Chapter 13: naked price

The dark clouds hung low in the sky, and the coastal air was so heavy with moisture that even the usual rain in Velen felt oppressive.

In this land, tall trees that had grown wild for countless years swayed like dancing demons in the howling wind beneath the bleak sky.

Yet, the beauty of the scenery paled in comparison to the feelings in one's heart.

Amidst the ominous clouds, a young man on horseback galloped cheerfully along the rugged path, leading two horses.

Humming a tune he couldn't quite remember the words to, Lane bounced along on Poppy's back, keeping pace with the rhythm.

When in good spirits, everything feels joyous, and the song's lyrics hardly matter.

His deft handling of the horse would make anyone unfamiliar with him believe he was born in the saddle.

No seasoned rider would suspect that this was the riding rhythm of a young man who had been on horseback for less than a month.

Breathing in sync with the horse, adjusting his posture to match its shifting center of gravity, Lane demonstrated skills that even regional horse racing champions could only aspire to attain over a lifetime.

His rapid progress, which far surpassed the typical learning curve, was merely the result of Mentos' biological intelligence at work under intense computational conditions.

A training plan was meticulously crafted, with training status monitored down to the individual muscle fiber, and results quantified. The human-linked educational method kept the biological brain from interfering with physical behavior until the user had acquired university-level knowledge.

In other words, the brain could not dictate physical actions.

However, within this learning framework, Lane rarely repeated a bad habit more than five times, which had allowed his skills to advance significantly.

Though Lane often grumbled about the rigid logic of Mentos—his brain feeling like a shaken soda bottle every time he followed a training plan—he was genuinely grateful.

In this perilous world, Mentos had played a vital role in the survival of a young man adrift like a fragile reed.

Now, the "hero" continued to drone on in its neutral, intelligent voice.

"Sir, you have been humming the same tune for two hours, 44 minutes, and six seconds, with several repetitions, pauses, and key changes. I sincerely suggest that if you are interested in music, you should study some basic music theory once your life settles down and becomes prosperous. I believe I can assist you with your newfound hobby."

A slight pause interrupted Lane's relaxed and pleasant smile.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Mentos' tone sounded almost hesitant, as if it was choosing its words carefully, especially when discussing his tune. Of course, he dismissed this as mere imagination!

Such doubts often stemmed from the insecurities of a vain and wretched creature.

Everything in the brain originates from brain cells—how could he not love a song produced by his own mind?

Thus, Lane spoke plainly, "Mentos, remember this: Music is great because it carries the emotions of sentient beings. Rhythm and theory are merely embellishments—they are dispensable!"

"But even so, your melody is rather…"

Once again, Lane sensed that Mentos' understanding of "musical aesthetics," based on the music he had heard over the past 18 years, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

It wasn't serious, but it felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

"No need for words!" Lane interjected, waving his hand decisively. "Just tell me if I'm in a good mood or not."

Without hesitation, Mentos responded.

"Based on hormone levels and brainwave data, you are indeed in a state of [happiness]."

"Then this is the 'Song of Happiness'! A wonderful melody that carries emotion!"

The intelligent brain fell silent at its owner's proclamation.

Lane's unmelodic humming resumed as raindrops began to fall, splattering against his face and body as he rode.

Mentos' analysis was spot-on; he felt a genuine sense of joy.

He was a young man of barely nineteen, having just taken the most important exam of his life and entered this harsh world during what felt like the longest vacation after twelve years of schooling.

Though he could call himself a university student, he had only received an admission letter and seen a school entrance photo online.

A hapless virgin who had never even held a girl's hand.

Yet this young man, after enduring a grueling physical transformation, deliberate emotional isolation, harsh self-discipline, and crafting a meticulous plan for revenge, had taken his mentor's life with his own hands.

The emotions stirred within him were complex.

But at that moment, having regained control of his life, he felt truly happy.

Poppy's hooves were worth their weight in gold, and before the raindrops could seep through the layer of oil on Bordon's cotton armor, they reached their destination.

A fishing village on the edge of a swamp, Auréden.

The entire village housed only about a hundred people. Due to the terrain, it resembled the Dai villages in Lane's hometown.

Wooden stakes were driven deep into the soil, planks laid on top, and houses built above to keep out the occasionally flooding waters.

The horses' hooves squelched in the mud, echoing a rhythmic "clop clop."

The silver necklace shaped like a growling bear's head clinked noisily around Lane's neck.

He halted briefly before entering the village.

The roadside had changed slightly since his last visit with Bordon—two tall wooden poles now stood by the path.

Two bodies, their heads covered with linen sacks, swung in the wind beneath the dim sky, barefoot.

Lane approached the wooden pole where a notice was affixed.

In the name of Sir Wesselrad, all thieves and robbers who commit crimes in Auréden shall be hanged by the neck. This serves as a reminder to uphold the law and morality, steering clear of shameful and sordid dealings.

"It's succinct but lacking in literary merit. But what can one expect from a scribe working for the Wilun government?" Lane mused.

He pulled on the reins and rode away on his horse.

Though young, Lane had received an education far beyond the world's average standards.

His schooling had taught him that in places with low living standards and moral decay, a tyrannical government that punishes theft with death would lead to one of two outcomes.

If the ruler lacks strength, he should be overthrown.

If he is strong enough, soon there will be no one left to crow about it. After all, people can be killed, but they can also escape.

The knight ruling Wren had been in power for decades; his reign was stable and far from foolish.

If Lane was correct, the deaths of the two men hanging there were no different from Bordon's fate.

They were simply the unfortunate victims of circumstance during a two-wheeled horse carriage race.

In this world, human life's value is dictated by status and is laid bare for all to see.

It was so stark that Lane could never grow accustomed to it.

Mentos detected Lane's happiness index beginning to decline as he processed these thoughts.

At the right moment, after the music discussion had faded, Mentos resumed its confirmation to Lane.

The neutral, intelligent voice resonated in his mind.

"So, although this confirms the cruelty of the world once again…"

"Do you still intend to proceed with your plans?"