Chapter 36 (1/2)

Chapter 36: The Forest Bandits Ordeal

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio  Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

The only way he knew to earn money was by utilizing his magic.

To use magic, Link would need a wand. Currently, there were two wands in his possession: The New Moon wand and the Fire Crystal staff. The former was a recognizable work of a Master Magician, while the latter was a bulky thing with obvious Dark Elf features. None of them were suitable to be exposed publicly.

After careful consideration, Link made up his mind to use the New Moon wand. But of course, he would first conceal the wand under the cover of camouflage.

He then decided to spend one Omni Point to purchase a new spell.

Transmutation

Level-0 Spell

Effects: A low-level enchantment spell. Transforms the appearance of one object into another without altering the innate nature and shape of the original object.

Once he received the spell, Link swathed the New Moon wand under layers of linen rags, completely covering the original appearance. He then foraged some rubber tree twigs and put the thickly covered wand on the twigs. He picked up the Fire Crystal staff and cast the Transmutation spell.

A rippling, translucent ball of light appeared at the tip of the staff; Link pointed it towards the New Moon wand. “Transmutation!”

The ball of light hit the wand. The brownish surface of the rags began to show minute changes as faint lines of woodgrain began to appear. But this wasn’t enough. Casting the Transmutation spell once was not going to completely change the rags into a wooden stick.

“Transmutation! Transmutation! Transmutation! Transmutation!”

He rapidly cast the spell five times successively. Now the rags that covered the wand were completely transformed into a plain wooden stick. The stick had many pores, though, so it wouldn’t affect spellcasting in any way.

Still, the surface was a bit too rough, so he smoothed it out with some grains of sand. Now, the once magnificent looking New Moon wand had completely transformed into an ordinary looking wooden stick.

There. Now I can use it.

As the wand camouflaging business was done, Link suddenly felt peckish, so he went to the inn hall and got himself, as usual, a long loaf of coarse wheat bread for five coppers. But he thought the occasion called for a drink, so he spent another ten coppers on a mug of ale.

He had been eating the same thing for half a month so his tongue might’ve forgotten how to taste. A mug of ale would certainly be a nice change.

“Hey, Link! What’s the matter with you today?” the inn servant teased as he handed the young man a mug of ale filled to the brim.

Another voice called out from the other side of the room, “Link, you’ll soon become as thin as a bamboo rod! You can’t go on like that, you know?”

It was the drunkard Tormun. He was a regular of the inn who would spend the first coin he earned on drinks. Once drunk he’d go home and beat his wife. The two had been fighting over this habit of his for many years until his wife couldn’t take it anymore and ran off with another man. This didn’t stop Tormun from going back to his old habit, though. Alcohol was his true love, after all.

“Say, Link! You’re cooped up the whole damn day in that little attic! What could you be doing in there? Come on, share it with us!” another regular chuckled.

He had spent half a month there, so everyone in the inn knew him. In fact, by now the whole town had heard rumors about the oddball at the inn.

Link’s only response to these jeering questions was to tell the truth. “I’m a Magician, and I’m working on my magic skills.”

To his surprise, laughter rang out through the entire hall in response.

“Ha! If you’re a Magician, then I’m a wise Sage!” slurred Tormun the drunkard.

The rest of the hall joined in on the laughter. Link had been telling them the truth many times before, but no one ever took him seriously.

Because of River Cove’s proximity to the East Cove Higher Magic Academy, its inhabitants were accustomed to the sights of Magicians from the school. In their eyes, Magicians wore magnificent robes, spent their money liberally, always carried sticks with them they called wands; there was a certain mysterious air about them too, as if they were fully shrouded in an enigmatic aura.

This Link, on the other hand, wore tattered rags for a robe (he had sold the grey robe for money), had a body as thin and frail as twigs, he had the pallor of boiled cabbage. In addition, no one had ever seen him do any kind of magic before. Only fools would take his claim of being a Magician seriously.

Link understood all that, and so he never argued. To him, what the townspeople thought of him was completely irrelevant. So long as they did not hinder him in his quests, the whole town could take him for a beggar and he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

He knew that it was all beneath him. An eagle never concerned itself over the opinions of chickens, so he never bothered with explanations.

And so, all Link did was laugh, then he carried his food to a seat in the corner and sat down and ate. He took a bite out of the loaf, then washed it down with a swig of ale. All throughout this scene, his spirits were calm and utterly undisturbed.

The inn hall’s crowd occasionally threw some remarks on Link from time to time, but seeing as they got no reaction or response from him, they just mumbled something to themselves and moved on to town gossip.

Suddenly there was a sound of heavy footsteps from outside the door, as the light flowing into the inn was blocked. Darkness momentarily swept over the room, the change causing everyone inside to be silent. Every head turned towards the door.

Even Link did the same.

There at the entrance stood an enormous brute striding into the hall—he was almost seven-feet tall. His arms were bigger than Link’s thighs, his hair was a netted mess, his face coarse and rugged, and his beard bushy and long. He was wearing grey leather armor with metal plates sewn over his heart and ribs. He was also carrying a war hammer on his shoulder made of pure iron. The handle and its head were eight inches long—it couldn’t have weighed less than 150 pounds. But that wasn’t the only thing the brute was carrying. On his back was a thick metal shield—it was at least two inches thick, also made of pure iron, and it couldn’t have been easy to carry around either.

Link could guarantee that if he was ever hit by a gentle swing of that hammer, he’d be as dead as a doornail.

The brute walked into the hall as if he were a war tank invading enemy territory, each heavy step stomping loudly onto the floor’s wooden planks. It was only when the brute was well inside the hall that everyone noticed the two people behind him.