I'm not a Witcher anymore.

As night deepened, there were few people left on the streets.

Occasionally, a few vendors packing up their stalls would hurry by pushing their wooden carts, the wheels rolling over the stone slabs with a dull thud.

Further away, the murmurs of noise from the tavern drifted in, a mix of drunken shouts and women’s laughter, carried on the night breeze.

Zig walked along the street for a while and found a hotel that looked fairly clean.

An old wooden sign hangs outside the door, depicting a faded lion.

He pushed the door open and went in.

The room was warmer, and the air was filled with the smells of beer, wood, and food.

The hall wasn't very lively, with only a few scattered guests sitting there, heads down, drinking porridge, the wooden spoons making a soft, crisp sound as they tapped against the rim of the earthenware bowls.

Zig walked up to the counter.

Are there any rooms available?

The proprietress behind the counter was wiping cups with a cloth when she heard the sound and looked up at him.

She was a woman around forty years old, with a plump figure and the enthusiasm typical of someone in business.

"Yes, sir." She put down her cup and pulled out an account book from under the counter. "A single room costs one silver coin a day, including three meals. A shared room costs three copper coins a day, but meals are not included. Which would you like?"

Zig took three gold coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

A few coins struck the wooden surface, making a crisp, light sound.

The proprietress behind the counter immediately brightened up.

"Single room, one month."

The proprietress's smile became even more genuine, and she moved with increased speed and dexterity.

She first put away the gold coins, then took a polished copper key from the hook behind her and handed it over along with five silver coins.

"If you stay for a full month, it'll only cost you two gold coins plus five silver coins," she said solicitously, unable to suppress her smile. "Your room is on the second floor, the one with the flower wreath hanging by the door. Would you like me to bring you dinner up now?"

"want."

Zieg took the keys and change and casually put them away.

"Give me a bowl of hot soup with lots of smoked meat, and two slices of fresh white bread."

He paused, then added:

"Also, please send a large tub of hot water to my room. I want to wash off the smell as soon as possible."

The proprietress readily agreed.

"Yes, yes, I'll go prepare it right away."

As she spoke, she quickly called out to the kitchen, but her gaze lingered on Zig for a few more moments.

In border towns, there aren't many people who can directly use gold coins for a monthly subscription.

Not to mention a young man who, despite his young age and unassuming attire, returned with weapons and the stench of blood.

Regardless of their background, this kind of customer deserves her to be treated with extra care.

"Hot soup, white bread, and hot water, we'll prepare them for you right away." The proprietress softened her voice even more. "Please go upstairs and rest, we'll bring them to you in a bit."

Zieg nodded and turned to walk towards the stairs.

The wooden stairs are quite old; when you step on them, you hear a slight creaking sound.

As he climbed the stairs, the hushed voices, stares, and smells of alcohol below were gradually left behind.

The second-floor corridor is not long.

He walked to the end of the path, stopped in front of the door adorned with flower wreaths, and pushed the door open.

As soon as the door opened, a faint scent of soap wafted out.

The house had clearly just been cleaned; it wasn't big, but it was very clean.

The wooden walls and candlelight made the narrow space feel very cozy, giving it a unique warmth characteristic of a border town inn.

A narrow bed was placed against the wall, neatly made, with coarse cloth sheets washed until they were white.

On the other side was a pine wood table and a high-backed wooden chair, with an iron candlestick and a small box of matches on the table.

A washstand stood in the corner, and an old wardrobe stood near the door, its wood dark and still retaining a faint woody scent.

The windows were tightly closed.

Zig closed the door behind him.

First, he untied his sword belt and placed the steel sword and short sword together on the table, within easy reach. Then he pulled out a wooden chair, sat down, closed his eyes, and leaned back to rest for a moment.

Not long after, a rhythmic knocking sound came from outside the door.

"Sir, your dinner and hot water are ready."

Zig got up and opened the door.

The proprietress stood at the door carrying a tray, followed by a waiter who was struggling to carry a large, steaming wooden bucket.

There was actually more stuff on the tray than he had said.

Two freshly baked white breads, with slightly cracked crusts and a strong wheat aroma;

A bowl of smoked meat soup is steaming hot, with oil floating on top, and the aroma is very strong;

It was served with a few slices of pan-fried cured meat, with a clear distinction between lean and fat, and slightly charred edges.

Another bottle of warm sweet goat milk was placed on the side of the tray.

"Enjoy your meal, sir." The proprietress put down the food, her smile both attentive and not annoying. "I've also brought you hot water, which will help you get rid of the smell."

