Hah~ First real workout in ages. I stretched my limbs—it’d been twelve years since I last threw a punch.

Nothing beat the solid thud of flesh meeting flesh. Magic couldn’t match that raw satisfaction. Pure catharsis.

Time to loot the spoils. Equipment littered the ground. Gathering it all should fetch a decent sum.

Huh? Staring at the bandit leader’s two remaining legs, a horrifying realization struck me.

I’d DESTROYED his magic gear!!!!!!!!

Damn it! Magic equipment was worth a fortune. Now? Only his boots, greaves, and a double-bladed axe remained intact.

I cast Appraisal on them. Stats flashed before my eyes:

*Mountain Hermit’s Boots*: DEF +20. STA +50. Enchantment: *Light Step*.

*Ironbone Greaves*: DEF +30. STA +80. Enchantment: *Soothe Arthritis*.

*Minotaur War Axe*: ATK +220. STR +50. Enchantment: *Inflict Grievous Wounds*.

Solid gear. All of it.

Big mistake—showing off like that. Cost me dearly.

I shook my head, near tears. Swallowing my regret, I swept every discarded weapon and armor piece into my storage space. (Yes, that’s one of my spells too.)

If I’d known Dad would bail, I’d have stuffed more cash in here. Might not be scraping bottom right now.

Loot secured, I approached Nina. She sat dazed on the ground, eyes vacant, muttering nonstop:

"666... 666... 666..."

"Scared witless, huh? Snap out of it!"

*Snap!* I clicked my fingers, casting *Clarity*. Her eyes finally focused.

"Eh? Young Master?!"

Nina blinked, disoriented. She glanced around, then scrambled upright—just as I noticed a damp patch beneath where she’d sat...

Following my gaze, she looked down. Her pale cheeks flushed crimson. She fumbled to explain, waving her hands:

"Young Master, please listen! That’s not... not *pee*! It’s... maid sweat!"

"... ..."

"Good work, Nina."

I patted her shoulder sympathetically, casting a drying spell over her clothes and the mysterious puddle. Her expression turned utterly lifeless—like all color had drained from her.

"You up there! Stop playing dead. Get down here. Three seconds. Or I fry you with lightning."

"Mercy, sir! PLEASE!"

A young bandit tumbled down the right watchtower, sobbing as he crawled to my feet. He wept like his parents had just died.

Scrawny kid. Stats showed a pitiful Level 10. How’d he even get this job?

"Lead the way," I ordered. "To your stash."

"Y-yes, sir! Right this way!"

Sensing a lifeline, he bowed and scraped every three steps, grinning nervously as he guided Nina and me to the bandits’ cellar.