Immortal Freeloader 11 (Patreon)

I found an opportunity to change into a clean set of clothes. Dressing as a poor villager was safer when I was traveling, but a young scholar was safer in the city. Not to mention, it would allow me to get in contact with people with higher cultivation. 

I also buried the Tiger Fist Manuals in that hidden spot, afraid of being searched. 

Once I started walking closer, I paid greater attention to the city. The most attention-grabbing part was that, while the city itself was large enough to hold hundreds of thousands of people, there was a significant ghetto around it, probably for the people who didn’t want to pay the entrance fee. 

That wasn’t without its consequences. The buildings were damaged, several with burn signs, and several people wearing colorful clothing walked around. 

Gangs, obviously. 

More interestingly, there was no guard presence in the ghettos. The city was clearly sending the message that, they didn’t care about anyone that wasn’t willing to pay taxes. None of those gang members approached the main road even as they moved around. 

Once I paid my entry fee and entered the city, I felt like I had teleported into a new world. The streets were clean and paved; the buildings were tall, painted, and well made, the guards around every corner. 

Not all citizens looked at the guards fondly, and people did their best to avoid the people who were dressed rich, carried weapons, or were otherwise distinctive, but I avoided the mess as I searched for a decent inn where I could have breakfast before sleeping for twenty-four hours straight. 

I missed the feeling of a bed. 

A couple questions, and I went toward one neighborhood in the middle. Not cheap, but not for the rich either. A good place for a young scholar from a well-off family that was trying to make his mark. 

One advantage of being in a city … I was served by a pretty waitress rather than an ugly waiter. A vast improvement in life quality. 

“Rough day?” she asked with a big smile while I took a seat. 

“I hate traveling,” I answered with a shrug, but I didn’t neglect to hit her with an attractive smile, one that got even more effective thanks to martial arts increasing my physical control. 

She blushed prettily. “I love it. Too bad it’s not safe,” she said, which made sense. I had heard enough stories about what might happen to careless travelers while helping the caravans, and I doubted being a pretty lady made traveling any safer. 

I ordered some food, which cost me half a gold. A villager could probably live a full year. Not a small expense, especially for ordinary — delicious, but ordinary — food. It hurt me to spend that much, but ultimately, I was trying to sell a story, and spending money was a part of it. 

“So, what brings you to Markas? You’re clearly not from here,” she asked. 

“I’m the youngest son, so there’s not much to do on the estate,” I said. “I wanted to travel awhile before I return and my father arranges a marriage and a job for me.” 

Entitlement and lack of responsibility weren’t supposed to be attractive qualities, but they worked surprisingly well when paired with a lot of spending money. The waitress blushed even more. 

“Are you going to stay for long?” 

“A week or two? A month?” I said, lazy and noncommittal, once again doing my best to use the lessons I had learned from my freeloader days. Be available, but not too available, while implying a lack of consequence. 

Waitresses gossiped. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me around the place?” I said. 

“What exactly do you have in mind?” 

“A tailor, for one. My idiot escorts lost my baggage, so I need to buy some new stuff,” I said. “Somewhere other than any gardens or libraries. Maybe an alchemist?”  

“Unfortunately, our city doesn’t have the luxury of having an alchemist,” she said, which didn’t surprise me. I learned that an alchemist meant a cultivator special cultivator, and they were clearly rare. “But we have a few superb apothecaries if you want to visit them,” she said, clearly proud of their existence. 

Understandable, as apothecaries were the martial artist version of alchemists, and they could do valuable stuff. How useful or valuable, I did not know, as gossip was not the most valuable source of information. 

“How about martial arts?” I asked. 

“We have five famous martial arts schools here,” she said proudly. “Three chapters from great martial art sects.” 

“Oh, which ones?” I asked. 

“Dragon Saber, Tiger Fist, and Demon Claw,” she said proudly. “Also, there are two local schools. Crane Kick, and Wolf Fang. Of course, the Dragon. Saber is the best!”   

