Chapter 5: Huge Profits

The next day, the sun shone brightly over the vast lands.

The eastern coast outside Old Runestone City stretched far and wide, blanketed in fragrant green grass.

"Baa, baa~~"

A herd of goats roamed the field, their plump bodies swaying as they grazed on the fresh blades of grass. From a distance, they looked like fluffy white marshmallows scattered across the landscape—though dirtier and far less appetizing.

"Don't lick me! Go find something else to do."

Aemon, now dressed in more practical attire, frowned as he shooed away a few curious goats nudging at him.

With his feet planted firmly in a horse stance, he grasped a thick clump of dark green grass and pulled with all his might.

He had woken up early with one goal in mind: to sleep well and grow taller.

"I still don't get it. Why are we gathering all this grass?"

A voice emerged from behind a cluster of goats. William, his cousin, stood there with an exhausted expression, shaking off a handful of urala grass with its roots and soil still attached.

Aemon, his small frame vibrating with determination, gritted his teeth and muttered, "You just don't understand!"

With a loud whoosh, the urala grass was finally uprooted, but the recoil sent Aemon tumbling backward. He rolled twice before scrambling to his feet, his face flushed from exertion.

"Hah… finally done."

Dusting off the dirt, he carefully smoothed out the grass blades and placed them into a woven basket at his side.

He was fully prepared for today's task—harvesting urala grass and magic essence.

Reaching for his backpack, Aemon adjusted the straps and checked the contents. The bag, made of sturdy green fabric, had a white tower engulfed in flames embroidered on the flap. It sat snugly against his slightly rounded waist, a perfect fit.

Inside, a layer of urala grass cushioned a black dragon egg, nestled safely among the soft foliage.

Aemon exhaled, took out a water pouch from his belt, and gulped down a few sips.

Rejuvenated, he patted his bag fondly. This was a farewell gift from a dear friend, and he rarely used it—unless absolutely necessary.

"Alright! Back to work!"

Aemon beamed with excitement, rolling up his sleeves.

William, however, was less enthusiastic. He dragged his feet forward and groaned, "You're a prince, Aemon! You don't have to do this kind of dirty work. Whatever you need, the servants will take care of it for you!"

Aemon's large eyes sparkled with determination as he gestured toward a few guards in the distance.

"They're working too, aren't they?" He placed his hands on his hips defiantly. "The more people helping, the faster we finish!"

Urala grass was a rare and valuable resource—just a few guards wouldn't be enough to harvest a meaningful amount.

And Aemon hated being idle.

With renewed energy, he bent down and resumed collecting. By the end of the morning, he had gathered five clumps of urala grass and gained +5 magic essence.

The Magic Essence Panel

Aemon opened his Magic Essence Panel, where a new selection had appeared in the redemption menu:

[+5 Essence] – Exchange for 5 points of magic essence (10 points required).

[Physique +1] – A safe and effective physical enhancement (10 points required).

[Speed Straw Sandals] – Increases running speed beyond that of a horse (50 points required).

Aemon glanced over each option.

The first was a scam—spending double the price for half the reward? What kind of fool would fall for that?

But something else caught his attention.

The available cards on the redemption page weren't static. Every morning, they refreshed with new options.

Ignoring William's complaints, Aemon tapped on the second card: [Physique +1].

With a soft boop, the card shattered into glowing particles and seeped into his body.

A warm sensation coursed through him, replacing his previous fatigue with newfound strength.

When he jumped, he noticed that his short legs—normally able to leap just one foot high—could now jump one and a half feet.

"This is amazing!" Aemon grinned, feeling the change in his body.

If he kept redeeming physique enhancements every day, wouldn't he become unstoppable?

After all, strength was a vital measure of a person's worth in Westeros. The most renowned warriors were few and far between.

If he continued to grow stronger…

"In ten years, wouldn't I—"

"Wait, I don't eat beef!" Aemon suddenly blurted out.

"What?" William, startled, turned to him. "You're thinking about eating beef for lunch?"

His cousin's jaw nearly dropped.

In Westeros, cattle were extremely valuable. Unless they died of old age or disease, even nobles rarely indulged in beef.

Aemon quickly snapped out of his thoughts, lifting his chin with an air of arrogance.

"I said, I don't eat beef. Are your ears not working?"

He could tell what William was planning—his cousin wanted beef too and was using him as an excuse to ask for it.

Hmph, not happening!

A Watchful Presence

As Aemon worked tirelessly, William slouched beside him, rubbing his sore back.

"Why don't we just ask him to help?" he muttered, pointing to a high slope in the distance.

Aemon followed his gaze and spotted a towering man with broad shoulders and wild black hair.

Gunthor, clad in bronze armor and a gold-hilted sword, sat leisurely on the ground, gazing at the scenery.

Seemingly aware of their eyes on him, he reached behind his back, pulling out a two-handed greatsword.

For a man of his stature, a half-handed or one-handed sword was far too small—the greatsword looked like a mere toothpick in his grasp.

Aemon watched as Gunthor took out a lemon, bit into it, and grimaced at the sour taste.

He then dipped the remaining lemon half into a pouch of white salt and used it to clean his blade.

Salt? That's expensive! Aemon thought.

It was a costly but effective method of maintaining a sword—superior even to oiling.

Aemon turned to William. "Is he strong?"

"Of course! Gunthor is the best warrior in Runestone City," William grumbled enviously. "If he helped, we'd be done in no time!"

Aemon gave his cousin a knowing look. "Then why don't you go ask him?"

"...Never mind."

William shuddered at the thought. If he bothered Gunthor, he'd probably be knocked around like a ragdoll.

Suddenly, Gunthor stood up and began walking towards them.

William went pale, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Aemon, however, stood his ground. Placing his hands on his hips, he stepped forward.

Even if it was Gunthor, he wouldn't back down.

To his surprise, the warrior simply said, "Lady Rhea Royce sent me to check on you."

Gunthor's deep voice carried authority. "She also told me to remind you—stop rolling in the grass and prepare for the royal hunting event. The king has called for it."

Aemon blinked.

A royal hunt?

It seemed things were about to get interesting.