Alphonse, Arcus, and Vrischil stepped into the stone building.
The interior was rather cramped, containing only rows of long wooden benches for queuing patrons and a counter booth protected by iron bars.
There were no other customers inside. The sun outside had completely set, leaving behind a pitch-black night sky.
Behind the grated counter, a bespectacled man in neat merchant attire appeared to be organizing parchment scrolls with a weary face.
"Ahh, I was just about to close," the man complained upon hearing the creak of the opening door, making no effort to conceal his displeasure at receiving guests at the end of the day.
Alphonse stepped forward toward the iron grate, radiating a warm smile to thaw the atmosphere.
"Our apologies, sir," Alphonse spoke politely. "We have only just arrived in this city and were immediately turned away from securing lodging due to a currency issue. We are in dire need of exchanging our coin tonight lest we sleep on the streets."
The merchant let out a long sigh, adjusted his spectacles, and nodded in resignation. "Very well, very well. Hand over your coin. Make it quick."
Alphonse gestured with the tip of his finger. Vrischil approached the counter, untied the leather cord of her pouch, and poured out the entirety of their remaining currency.
The sharp clinking of metal rang out as approximately forty silver coins and a handful of bronze ones scattered across the wooden counter.
The bespectacled man picked up a single silver coin. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the engraved crest on its surface beneath the glow of the magic lamp.
"Hmm... coin from the Pexora Kingdom, I see," the man murmured in recognition.
Instead of weighing them with a standard scale, the merchant reached down and retrieved a peculiarly designed iron box from his desk drawer.
He opened the top lid, deposited the Pexoran silver coins inside, and closed it with a soft click before pulling a metal lever on its side.
Alphonse watched the process with narrowed eyes. At the center of the iron box lay a small glass panel featuring an indicator needle and a row of numbers from 1 to 100.
The moment the lever was pulled, the iron box hummed quietly, emitting a slight fluctuation of mana. The needle within the glass panel moved rapidly before finally coming to a halt at a specific number.
The underlying principle is akin to an XRF (X-ray Fluorescence) metal purity analyzer on Earth, Alphonse murmured inwardly with keen interest. Magic Items in this world are evidently quite advanced regarding economics and standardization.
After several minutes of testing to ensure there were no counterfeit metals, the man opened the lower drawer of his counter.
He extracted a stack of fresh silver and bronze coins bearing the crest of the Riviera Kingdom, placed them on the table, and pushed them through the gap in the iron grate toward Alphonse.
"Your Pexoran coin is pure and authentic," the man reported with professional detachment. "Here are thirty-eight silver coins and a few bronze ones. A five percent cut has already been deducted as the standard exchange fee."
Hearing the figure, Alphonse's brow furrowed.
"Five percent?!" His tone rose, protesting the unreasonable deduction for a simple exchange of coin.
In response to the protest, the merchant scoffed softly. The man quickly leaned back away from the desk, resting his spine against the chair while crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze, peering from behind the lenses, was now piercing.
"What? Is this your first time exchanging money?" the man retorted cynically. "For your information, my fee is considered cheap. In the major cities, they can deduct up to ten percent!"
Alphonse swiftly reined in his expression, molding his features back into a calm and amiable mask.
"Ahh, no, sir. Forgive my layman's reaction," Alphonse said. "I merely thought... if the sum remains this substantial even after a five percent deduction, it implies the currency values of Pexora and Riviera are virtually equal. I assumed this kingdom possessed a far lower currency value, given the state of its people."
Hearing the commentary, the man scoffed softly as he began turning the key to his counter drawer.
"Nearly every kingdom on this continent adheres to the weight and purity standards utilized by the Nova Empire," the merchant explained.
He stared sharply at Alphonse, lowering his voice as though imparting a secret. "And do not be deceived by what you witness on the streets. Though this kingdom appears rotting and impoverished on the outside, Riviera is actually exceptionally wealthy."
"It is simply that... all of that wealth is hoarded and centralized within the coffers of the King and his nobility."
