.

Growl…

Just as I was about to respond to the innkeeper’s offer, my stomach growled audibly.

“How about we start with feeding you first? But with my hand like this, I won’t be able to cook for a while.”

“Dad! I’ll cook!”

“Not a chance, Tom. You inherited your late mother’s cooking skills, and let me remind you—they were terrible. Never, ever cook. When you marry, make sure your wife can cook well so she can take over this inn. Got it?”

Ignoring his son, the innkeeper turned back to me.

“Or how about this instead of another silver coin? You seem to be looking for a place to stay, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you stay here free of charge until spring.”

Even though silver coins were valuable, staying at this inn for over three months was far more advantageous.

"This man’s a born businessman. He’s probably thinking that having a skilled healer stay at his inn will naturally attract more customers."

Understanding the hidden meaning behind his offer, I nodded. Nothing in this world comes for free, after all.

In the end, it was a deal where neither of us would lose.

“I’ll gladly accept your offer.”

Feeling grateful for my Luck stat, I cheerfully accepted the innkeeper’s generous offer.

“But you’ll have to find food elsewhere for now. Go eat at another restaurant nearby and come back afterward.”

As the innkeeper’s face relaxed, he added this suggestion.

“Speaking of food, while I stay here, how about I take over the cooking?”

I turned the tables, making a proposal to him instead.

“You can cook? Well, with hands like yours, I wouldn’t doubt it. Honestly, I’d be more than happy to let you take over.”

The innkeeper nodded enthusiastically at my suggestion.

“But I have a condition.”

“Name it.”

“I’ll take 30% of the profits from every meal I prepare. For example, if I sell ten bowls of stew for 1 copper each, I get 3 coppers.”

“Hmm… is that necessary? This inn doesn’t sell much food. You might lose out.”

The innkeeper furrowed his brow, not out of dissatisfaction but because the arrangement seemed foreign to him.

“Why not just take a fixed wage? How about 6 coppers a day? That’s a generous wage for a head cook, plus you’ll earn extra for any healing services you provide.”

“No, I’ll focus on selling food. You’ll see.”

I stood firm, brimming with confidence in my cooking skills.

“Well, if you’re that sure of yourself, I won’t stop you. It’s not a loss for me, after all.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the innkeeper eventually agreed.

“Come with me. I’ll show you the kitchen. Are you eating here too?”

“I’ll get started by testing the kitchen out.”

“By the way, my name’s Jack. My son over there is Tom.”

“I’m Arad.”

“Arad, eh? A fine name.”

And so, not even a full day after being thrust into the game world, I had secured money, shelter, and a job.

The power of a max-level production character never ceased to amaze me.