The old man said slowly, “The weather hasn't been good this year. The harvest in the south is mediocre. I'm afraid grain prices are going to rise again.”
The merchant shook his head. “It doesn't matter much if grain prices rise. I'm more worried about the roads being cut off. I heard a bridge collapsed in the east.”
“Yeah,” the old man replied. “They've been repairing it for half a month, and it's still not fixed. Lately, a lot of cargo has had to take detours.”
These were all matters of ordinary people. Yet Matthew still listened intently. Often, a major event could be hidden behind a trivial matter.
For example, why did a bridge collapse? Was it really due to years of neglect, or was there some other reason?
Of course, such matters had nothing to do with him for the time being. He simply chose to maintain this habit of listening more, observing more, and speaking less.
...
Continuing forward, the number of Class Holders on the street grew increasingly larger. Some carried two-handed greatswords on their backs, while others had short axes hanging from their waists or carried longbows.
One burly man had just come out of a weapon shop, carrying a heavy shield nearly half his height on his shoulder. Someone nearby exclaimed in surprise, “Old Bear, why did you buy such a thick shield?”
The burly man laughed heartily. “I'm preparing to take on a ruins mission. I heard an abandoned fortress was discovered in the south, and there might be extraordinary relics inside.”
“Really?” someone asked. “Is the news reliable?”
“Eighty percent chance it's true,” the burly man replied. “Several mercenary groups are already preparing to head over.”
The other person immediately shook his head. “Well, I'm not going. Ruins are never that easy to enter.”
“Didn't over a hundred people go into the Grey Rock Ruins the year before last, and in the end, fewer than twenty came out?”
The burly man grinned. “The greater the risk, the greater the reward. In our line of work, aren't we just trading our lives for money?”
The few of them laughed. Yet, their laughter was tinged with a hint of helplessness.
Listening to them, Matthew narrowed his eyes slightly. Ruins were something he was hearing someone actively mention for the first time in the royal capital.
It seemed that if he had the chance in the future, he could look into it. But not now.
With his current strength, rashly entering a ruin was no different from seeking death.
...
Just then, a somewhat mysterious voice suddenly rang out from the side of the street. “Have you all heard? Last night, another person died.”
This single sentence instantly drew the attention of many people around. Even Matthew couldn't help but slow his pace.
The speaker deliberately kept them in suspense. Seeing everyone looking at him, he lowered his voice and continued, “I heard the deceased was a drunkard. The body was only discovered this morning right in an alley in the West District.”
Someone nearby immediately frowned. “Isn't it normal for people to die? People die in the royal capital every day.”
The speaker shook his head. “It's different. I heard there wasn't a single wound on the body.”
“But the entire corpse was frighteningly pale. It's like...” At this point, he lowered his voice even further. “...as if the blood had been completely sucked dry.”
The tavern regained its bustle. The mercenary's words just now were quickly drowned out by the laughter and cursing of others.
Yet, Matthew firmly committed those words to memory. He wasn't in a hurry to interject.
He simply sat there quietly, slowly drinking the ale in his cup while continuing to listen.
Often, truly valuable information was never obtained through deliberate inquiries, but was casually spoken by others.
...
Just then, someone at another table burst into laughter. “Hahaha, have you all heard? Someone went missing in the West District again yesterday.”
The moment he finished speaking, someone nearby immediately waved their hand. “Here we go again. Your news is already outdated.”
“It wasn't a disappearance,” another chimed in. “He was drunk, fell into a ditch, and climbed out on his own the next day.”
The crowd burst into laughter. The man's face flushed red. “It's different! This time it's real!”
“One of my relatives is in the West District Patrol Squad,” he continued. “The entire street was sealed off last night, and they supposedly searched all night.”
Another bearded mercenary curled his lips. “Sealing off a street? What's so strange about that? If a noble lord loses a dog, they can seal off half a street.”
“Hahaha!”
Laughter resounded in the tavern once more. Yet, just as everyone was about to move past the topic, a middle-aged mercenary in the corner, who had remained silent all along, slowly set down his wine cup.
His voice wasn't loud, but it caused the nearby tables to quiet down slightly. “It wasn't just sealing off the street. Someone died.”
The entire tavern fell silent for a brief moment. Someone frowned. “Don't people die every day?”
The middle-aged mercenary shook his head. “The body was different. I heard there wasn't a single wound on the entire body. The blood was just... gone.”
The air suddenly fell silent for two seconds. Then, someone immediately sneered, “Bullshit. How can someone die like that? Can blood just run away on its own?”
Another person chimed in with a laugh. “Exactly. Is this just another street rumor?”