The man waved his hand, subtly shooing them away. "Is there anything else? If not, please take your leave. I wish to rest."
"Apologies for intruding upon your rest, sir," Alphonse said cordially. He scooped up the newly minted coins, stowed them in the pouch, and strode out of the establishment.
As they walked back down the night streets of Deeproot, now illuminated by magic lamps, Vrischil broke the silence.
"This currency exchange business is remarkably promising," she commented, recalling the rapid circulation of wealth that had just transpired within the booth.
Alphonse held a single Rivieran silver coin in his hand, twirling it through the air with his fingers.
"You are correct," Alphonse agreed. "Five percent from every transaction... that is a guaranteed profit margin with an exceptionally low degree of risk for the proprietor."
"Even so," Vrischil interjected coldly. "Such an enterprise requires formidable backing, lest their coffers of gold be plundered or destroyed by greedy local lords."
Their grave conversation came to an abrupt halt. Arcus reached out, grasping Alphonse's shoulder and stopping his advance.
"Look over there, Alphonse," Arcus spoke, his voice heavy, pointing straight toward the deserted end of the market street.
From the shadows at the end of the road, a group of people walked with dragging footsteps. The sound of metal scraping against the cobblestones echoed, accompanying their advance.
Beneath the glow of the streetlamps, they looked ghastly. The bodies of these individuals were so emaciated that their ribs protruded sharply against their skin, clad only in rough, tattered rags.
Around their bruised necks sat thick iron collars. These shackles were linked together by a long, heavy chain.
The iron chain was pulled without an ounce of mercy by a burly man riding a horse. The slaver appeared entirely relaxed, whistling softly as he guided his "merchandise" through the city streets.
Alphonse ceased his steps. His eyes narrowed sharply at the sight. He had just confirmed yet another rotten truth about this world.
"Slavery."
Alphonse stared at the procession of slaves with an impassive gaze. He remained silent for several seconds, carving the wretchedness into his mind, before turning his face away toward the path leading to the inn.
"Let it be," Alphonse said quietly, shattering the silence that had frozen between them. "When the time comes, I shall deal with it."
Without looking back, the trio resumed their march, piercing through the cold night air of Deeproot.
Midway through their journey, Arcus complained.
"Speaking of slavery," he casually remarked. "Back on Earth, I used to read novels and comics that featured slavery in them."
Arcus stroked his chin.
"What always baffled me was... some of the characters in those stories actually seemed to enjoy being slaves," Arcus grumbled. "There were even characters who had been freed, yet still whined and begged to wear the collar around their necks. I truly cannot comprehend what goes through the author's mind."
Hearing the complaint, Alphonse paused his steps for a moment. He glanced at Arcus from the corner of his eye.
"What genre were you reading, Arcus?"
Prompted by the question, Arcus answered with a face devoid of guilt, his chest puffing out with pride. "Adult genres, naturally."
Upon hearing the utterly shameless confession, Vrischil, who was walking beside him, immediately narrowed her eyes.
Without uttering a single word, the Elf took one large step away from Arcus, staring at him with pure disgust.
Alphonse resumed walking and replied.
"Well, such flawed logic is typically manufactured deliberately to support the adult scenes within," the leader elucidated. "Purely for fan service or to satiate the wild fantasies of the readers, you see."
Alphonse navigated the increasingly deserted streets. "Humans possess vastly different desires and obsessions, and occasionally, they are exceedingly bizarre."
"From a psychological standpoint, the feeling of total domination and holding complete control over another person's life and death does indeed provide an intoxicating sensation of power for some."
"That is the root of slavery, both in fiction and in this reality," he concluded.
Hearing the profound explanation, Vrischil halted her steps once more. She narrowed her eyes, glaring suspiciously at Alphonse's back.
"And what of you, Alphonse?" Vrischil fired sharply. "Do you also take pleasure in satisfying yourself by consuming such content?"
Alphonse did not answer immediately. He looked up, gazing at the night sky of Deeproot. A faint smile graced his lips.
