Chapter Forty: Procurement

Outside the inn, the man hurried away, fearful that Chen Ming might change his mind. He walked on, and at last, the small inn faded from his sight. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, his eyes tinged with a sense of luck and the joy of surviving a peril, as he took in the surroundings.

“So this is the terror of a Red Robe Priest? Why does it feel even more oppressive than the presence of a Grand Knight?” He looked ahead, quietly sensing his own heart, pondering thus.

Afterward, he glanced back at the inn and murmured, “I can’t stay here any longer. Time to find another place.” He then made his way to another inn, but this time, he took great care to conceal any signs of distinction, disguising himself as an ordinary man.

Meanwhile, Mulis and his companions, sensing the previously heavy atmosphere dissipating with the stranger’s departure, finally relaxed. The merchants within the inn glanced at Chen Ming, wishing to thank him, but upon seeing Mulis and the others beside him, dared not approach. Only one man, who had confronted the stranger earlier, looked at Mulis and the others with an unchanging expression and strode forward.

“Thank you, honored priest. My name is Larsen. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Chen Ming looked at him in mild surprise, then smiled. “No need for thanks.”

After a pause, he asked, “How did you come to provoke that man?”

Larsen gave a wry smile. “It seems someone among us quarreled with him, which angered him enough to injure a few of our people. In the end, things escalated to what you saw, sir.”

Chen Ming nodded, unconcerned.

He then turned to the innkeeper, who seemed at a loss, and smiled, “It’s getting late. Could you arrange rooms for my attendants?”

The innkeeper, a middle-aged woman who had been frightened by the earlier conflict, hastily replied, “Of course, sir, please wait a moment.” She disappeared briefly, then returned with some keys, leading Chen Ming and his people upstairs.

Only after Chen Ming and his entourage left did those remaining begin to relax.

“Such a young Red Robe Priest—truly remarkable,” someone said, gazing after Chen Ming, a hint of envy in his tone.

“Not everyone is able to serve the gods with a focused heart; it requires not only devotion but also a special sensitivity to the presence of the divine,” another remarked.

“At his age, besides having an extraordinary gift, I suspect he must have been guided toward faith in the gods from early childhood to achieve such accomplishments,” Larsen added with a sigh, his eyes complex, mingling admiration and perhaps a trace of pity.

While they speculated below, Chen Ming paid them no mind.

He entered his room, which, compared to twenty years ago, seemed much improved—no doubt influenced by the civilization of the southern city-states.

Unexpectedly, not long after, strangers began knocking at his door—young, beautiful women, one after another, leaving Chen Ming both amused and exasperated.

Thus, the night passed, and the next day, Chen Ming led Mulis and several guards, strolling slowly through the town’s streets.

Perhaps because Chen Ming and his party had entered openly, and after the events of the previous night, word of him was spreading through the town. The townsfolk, though surprised to see him, no longer displayed the shock of the day before.

After all, a Red Robe Priest was a formidable figure in this world—comparable in rank to a Grand Knight of the southern city-states, and in practical terms, even more useful than a knight skilled only in combat. In those city-states, a Grand Knight was already a force to be reckoned with, capable of turning the tide of battle, and could expect to be granted a fief if he pledged allegiance to a lord.

In the north, where the worship of the God of Nature was widespread, priests were more numerous than knights, but their status remained high. Most priests gathered in churches or tribal communities, meaning they were rare elsewhere. The chief priest of this town, for example, was but a Red Robe Priest.

Chen Ming walked along a street lined with shops—most run by merchants or refugees from the south. He entered a weapons shop, where a middle-aged man was forging iron, the air thick with heat.

The smith, startled by the sudden influx of people and sensing the vast divine power within Chen Ming, was taken aback.

“Esteemed priest, what may I do for you?” he asked, approaching with a tone of reverence.

Chen Ming smiled and replied, “I wish to purchase some equipment for my guards. Have you any recommendations?”

The shopkeeper blinked, then laughed heartily. “That’s no problem. My wares aren’t just the finest in this little town—they’d be considered top-quality even in the southern city-states.” He gestured to a weapons rack. “Here you’ll find all kinds of metal-forged arms. What do you require, sir?”

Chen Ming shook his head, noticing Mulis’s hesitant expression, and said with a smile, “Don’t hesitate. We’re heading south, and the better armed you are, the safer we’ll be.”

Hearing this, Mulis gave a wry grin, then led the guards to select their gear.

“Only weapons? That seems lacking. Do you have armor?” Chen Ming asked.

The shopkeeper nodded. “I do have some armor, even the finest vine armor you could want, sir. But even the most carefully crafted vine armor, made with divine magic, is probably beneath your notice.” He paused, then continued with a rueful smile, “Vine armor is crafted by our priests using specially cultivated old vines, a process requiring divine magic. The result is not only lightweight and protective as ordinary armor, but also resistant to fire and water—truly excellent.”

Yet compared to the priests’ other divine spells, this level of protection was quite ordinary, even slightly inferior to the simplest wooden armor spell.

Still, Chen Ming shook his head with a smile and asked, “Isn’t the sale of vine armor forbidden by the Church?”

The shopkeeper chuckled. “That’s only for southern merchants. For followers of our god—especially for you, honored priest—there are no such restrictions.”

Chen Ming nodded and asked him to bring them out.

Soon, several sets of dark green vine armor were laid on the table, along with a number of weapons.

Chen Ming examined the items, holding a pale blue, tree-shaped holy emblem in his hand, which emitted a soft glow. He closed his eyes, and a divine spell was cast.

At once, as if touched by some mysterious power, patterns appeared on the weapons—red or blue—emitting a faint, otherworldly light.

“These are enchanted weapons?” the shopkeeper exclaimed in envy. “With your blessing, these weapons have undergone a transformation.” He stared at them, unable to hide his longing. For a blacksmith like him, this was the most coveted miracle, and seeing it performed by another left him wistful.

After a moment, curiosity got the better of him. “Sir, do you also have some insight into this art?”

It was well known that the understanding of divine magic, though partly a matter of chance, was also closely linked to one’s own experience. A man of war would naturally perceive many battle-related miracles, not through talent but through his own comprehension.

“I gained this spell when I was promoted to Red Robe Priest,” Chen Ming replied with a smile.

A while later, Chen Ming paid and left the shop.

It is worth mentioning that, as there was no unified currency, most transactions were conducted by barter. The most valuable commodity, however, was a crystal found in the bodies of magical beasts. Chen Ming possessed many such crystals in his soul, and they were highly prized here.

After this shop, Chen Ming visited many other places, buying a great many things—from basic foodstuffs to local potions and specialties.

But after leaving the last shop, Chen Ming suddenly turned and said to the empty air behind him, “Are you not coming out yet?”