Having had a fierce boss battle versus red tape, our hero claimed his prize as he finally passed the gate of the capital, Brasscirom. He followed Rabanowicz, whose first goal was to find a place that they could stay before they ventured further in the city.

This is normally the part where, I, the author, tell you about the buildings in the city which would normally be “all designed in the same medieval style of architecture”. Yes, I did just shamelessly steal a quote from another webnovel, but that quote is so generic that I bet nobody could find which webnovel I copy-pasted it from.

My shameless plagiarism of another author’s hard work aside, dear reader, the lack-damsel-in-distress city of the setting our hero has found himself unfortunately needs more care than the quote above. What pity that I must spend a paragraph talking about such dull topics such as architecture when I could spend a paragraph progressing the plot so that our hero could get closer to finding a maidenly love interest! We live in such a cruel world, dear reader, a world in which a hero can still be left maidenless in the sixteenth chapter of his story!

True literature is dead, and I have unfortunately dealt the coup de grâce it with this lackluster story, dear reader. What is literature, if it isn’t a banal romp full of fanservice? Who would read a story that doesn’t have an attractive female character on the cover to draw viewers in? Why would one care about a story which isn’t a love octahedron that contains the protagonist in the middle of it? What essence would such a dull story have? Where would be so forsaken as to cause the author living in it to write such a story? When would such a story even be written, if not in the worst of times where men hath forsaken true literature? How could an author withstand writing such a story that lacks a big bad evil guy to defeat, which lacks a system to draw viewers in and lacks any love interests, how could that idiot of an author expect their audience to care about their book lacking all the elements of true literature?

Let us not dwell and ruminate any further dear reader, for every word that is written in complaint is another word not spent furthering the plot which shall, one day, even if it takes a thousand chapters, succumb to the laws of nature and produce a suitable love interest or two for our hero.

Getting back on track, the city’s architecture was not “designed in the same medieval style of architecture” (another incident of shameless plagiarism to put on my authorly rap sheet). The many buildings of the city were built out of plastered brick mostly in a symmetrical manner, with the bottom of the buildings supported by many columns and arches, topped by grand domes. Like the buildings the roads were brick-paved too, with their light grayish bricks laid in an orderly manner that was most pleasing to the eye.

As for the fashion, the citizens of the city wore an assortment of clothing that were colored most gaily covering the entirety of the color spectrum, unlike the depiction of classic fantasy worlds or historical dramas where everyone wears dark colors or brown leather. The clothes of the commoners were made out of linen, while the upper classes spiced it up by adding silk and fur. Those who could afford it had clothes with plentiful embroidery, mostly containing floral or geometric patterns. Men of the city wore a doublet with very loose sleeves on the top, with long form-fitting breeches or lose-fitting pants. The most fashionable of gentlemen had fluffy cravats that looked like a white beard from afar. To compliment their already showy getup, men wore hats with brims so wide that the hat could double as a serving plate, though those who feared the cold wore hats made out of fur instead. Moving over to the women of the city, they wore bodices with sleeves somehow managing to be looser than those of the men. The skirts of the woman were so long as to cover the ankle, and some women even had underskirts if one skirt was not good enough for them. The higher classes of women had ruffs around their neck to show how much they could afford to spend on useless fabric. To cover their head, the women had kerchiefs that wildly differed in terms of style, with those looking akin to modern bandanas to those that would cost a year of a laborer’s wages with jewels, intricate embroidery and feathers attached to them.

Compared to the people in the city, Watanabe and Rabanowicz looked like penniless paupers.

“Say, doctor, how much would it cost for me to acquire decent garments?” asked Watanabe as he got jealous watching the other men pass him by.

“Why? Good clothes like that will be hard to maintain on the road.” replied Rabanowicz. “What is important is not the appearance of oneself but what is inside the exterior.”

The economy would crumble if everyone was like the doctor, thought Watanabe as he ignored her advice and planned what he’d buy with his thirty seeds. He really wanted to acquire good drip, and more importantly, he wanted, nay, he needed a sword.

That’s it! our hero thought as he saw, in passing-by, a blacksmith’s shop. The shop had various tools on display, but what caught Watanabe’s attention was a lone broadsword (or a basket-hilted sword bearing an orchid on its hilt to be more exact) that sat alone, as if calling to Watanabe to purchase it.

“Excuse me for a second, doctor!” said Watanabe, and before Rabanowicz had time to react, he had already ran over to the stall as if his life depended on purchasing this sword.

“Sir, how much is this one?” asked Watanabe pointing at the lonely sword with much excitement and glee.