"No," Alphonse answered serenely. "I much prefer making myself genuinely superior and powerful in the real world, rather than merely indulging in illusions by watching such fictitious entertainment."
Hearing Alphonse demean his tastes, Arcus scoffed in indignation.
"Hey, it is called entertainment because its purpose is to entertain!" he defended. "It is impossible for us to live our days working constantly without any rest. The brain requires refreshment too!"
Vrischil merely rolled her eyes lazily.
They finally arrived back in front of the inn with the wooden flagon sign.
As they entered, the innkeeper immediately welcomed them upon seeing Vrischil produce the official currency bearing the Riviera Kingdom's crest.
"Three rooms, correct? Here are the keys," the man said with a noticeably friendlier tone than before, handing over three iron keys.
After paying the three silver coins in full, Alphonse ordered supper for the three of them and requested the servant to deliver it to his room.
Not long after, the meal arrived upon a wooden tray. However, the sight upon the tray was entirely unappetizing.
It held only a piece of painfully hard wheat bread, a coarsely textured sausage, and a glass of heavily watered-down ale.
Arcus took a bite of the sausage. His face instantly scrunched up as he chewed.
"Damn it, this food is terrible! It tastes completely bland," Arcus complained, forcing the meal down his throat.
Alphonse stared at the hard bread in his hand without a shred of appetite. "And worse still, the price is nearly double that of the meals in Wealden."
Vrischil forced herself to swallow a tiny piece of the hard bread before swiftly returning it to the plate.
"This is the repercussion of the plantations we witnessed earlier," Vrischil explained, brushing the breadcrumbs from her hands.
"Because the vast majority of fertile land in this kingdom is no longer sown with wheat and has been forcefully repurposed to cultivate Punica Aurum, the availability of food has plummeted drastically."
Vrischil looked at her two companions. "The scarcity of wheat grants the major merchants and the nobility the leverage to inflate prices however they please."
"Consequently, the price of nearly all other essential goods, from meat to beverages, has skyrocketed madly," the Elf analyzed.
Hearing the complex explanation, Arcus slammed his remaining hard bread onto the plate, producing a sharp clatter.
"Damn it! I just want to eat good food!" Arcus grumbled, losing his patience. "Oi, Alphonse, was our purpose in coming here not to build an empire? If so, there is no need to overcomplicate things!"
"Let us simply storm the palace tonight, slaughter the King, and declare you as the new Emperor! Their entire army will surely be powerless to stop me. Problem solved!"
Vrischil turned her head, staring at Arcus as if gazing upon the most idiotic creature in the world.
Meanwhile, Alphonse massaged his temples slowly, letting out a long sigh. Dealing with Arcus's crude way of thinking and his constant reliance on bloody shortcuts was truly beginning to drain his patience.
Alphonse slowly lowered his hand. He looked at Arcus with a grave expression.
"Arcus... try to use a fraction of your brain and answer my question," Alphonse said quietly. "In your estimation, what is the most vital attribute for becoming a ruler?"
"Power, naturally," Arcus answered with unwavering certainty, his chest puffing out without a shred of hesitation. "Whoever is the strongest, rules."
Receiving that answer, Alphonse smirked faintly. He leaned forward, locking his gaze with Arcus's eyes.
"Is that so? An intriguing logic," Alphonse challenged. "If that is the case... do you believe I am stronger than you?"
Arcus narrowed his eyes. He scrutinized Alphonse from the tips of his black hair down to his shoes. He let out a dismissive scoff and released a short, highly condescending laugh.
"You? Stronger than me? Heh." Arcus smirked mockingly. "It would only take one skill, and you would be finished."
The atmosphere in the room shifted drastically.
The calculating smirk on Alphonse's face vanished without a trace, replaced by a darkened visage.
The corner of his forehead twitched violently, suppressing his sheer irritation at the brutally honest humiliation. He clenched his fists tightly.
"This bastard..." Alphonse muttered quietly in deep annoyance.