From these details, James Carter naturally deduced the general structure of this world: the gods are supreme, mages are noble and superior, and both look down upon all beneath them.

As for worldly power, it can only helplessly remain within the mortal realm.

Obtaining this information was as easy as drinking water for James Carter. He gave a self-mocking smile and continued walking, his steps uneven and slightly staggering.

He was still struggling just to get enough to eat—thinking about anything more was a luxury.

Chapter 4: The Cursed Robe

“What? Why don’t you just rob me? These shabby boots cost ten silver coins!” In the hat shop, James Carter angrily questioned the shop owner.

Just look at what he’s selling—shoddy workmanship, poor leather quality, barely passable for warmth, and nothing else to recommend them.

“Brat, buy them or don’t, I don’t care. These are leather boots, not cloth, and definitely not straw! If you can’t afford them, get out!” The shopkeeper was a fat middle-aged man, and he didn’t have a good temper either.

Looking at James Carter’s appearance—draped in rags, barefoot, a down-and-out fellow—daring to complain in his shop, the real question was whether he could even afford anything.

James Carter was furious and about to explode, his hand already raised, but remembering his current predicament, he forced himself to hold back. Under the round, glaring eyes of the fat man across from him, he smoothly ran his hand through his hair instead.

“Fine, I’ll buy them!” James Carter gritted his teeth, pulled out the silver coins from his pocket, and counted them out one by one: “Here, give me the boots.”

The shopkeeper was straightforward, his temper vanishing instantly, his face magically replaced by a smile as he handed the boots to James Carter: “Here you go, sir. The boots in my shop are all top quality—even people from the city lord’s mansion come here to buy.”

He might have trouble with anyone, but never with money.

James Carter was not as good-natured as the shopkeeper. He snorted, walked out of the hat shop, grabbed some snow from the roadside to wipe the mud off his feet, and put on the boots.

A wave of warmth immediately spread up from his feet. The boots were lined with cotton, and the frustration from his wallet shrinking by half instantly vanished. The money wasn’t too badly spent after all.

That was his temperament—quick to anger, quick to let go, never dwelling on small matters.

Warmth in the bitter cold is something people will pursue at any cost. James Carter immediately turned back to the hat shop and decisively took out the remaining ten silver coins.

“A set of clothes. I don’t care about looks, just make sure they’re thick.”

The shopkeeper grinned, his smile sly and cunning. He loved customers like this—easy to fleece. Just like those boots: the material was good, but the workmanship was poor and the appearance unattractive. People with spare money wouldn’t even look at them, and the cost was only three silver coins, but he’d just sold them for ten. He was overjoyed.

“All right, I, Kent, guarantee you’ll be satisfied. Please wait a moment.” With that, he bustled upstairs to fetch the clothes.

James Carter watched the fat, nimble figure and couldn’t help but sneer.

He knew he’d been thoroughly fleeced. A merchant’s smile only blooms for money. Seeing how bright and attentive the shopkeeper’s smile was, it was clear how much he’d just profited.

But he didn’t care—these were all minor things.

Soon, Kent came huffing and puffing, half-running down the stairs with a leather robe in his hands.

“How about this? A robe made of lizard-rat skin, absolutely worth the price. This is rare lizard-rat skin—wearing it will warm you to your core, the kind of fine thing only nobles can afford. Look here, the material, the workmanship… tsk tsk.” Kent enthusiastically displayed the robe’s qualities, spittle flying as he spoke.

James Carter was a bit suspicious. The robe was indeed a fine item, just as the shopkeeper Kent said—the material and workmanship were beyond what any commoner could afford. Ten silver coins probably wouldn’t even buy a sleeve.

Since when did merchants start making deals at a loss? There was definitely something fishy here.

James Carter’s gaze swept over Kent’s face and keenly noticed a few traces of hidden nervousness.

“Five silver coins for it. I’ll buy it,” James Carter cut the price directly.

“Eh—” Kent was in the middle of his pitch, but James Carter’s words choked him, leaving him speechless.

James Carter continued, “Five silver coins, and I’ll buy this stolen item from you.” He had noticed a few faint, oval-shaped brown stains in an inconspicuous corner of the robe—very likely bloodstains.

So James Carter boldly voiced his suspicion, ready to bluff.

Sure enough, Kent’s face changed dramatically, filled with terror, his hands even trembling a little.

He glanced at the nearly deserted street outside, empty because of the heavy snow, then turned back, most of the fear already hidden, replaced by a vicious look.

“Kid, don’t look for trouble. I know who you are—the little helper at Old Hoy’s tavern. If you dare spread this around, you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sun.” Kent threatened fiercely, thinking a few harsh words would be enough to keep this kid in line.

The robe was indeed stolen property. Kent had bought it from a mercenary while sourcing goods out of town, paying a whole gold coin for it.

A gold coin—that’s no small sum.