She was sensible; she didn't even linger on the weapons on the table.

Zieg nodded, and after the two left, he locked the door again.

He washed his hands in the basin first.

The cool water rinsed through my fingers, washing away the blood and dirt.

After drying his hands, he sat down at the table, tore off a piece of white bread, and dipped it into the boiling soup.

The bread quickly absorbed the soup and oil.

He lowered his head and took a bite.

The savory aroma of the smoked meat, the warmth of the hot soup, and the soft wheat flavor of the white bread all pressed into my stomach, slowly calming down the coldness and fatigue accumulated after a long day of running around outside.

Zig ate quickly, but not in a hurry.

Before long, the soup was gone, and the bread and cured meat were all eaten up. Only the warm, sweet goat milk in the bottle was left, which he drank all of it.

My stomach finally felt warm.

Zig put down his cup, got up, and walked towards the bucket of hot water that was still steaming inside the room.

He first unbuckled the belt around his waist and back, then took off the layered leather jacket that was pressing down on him and draped it over the table.

Then he took out a clean linen cloth, dipped it in water, and began to wipe away the dirt from the surface of the leather nails.

Goblin-made items are always particularly troublesome.

The dark green and black bloodstains, the sticky filth, and the putrid smell that seeped into the leather texture all required time and effort to wipe away.

Zieg wiped it very carefully.

Go through the outer layer first, then turn it inside out and examine every seam and every layer.

The chest and abdomen, which are areas that frequently bear stress, are especially important to be careful about. When twisting your waist to exert force during combat, it is easy to squeeze dirty things into the gaps.

Further inside was a layer of light chainmail that clung to the body.

He used a piece of cloth to wipe the iron ring section by section, even cleaning the silver rivets on the shoulder pads, until the bloodstains and moisture were gone, leaving only the cold, hard, and clean luster of the metal itself.

After tidying up, Sieg took out a small jar of animal oil from the Book of Adventures.

He dipped his fingertip in the oil and spread it evenly on the leather surface, allowing the oil to slowly seep into the old leather that had been used for a long time and even had repair marks on the edges.

As the oil seeped through, the originally grayish dark brown color settled back down, revealing a degree of resilience honed by long use.

After doing all this, he hung the leather armor in the old wardrobe by the door.

He then removed the last few layers of restraints from his body and turned to walk towards the still-steaming wooden barrel.

……

Zig slept very soundly.

When he woke up, it was already bright daylight.

The morning light slanted in through the cracks in the window, cutting several narrow, bright streaks on the wooden floor. The air still carried a faint scent of soap and wood from the previous night.

Zig turned over and sat up, stretching his shoulders and neck.

The hotel pillows were stuffed with hay, and they got a bit hard after lying on them for a while, but they were still quite comfortable compared to the damp, cold mud in the woods.

He got up and went to the wardrobe, taking out the leather nails he had maintained the night before.

The dark brown leather had absorbed the animal fat, causing the color to settle back down, and it felt even more supple in the hand.

Zieg put the leather straps back on, tightened them, and then hung the steel sword and dagger back on his waist.

After a quick wash, he went downstairs.

The hotel was already awake in the early morning.

The lobby downstairs was more lively than last night. Several early-rising vendors were gathered around a long table, talking in hushed tones about today's prices and the market conditions on the road.

In the corner, the guy who got completely drunk last night was still lying there, snoring intermittently, as if he couldn't wake up no matter what.

As soon as the landlady saw him come downstairs, she immediately greeted him with a smile and brought up breakfast.

Instead of the thick meat broth from last night, there was a large bowl of steaming hot oatmeal, two eggs fried until the edges were slightly browned, and several thick slices of goat cheese.

"Did you sleep well, Mr. Sieg?"

"not bad."

Zig nodded, sat down at the table, and without saying anything, began to eat his breakfast.

The porridge was cooked until very thick, hot and firm to the touch, with a slightly crispy edge on the egg and the goat cheese perfectly salted.

The food was simple, but it was enough to fill you up.

Before long, the food on the table was completely swept away.

Zig wiped his hands, got up, pushed open the door, and walked out of the hotel.

The border town outside is slowly waking up from the night.

The morning air was still cool, and a thin layer of mist hung over the streets.

The blacksmith's furnace was clearly already lit, and the dull hammering sound came through the blacksmith's shop, steady as a heartbeat.

As soon as the bakery opened, the aroma of steaming wheat and butter wafted out from under the door.

The market was also starting to stir, with vendors carrying their goods and shouting incessantly.