Chapter 149 - 33: Mortgage (Second Update)

Words : 1044 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

Discover the story in "The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!" Chapter 149: Chapter 149: Chapter 33: Mortgage (Second Update) Holy Calendar, Year 10754, November, Lion King City. Sunlight slanted... Continue exploring!

Chapter 149: Chapter 33: Mortgage (Second Update) Holy Calendar, Year 10754, November, Lion King City. Sunlight slanted through the windowsill, illuminating the mountain of manuscript papers piled high. The wastebasket was already full, and the small room had crumpled paper scattered across the floor. The whole scene looked like a garbage dump. The author of *"A Knight’s Guide to Success"* was slumped over the desk, fast asleep, drooling slightly, with a sheet of manuscript paper clutched in his hand. Beside him was an empty plate with a few crumbs of bread left. "Mmm... when will I finally hit it big..." the author murmured in his sleep, groggily scratching the mosquito bite swelling on his face. A gust of wind slipped in through a crack in the window, stirring the papers at the top of the pile. The paper fluttered lightly twice before the unbalanced stack collapsed with a thundering crash, burying the sleeping author beneath. "Who? WHO? Who’s trying to rob my manuscript?!" Startled awake, the author scrambled up from the floor, wide-eyed, still clutching the single sheet of paper in his hand. After finally catching his breath, he looked down at the paper in his hand, set it down, and then, suddenly realizing something, snatched it up again. "Holy crap! I finished it! I actually finished it! Hahaha!" In a flurry of motion, he changed his clothes, hastily gathered the scattered pages, downed the last crumbs of bread from the empty plate, took a sip of water, wiped his mouth, and cheerfully headed out the door with a thick stack of manuscripts in hand. The streets were in complete disarray—worse than a few months ago. It was already November, the air turning chilly, yet the number of homeless, starving, and poorly clothed people on the streets seemed to have increased. Makeshift barricades of scrap wood appeared haphazardly everywhere. The author had no idea who built them, who placed them, or what purpose they served. After all, he was just a writer who spent his days buried in his manuscripts. When he passed the bakery, he stopped in his tracks and noticed several burly men standing guard at the entrance, all staring directly at him. "Uh... I haven’t had breakfast yet. Can I buy some bread?" the author asked cautiously. "Of course." The four men stepped aside, and he spotted the burly baker behind the counter. Compared to before, the baker looked much worse off, as if someone had beaten him up. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his face was mottled with bruises. "What happened to you?" "Some people came to rob me yesterday." "A bakery? They robbed a bakery?" "That’s right. It’s gotten insane. My shop is right next to a bank, and they robbed me instead of the bank. Anyway, how much bread do you want?" "Just one loaf. I don’t have much money left." "Alright." The baker took a loaf off the shelf. "That’ll be ten silver coins." "Ten... silver coins?" The author froze in disbelief. "Are you joking? Ten silver coins for a single loaf of bread?" "No joke. That’s the going rate now," the baker said with a shrug. "I’m barely making a profit. And look—I’ve had to hire four bodyguards, which makes my costs skyrocket. These days, every bakery needs bodyguards just to operate." The author swallowed hard and asked in a low voice, "Can anyone even afford bread at ten silver coins?" "Of course. But in this part of the city, not many. Most people already stocked up on food long ago, so they don’t need to buy anything. Those who do have to pay a fortune. And you—you clearly don’t have any reserves," the baker grunted. "The wealthy have already started moving to the northern district. It’s safer there, at least free from robbery. After a few more days, I’m shutting this place down and relocating my shop to the north. If you still want bread in the future, you’ll have to go there. So, my advice: buy more while you can today." The author reached to his waist, took out his coin pouch, and emptied it. "Only nine silver coins... this is all the money I have. Can’t you lower the price?" "Sure." The baker measured the loaf with a ruler, then broke off a tenth of it and put the smaller piece back on the shelf. "Nine silver coins." "Alright..." The author reached out to grab the bread, but the baker slapped his hand away. "What’s the matter? Didn’t you agree to sell it to me for nine silver coins?" "I did. But do you really plan to walk down the street carrying a loaf of bread in plain sight? I guarantee you won’t make it more than two blocks before it’s gone." With that, the baker wrapped the bread in an oiled paper, handed it to the author, and then led him into the bakery, guiding him through a back alley exit. "Anyone who leaves through the front door of the bakery gets robbed," the baker explained. Left with no choice, the author clutched his slightly smaller-than-usual loaf of bread and his stack of manuscripts, carefully navigating the war-torn streets. The situation in Lion King City was truly, utterly dire—beyond words. The baker’s comment about banks not being robbed was, in reality, only true for the one near his bakery. Along the way, the author spotted at least two banks that had been looted. No one seemed to care about repairing them; instead, the wrecked buildings had become makeshift shelters for homeless drifters. The streets were overrun with begging children and elderly people. Even prostitutes openly plied their trade during daytime, flaunting themselves shamelessly on the street. A girl, her appearance still somewhat attractive, grabbed the author’s hand. Her eyes were filled with desperation as she pleaded, "Just one piece of bread—just one—and I’ll do anything you want!" "No, I don’t have bread! I’m starving too!" Terrified, the author clutched his loaf even tighter. The entire city was caught in a horrific game of survival—a race to see who would starve to death first. Everyone’s eyes were hollow, filled with a sense of numb despair. Yet, in an instant, they could transform into the gaze of a ravenous beast.

Chapter 149 - 33: Mortgage (Second Update)

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