The middle-aged mercenary didn't argue. He simply took a sip of his wine and said calmly, “Anyway, that's what's being spread in the patrol squad. Believe it or not, it's up to you.”
...
Matthew's movement of holding his wine cup paused slightly. The blood was gone?
His expression didn't change, but he quietly made a mental note. However, it was only that.
Out of ten rumors in a tavern like this, nine and a half were exaggerated. He couldn't fully believe them, nor could he completely dismiss them.
Continuing to listen was the most important thing.
...
Soon, another young mercenary smiled and waved his hand. “Forget it, forget it. Let's not talk about such unlucky things.”
“My brother is in the Gale Mercenary Group,” he said. “They took on a nighttime escort commission a few days ago. After he came back, my sister-in-law absolutely refused to let him take on nighttime jobs anymore.”
Someone nearby became interested. “Why?”
The young mercenary lowered his voice. “He said there are more and more people patrolling at night recently. A few streets are put under curfew as soon as it gets dark, and ordinary people aren't even allowed to get close.”
Someone couldn't help but ask, “What happened?”
The young mercenary shook his head. “My brother didn't say, since he signed a secrecy contract. Anyway, he told me to stay home obediently at night and avoid going to remote places lately.”
Someone at another table immediately burst out laughing. “Your brother is just scaring you. He's just afraid you'll go out drinking.”
“Hahaha!”
The tavern became lively once more. Yet Matthew silently noted down another piece of information.
Night curfews. Remote neighborhoods. Secrecy.
Individually, these words meant nothing. But if placed alongside the phrase “corpse with no blood” from earlier, the flavor became slightly different.
Of course, it still didn't prove anything. The royal capital was too large, and all sorts of things happened every day.
Perhaps it was just an ordinary case. Or perhaps it was just the mercenaries exaggerating as they passed the story along.
...
Aidan had clearly heard it too. He couldn't help but ask in a low voice, “Brother Matthew, is what they're saying true?”
Matthew didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked in return, “What do you think?”
Aidan thought about it seriously. “I think... half of it is true. The other half is what they added themselves.”
Matthew smiled. “Correct. Most information in taverns is like this.”
“When a matter is first spoken by the first person, it might only be three sentences,” Matthew continued. “By the time it reaches the ears of the tenth person, it becomes thirty sentences. Therefore, don't listen to the stories. Listen to the recurring elements within them.”
Aidan was taken aback. “Recurring elements?”
“Yes,” Matthew nodded gently. “For example, nighttime, curfews, increased patrols, sealed-off streets. If many people mention these, then it means they are highly likely to be true.”
“As for blood being sucked dry, monsters, demons... those, you can just listen to for fun. Because no one has seen them with their own eyes.”
Aidan nodded thoughtfully. “So that's how it is.”
For the first time, he realized that there was so much to collecting intelligence. It wasn't about believing whatever others said, but putting what many people said together, filtering it bit by bit, and finally leaving the truly credible parts.
...
Just then, a mercenary squad suddenly walked through the tavern door. Five people, all bearing traces of blood.
One of them even had a crack in his shoulder armor. Someone in the tavern immediately whistled, “Yo! The Grey Wolf guys are back! How was it? Did you strike it rich?”
The leading burly man grinned, tossing a heavy pouch of coins directly onto the counter. The clinking of gold coins instantly rang out.
“I wouldn't call it striking it rich,” the man said. “Our lives are still intact. That itself is a win.”
The entire tavern burst into a chorus of laughter. Matthew slowly directed his gaze over as well.
Matthew didn't deliberately stare at them. He merely swept his gaze over naturally.
Five people. Three at the Black Iron Rank, and two at the Bronze Rank.
The leading burly man had the strongest aura and a towering build. He held a two-handed greataxe in his hand, with traces of uncleaned dark red blood still remaining on the blade—clearly, he had just returned from a mission.
The others also looked somewhat disheveled. Their armor was covered in scratches, and the hems of their clothes were stained with mud.
One had his arm wrapped in bandages, while another had a fresh wound on his face.
Yet, even so, the expressions on their faces were very relaxed, even happy.
For mercenaries, being able to return alive was itself something worth celebrating with a drink.
...
The tavern owner behind the counter was clearly very familiar with them. He greeted them with a laugh, “Old Brian! How many days were you gone this time?”
The burly man leaned his greataxe against the wall and laughed heartily. “Seven days. We almost didn't make it back.”
The owner raised an eyebrow. “Ran into a big guy?”
“Damn it,” the burly man cursed. “We ran into a pack of split-tooth wolves. We were only supposed to clear out three or four, but more than a dozen of them ended up rushing out from the forest behind, almost surrounding and killing us.”