The way she spoke felt familiar. I had many friends introducing their local football team with equal fervor, suggesting the martial arts were not only useful, but also culturally significant. 

“Really?” I said. 

“Of course, their inner disciples have the longest win streak in the arena, and they are the most selective in recruiting. It’s almost impossible to join.” Then, she lowered her voice and looked around. “Tiger Fist and Demon Claw only get their rejects.” 

I understood why she didn’t speak loudly. What she said could easily be taken as an insult. And this new world didn’t have a fondness for free speech. 

Or, from what was deduced from the stories, human rights. 

“How about the library?” I asked. 

“Well, the city lord’s mansion has one. Martial arts schools should have some. Every apothecary certainly has one … but I don’t know if they would allow visitors.” 

“Bookshops?” I asked. 

“Well, we have several,” she started. 

“Good,” I said as I pushed a gold coin toward her. “I want you to buy a poetry book, but it has to be written by someone who lived in the city before.” 

“We can do that, young master,” she said. 

“Excellent. How about the gardens?” I asked, keeping the discussion moving. The other waitresses looked unhappy at first, but my casual way of spending money soon turned that into excitement, especially once I rented a room for the full week and paid in advance. It put me twenty-one gold coins behind. 

Three golds for a night, and it wasn’t even the most expensive inn in the city. The income inequality in this world was truly shocking.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t avoid skimping on spending money if I was to establish myself as an interesting foreigner to the socialites, or what passed as socialites in this town.  

Once I spent a lot of money, despite my relatively poor clothing, and was happy to leave the waitress chatting with me. I could have questioned her more about martial art schools, but not only it would be suspicious but also she was not the best source of information. 

Instead, I questioned her about the social scene of the city. 

Apparently, the arena was the most popular location during a fight, but it didn’t happen every day. When there was no fight, the crowd was split between tea houses and brothels. I ignored the brothels and focused on the tea houses, which fascinated the waitress. 

Apparently, the tea houses were treated as the more high-culture locations. Though I had to admit, I was more surprised because the brothels were even in the competition as a classy location than the fact the victory of the tea houses. 

I would have ignored the brothels either way because of my personal preferences — more about enjoying the chase and general health concerns than any great ethical objection, if I were, to be honest — but I didn’t have a choice. 

I was searching for a wealthy sponsor with a willingness to fund the holiday of a rich kid, preferably one softhearted enough to pity me even more once I ‘suddenly’ receive some bad news from home to multiply the System rewards.  

In a brothel, money flowed in the opposite direction. 

After I finished breakfast, I asked them to draw a bath for me and went to visit the tailor. I wanted better clothes to fit the local fashion, and more importantly, I needed another vector to spread the gossip about my arrival in what counted as a bored housewife crowd here. 

I ordered three sets of clothes, which set me back twelve more gold coins despite using relatively cheap fabrics. I might have gone ten times as high easily, and once again, that with no kind of material from savage beasts or other martial arts nonsense. 

Apparently, that was a thing. 

Though, while chatting with the tailor, I learned that even the most utilitarian Mortal High-Grade stuff was sold for hundreds of gold. This, considering the exponential nature of the prices, suggested that the Profound Grade cloak I had in my storage likely cost ten thousand gold coins … maybe even higher. 

Making me really glad that I didn’t bluff anyone while wearing that. 

Once I arrived back at the inn, the waitress greeted me with a big smile. “Your bath is ready, sir. Do you need me to wash your back?”

I didn’t, not even with the implicit promise of what might follow. I just wanted to sleep. “Maybe later, beautiful,” I said with one of my best smiles. 

No need to be rude. 

“Finally,” I groaned once I reached my room, and found a bath prepared for me, even going as far as adding some flowers and perfume that smelled amazing. I dipped down, slowly getting rid of the dust and grime of very long travel.  

However, the real treasure was the soft, fluffy bed that was calling me. 

I hoped no one interrupted me. If someone did, I might embrace the nonchalant attitude of this new world where the murder was concerned.