It took us three hours of walking to reach the closest city. After our encounter with the spoiled brat, a bubble of emptiness seemed to form around us. I could understand the simple folk keeping their distance, but even the colorful peacocks in their self-driving carts made sure to skirt us by two or three meters. The road was wide—about fifty meters across and split in half for each direction of travel. Still, with the amount of traffic, they had to be pretty skilled to give us such a wide berth.
The city itself sat on a rise—not quite a hill or a mountain, but an elevated area surrounded by a wall. The wall wasn’t particularly tall or thick—maybe five meters high and a meter thick. Compared to the walls in Zindor, it looked downright flimsy.
A large wooden gate marked the entrance, guarded by men with spears. Each wore flowing green robes adorned with a coat of arms depicting a wheat stalk crossed with a sword.
Fighting farmers? Bread-loving warriors?
The clothes in this world were ridiculous. The farmers and simple folk wore “normal” clothes—relatively wide pants paired with simple shirts that reached down to their knees, with or without buttons. Meanwhile, the guards and peacocks strutted about in tights and bathrobes. The only difference was that the bathrobes were made from rich fabrics covered in garish embroidery instead of being fluffy like towels.
I knew exactly where I would sell all the colorful stuff from the mansions and the palace in Tolarib. With their love of color, it would be a hit here. Initially, I wasn’t sure I wanted to trade in this place; the article about their insanity had given me pause. But after seeing the explosion of color around me, I had no choice. No other place would appreciate that stuff like the peacocks here. It was right up their alley—so colorful it could make your eyes bleed, with plenty of gold and silver embroidery. The embroidery style was completely different, but hey, maybe I’d start a new fashion trend.
The guards eyed us warily at the gate, especially Al and Rue, but they didn’t say anything or try to stop us. They also didn’t ask for the entrance fee they charged the simple folk.
The city was a maze of color, chaos, and contrast. When we passed through the gate, the crush of people hit me like a wall. The streets were narrow and packed, lined with small buildings that looked like they’d been stacked on top of each other in a frantic attempt to squeeze out every bit of space. Wooden beams jutted out at odd angles, some supporting awnings draped in faded fabrics, others holding signs scribbled with characters I didn’t recognize. I paid the mana to learn to read and kept looking around.
The buildings themselves were elaborate, like someone had taken traditional Chinese and Tai architecture and cranked the ornamentation up to eleven—twisting dragons coiled along rooftops, layered eaves spilling over one another, and bright paint that must’ve once been vibrant but was now dulled by years of grime.
The air here was heavy. The thick scent of food—grilled meat sizzling over open flames, spiced broths bubbling in massive pots, and something deep-fried—drifted through the crowd, only to be undercut by the stench of too many people, unwashed clothes, and trash rotting in corners. Flies buzzed lazily over piles of refuse. Shouts filled the streets, like the entire city was engaged in an endless argument.
We stood out like sore thumbs. Al, more than a head taller than anyone else, towered above the crowd. Heads turned to gawk at him—eyes wide and mouths gaping. Rue, however, was the real showstopper. A horse-sized dog casually padding through the streets didn’t exactly blend in. Mothers pulled their kids close as he passed, while braver souls—mostly kids—pointed and stared, a mix of awe and terror on their faces. Rue, oblivious, sniffed the air and panted happily, tail wagging in the limited space. A few unlucky self-driving carts had to swerve sharply to avoid him. One stalled completely, its driver glaring and muttering curses as he pulled the two poles back with a violent jerk.
The farther we went, the more the crowd thinned, and the streets widened. The regular areas gave way to a sudden, jarring shift—mansions surrounded by sprawling grounds. The buildings here were works of art: layered rooftops with curved golden tiles, intricate carvings of phoenixes and serpents twisting up red-painted columns, and gates so ornate they could pass for palace entrances. Every wall was pristine, every path immaculate, like even the dust knew it wasn’t welcome here. The air smelled different, too—cleaner, with faint hints of blooming flowers and incense.
