Tom dubiously stared at the humble bowl of stew placed before him, observing the thick steam rising from the wooden bowl with genuine intrigue, tracing its twirls as they spiralled towards the low ceiling of the storeroom.
Willing his hand forward, Tom watched as a small portion of the steam was absorbed by his hand of no volition of his own. Surprised, he hurriedly jerked his hand backwards.
Unsure how to proceed, he gave the guard, who had introduced himself as Serawin of the Royal Knights, a sceptical look.
“What?” The Royal Knight, Serawin replied, raising an eyebrow.
“This white mist…,” Tom trailed off, unsure how to explain his question without framing it as an accusation.
The confusion on Serawin’s face grew deeper.
“Has it gotten that bad in the Nameless district? Surely you must have eaten beast meat before,” Serawin asked, seemingly stupefied by Tom’s reaction.
Tom lowered his gaze, letting a flicker of shame make its way onto his visage. His expression spoke of desperation— and if the punishment for making his way to the Noble’s district was indeed, so severe— only the desperate and the foolish would attempt it.
Letting out a long sigh, Serawin exasperatedly reached out with his own two-tined fork, sinking it into a chunk of meat on Tom’s plate before biting into it.
“The white mist is soul essence. It suggests that fresh beast meat has been prepared and cooked the correct way, without any contamination or improper handing. Though the quality of the meat itself isn’t extraordinary, it still boosts the body’s natural soul recovery by a respectable degree,” Serawin explained.
Tom’s gaze remained on Serawin for a few more seconds before his attention fell back to his stew.
He had not experienced the misty phenomenon when cooking beast meat in the forest, but perhaps that was a given— after all, he didn’t possess the tools or expertise needed to cook it properly and hygiene wasn’t exactly high on the list when he was trying to stave away biting hunger.
A cooked meal…..
Although Tom knew that he had been in Artezia only for a few weeks, his perception of time was severely addled after spending so many hours in isolation— those weeks of suffering had felt like years to him and if there was one thing he had missed more than anything— it was the safety and comfort of civilization, a core tenet upholding society that he had taken for granted back on Earth.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, Tom’s fork dug into a tender chunk of meat before he cautiously took a bite. Nothing could prepare him for the explosion of succulent juices infused with unfamiliar spices that left a tangy aftertaste in his mouth. Unable to be satiated with a single bite, he began to devour one chunk of meat after the next, no longer caring for decorum or maintaining appearances—- if anything, this sold the background the guard believed him to hail from.
“Damn, kid,” Serawin remarked, his eyebrows rising a little. “How long has it been since you’ve had a proper meal?”
Tom ignored the jibe, reaching for the wooden bowl and pressing it against its lips before he begun to drink directly from it, letting the warm, savoury broth gush down his throat till there was not even a single drop left. It was hard not to be moved by the best meal he had tasted in his life— partly because his food had flavour again instead of being bland, unevenly cooked chunks of meat but that wasn’t all— it’s exotic taste wasn’t completely foreign to his taste buds, but the novelty of it coupled with its nourishing effect made for a very refreshing treat.
“What is this place?” Tom asked, gratitude sparkling in his eyes. For better or worse, Serawin had offered him a not-poisoned, cooked meal when he was within his rights to arrest and imprison him.
The storeroom he found himself in was nothing really impressive— a wooden table, four beaten down chairs and an armour stand occupied the left side of the room, whilst the right was dominated by a dozen or so wooden crates loaded with supplies of all kind; ranging from spices and herbs to spare changes of uniforms and a few pairs of boots that seemed to be intended for different purposes.
Sheepishly scratching the back of his head, Serawin awkwardly replied, “You could say it’s kind of my own cosy little hideout. Gives me a space to rest and resupply away from the public eye.”
That statement caught Tom’s attention.
“I’m not the first stowaway you’ve helped out, am I?” Tom pointedly asked.
Serawin let out a weary sigh.
“It happens once every few months. An old man wanting to explore the Noble District before he dies. A young girl frustrated by her parent’s decision to marry her off early due to her poor talent. A gambler running away from his debts. Really, it’s a new scenario every time. And usually, the Royal Knights get to them before I can,” Serawin explained, his tone sombre.
“So you finding me.. that wasn't a coincidence?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said it was my off day. The difference between me and the Royal Guards is that I am actively looking for well, people like you, while the Senior Knights have an intelligence network that spans the whole Noble District. So while I suppose it was chance that led me to you, fortune favours those who try.”
“Why?” Tom asked. “If you get found out doing this, you would get expelled from the knights, right?”
Although Tom wasn’t completely sure of his assertion, Serawin had dropped enough hints for him to catch on.
“Is it a sin to wish for a better life?” Serawin dryly replied, his gaze wandering off to the ceiling. “If so, I am every bit a sinner as you are.”
