Chapter 17: The value of safety

While Lane had yet to establish a mentor, Manteos' primary role was to support his growth and provide simulation assistance for the resistance plan.

After Bordon's death at Lane's hands, Manteos didn't ease up; instead, it immediately shifted to a new operational logic, planning Lane's future.

That's why it insisted that the most urgent task was for Lane to begin training to address his shortcomings.

What it didn't foresee was that Lane would exceed its expectations.

"The lake region where Orden resides is primarily populated by monsters like water ghosts and swamp witches. The danger is manageable, making it ideal for honing your skills."

"And this training comes at no cost; in fact, the village will pay you for it. To have a village, uncommissioned, initiate a large-scale demon hunting mission? Your business acumen has undoubtedly made you a pioneer among demon hunters," Manteos praised sincerely.

What does it mean to be a first-class businessman? Creating demand.

Based on Bordon's insights and the recent month's events, a demon hunter's daily life is often dictated by luck.

Running from village to village, Lane hoped to secure commissions.

Yet, within just an hour of arriving in Orden, the village bustled with people eager to offer their resources for a demon hunter's services.

It was hard to imagine that the last time a demon hunter was summoned to address a monster in Orden was two generations ago.

"And most importantly, we have secure and stable housing and food!" Manteos said, his voice more cheerful than usual.

Lane nodded, feeling grateful.

Both he and Manteos recognized that much of their current predicament stemmed from a societal climate rife with racial animosity.

Even if a demon hunter stayed at a tavern that accepted payment, a stay of one or two days could be justified as part of the mission.

But prolonged stays often led tavern owners to alert the sheriff, branding the mutant as a potential threat.

Could a mutant truly earn a living?

They would either be driven away or killed, with the townsfolk applauding the action as justified.

The morality of the money one possessed was often tied to their race, a senseless reality that had become all too common.

Thus, even if villagers were willing to pay, finding a safe place for Lane to enhance his skills and rest peacefully remained uncertain.

But now, in Orden?

Whatever the village elders consumed, the demon hunters would partake in as well!

Lane had once helped Bordon eliminate a ghoul nest on a farm.

The employer had refused to pay the remaining balance, instead summoning a mob of eternal fire fanatics armed with swords and hammers, demanding to "purify the mutants."

Bordon and Lane had to flee.

In those times, Bordon's meals had dropped to the same level as those of his apprentices.

Now, however, Lane had created a demand for monster hunting, tying that demand to himself.

Safe! Truly safe!

As Lane stepped out of the elder's house, he led the two horses he had tethered to an abandoned shed in the village.

On his way, the villagers no longer regarded him as a plague but greeted him with warmth and friendliness.

They even assisted in unloading the Bear School armor from the horse, carrying it into the house.

Lane felt he wasn't up for manual labor beyond unsheathing his sword.

His past education and experiences had taught him to express gratitude or offer a smile to those who helped him.

But reason held him back.

Expressionless, Lane turned and left.

"Everyone likes money, Manteos," he reiterated.

"They don't like me, but they must because I'm tied to their future earnings. So I have to act with urgency to convince them that their income will soar. That aligns with their worldview."

"Isn't that the saying, 'If you want to help the poor, you mustn't speak kindly to them'?" Manteos reminded him.

Lane felt torn between laughter and frustration.

"I once thought that was nonsense, an excuse for tyrannical managers. But now, to ensure we don't harm each other, I must put it into practice. What a load of crap!"

He inquired about Old Allen's whereabouts and set off.

The village, built from uneven planks, was a mess, but it was small enough that Lane quickly found the elder gathering hay.

"Are you looking for a blacksmith?" the elder asked, scratching his neck, revealing a layer of grime.

"My sword blades are dull, and my armor needs repair. I've killed countless monsters here; you need to show me where I can fix my gear."

Lane frowned, his tone cold and impatient.

As expected, this seriousness got Old Allen's attention.

"Yes! There's a blacksmith! At the village's edge, the dry land was designated for him. But I can't guarantee his craftsmanship will meet your standards."

Old Allen led Lane through the village until they reached a forge where a burly man worked.

"So you're the demon hunter offering discounted services? The whole village has been talking about you," the strong man said, his body slick with sweat and grease, transforming it into a reflective sheen.

He laughed heartily and gestured for Lane to enter.

"Come on in. Help yourself. Let's see what I have that might be useful."

Lane, curious about the man's confidence, casually inspected some of the items in the simple blacksmith's shed.

Most were farm tools—sickles, harpoons—and occasionally, a few blanks for the Weilun long swords.

However, after a brief examination, Lane put the sample down.

"...Never mind."

Though he hadn't handled many fine swords, it was clear from the quality here that the craftsmanship was lacking.

Dull and poorly formed, the tools exhibited issues with both tempering and forging. He suspected the Weilun Longsword was the best work the blacksmith could manage.

Lane's disappointment was evident to both the blacksmith and Old Allen.

The blacksmith's confidence waned at Lane's reaction, his hearty laughter fading.

"What? Do you think there's something wrong with my work?" he asked, confusion etching his features.

Lane didn't reply but slowly drew the Xue School sword from behind him.

As the gleaming blade emerged, the blacksmith's frown transformed into wide-eyed astonishment.

"Meritelli? A family heirloom sword like this!" he exclaimed, gazing at Lane in disbelief.

It was shocking to see someone wield a sword of such caliber in battle instead of merely cherishing it.

The blacksmith quickly acknowledged his own inadequacy to touch this sword.

"Really... I thought my skills ranked at the top of the Weyland scale, haha."

The burly man chuckled, slightly embarrassed.

He mentioned that if Lane merely needed repairs, it wouldn't be a problem.

But if there were structural issues, only master blacksmiths in the capital, Gus Wilun, or at the Crow's Nest where the Sir resided would suffice.