[This day just keeps on getting better and better.]

His left shoulder was hurting — No, his entire body felt like this. It was the price Cendric had to pay for overusing his blessing. To make matters worse, he had forgotten to interrogate one the bandits for their secret cache. What annoyed him more, aside from two silvers and a few coppers he found, there was nothing else worth a damn.

Selling blood-stained clothes in town weren't unusual, but Cendric was a stranger. He could very well end up drawing unwanted attention. Cendric also wanted to sell the spears to a blacksmith, even if their condition was questionable. But a spear was a hefty weapon, he was also injured, so even carrying one on foot would be difficult. Instead, he opted in taking the dagger he relinquished from the damsel, surprisingly of decent quality.

[Knight-Captain Odell ordered me to meet with the local patrol near Gwaldon. He's under the impression I'm taking the highway right now to Gwaldon. It's been a day now since I left for Crestwood.]

Crestwood is a small town built right next to a lake, surrounded by cultivated fields. It's a common stop for travelers preferring local roads instead of the highway. And was where he planned on buying a horse and a new set of armor.

[The commanding officer at Gwaldon is expecting me to arrive in three days. I need to increase the distance before they notice something is amiss.]

Perhaps the gods had heard his plights. Because the next day, Cendric had been lucky enough to run into a merchant heading in the same direction. The man had offered Cendric a ride on his wagon in exchange for a Knights protection. He was kind enough not to ask for a name or the Order from which Cendric came.

"We shall be approaching Crestwood soon, Ser Knight." The traveling merchant glanced at his companion who spoke very little. For the past two days, it had been like this. Ser Knight would travel alongside him on foot during the day and sleep within the wagon at night.

"Mhhm." Cendric grunt in acknowledgement.

"I plan to stay a short while as I restock my supplies, before heading off to Gwaldon."

"As you say."

"It's a neat little town, I'm surprised they've managed to keep the lake clean for so long."

"Indeed."

"You—," The merchant gives up in his attempt at making small talk. 'I thought Knight's were an arrogant bunch, but this one breaks my expectations entirely.'

Up ahead the town of Crestwood comes to view. For now, only it's wooden palisade can be seen, the actual town lays await behind it. Several figures patrol the walls and below, two guards stand on alert near the gate.

"Name and business." The guard's tone is strictly professional. He stares dispassionately

at the two travelers in front of him.

The driver of the wagon answers first, "Gerald Bruce. I'm a registered member of the Merchants Guild in Yvorwick, I've goods to sell and supplies to stock."

At the same time, he reaches into the breast of his coat but is waved off by the guard.

"No need for papers, you're dressed well enough."

The second guard who had remained silent spoke up. "I assume your friend over there is a bodyguard?" He had been eyeing the strangers' attire carefully. His light brown tunic was nothing out of the ordinary, everything about him suggested average.

"Oh him? We happened to be going in the same direction, I offered him payment in exchange for protection for the next several weeks." The merchant nonchalantly replies.

"Is that so?" The guard directs this to Cendric who's said nothing so far.

"Yes."

Cendric shoots a sidelong glance at the merchant. But his face is carefully neutral, revealing none of the suspicion brimming beneath.

"Welcome to Crestwood then, if you need a place to stay try the Lakeside Inn." Curiosity satisfied, the guard moves to the side beckoning his comrade to do the same.

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Several feet inside the merchant bring his oxen to a halt. He steps down removing his cap, revealing a mop of straw hair, and offers a hand to his quiet companion.

"I believe this where we part ways, my friend."

Grudging Cendric shakes it, he steps in close so only the 'Merchant' can hear his next words.

"What's your play?" His voice is devoid of emotion. Despite this, the Merchant remains unfazed, if anything more amused.

Realizing this only succeeds in stoking Cendrics hostility, the Merchant sobers up and raises his free hand placating. "My only play is to gather the supplies I need then go my merry way. Be assured you owe me nothing nor do I want anything from you."

"Don't be coy, you purposely guided them from asking any direct questions about me. Then spun a half-truth believable enough to let us in without even bothering for my name or hometown."

The Merchant steps back, politely removing his hand. He looks at Cendric straight in the eyes and does something unexpected.

"Sorry, sorry, again sorry." The Merchant apologizes profusely. Despite wearing trousers of cotton make, he doesn't hesitate to sully them in the muck as he gets down on his knees.

