Chapter 146: Dumping and Changes
The nobles and lords of the Kaman Union had no idea whether their currency still held any value.
But they knew one thing for certain—Keville's currency was truly valuable!
Especially the virtual currency in the Interconnected Bank. It was even more valuable! Just leaving it untouched would make it grow day by day, earning interest and multiplying wealth.
With this virtual currency, one could buy almost anything in Vias.
Even Source Essence!
Under such circumstances, hardly any noble could resist the temptation of profit.
Almost all of them secretly formed teams and poured in.
Some waged Conquest against Kazad-dûm, plundering wealth;
Others hunted green-skinned beastmen, exchanging their kills for Source Essence.
Old Fern was one of the members of the gold farming group assembled by Count Bois of the Greg Duchy!
A former mercenary, he had been forced to retire from the battlefield in his old age, his strength no longer what it once was.
It was at this time that Count Bois's men suddenly approached him in secret, offering him recruitment.
Faced with the choice between a bag of silver coins and a death threat, the grief-stricken Old Fern had no choice but to accept the former—he had to think of his family, especially his son, who had already become a knight's squire.
When Old Fern stepped into Count Bois's secret residence and received the Mithril Ring engraved with the Internet Divine Technique, he was stunned!
How could such a miraculous divine technique exist in this world?
It held no power of its own, yet it was mightier than any force!
Had he obtained the Internet Divine Technique in his youth, he was certain his achievements would have far surpassed what they were now!
His life could have been so much better!
But why hadn’t he known about it?
After all, he wasn’t some farmer who had spent his whole life in one place—he was a well-traveled mercenary with vast experience!
It didn’t take much thought!
The damned nobles must have hidden it away!
Yes!
That had to be the reason!
Old Fern seethed with resentment as he brooded over this in secret.
In the days that followed, while helping Count Bois hunt beastmen to earn merit points, he quietly pondered how to pass the Internet Divine Technique to his son.
His own life was already set in stone.
But he refused to let his son walk the same path.
Count Bois was clever—he had bound everyone with a contract.
The contract forbade them from revealing the secrets of the internet to anyone.
Under the constraints of the contract power, Old Fern couldn’t utter a word about it.
But by sheer coincidence, while on his way to a beastmen tribe, he happened to see someone in the world channel mention a small trick to bypass the contract.
Thrilled, he secretly memorized it.
"Here’s your salary. Hurry back—you must report on time tomorrow afternoon!"
It was another family visit day.
"Yes, my lord."
Old Fern bowed obsequiously as he received his salary from the butler, then hurried out of Count Bois’s secret residence.
The moment he stepped outside, he suddenly froze, his mind reeling.
Though only a week had passed, the changes in the city made it feel almost unrecognizable.
The streets were now filled with bicycles and tricycles.
These novel contraptions never failed to draw the curious gazes of children.
The streets had become a riot of colors.
Old Fern walked several paces before realizing that it was because the pedestrians' clothes had grown more vibrant.
In the past, the streets had always been a dull, monotonous gray.
Such bright and luxurious garments were once only affordable for noble lords.
What was going on?
Had the internet become widespread during his absence, making everyone rich?
Did that mean Count Bois had swindled him?
Old Fern's face darkened.
However, after careful observation, he dismissed the thought.
Not a single pedestrian on the street was using the internet.
If the internet had truly spread, this situation would be downright bizarre.
Lost in thought, Old Fern hurried home. As he passed a fabric shop, the long queue outside caught his attention.
"What's going on? Did the fabric prices drop?"
Old Fern stopped the last person in line and asked, thinking that if prices had fallen, he could buy a roll for his wife while he still had money.
She’d been complaining for years about not having new clothes.
"Drop? It’s the same price as before—98 copper coins per roll!" the person replied casually.
"What? What did you say? 98 copper coins? But... wasn’t it over 200 before?" Old Fern was stunned.
"Over 200? You’re not from around here, are you? That was the price a week ago. Don’t you know? Count Bois, in his generosity, slashed the fabric prices!"
Old Fern froze. Instinctively, he sensed something fishy, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.
After a long moment of contemplation, he decided to go inside and check.
Maybe the fabric quality had deteriorated.
But when he entered the shop and touched the 98-copper-per-roll fabric, he was shocked.
This fabric wasn’t top-tier, but it wasn’t bad either—far better than the cheapest options.
Most importantly, the weave was tight and uniform, as if crafted by the most skilled weavers.
This was at least mid-grade fabric.
So why was it being sold so cheaply?
Old Fern couldn’t make sense of it.
Still, he bought two rolls to take home to his wife.
His home was outside the city, quite a distance away, and walking would take too long.
He hitched a ride on a cargo cart and, relying on the bargaining skills honed during his mercenary days, haggled the fare down from five copper coins to four.
Then, swaying slightly with the cart’s motion, he headed home.
Along the way, Old Fern casually brought up the changes in the city.
The cart driver, too, knew only what everyone else was saying—that Count Bois had acted out of sheer benevolence!
However, at this point, the uncle sighed: "Lord Bois has shown kindness, but the weavers from all the nearby villages have suffered terribly! The fabric already couldn’t fetch a good price, and all they earned was hard-won money. Now, no one can sell their fabric at all. Selling at a discount means losing money! Many people still owe debts for their spinning thread—tell me, isn’t this life-threatening?"
Old Fern was stunned.
The uncle sighed again: "Now no one weaves anymore. What can the weavers do? They can only fight for whatever work is left. Even laundry work has dropped to one copper coin for two pieces of clothing, and people still scramble for it. If you’re slow, you won’t even get a chance."
"Take Widow Mary from our village. She was once famous for her weaving skills across the region, but now she’s stopped too. She went to collect night soil with others and never came back. Some say she caught the eye of city folk."
"Caught their eye, my foot! I bet she was ambushed. Some troublemakers in the village claimed they saw her in a brothel—who knows if they were just seeing things?"
Amid the old man’s rambling, the oxcart reached the fork in the road at the edge of the village.
Time to get off.
Old Fern hesitated briefly but finally counted out five copper coins from his purse and handed them over.
He could earn these coins easily, but the old man couldn’t.
Returning home, the old house remained unchanged.
His wife was both shocked and overjoyed to see him, wiping away tears in fear, saying she thought enemies had come seeking revenge.
If not for their son already being a knight’s squire and their roots here, she might have even considered moving away.
Old Fern didn’t know how to comfort his wife, so he pretended everything was fine.
As expected, she scolded him for wasting money on the fabric he brought back.
But seeing her measure the new cloth afterward and compare it with old garments, he knew she was secretly delighted.
Dinner passed with the family of three as his wife cheerfully planned how to use the new fabric.
After the meal, Old Fern called his son over, stared into his eyes, and asked solemnly: "If you had the chance to become a mage lord, would you want to?"
Young Fern froze.
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