Guards stood at attention outside the mansions, their spears gleaming and expressions blank. They watched the people passing by with disinterest, though their gaze lingered on us longer than on the rest. When a group of farmers hauling carts full of produce tried to get too close, a guard stepped forward and turned them away with a flick of his wrist. No words, no explanation. Just a silent wall of authority.
I couldn’t help but glance back at the regular streets where people hustled and shouted, where dirt caked the cobblestones, and the smell of sweat and smoke filled the air. Here, in the rich quarter, everything was quiet—eerily so. The noise of the city faded like we’d stepped into a different world entirely.
Al’s voice broke the silence. “It is astounding how quickly the city shifts.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, looking back toward the crowded streets we’d come from. “From ‘barely standing’ to ‘gold-plated ridiculous’ in the span of a block.”
Rue stopped suddenly, sniffing the air toward one of the gates. “Rue smell yummy,” he said, his nose twitching like he’d discovered a treasure hoard.
“Not now,” I said, tugging him forward. The guards at the gate didn’t look like the kind to hand out free samples.
One thing was clear: this city didn’t do subtle. The rich flaunted their wealth, almost as if carrying banners that screamed, “Look at me, I’m rich!”, while the regular folk lived in vibrant, crumbling chaos. As Rue’s enormous paws thudded against the cobblestones and Al drew more stares than a firework in a library, I realized this would be an interesting place to do business.
A five-story building stood on the border between the crowded and rich areas. It was less garish and had a big sign: Rest Pavilion of the Golden Breeze. Its five-tiered roof curved outward at sharp angles, each level trimmed with golden accents that caught the light. The bright red columns supporting the building gave it an imposing presence, while intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes decorated every corner. A golden spire rose like a spear at the very top. I had no idea why. It looked like a stupid waste of building materials—not like somebody could stay in there.
image [https://i.imgur.com/RZReAGE.png]
“I think that’s a hotel,” Mahya said, tilting her head toward the building.
“Yeah, looks like it. Hope they have rooms.” I squinted up at the stupid spire on top.
“I’ll handle it,” Mahya said with a confident nod and strode toward the entrance, leaving us to follow.
Inside, the lobby was impressive. Rows of red pillars lined the massive open space, their polished surfaces reflecting the warm light from lanterns hanging high above. The ceiling stretched up toward the second level, where balconies wrapped around the interior, supported by carved beams painted in deep greens and golds. Large open windows allowed a soft breeze to drift through, carrying faint traces of smoke and food from the streets below.
A wide staircase with detailed railings spiraled upward in the lobby's center, leading to the upper floors. The polished wooden floors creaked softly underfoot, their smooth surfaces interrupted only by rugs woven in elaborate patterns. A few potted plants sat near the walls, adding a splash of green to the otherwise red-and-gold color scheme.
An elaborate desk with two colorful peacocks stood against the far wall opposite the door. The pair wore flowing, overly embroidered robes and expressions that practically screamed superiority. Mahya approached them, her back straight and chin lifted as she spoke, while the rest of us lingered by the door.
Even from this distance, I caught how their eyes slid over her—slow, dismissive, and condescending.
“I believe it would be prudent for me to take the lead in this world while dealing with the locals,” Al said, with a hint of smugness.
I turned to him. “I believe you are absolutely right. Go forth and be the best prick you can,” I said, adding a flourishing gesture and an exaggerated half-bow for emphasis.
Al chuckled quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, before stepping forward to join Mahya at the desk.
Rue huffed beside me, flopping down on the floor with a thud that earned a sharp look from one of the peacocks. I gave Rue a pat on the head, biting back a grin. This was about to get interesting.
I didn’t know what Al said to them, but the two idiots behind the desk suddenly transformed. Their smug expressions melted into wide-eyed deference, and one of them sprang to his feet like he’d just been lit on fire. Bowing deeply, he gestured for Al to follow.
Mahya and I exchanged glances before joining them, the man scurrying ahead to lead us up a wide staircase to the third floor. His footsteps were quick but careful, like he didn’t dare make a sound louder than necessary.
At the top, he slid open a pair of ornate double doors, revealing our suite. Bowing again, he turned to Al with a questioning look, hands practically trembling at his sides.