"Please, I meant no offense. My life is dear to me and there is so much I wish to do." Then he grabs onto Cendric's ankles and begins to kiss his boots.

Nearby passer byers halt in their tracks, bewildered at the spectacle. Some just shake their heads and continue on, believing it to be a dispute over money. The most confused of them all was the man the Merchant prostrated himself before.

[What in the seven hells. Is he actually serious? —

No, this bastard knows I'm keeping a low profile here. That's why he's trying to draw attention.]

A couple of guardsmen near the palisade watched with interest. Brawls and altercations were common in Crestwood like any other town. They'd only step in if weapons were drawn or any locals got caught in the crossfire.

Or not, anything was a welcome distraction from standing hours on end at the walls.

Keenly aware of this Cendric pushed aside his suspicions and hostility for the loathsome Merchant. And forced himself to think rationally.

[He does not know my name, and I'm sure we met by chance. From what was inside the wagon were mostly trinkets, spices, and other goods hard to come by locally. He genuinely wants to part ways and avoided a confrontation when I tried interrogating him.

Conclusion:

Paranoia is getting the better of me.]

With that Cendric exhaled slowly, when he spoke again any trace of ill will and suspicions he once harbored were erased.

"It's fine, let us go our separate ways just as you said."

Cendric unceremoniously detracts his boots from the Merchant's hands. Not one bit concerned about the filth that splatters on the man's puffy face. Tired of these antics, Cendric turns his back and parts ways without a second glance.

--------------------------

His first destination was the local smithy. Smoke emitted outside from the brown tiled roof. The brick-walled interior was relatively small, or rather the sheer amount of weapons and armor on display took up most of the room.

A rather short bearded man haggling with a customer raised a muscle bulging arm towards Cendric walking inside.

"See? Yer ruining me business, pay up or out with yew." Strong, stubborn, and hard like rocks. Most of their kind lived underground, few ever venturing to the surface.

Dwarves.

Cendrics groaned internally. He wasn't going to have an easy time selling his armor. You couldn't swindle those accursed rockheads when it came to gems or metal. The customer glumly walking by him probably just experienced this first-hand.

'All-Mother what exactly have I done to deserve this?' Cendric spoke silently, questioning the Mother of all Gods.

Of course, there was no reply.

Cendric already had removed his mail shirt and padded gambeson before coming. He was carrying them in both arms during his long walk. To say he was relieved after plopping them on the counter would be an understatement.

A true professional, the dwarf doesn't bother with small talk and immediately begins appraising the armor. Within several minutes of unintelligible grunts, and beard-stroking. The dwarf states his assessment.

"Not bad. Rings are made from steel, nae' many impurities. Gambeson too, I'm nae' sodding tailor, but seen enough in my day.

"How much for the entire set?"

"Aye. I'll give yew one crown, and a couple silvers for the gambeson."

Even after the Old Empires' demise, the various factions that rose after continued to use the same currency system today. The currency utilized three coins: Copper, Silver, and Crown.

The largest coin are coppers, and are the lowest in value. Fifty coppers equated to one silver. Silvers are slightly smaller and the second largest in value. About a hundred or eighty silvers are equivalent to one crown. Finally, the highest in value but smallest in size were crowns. A crown could equate to half a year's worth of work.

"Fair is fair with the mail, but the gambeson is worth more than a few silvers."

"Try yer luck with a tailor then, otherwise 'alf a dozen silvers and nae' a copper more." The blacksmith snorts in reply.

"Twenty silvers or I take the gambeson and chainmail over to the tailor." When it comes to the uniform of a Knight Seeker, Cendric knew damn well it's worth.

The dwarf stamps his feet, eyeing Cendric stubbornly. "Twenty? Fancy yer self a tailor, eh sky-lover?"

"No. That's half the price the tailor sold it for, stonehead." The actual price was thirty, but honesty wouldn't buy him a horse.

"Fine, take yer stinking silvers and get out!"

The dwarf slams the coins on the counter and snatches Cendric's former armor, taking the latter into the backroom.

[How the hell is he in business if he runs out every customer?]

He shakes his head as he pours the coins into a leather pouch. Between dealing with the boot-kissing merchant and negotiating with the dwarf. The events of today had left him mentally exhausted.

[Time to go looking for that Inn — Lakeside, I think they called it.]