"I fled from the north, where there's a winter famine. A merchant took me in as an apprentice. While they're resting, they have me sell some of their goods along the trade route. See, after all this travel, all we have left is this ointment. We were planning to go to the Holy City to restock."
Colin mimicked the refugees' accent.
He could hear refugees talking all the time back in Thousand Masts City, and with his [Contact Spy] Specialty, even he was surprised by how authentic he sounded.
Colin glanced at the man, who didn't seem to doubt his story at all.
After all, with a wide trade route and a Monastery nearby, the area was probably quite safe, which meant the local villagers weren't very wary.
The man said, "We don't really need ointment around here. The Monastery next door has plenty of it. Even if you're seriously injured, the villagers can scrape together ten Gold Coins and ask a Priest to heal you with a Divine Art."
"Well, that's unfortunate."