“This will suffice,” Al said, his voice dripping with pompous authority.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Rue let out a loud huff, settling into a satisfied sprawl on the floor just inside the doorway. Mahya glanced back at Al with a raised brow but said nothing.
Al straightened his shoulders, looking insufferably pleased with himself. With a casual flick of his wrist, he handed the receptionist a few gold coins and tilted his head, a clear signal for the guy to leave.
The man responded with three more deep bows, each so low I thought he might snap in half, before scurrying out of the suite and sliding the doors shut behind him.
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Mahya spun on Al, her eyes narrowed. “The next time you call me your servant, I’m going to kick your ass.”
Al lifted his hands in surrender, the picture of calm innocence. “They viewed you as an interloper to their precious establishment. I merely put them in their place.”
Mahya huffed in frustration, crossing her arms, but didn’t say anything more.
I stayed quiet, though it took everything I had not to point out that she sounded a lot like Rue from two minutes ago.
We were in a three-bedroom suite on the third floor, which gave us a clear view of the city below. The main living area was spacious, with dark wooden furniture—low tables and cushioned seats—arranged neatly across a woven rug. The walls were paneled with polished wood and featured lattice windows that let in soft, filtered light. Sliding paper screens opened up to a balcony.
My bedroom was equally impressive. A large wooden bed dominated it, surrounded by a canopy of thin silk curtains. The soft bedding was made of red and gold fabrics embroidered with delicate patterns of clouds and birds. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and fresh linen, a welcome change after the grime of the streets.
The bathing area was fascinating. It sat next to the living room and held a bath the size of a pond. Steam rose from the water, with various jugs standing beside it. I could feel mana permeating the entire setup. Like the pagodas at the lake, there were no clumps of mana to indicate runes or magic script, and it didn’t have spells embedded into it, but it still functioned as a magical item and was full of mana. Fascinating.
The suite was quiet, comfortable, and spotlessly clean. Rue sniffed around the living room, his tail wagging as he claimed the rug before flopping down with a satisfied grunt. Mahya had already wandered over to the balcony, leaning out to take in the view, while Al ran a hand over the carved walls, his expression unreadable as he inspected the details.
“How much does it cost us?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Thirteen gold a day,” Al said, glancing back at me briefly.
“Worth it,” I replied, taking another look around. For all its showiness, the place was solid.
We spent the next three days touring the city, eating good food both at the hotel and from street vendors. All the food in this world was rich with mana—fruits, vegetables, meats—everything. It took me two days to stumble upon something interesting, though it was purely by chance.
Because of the constant press of people, I avoided deploying my mana sense at first. The sheer density of mana in the air, combined with the chaotic flow from every person and object, was overwhelming. An energetic noise that built into a headache within minutes. However, on the evening of the second day, I was curious enough to risk it.
We stood near a street vendor working a large, square hot metal plate, cooking a dish of grains, eggs, and meat. The food sizzled and sent up tantalizing aromas that hung heavy in the cooling air. But what caught my attention wasn’t the dish—it was the plate. Like so many other objects in this world, it was filled with mana, staying hot without the aid of a fire. Curious, I extended my mana sense, trying to figure out how it worked.
Instead, I made an entirely different discovery. The cook had a mana dome around the food. I stared at it for a while, puzzled, the pieces refusing to click into place. Then it hit me. When I cooked mana-rich food—whether it was naturally with mana or I infused it to keep Rue from whining about “boring” meals—some of the mana always escaped during the cooking process, dissipating into the air. This cook, however, was trapping it. The mana dome prevented any of the energy from escaping!
It was a revelation, one that lit a fire under my curiosity. My fingers practically itched with the urge to experiment, ideas bubbling up faster than I could process. What could I do with this technique? Could I enhance my cooking? Trap even more mana?
After this discovery, I couldn’t help myself—I started using my mana sense near every street vendor we passed. Not all of them used the technique, but the expensive ones, the good ones, definitely did. It was like uncovering an unspoken secret of the food culture.
As far as I was concerned, I had discovered a whole new world.
