“Anyway, none of us can afford it. Maybe one night would cost you two months of hard work. Look at them—those guys are the ones looking for girls. I heard that last time a mercenary group passed through town, there were a few female mercenaries, all quite charming.”

Robert Miller followed their gaze and looked over at that table. There were dishes and wine on it, whole jugs of wine brought out. They seemed to be in a good mood as well. He recognized him, Paul Miller, a merchant who regularly came to town.

“Paul Miller, you made another profit this time, didn’t you? Have you thought about settling down in town? That way, it’d be easier for me to restock.” Matthew Miller asked after finishing his work.

“Heh, of course I’d like to, but the certificate of free citizen the lord promised, plus a plot of twenty acres, costs a lot. And I want to get a boat—if I had one, coming and going would be much more convenient.” Paul Miller shook his head, but from his expression, he didn’t seem too troubled.

“Paul Miller, I just don’t get it—why do you want to live here? Isn’t the city much better?” someone else asked curiously.

“That’s what you don’t understand. The city certainly has its advantages, but the taxes are heavy, and all the guilds want money. For small merchants like me, it’s just…” Paul Miller stopped here and didn’t continue, clearly having his own difficulties.

Behind the counter, busy as always, was Mrs. Miller. She was only about thirty, dressed in a coarse cloth skirt with an apron that had turned grayish-white. There were already some wrinkles on her face, showing her hard life. She was constantly calculating today’s income. When she saw Robert Miller, she said, “Robert Miller, you’re here to help again.”

“It’s nothing. I’m staying in your room for free, so let’s call it even,” Robert Miller replied.

“Mm, well said. Robert Miller, could you go down to the cellar and bring up another barrel of wine?” Matthew Miller called out, “And grab a pancake to eat!”

Robert Miller agreed, took a pancake. The pancake was golden and crispy, topped with a layer of fresh seafood—colorful fish, shrimp, clams, and mussels. The seafood was drizzled with a purplish-red sauce, with a few slices of green vegetables on top.

It was truly delicate and tender, with an excellent taste—exceptionally fresh and delicious. This was Mrs. Miller’s specialty, praised by all the passing guests, and Robert Miller only got to eat it during festivals.

After eating, Robert Miller went to the back, walked down the steps, and pushed open the wooden door.

The cellar was always dark and damp, and he couldn’t possibly use expensive candles, so he moved the wine barrels around in the pitch-black basement.

This was a very familiar situation. Robert Miller felt a bit dazed, sat down on a barrel, looked around, and after a moment, came back to his senses: “Tomorrow I’ll be going to the Earth Goddess’s temple to get certified as a druid.”

He carried the barrel upstairs.

“Ah, Robert Miller, you’re here.” Mrs. Miller looked up from the counter and said, “Quick, bring out the trays!”

“Okay, Mrs. Miller!” Robert Miller replied, skillfully taking the plates, pouring wine, serving dishes, and even helping out in the kitchen. All of this was very familiar work.

By this time, the local idlers had all left, except for the drunkard Ford Miller.

The only ones left were the mercenary team staying at the inn—seven people in total. They all knew him well and were quite fond of him. As soon as he came downstairs, a few of them smiled at him, and of course, he smiled and nodded back.

“Mr. Harvey Miller, here’s the beer you ordered.” Robert Miller brought it over—seven cups in total.

This beer had a faint aroma of wheat and hops, with a hint of coolness from being chilled in well water. It was naturally brewed, very fresh, and tasted great. After drinking, a subtle malt sweetness lingered in the mouth.

This mercenary team was very small, just seven people, none of them women. They were often busy nearby, so Robert Miller knew them. The captain was Harvey Miller.

Harvey Miller smiled, took the beer, gave a copper coin as a tip, and then slowly drank, occasionally chatting about adventure stories.

After finishing his work, Robert Miller stood to the side, listening to their idle chatter while taking a break.

“Captain, you’re a level four warrior now. If you break through and gain battle aura, our mercenary team will have a bright future,” Bobby Miller said with feeling. “You’d be qualified to become a knight.”

“It’s not that easy. Reaching level five and gaining battle aura is just one standard for becoming a knight. Knights have fiefs, but how many nobles or kings are willing to grant fiefs so easily? At best, you get a higher rating in the mercenary guild! Or maybe qualify for a deputy squad leader position in a town. Rather than pinning your hopes on me, you’d be better off working hard yourself and leveling up. That way, the jobs we can take will be easier.” Harvey Miller was in a good mood, but that’s what he said.

“Haha, I’ll try to reach level three next year,” Bobby Miller said a bit awkwardly.

Robert Miller listened quietly. The things these mercenaries said unintentionally, if analyzed from another angle, could reveal a lot of information about this world and this country.

In his original world, human combat ability was basically on the same level, so there was no need to divide into ranks. But in terms of wealth and status, there were many levels—nine grades and eighteen ranks, forty-two minor official ranks, thirteen noble titles, and even categories like subsistence, well-off, and petty bourgeois.