Chapter 29: After the Disaster

“It’s amazing that someone came to do business so quickly. It seems the town is beginning to recover. Should I say the people here are naturally cold, or just that life must go on?” George thought to himself while chewing on a small lamb chop.

For some reason, this world started planting potatoes very early. Unfortunately, they were only grown in small amounts as vegetables and never promoted as a staple crop on a large scale. George had tried to introduce potatoes as a main food source in his Territory to save farmland, and he even brought many recipes from his previous world, but he met strong opposition from top to bottom and had to give up.

It must be said that Babbus’s cooking skills were indeed excellent. The lamb chops were fried perfectly with a crispy outside and tender inside, and the potatoes and onions were handled well. Paired with a refreshing hot soup, George felt like he hadn’t eaten so happily in several days. The feeling of getting a special meal was indeed different.

Walking slowly through the quiet streets of the small town, the desolate scene made people feel very uncomfortable. Unlike the hopeful eyes of the people selling goods in the square, most of those sitting at their doorsteps or leaning against alleyways had dull, lifeless eyes. Various sighs rose and fell one after another. If the town didn’t lack almost everything right now, many of these people would surely be drunkards.

The further out you went from the town, the more severe the damage to the houses became, and the fewer people you saw. Unlike the inner ring where the owners still lived, the houses here, or rather the ruins, still looked as if they had just been destroyed. Piles of rubble were scattered all over the streets and alleys, and broken columns of various shapes still stood under the morning sun, casting long shadows.

Looking through the broken rocks and walls, George could basically understand the general internal structure and basic layout of the houses along the way. The plain and peaceful daily lives of the residents who lived here before the disaster seemed faintly visible, creating a sharp contrast with the charred wood, scattered stones, and dark brown bloodstains in the corners of the walls before his eyes. George unconsciously clenched his fists. “Strength! Everything is because of a lack of power. Such things happened in Greywood Town today, and tomorrow they might happen in Poitou. We don’t know who the mastermind behind it is, but instead of thinking about unrealistic countermeasures, we should focus on strengthening our own power.”

If George and his group hadn’t happened to stay there that night, the resistance from the town’s residents and passing caravans or Adventurers would not have been enough. The travelers coming and going the next day would have faced a silent ruin. Perhaps a few people could have escaped due to various reasons, but the physical and mental trauma they suffered would likely never be erased. As for whether George and his group encountering this was a coincidence or a necessity, there was no need to investigate deeply now. No matter how deep the conspiracy was hidden, it would eventually be exposed to the sunlight with relentless exploration.

Walking, looking, and stopping in the winding alleys, George eventually returned to the main road. Six young men walked towards him. They held thick wooden clubs wrapped in iron at the ends, and two of them had sheathed Longswords at their waists. However, their loose formation, messy steps, and nervous expressions, combined with the leader’s habit of looking around with a suspicious gaze, led George to guess they were likely a Militia temporarily organized to maintain daily order. Or, to put it another way, they were just conscripted rookies.

The leader stopped and stared at George for a while, then led the others to walk past him. Watching their suspicious behavior, George shook his head after they passed and thought, “It seems these people are indeed a bit neurotic. I hope time can slowly heal their wounds.”

Based on their body movements and how they held their weapons, George could basically conclude that he shouldn’t expect much from the combat power of this Militia patrol team. Even so, their very existence was a manifestation of order. Like the Broken Windows Theory proposed before his transmigration, it could help people suppress the desires in their hearts to a certain extent.

As he walked, George saw a wooden sign hanging not far ahead. Unlike the round, old, and weather-beaten sign he had seen when he first arrived, this one was clearly newly made. The patterns on it were very rough, and even the rough edges on the surface hadn’t been fully planed clean, looking like a temporary substitute rushed together. Below the sign was a wall facing the street. The wall was pitted, and the stones in many places had different colors. Besides the parts blackened by fire, the rest showed signs of recent repairs. The two large wooden windows from before were gone, leaving only bare window frames and iron bars. It looked like the shop owner couldn’t find anyone to make new window shutters for the time being.

“Huh! This place was the first to be attacked during the raid. Yet this inn is still operating safely and normally now. It seems most of the Adventurers were probably trapped inside the inn at the time. Their desperate fight is what caused these Goblins to fail in their long attack.” George made his judgment in his heart.