The city wasn’t especially big—you could walk across it in four to six hours, depending on how dense the traffic was—but it was large enough to keep us busy exploring. On the second day, we found the main trading area in the eastern part of the city, set up in a sprawling, open lot that buzzed with energy. Stalls lined the space in every direction, overflowing with goods: from produce to clothes, furniture to decorations—they sold everything there.
Mahya stopped, looking at an especially colorful individual lounging atop a mountain of cushions. She pointed subtly, though the guy’s outfit made subtlety feel pointless. “That’s probably the guy in charge. Al, please find out how we can sell here.”
Al inclined his head and strode off. We watched him weave through the crowd with his steady, purposeful gait. Five minutes later, he returned. “One may either pay a daily tax of ten percent or purchase a daily trading permit for five gold pieces, which grants tax exemption.”
Mahya glanced at me. “Sounds good, no?”
I nodded. “Let’s explore for one more day and then do our best to get rid of the million colorful cushions and pillows.”
“Don’t forget the garish jewelry,” Mahya added, shooting me a teasing grin.
I shuddered dramatically. “I was actually doing my best to forget them.”
Mahya laughed and patted my back with a mock sympathy that didn’t fool me for a second. “Think of all the gold they’ll bring,” she said, her tone encouraging but mischievous.
That did the trick. My frown cracked, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got a point.”
During our exploration, we noticed a few people with beasts—lizards draped lazily over shoulders, sleek felines prowling at their owners' heels, and even a fluffy brown sloth clinging sleepily to someone’s back. Rue wasn’t exactly an exception in that regard, but his size still made him stand out.
He was convinced it was because he looked dangerous, walking with his head high and chest puffed out like a proper guardian. On the other hand, I thought it had far more to do with his sheer height and striking white coat. You couldn’t exactly miss a massive dog the size of a horse, glowing like a beacon in the crowd.
On the evening of the third day, we relaxed in the enormous tub while Mahya transferred perishable items from her Storage to mine, making space for the cushions. I was just glad no one could see us. The three of us lounged in the gloriously hot and perpetually clean water, though I still had no clue how it stayed that way. A large plywood board floated on the water, something flickering onto its surface every few seconds before vanishing just as quickly.
The next morning, we headed to the trading area, ready to sell. Al handled the arrangements, paying the 15 gold coins before returning with three wooden discs marked with numbers. At least we’d been lucky enough to get adjacent plots.
Mahya and I set up our booths, carefully arranging the cushions and pillows. Each one, according to Appraisal, was worth 30 silver. Meanwhile, I handled the jewelry, laying it out in neat rows. Mahya, for all her skill, still hadn’t received the Merchant class for free and lacked the Appraisal skill, so she relied on me to handle the pricing.
Al, of course, had his potion booth. The moment he started unpacking, it looked like an explosion of vibrant colors. Rows upon rows of shimmering vials, arranged with almost obsessive precision, caught the light. I knew how many hours he spent locked away in his labs, surrounded by plants and ingredients, constantly at work. I’d seen the sheer volume of raw materials he burned through, yet it still took me by surprise.
Over 500 vials gleamed on display, an entire rainbow of liquids promising every effect under the sun. I was sure he had even more tucked away in his Storage—Al never did anything by halves. It was impressive, almost intimidating.
I was right—the color-obsessed peacocks absolutely loved the cushions. All the colors of the rainbow and embroidered in gold and silver thread. It was exactly their style: flashy, bold, and impossible to miss. By noon, I’d already sold over 200 cushions, and judging by the satisfied look on Mahya’s face, she was doing just as well.
But the real star of the show was Al’s booth. He had a line at least 50 people deep, and every single person who bought from him bowed over and over, their gratitude bordering on worship. I couldn’t help but notice the piles of money changing hands—it was insane. Al was selling the same health potions we’d guzzled like juice during the Mana Occurrence for 20 gold a vial, and people were practically throwing their coins at him while thanking him profusely for the privilege.
I watched in awe for a moment, hands still absently stacking cushions. Maybe I should learn Alchemy? I thought, the idea teasing at the edge of my mind. Then I shook my head with a grin. Nah, I had enough gold already.
I finished collecting the money for another two cushions, adding the coins to my Inventory, when a commotion broke out nearby. Raised voices, shuffling feet, and a few disgruntled shouts drew my attention.
