The sea breeze of the Month of Early Frost, wrapped in a salty, fishy chill, made the ropes on the sailing ships creak.
On the docks, a crowd of porters carried sacks and wooden crates on their shoulders, weaving back and forth between the cargo ships and the warehouses.
Amidst the stench of sweat and rough, shouting voices, one figure stood out like a sore thumb.
It was a young girl, about 1.7 meters tall, with messy short black hair plastered to her temples by sweat, and her worn linen clothes covered in dust.
Her arms were easily two sizes thinner than those of the rough men beside her, yet the cargo piled on her shoulders was not a single bit lighter than theirs.
“Rosie, can you really take hauling like this every day?”
A stubble-faced porter nearby straightened his back and panted as he asked her.
Rosie hoisted the sack on her shoulder a bit higher and grinned. “I'm fine. I'm still young, I can handle this much.”
Easy to say, but if she hadn't allocated three points to Strength and two points to Constitution, her small frame would have fallen apart long ago.
Thinking of this, she couldn't help but complain about her transmigration in her mind once again.
When other people transmigrated, they would take a stroll to the Adventurer's Guild, where a blonde receptionist with twin tails would smile sweetly and say, “Please select your quest.”
But look at her. She transmigrated into a completely barren house with a gambling addict for a father and a mother who had died long ago. And she wanted to be an adventurer in the Royal City?
Sorry, but the Kingdom of Norman didn't have any such considerate institution as an Adventurer's Guild.
The adventurers here were more like the witchers she had read about in her past life—wandering the world, and whenever they stumbled upon a village plagued by monsters, they would just ask, “Are you paying? If you pay, I'll do it.”
Not only was the Royal City of Norman garrisoned by knights, but city guards also conducted regular patrols, leaving absolutely no place for adventurers to ply their trade.
Therefore, if she wanted to embark on the path to becoming a powerhouse, she had to honestly save up money to buy equipment first.
Although working as a porter was exhausting, the wages were considered relatively high among the commoners at the bottom.
After carrying the last batch of cargo into the warehouse, Rosie received a long, thin wooden slip from the supervisor.
Wiping away her sweat, she walked over to the payout station outside the docks and lined up.
After a short while, it was finally her turn.
“Mr. John, one hundred slips today as well. Thank you.”
Rosie passed the wooden slips through the window.
The old man sitting inside had graying hair and wore an old leather apron. He took the wooden slips and tossed them into a nearby bamboo basket without even looking.
Old John pulled open a drawer, fished out three silver coins, and slid them over.
“I heard that 'Ghoul' fellow has already recovered from his injuries. He's famously stupid, malicious, and vengeful. He'll definitely come looking to cause trouble for you.”
Rosie pocketed the money and patted the short sword at her waist.
“If I could beat him up once, I can beat him up twice. Besides, I have this.”
This short sword was something she had scavenged from a secondhand shop for a whopping five silver coins. The scabbard was a bit old, but she had ground the blade until it was incredibly sharp.
Precisely because she had it, and because her fierce reputation for taking down two thugs single-handedly had spread around the docks, absolutely no one here dared to mess with her.
Old John glanced at her, his tone suddenly turning serious.
“What I told you last time still stands. Others might fear Hawk, but we harbor folks don't.”
Rosie fell silent for a brief moment, then smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, but I still want to be an adventurer.”
Old John sighed. “An adventurer... that's no good way to make a living. When you die, there won't even be anyone to collect your corpse.”
Rosie didn't argue. She just smiled and turned to leave.
She knew Old John meant well and wanted to recruit her into the harbor gang.
Anyone else might have agreed; after all, with an organization backing you up, life would be much easier.
But she was subconsciously resistant to it.
Perhaps it was a lingering side effect of watching too many gangster movies in her past life, but the thought of becoming a gang thug made her feel entirely uncomfortable.
Walking out of the docks and stepping onto the potholed main road, Rosie headed straight for the outer city square.
The closer she got to the square, the noisier the voices became.
