Chapter 15

After waking up from his nap, Zhao Mai stretched vigorously, causing the little puppy on his shoulder to fall off and land on the ground with a thud, lying there groaning. He teased the puppy with his fingers, and once it was placed back on his shoulder, it calmed down, just like a chick hiding under a hen's wing.

"Training starts tomorrow, so rest well today." A squirrel blocked Zhao Mai's path, holding a note in its mouth. It wagged its big tail, its beady black eyes fixed on Zhao Mai, its little nose twitching. Zhao Mai, understanding its intent, picked a large acorn from the pile of dried fruits in the corner. The squirrel took the acorn with both hands, stuffed its cheeks full, nodded, and then scurried away.

The prospect of training was good news for Zhao Mai. Only with the ability to protect himself could he venture deep into the forest to find valuable treasures and cross the jungle to visit the town. The fate gold coins would only appear in the form of various currencies, and the old ranger's home only had living supplies, likely no coins.

True ranger training was incredibly appealing to a modern person. Even using firearms in the military often lacked the passion of fighting with cold weapons. The wilds of a fantasy world were truly filled with beasts, and the ability to survive in such an environment for years was far more impressive than that of any "explorer."

Even Bear Grylls probably hasn't skinned a chimera, right? Zhao Mai has. A crocodile might be the limit of Bear Grylls' physical combat ability, but who knows what Karl has killed. If he could bring back a dragon's skin, it would surely shock the world.

Thinking about this, Zhao Mai suddenly paused, a good idea popping into his head. Even if he didn't focus on gold, silver, or gems, bringing back some live creatures might be more profitable. Not to mention dragon eggs, bringing back a griffin egg to hatch would be invaluable. The ultra-rich compete to build larger yachts, but who could have a griffin?

However, even a griffin would be tough to handle, and without strong personal combat skills, it would just be a dinner delivery. Zhao Mai assessed that his current combat ability couldn't even match a warhorse, ranking him last among the carnivores in the ranger's territory. Oh, that's not right; he should rank slightly better than the puppy on his shoulder.

It's not a big deal to have weak combat skills now, as he had never received such training growing up. He just needed to seize the opportunity and work hard to improve. To train his physical fitness, he needed proper nutrition. Meat seemed abundant, but the coarse salt was unbearable.

The old ranger's willingness to teach him was a kindness, and kindness should be repaid with kindness. Since he had nothing to do in the afternoon, he might as well boil the salt.

He climbed down a level of the tree and told Karl and Soru his idea. The old ranger smiled and nodded, encouraging him to do it, but the half-orc looked skeptical. He didn't want to help and, after a few words with Karl, ran off.

It's not surprising they didn't believe him, as only the elves had fine salt as fine as flour, while other races only had coarse salt. This was mainly because elves had relatively fragile bodies, unlike dwarves, who could tolerate toxins and eat coarse salt without issues. Because they needed strict detoxification, the elves' finest salt was processed with specialized magic, and the next best required complex alchemy. Other races had been trying to learn the elves' secrets for centuries but had made no progress.

Ranger Karl knew that the town of Nibo had salt mines, where they dug well salt from deep underground, ground it, and sold it in all directions. This salt was relatively pure and sold for five gold coins per pound. To put that in perspective, it was equivalent to high-grade silver ore and 250 times the price of an equal weight of potatoes.

And that was just coarse salt. The elves' alchemical fine salt had no standard price and appeared in small quantities at luxury auctions. Even the elves' magic could leak, but the alchemical fine salt technique had never been stolen, so Karl didn't believe "Mike" could really make fine salt. He thought the young man could at most improve the taste of the salt, masking its bitterness.

To him, it was a child's game, and he just needed to encourage it. So when Zhao Mai held the "Cihai" and kept asking for tools, he smiled and provided them. There was nothing unusual: a few pots, a few basins, some firewood, and large chunks of rock salt dug from the cave.

The villagers didn't eat much of this rock salt, and Karl used it mainly to save money. He watched Zhao Mai crush the rock salt and grind it into powder with a stone—though the particles were uneven. Then he threw the salt powder into a pot, stirring it as it boiled, turning it into a brownish, murky liquid.

He took off his T-shirt, folded it, and used it as a primitive filter. The murky liquid became clearer.

Washing the shirt and filtering again improved the liquid's clarity, but it was about as good as it could get. The next step required charcoal powder. After filtering again, the liquid became clear and transparent.

The final step was to evaporate the water, leaving pure salt at the bottom of the pot. It wasn't as good as industrially produced fine salt, still having a slight brownish tinge.

He pinched some with his fingers and tasted it; there was no harshness. If he had proper cheesecloth and better charcoal, he might have improved the salt further.

A fist-sized chunk of coarse salt had become a small bowl of fine salt. Zhao Mai took it to the old ranger Karl. The old man was in the tree hollow, examining a slightly purple hard wood, his fingers caressing the rough surface, feeling the power hidden beneath.

"Look, the salt I made," Zhao Mai respectfully placed the clay bowl in front of the old man. Karl always gave him a sense of a family elder, his mannerisms exuding a special warmth, so he naturally showed the respect of a junior to a senior.

The old ranger glanced at the clay bowl, his eyes suddenly widening. He put down the hard wood, dipped three fingers in the salt, and tasted it carefully. The pure saltiness filled his mouth, with none of the bitterness and spiciness of coarse salt. He had never tasted the elves' alchemical fine salt, so he couldn't compare, but because the salt was made by "Mike," he simply considered it the best in the world.

"You did a great job!" he praised, then realized Zhao Mai might not fully understand. In Golarion, praising someone involved raising the middle finger, as it was the longest and most prominent. So he pointed his middle finger at Zhao Mai.

Seeing the old man's smiling face, Zhao Mai knew he wasn't being insulted. After checking the dictionary, his mood became quite strange. "In our place, raising the thumb is praise, as the thumb is the thickest."

Finally, both sides understood, and Karl gave him a thumbs up. He then set the bowl of salt aside and began explaining the training in a slow, simple manner.

Zhao Mai was anxious, repeatedly asking how much the fine salt he made could sell for. The old man didn't answer, only raising his eyebrows and slapping Zhao Mai on the head after being asked many times.

"Without the skills to survive, what use are gold coins? Carrying too much gold will bend your back." He not only said it but also wrote it down. After Zhao Mai understood, he patted the spot on his head, seemingly to comfort him.

Zhao Mai wanted to say, "Even heroes can be brought down by a penny," but he knew the old ranger meant well. Since it was well-intentioned, he put the fine salt aside and focused on learning vocabulary related to combat.