Chapter 2.1

“Fight! Fight!”

This world had yet to shake off its medieval flair.

When a fight broke out, there were always more people cheering than stepping in to stop it.

“Fifteen coppers on Renon!”

“Then I’ll put ten on John!”

It was common for a betting ring to spring up almost immediately.

Adventurers and mercenaries in the inn wagered their money, though it seemed they kept the stakes low—roughly a day’s wages, or at most, half a day’s.

“Renon has 65 coppers bet on him, while John has 48 coppers!”

The innkeeper himself ran the betting pool, likely to make enough in fees to repair the inevitable damage to his property.

“Renon throws a punch and lands a direct hit to John’s gut! Will John spit out the stew he just ate?!”

The innkeeper’s son, presumably, acted as the fight’s commentator.

“Renon! If you lose, you’re dead!”

“John! If you lose, don’t ever show your face in Haven again!”

The brawl unfolding on the inn’s first floor was a shocking spectacle for someone like me, who was only on his first day in another world.

‘Could this be my Luck stat at work?’

I couldn’t help but think of my Luck stat, which exceeded 100.

‘So, is this situation suggesting I use it to make some money? But how? I don’t even have any money to bet.’

Keeping my eyes glued to the fight, I stood up from my seat.

‘Arad’s stats: 101 Luck and 300 Dexterity—both maxed out.’

With these two stats, surely there had to be something I could do, even without a single coin.

As I looked for an opportunity, the fight and gambling reached their peak.

“Fight! Fight!”

“Yeah, hit him harder!”

“Nothing beats watching scrubs brawl! Hahaha!”

“Renon trips John with a leg sweep! John’s just getting pounded—can he make a comeback?!”

“Current bets: 135 coppers on Renon, 54 on John!”

‘When is this going to end? From the looks of it, that guy John is just getting clobbered.’

I silently observed the fight, racking my brain for a way to make some money.

“I’m going to kill you… I’ll kill you!”

It was then.

Schwing.

Cornered and desperate, John drew a crude sword.

“Whoa, whoa?!”

“John’s drawn his sword!”

“Renon wins by default!”

Apparently, even in this lawless Northern Region, there were rules.

The moment John drew his sword, Renon was declared the winner.

“Renon, what are you doing?! Draw your sword and take him down!”

“Damn it, my sword’s—!”

But Renon’s face twisted in panic.

His sword was out of reach, lying a short distance away.

“Hyaaah!”

John didn’t wait for Renon to retrieve his weapon.

“Die!”

Who started the fight no longer mattered.

In the Northern Region, it probably never mattered in the first place.

The only thing that mattered now was this: John had drawn his sword and was swinging it with deadly intent. That was all.

Swish! Slash!

“Ughhh!”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

John’s blade struck a deep slash across Renon’s chest.

“No killing in my inn!”

At that moment, the innkeeper intervened.

Thud! Punch!

As expected of someone running an inn in this rough Northern Region, the innkeeper swiftly subdued John with practiced ease.

He was likely an adventurer or mercenary in his younger days.

Despite John’s thrashing, he was knocked unconscious by a single punch from the innkeeper.

“Urghhh!”

However, the innkeeper didn’t escape unscathed. Blood dripped steadily from his hand, where a deep cut ran from his palm to his elbow.

“Dad!”

The young boy—his son and the inn’s worker—rushed over, fumbling to check his father’s wound.

“Ugh…”

Nearby, Renon groaned, bleeding profusely from his chest.

“…”

“John, you bastard…”

“Someone call the guards!”

“Damn it, that wound’s too deep! He’s losing too much blood!”

“Dear ancestors, help us!”

“Dad! Someone, please help my dad!”

The lively, festive atmosphere in the inn quickly turned somber.

‘I maxed out the Healing skill, didn’t I?’

Watching the scene, my feet moved on their own.

—

This was a world where mana existed.

As such, the privileged used healing magic, potions, and divine power to treat injuries.

But that was only for the privileged.

Even in the Arcane-Punk world of 100 years later, where magical engineering had advanced, commoners rarely benefited from magic or divine power.

Instead, they relied on folk remedies and healers.

“Bring me clean cloth, boiling water, a needle, high-proof alcohol, and some savage leaves and baron root. The last two should be easy to find in an inn frequented by adventurers.”

I shouted at the young boy, who was in a state of panic.

I made sure to raise my voice so everyone nearby could hear me.

“Are you a healer?”