That evening at the Boar’s Joyful Inn proved surprisingly profitable. The influx of patrons, initially drawn by the royal soldiers and subsequently sustained by the lively atmosphere, allowed Ragnar to amass a considerable sum thanks to his “Super Serving.”

  Tips accumulated rapidly, and at closing, a visibly pleased Borin handed him a substantial portion of the earnings. Adding the hundred gold coins from the previous day, Ragnar found himself in possession of an impressive eleven hundred gold pieces.

  Seated on his straw mattress, counting and recounting his unexpected fortune, an idea began to take root in Ragnar’s mind. Serving ale was a temporary occupation, a necessity for survival. But his instinct drew him towards something more… tangible, more his own. The word “Peasant” displayed in his statistics kept returning to him. If he was destined for this path, he might as well choose it actively, shape it in his own way.

  The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the storeroom planks, Ragnar found Borin busy cleaning the bar. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Borin… last night, I… I earned quite a few coins.”

  Borin raised a bushy eyebrow while wiping down a sticky counter. “Oh yeah? Your ‘Super Serving’ worked wonders. The customers were delighted.”

  “Yes… well, I was wondering… would it be possible to buy some land here, in Valenbois? A place where I could… live and cultivate my own fields.” The idea, once voiced, felt strangely natural, like an echo of a buried desire.

  Borin stopped scrubbing, his gaze becoming thoughtful. “Buying land… for a newcomer just arrived… it’s not impossible, but it requires resources and knowing the right people. Most of the fertile land here belongs to families established for generations.”

  He scratched his beard. “However… Lysiane Valdios owns several hectares around her farm. She sometimes has vacant plots that she rents or sells. That might be a lead worth exploring. She’s just outside the village, towards the east.”

  The mention of Lysiane’s name made Ragnar’s heart skip a beat. The woman who had defended him the day before. “Lysiane Valdios… you think she would agree to sell me land?”

  “It’s worth a try. Lysiane is… direct. If your offer is fair and you seem serious, she might agree. But don’t expect any handouts. Land is precious.”

  Borin glanced out the window. “It’s almost past midnight. You should get some rest. The Valdios family farm isn’t far; you could go there at dawn.”

  Ragnar followed Borin’s advice and returned to his straw mattress. But sleep was restless. Images of his past life haunted him, fragments of the chaos of that fateful night replaying in a loop behind his closed eyelids. He relived the screaming argument, the hurtful words, the cold weight of the revolver in his hand, the terrible sound of the gunshots. He woke with a start, his body covered in cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. The sun was already timidly filtering through the planks.

  He had no other clothes than the tattered, poor-quality garments he had arrived in. Hardly the attire of a future landowner. He nodded goodbye to Borin, thanking him for his hospitality. “I’ll take your advice and go see Lysiane Valdios,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”

  As he crossed the threshold of the inn, the System interface reappeared before his eyes. This time, a new window displayed, titled:

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  Simple instructions explained how to activate a location function and visualize a virtual map of the surrounding region. Intrigued, Ragnar followed the indicated steps. A rudimentary map formed in his mind, marking the village of Valenbois and indicating nearby points of interest. He searched for the name “Valdios Farm” and marked it as his destination. The interface then displayed the estimated distance and a direction to follow.

  Ragnar set off on foot, following the mental directions of the map. The path led him through verdant fields and along a small stream. After a thirty-minute walk, he spotted a large farm in the distance, with sturdy stone buildings, vast stretches of cultivated fields, and animals grazing peacefully in enclosures. It was undoubtedly the Valdios farm.

  As he approached the entrance, a figure stood out in the distance, near a plowed field. It was Lysiane. She was overseeing the work of several laborers, her imposing presence and energy palpable even from afar. Ragnar hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand in greeting.

  Lysiane noticed his gesture and stopped, intrigued. She gestured for the workers to continue and walked towards him with a determined stride. As she approached, her piercing gaze analyzed Ragnar from head to toe.

  “You’re the server from the inn, aren’t you?” she said, her voice direct and without pretense. “Borin told me you might come.”

  “Yes, Mistress Valdios,” Ragnar replied, a little intimidated by her confidence. “I… my name is Ragnar. And Borin suggested I speak with you about the possible purchase of some land.”

  Lysiane led him into the farmyard, a place bustling with the sounds of animals and the coming and going of farmers. “Come inside the house. We can talk more quietly.”

  She guided him into a spacious and well-maintained stone house. The interior was simple but warm, with a large wooden table in the center of a main room. Lysiane invited him to sit down and offered him a cup of a hot, fragrant drink.

  “So, Ragnar,” Lysiane began, her blue eyes fixing his. “Borin told me you’re looking for land. You’re new to the region, aren’t you?”

  Ragnar nodded. “Yes, mistress. I arrived recently. And… I’d like to have my own place. To live and work the land.”

  Lysiane crossed her arms on the table, her expression serious. “I do have a few plots of vacant land near my farm. They’re fertile, but a bit far from the village. Usually, I rent them out, but I might consider a sale if the offer is right. Land in this area generally sells for a thousand gold pieces per hectare.”

  The price made Ragnar wince. A thousand gold pieces per hectare, and he wanted more than one to be self-sufficient. His eleven hundred coins wouldn’t be enough. His disappointment showed on his face.

  Lysiane noticed his expression. “However,” she added, a slight smile playing on her lips. “You seemed… grateful last night. And Borin told me you work hard at the inn. I’m willing to give you a fifty percent discount on one hectare of land, near the edge of the forest. Five hundred gold pieces, and the land is yours.”

  Relief washed over Ragnar. Five hundred gold pieces was a sum he could afford. An unexpected chance. “Mistress Valdios… I don’t know how to thank you!”

  Lysiane waved her hand. “Don’t get too excited yet, Ragnar. Land requires work. And I expect you to be a respectful neighbor. But I believe it’s important to give a chance to those who are willing to work hard. So, what do you say? Five hundred gold pieces for a hectare of fertile land?”

  Ragnar’s eyes gleamed with newfound determination. “I accept, Mistress Valdios. I accept with great pleasure.” The idea of owning his own land, of finally being able to build something new, momentarily erased the bitter memory of his past. The dawn of a new life was breaking, no longer under the sign of servitude, but under that of ownership.