“Wha?!... Oh, it’s a customer. That? It’s my old sword, it’s not supposed to be for sale… Though, I don’t think I’ll ever be back in the military, so I’ll give it to you for 8 seeds, along with its sheath.” replied the smith.

“Okay sir!” said Watanabe. He handed over his hard-earned cash to the smith.

Rabanowicz had paused when she had noticed Watanabe suddenly run off, and now watched him return triumphantly with a sword. “Do you even know how to fight with a sword?” she asked having observed Watanabe’s non-existent fighting skills yesterday.

“No, but it looks cool!” replied Watanabe. In response, Rabanowicz facepalmed in a most prochronistic fashion.

After running around for a few minutes with a sword in his hand, Watanabe noticed that he couldn’t bear carrying around a heavy metal object. The answer to his sword-carrying related woes came in the form of Rabanowicz, who, unable to bear watching someone carry a sword so amateurly, gave him the solution for the conundrum he was in. “Monsieur, if you really want to carry a sword without looking like a fool, then I implore you to acquire a baldric.”

“Bald Rick? Who’s he?” asked the ignorant Watanabe, before being given an answer in the form of Rabanowicz pointing at a leatherworks shop that had aforementioned baldrics in stock.

“Ah, I get it, it’s like the belt things the pirates have for carrying around swords! That looks cool too!” exclaimed Watanabe. He spent six more of his seeds on a leather baldric.

Hmm, this looks fashionable, but I need a couple things to compliment this, thought Watanabe. He quickly wandered the shops of the clothiers, eventually spending ten seeds on a cloth sash and a wide-brimmed hat.

Our hero Watanabe returned to Rabanowicz to show of all his newly acquired drippage. “Doctor, don’t I look like a charming rogue now?”

“Rogue? Yes. Charming? No.” replied Rabanowicz staring at our hero in condemnation. “Rarely have I seen someone spend so much money so frivolously.”

“No, see with these…” said Watanabe trying to find an excuse, but reality dawned upon him when he reflected upon what he had just splurged on. I just spent all my money on some useless cosplay!

“See, you need to stop and think sometimes monsieur. Come now, there is no use idly wallowing in regret.” said Rabanowicz to the dejected Watanabe.

After a few more slow minutes of walking, Rabanowicz found a place for them to rest their legs a bit after having marched for days. “This looks like a good place to sit down.” she commented as she led Watanabe to an inn where the penniless Watanabe sat down and Rabanowicz went to order something to eat and drink for them.

The inside of the inn was well maintained, and the room reminded Watanabe more of a restaurant rather than a fantasy inn filled with adventurers. The inside was decorated with a few small oil paintings, most of them being cheaper imitations of famous works. Under those cheap imitations sat the patrons, who seemed to come from various walks of life.

After ten minutes of wait, Rabanowicz came back with two bowls of cabbage soup, one for her and one for our hero. Unlike the soup in the camp, the soup here was a bit more sophisticated, having various spices and a few chunks of meat added in it.

Watanabe though, he didn’t really care for the soup put in front of him for he was still dispirited after having driven himself to financial ruin in under an hour. Seeing the dumps that Watanabe is in, Rabanowicz decided that maybe today was not the right day to practice financial constraint when she left the table again.

She returned to the table with a cup and a pitcher full of wine, who she put them in front of Watanabe. “I think today shall be the day where even I splurge a bit. This pitcher of drink costed another leaf, so you better enjoy it while it lasts, monsieur.”

Watanabe thanked his employer while he filled the cup with drink. After taking a sip he asked, “Doctor, I’ve been wondering something. We’ve only known each other for only at most a week now, and you’re my boss. I think it’d have been normal for you to have, for example, taken your fair share from the cracker sale or to have not agreed to pay for my food and drink, or to provide me with low-quality food and drink even if you did agree to do so.”

“And you’re wondering why I haven’t done so?” interrupted Rabanowicz. “I can sense that you are a poor schmuck who’d have quietly taken such abuses without openly protesting, so it is not a matter of me not noticing those opportunities. It’s just that I do not wish to act upon them, it’d just not be the right thing to do.”

“I- I guess… Sorry for asking such a rude question, doctor…” murmured Watanabe. He gave up trying to understand the concept of people being nice for no particular reason. There isn’t some alternative motive behind this kindness, right? Characters who are kind usually have some sort of ulterior motive behind them…

Before Watanabe could further ride this dangerous train of thought, his dining experience was interrupted when he noticed a man, wearing tattered black robes and holding a thick book in his hand, entered the inn.