Several mercenaries nearby immediately became interested. “And then?”
The burly man grabbed his wine cup and chugged down a huge gulp. Only then did he heavily exhale the breath of alcohol.
“What else could we do?” he said. “Kill them! We literally hacked our way out.”
As he spoke, he patted his chest. There was a deep scratch mark there. Even though it was already bandaged, it was still seeping a bit of blood.
“If Old Buck hadn't risked his life to hold off the wolf king, I wouldn't have made it back today,” the burly man added.
Someone in the corner immediately gave a thumbs-up. “As expected of the Grey Wolf Mercenary Group. You guys are tough.”
The burly man laughed. “What's the use of being tough? In the end, we're still trading our lives for money.”
After saying this, he casually pushed the coin pouch to his teammates beside him. “Fifty gold coins. The usual rules. Split it equally.”
Smiles immediately appeared on their faces. Quite a few mercenaries in the tavern also had a flash of envy in their eyes.
Fifty gold coins was already considered a decent income. Of course, that was only if they returned alive.
...
Matthew listened quietly. In his heart, he silently did the math.
A five-man mercenary squad. Two Bronze Rank, three Black Iron Rank. A seven-day mission.
In the end, each person could only split about ten gold coins. Deducting equipment wear, potions, lodging, and supplies, the amount that actually ended up in their pockets would be even less.
Yet the risk was extremely high. No wonder so many people kept taking on missions despite knowing the danger, because other than this, they had no better way to make money.
Thinking of this, Matthew suddenly realized that compared to the vast majority of Class Holders, his starting point was actually already much higher.
He had the panel, the wizard inheritance, and the storage ring. He could even enhance his talent through equipment.
Many things that others had to risk their lives to obtain, he could plan for step by step. This advantage must not be wasted.
...
Just then, a young mercenary in the Grey Wolf Mercenary Group suddenly complained, “Lately, it's getting harder and harder to make a living outside the city.”
Someone nearby asked, “Why?”
The young mercenary sighed. “I don't know why. Lately, many commissions have started to raise their prices.”
“It's not because the magical beasts have gotten stronger,” he continued, “but because no one dares to travel at night.”
Another person chimed in, “Isn't it because of those recent rumors? Every day, people say there are monsters at night.”
The young mercenary shook his head. “I don't believe in monsters. But lately, it has indeed been strange.”
“On our way back, we ran into three patrol cavalry squads in a row,” he added. “Where were there ever this many before?”
The burly man, Brian, also nodded. “That is true. And, security was clearly tightened in several places.”
“When I passed through the West District yesterday, the entire street was sealed off,” Brian continued. “They wouldn't even let us mercenaries through.”
Someone in the tavern asked in confusion, “Why?”
Brian shrugged. “No idea. The guards didn't say a word, and just told us to detour. Probably some noble lord had something happen to them again.”
Hearing this, everyone stopped pressing for answers. After all, the affairs of the nobility had nothing to do with mercenaries like them.
Yet Matthew noted down this sentence. It was already the second time he heard about the West District being sealed off with increased patrols.
If only one person said it, it might just be a rumor. But now, it was already the second group of people mentioning it.
This indicated that something had indeed happened there. As for what it was, he still didn't know.
Matthew didn't delve deeper. He always believed in one saying: When information is insufficient, do not rush to conclusions. Otherwise, it is easy to be led astray by one's own assumptions.
...
Just as everyone was drinking and chatting, the tavern door was pushed open once more. A gust of cool wind blew in.
An old man wearing a grey robe walked in. The old man's hair was white, and his back was slightly hunched.
He carried a wooden box in his hand, looking like an ordinary apothecary.
Seeing him, quite a few mercenaries actually greeted him of their own accord. “Old Hall, selling medicine again today?”
The old man rolled his eyes at them in annoyance. “Sell my ass. I just saved two yesterday, and someone is injured again today.”
“Can't you mercenaries stop digging yourselves into dangerous places?”
The crowd immediately burst into laughter. “That won't do. If we don't go out, where would we get money?”
The old man snorted and placed the wooden box next to the counter.
While organizing the potions, he casually mumbled to himself, “Lately, wounds have been recovering slowly. I wonder if it's a weather issue.”
This sentence was ignored by others. Yet Matthew slightly raised his eyes. Slower recovery?
He didn't think too much of it, but silently made another mental note.
After coming to the royal capital, he had gradually figured out his own set of methods. Don't easily believe. Don't ignore.
First record all information that seems completely unrelated. Once he collected enough, there would eventually come a day when they would connect into a single line on their own.
Rate on N.U.