A bard sat on a stone pillar by the roadside strumming a lute. The strings were horribly out of tune, but he was completely oblivious, belting out an ancient ballad of a hero slaying a dragon.
Several barefoot children gathered around his feet, their eyes shining as they listened.
On both sides of the street, vendors shouted at the top of their lungs, selling vegetables, fish... the air was thick with the scent of fish, spices, and sweat.
Rosie squeezed through the crowd and arrived at the bread stall.
The stall owner was a plump middle-aged woman whose cheeks were permanently flushed red from the heat of the oven. She smiled the moment she saw her. “Rosie, you're here? The usual?”
“Auntie Mary, the usual.”
Mary pulled out two loaves of black bread as long as an arm from under the stall, wrapped them in dried lotus leaves, and handed them over.
“Still just ten copper coins.”
“Auntie Mary, you're so nice.”
Rosie took the bread, a wave of warmth washing over her heart.
Outside, a single loaf of this black bread cost six copper coins, but Auntie Mary only charged her five copper coins each time.
This world wasn't entirely filled with bad people.
She fished ten small copper coins out of her pocket and lined them up one by one on the stall.
“Goodbye, Auntie Mary!”
“Hey, be careful. I heard your father's creditors are loitering around again...”
Mary called out from behind her, but Rosie just waved her hand, already walking away.
Next, she bought a few other things:
Four eggs at two coppers each, two onions at one copper each, a cut of ocean fish for ten coppers, and she also picked out a few green apples.
In just a brief moment, over thirty coppers were gone, which was equivalent to a tenth of her wage today.
But Rosie didn't feel any pinch at all.
She was currently single with no family to feed, so she didn't have to worry about anyone else. If she wanted to improve her strength, adequate nutrition and physical energy were the foundation.
Holding her pile of food, she turned into the alley leading home with light steps.
Turning from the bustling square into the commoner district felt like falling from the mortal realm into another world.
The alley grew narrower and narrower, flanked on both sides by stretches of rammed-earth houses. The plaster was peeling off, exposing the straw and mud beneath.
The air was thick with the musty smell of sewers and a faint stench of urine. A few skeletal stray dogs rummaged through the garbage piles for food.
Occasionally, a resident would peek out from behind a broken window, but upon seeing it was Rosie, they would quickly retract their gaze.
The neighbors had very complex feelings toward this girl.
Her gambler of a father had run off, leaving behind a mountain of bad debts.
Yet this girl was surprisingly resilient, managing to establish a firm foothold at the docks all on her own, making it impossible to hate her.
But sympathy was sympathy; no one wanted to get too close to her, fearing they would bring trouble upon themselves.
As Rosie neared her doorstep, a tender voice called out to her.
“Sister Rosie!”
A seven or eight-year-old little girl peeked her head out from behind a low wall nearby. Her dress was covered in patch upon patch, and her face was skinny, but her eyes shone like stars.
“Little Klee,” Rosie stopped, “what's wrong?”
“Some scary-looking people came to find you today. They loitered outside for a long time.”
Klee's small face was filled with worry.
“It's fine. Just a few dogs begging for a beating.”
Rosie smiled and took out two apples, stuffing them into the little girl's hands.
“Here, take these apples to eat.”
“Thank you, Sister Rosie!”
Little Klee's eyes curved into crescents as she smiled. Clutching the apples tightly, she turned and ran, her thin, small figure disappearing down the end of the alley in a few bounds.
Only then did Rosie walk toward her own front door.
The door that had been smashed open was currently pieced together with a few thick wooden planks, haphazardly secured with nails.
Although it wasn't sturdy, it could barely block out most of the cold wind.
Unlocking the simple lock that was better than nothing, she pushed the door open and entered.
It was still the same scene of utter destitution.
Rosie had actually thought about staying in an inn directly, but the prices in the Royal City of Norman were simply ridiculous.
Even the worst hostel with a shared bunk room cost one silver coin a night. Combined with meals, even if she could earn three silver coins a day now, she wouldn't have much left by the end of the month.
Although this broken house was terrible, at least she could stay here for free.
“There's no place like home, even if it's a dump,” she muttered.