Stepping over the one-foot-high stone threshold at the entrance, George entered the inn named “Green Vine.” He looked back at the threshold, which was much higher than before. Wouldn’t this cause trouble for many small-statured people to enter and exit? You should know that the terrain here was actually not low. If it was to prevent rainwater, there was no need to use such a high threshold.

Seeming to notice George’s puzzled look, a large man with a full beard sitting at the round table closest to the door spoke in a loud voice with a smile: “You must be wondering why this threshold is so high, right? Two months ago, a group of Halflings came to the Tavern, ate and drank, and then disappeared in a flash. More importantly, there must have been someone with a Golden Finger among those bastards. At that time, many people discovered they had lost things. Later, someone came up with the idea to raise the threshold, and unexpectedly, the effect was quite good.”

“Did they actually catch a few of them later?” George pointed at the stone slab and asked skeptically. After all, this thing really couldn’t increase the difficulty of escape for those nimble Golden Finger users much.

“Boss, another cup of Ale.” The big man picked up the wooden cup in front of him, took a big gulp, and finished it all in one go. After calling the boss, he turned to George and said, “Don’t disbelieve me! The biggest advantage of those little guys is their small size. They steal things when it’s dark and the light is bad, then run away easily. With this threshold, their movements when leaving become much larger, and they can’t run fast. After everyone gained experience, they took the opportunity to catch a few of them. But later on, the Halflings here became much more honest. In this past month or so, people who came here to drink haven’t lost many things.”

George looked at the stone slab with great interest, imagining the awkward and embarrassed situation when those Halflings were discovered while trying to cross it. He also imagined the angry curses from customers in the Tavern who, upon seeing this scene, instinctively reached for their money bags only to find them missing, followed by their hurried rising and chasing. Thinking of this, a strange smile appeared on George’s face.

Shaking off his daydream, George changed his facial expression to a friendly smile and began to observe the situation inside the shop. Like most inns of this era, the first floor of this place was both a Tavern and a restaurant. Because the windows were gone, the lighting here was actually quite good. Occasionally, a few strands of autumn wind blew in from outside, taking away the smell of alcohol and the strong body odor of the guests. Many people were sitting at several round wooden tables. Judging from their attire, most of them were guards from other Caravans or passing Adventurers from before. However, unlike in other places, almost everyone here had injuries, and many of their limbs exposed outside their clothes were bandaged. It seemed they had suffered a lot during the past two nights.

George walked quickly to the counter and tossed a Gold Coin to the Tavern owner. The latter, who was somewhat old, couldn’t catch it in time and had to bend down to pick it up from inside the counter. After picking up the coin, he used his somewhat withered hand to put the Gold Coin in his mouth and bite it, probably to check its quality. Then, with a beaming smile, he asked George, “This guest, is there anything you need?”

Looking at the thin old man in front of him whose face was full of wrinkles when he smiled, George said loudly, “First, give everyone here who protected the town that night a cup of Ale. Then, bring me a cup of Greywood Town Cider. For the rest, you decide what else to serve.”

The shop owner looked embarrassed. He beckoned George to come closer. Seeing this, George leaned forward a bit. The owner lowered his voice and said, “If it were in the past, this money would have been enough. But prices have risen sharply these past few days, so even just for the Ale, there is still a little short.”

“It has risen so much! What a group of dishonest merchants.” The expression on George’s face stiffened, making him look a bit awkward, and he thought to himself. Then, he changed his expression and silently took another Gold Coin from his pocket to hand to the owner.

After receiving it, the owner called out to the barmaid nearby, “Give everyone here a cup of Ale.”

“Awooo—” Hearing the owner’s affirmative reply, the men present let out a wild roar.

With the help of the bartender and the barmaid, everyone present soon got what they wanted. For example, besides the cup of Cider in front of George, there was also a plate of appetizers. On it were two slices of smoked sausage and a few thin slices of Cheese. There was also a small pinch of white powder on the plate, which should be ground salt.

Everyone raised their cups and shouted, “Thanks to this generous gentleman.”

Most of them drank the ale straight down to the last drop.

“To the heroes who guarded the small town.” George responded, but after raising his cup, he only took a small sip.