An old man with a stiff back and an air of entitlement strode purposefully toward Al’s booth, a group of five lackeys trailing behind him like ducklings. He didn’t bother with the crowd, shoving people aside without so much as a glance. A couple of merchants protested, but he ignored them, his steps deliberate, his expression twisted in a mix of smugness and authority.
“Cowtow three times and call me grandpa!” he bellowed, jabbing a bony finger in Al’s direction.
Huh?!
I froze mid-motion, hands still on the cushions I’d been stacking. My head whipped around to Mahya, who was staring at me, eyebrows furrowed, her expression a perfect mirror of my own confusion.
“What?” I mouthed silently.
She shrugged, wide-eyed, then turned to stare at Al.
Al, standing behind his vibrant potion display, looked equally stunned. He blinked once, twice, his usual composed demeanor slipping as his face twisted into the universal expression of “What the hell?”
For a moment, the entire area seemed to pause. The crowd around Al’s booth watched the scene unfold, whispers and murmurs buzzing all around. I glanced between Mahya, Al, and the old man, completely at a loss.
What in the world was this about? And grandpa? Seriously?
Al, to his credit, pulled himself together faster than I would have. With a perfectly calm tone, he said, “Would you mind repeating that? I suspect a misinterpretation on my part.”
The old man thrust out his chest, practically swelling with indignation, and bellowed even louder, “Cowtow three times and call me grandpa!”
I winced at the volume. A few nearby merchants snickered, while others exchanged bewildered glances.
Al tilted his head slightly, his tone as cool and formal as ever. “Why would I do such a thing? I am unacquainted with you and am quite certain of my grandfather’s identity. You, sir, are not him.”
That stopped the old guy cold. His face scrunched up, his chest still puffed out, but his eyes darted around like his brain had short-circuited. He stood there blinking for a moment, clearly struggling to process what he just heard.
Now he looked like Mahya and me—utterly confused, like someone had just handed him a riddle with no answer.
The silence hung awkwardly in the air, broken only by the faint clinking of coins and someone clearing their throat. I exchanged a glance with Mahya, her lips twitching as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or stay quiet.
At this rate, I wasn’t sure who was more bewildered—us, Al, or the so-called grandpa.
Behind me, Rue woke up from his nap with a yawn, his massive form rising lazily as he padded toward Al’s booth. The old man’s eyes widened, and he stumbled half a step back. His face twisted in anger as he bellowed, louder than before, “You dare to threaten me?!”
His lung capacity is on another level, I thought, rubbing one ear as it rang faintly.
“I am the Alchemy Sage!” he declared, thrusting his chin out as though daring someone to challenge him.
Al, utterly unbothered, offered one of his polite smiles. “I am delighted to encounter a fellow alchemist. Do you have books on Alchemy available for purchase?”
The old man turned a dangerous shade of red, his mouth twitching. “Are you mocking me?!” he roared, his voice echoing across the trading lot.
Al blinked, his expression genuinely confused. “No,” he said evenly. “I inquired about purchasing books.”
That threw the old man for a loop. He froze, mouth half-open as though someone had hit pause on him. A beat passed, and his brows furrowed, matching Al’s confused expression with his own.
I groaned and facepalmed, shaking my head. “Why do all the crazies target us?” I asked Mahya and Al telepathically.
“I, too, am seeking to understand this issue,” Al replied, his voice perfectly composed even in my head.
“I told you they’re crazy,” Mahya sent, her tone deadpan.
While we silently commiserated, the old man seemed to find his voice again, shouting something unintelligible in his usual lung-busting volume.
Al tilted his head politely. “I would appreciate it if you would repeat what you just said. I wasn’t paying attention.”
The old man’s face practically glowed crimson at that, his dramatic fury reigniting. “You will be sorry for mocking me!” he bellowed, turning sharply on his heels with enough flair to put a theater actor to shame. He stormed off, once again shoving innocent bystanders out of his way as he vanished into the crowd.
Rue watched him go, tail wagging lazily, and let out a big, exaggerated huff. Yeah, he got it right.