She closed the door, walked to the fireplace, stuffed in a few pieces of dry firewood she had picked up a few days ago, and struck a fire with her flint.
Orange flames leaped up, and the room finally gained a hint of warmth.
She lifted the small wooden bucket, sniffed the water inside, and after confirming there was no strange odor, poured it into the nearby clay pot.
Then, she drew her short sword, rubbed the blade against a nearby stone, quickly chopped the piece of ocean fish into several chunks, and tossed them into the pot.
Next, she added two eggs.
Finally, she used a rag to wipe the fishy smell off the short sword.
Having finished this, Rosie rubbed her fingers together, sat down to one side, and stared blankly at the flames.
About ten minutes later, the water bubbled and boiled, and the fresh aroma of fish meat drifted out.
She used a wooden spoon to scoop out the two hard-boiled eggs, sprinkled some coarse salt into the soup, tore the onion into petals, and threw them in.
After boiling for a few more minutes, the simple version of the fish stew was finally ready.
Rosie carefully set the clay pot down on the ground to stabilize it, then pulled out a loaf of black bread.
Dinner was served.
She ate the eggs first. The whites were firm and springy to the bite, and the yolks were powdery and soft—one egg gone in two bites.
Next, she used her self-made wooden chopsticks to pick out the fish and onions from the pot. The stewed fish meat melted in her mouth, and the sweetness of the onions had completely boiled into the soup.
Finally, she tore the black bread into small pieces and soaked them in the fish soup, watching them slowly absorb the broth and soften before stuffing them into her mouth in one go.
Once the pot of soup and the loaf of black bread were completely cleared out, Rosie finally let out a long sigh of relief.
After resting for a short while, she picked up her short sword and walked to the center of the room.
Sword practice.
This was a habit she had formed since the day she bought the short sword.
Initially, she only intended to test the power of Heroic Strike, while copying the sword training methods she had seen in her past life as best as she could.
As a result, she had actually learned Level 1 Swordsmanship.
Since then, she practiced every single day without fail, which not only familiarized her with the weapon but also increased her proficiency.
She sank into a horse stance, held her breath, and focused. Thrust, parry, cleave, slash...
Swinging sword after sword, each strike carried a whistling sound of wind.
When she reached her fifty-something swing, a familiar prompt flashed before her eyes.
【Swordsmanship +1】
【Level 1 Swordsmanship: 95/100】
Rosie glanced at it, secretly pleased, but also slightly unsatisfied.
In the beginning, just swinging it randomly a few times would increase it by a point.
Now, she had to swing it seriously dozens of times just to increase it by one point.
She paused, took a deep breath, and mobilized the faint power within her body.
With a sudden twist of her wrist, a flash of sword light shot out twice as fast as her previous swings, tearing through the air with a brief, sharp whistle.
As the momentum of the sword spent itself, her arm felt slightly sore.
Combat skills consumed stamina.
【Level 1 Heroic Strike: 3/100】
“Heroic Strike is only at three points. The proficiency of this combat skill increases way too slowly...”
Rosie looked at that pitiful proficiency and couldn't help but sigh softly.
She placed the short sword on the table, picked up an apple, and took a big, crunchy bite.
The sweet and sour juice burst in her mouth, barely soothing her frustration.
As she chewed the apple, she calculated in her mind:
After working her butt off during this period, her savings had finally reached forty silver coins.
It wasn't quite enough to buy new equipment, but buying some secondhand gear should be fine. Once she prepared some dry rations, she could leave the Royal City and go out to make a name for herself.
“I'll look around tomorrow to see if there's any suitable gear.”
A faint light ignited in her eyes.
“Once I become a powerful adventurer and make big money, let's see who still dares to kick my door—”
Before she could finish her sentence.
Crash!!
With a loud explosion, the pieced-together wooden door once again shattered into splinters, flying in all directions.
The cold wind poured in through the ruptured doorway.
“Chick! Get the hell out here!”
A crude roar exploded from outside the door.
Rosie's grip on the apple tightened, and her gaze instantly turned cold.
“Damn it! Again?”
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