“Then why do you insist on sending me back?” Tom asked, not because he wanted to stay in the Noble District, but because the person Serawin thought him to be—- a serf from the Nameless District— would have.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Serawin ruefully shook his head.
“Do you know why this entire street is abandoned?”
“I don’t,” Tom bluntly replied, but his attention was genuinely piqued.
“Two decades ago, this shop used to be a smithy and this street, a bustling hub of trade, one among many. Now, it remains a dilapidated husk of its former glory— the discoloration on the walls, those faded rust stains and the small cracks in the wall running across the wall— all tell a story if you are willing to listen,” Serawin began, his tone a little melancholic as he pointed at the observations while listing them.
Tom remained silent at the rhetorical question.
“This shop used to belong to my uncle. He was the first one from our family that managed to ‘ascend’ from the Nameless District to the Noble District officially after having skills with a forge acknowledged by a direct descendant of the Renain family. It was he who showed the rest of us that it could be done without resorting to unscrupulous means and he—really— was the one who paved the path for me to be inducted into the royal knights.”
“Why was it closed?” Tom commiserated, his tone more empathetic than curious.
“How much do you know about the noble district?” Serawin asked, before taking a sip of broth from the spoon.
“Besides what I could find about the Renain family, not much,” he admitted.
“Serfs or the titleless from the Nameless District are not allowed to hold property and have to pay a fee to the overseeing Nobles of this land for every month they choose to stay in the Academic City, Renovia. The easiest way to be invited to the Noble District, as I’m sure you’re aware, is to join the Academy. I myself gave the Royal Knights’ officiating test directly after failing the Academy’s trial at the behest of my uncle, who paid the fee for me.”
“You passed,” Tom offered.
“I did, but only because they valued combat instinct and capabilities over raw talent,” Serawin replied, his voice tinged with pride. “But there was a catch.”
Tom’s eyes widened in realisation. For a man having pledged his allegiance to the Renain Family, he seemed entirely too unconcerned at the thought of a vagabond impersonating their name whilst running around the Noble District.
“You had to pledge your loyalty to the Renain Family,” Tom muttered aloud.
“A noble family— yes. You see, most people living in the Noble District aren’t actually Nobles. The Nameless District looks to the Noble District in hope, while, two decades ago, most citizens of the Noble District dreamed of owning a store of their own. Adventuring, dungeon crawling and other specialised professions like alchemy and enchanting require both talent and skill, whilst trade and consequently, the employment generated by trade, was the perfect outlet and source of income for many not as gifted.”
While Tom may not be an economist, he remembered enough to know that facilitating trade and generating employment were good for the— any economy, even one in a different world.
“So, what happened?”
“It was too lucrative,” Serawin dryly remarked. “Too lucrative for the direct descendants of the Nobles not to be in control.”
‘So the ugliness of a class-based society finally reveals itself.’
Tom had been wondering why he hadn’t seen any discrimination in Renovia so far. It turned out that there was an entire subset of society that had been veiled off from his— and Zenakris’— sight. Though the latter was more than likely well aware of it, Active Shroud– Maya had given him no insight on the matter; which meant that Zenakris….. probably didn’t think too much about people of the N ameless District.
“Besides monsters like The Revenant Slayer, Verranuva and The Rune Lord, Arrendez— there are very few who can rise to the status of True Nobles and they are always Academy students. So it’s not like we want to keep you out of the Noble District, kid, the truth of it is that most of us can’t do a damn thing about it.”
Tom could feel the bitterness in those words and more importantly, he resonated with the helplessness Serawin was echoing. This world was no utopia— the same way his previous one hadn’t. The strong and the powerful decided the rules while the rest were forced to either fall in line or be cast aside.
It was honestly getting rather old.
“Fine,” Tom let out a resigned sigh, letting his head droop a little in defeat. “Do you have a way back to the Nameless District? I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have and I would rather not get myself imprisoned for a year,” Tom let a little bitterness of his own seep into his voice, selling the act as well as he could.
“I suppose you can’t go back the way you came in?”
Letting out a sheepish chuckle, Tom replied, “That, er.. that was a single-time thing, I’m afraid.”
Brows twitching with irritation, Serawin shot back, “It’s hard to believe someone as perceptive as you could be so short-sighted.”
Tom averted his gaze.
“Fine. I have an arrangement with the Royal Knight guarding the entrance to the Noble District. He won’t ask anymore questions than he needs to, but be prepared for a thorough inspection. Trade between the districts is highly regulated, after all.”
“Does that mean my status will be inspected as well?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Serawin replied, raising an eyebrow at the question. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. I was just curious.”
“That is good,” Serawin’s expression relaxed as he reached out inside his side pocket, counting out a few coins before walking over to one of the crates and cutting out a piece of softened animal leather. Fashioning a coin pouch with a final bit of string, he tossed it over to Tom.
“When the Knight asks, tell them this was payment for your services. Hopefully, it will help you out a little on the other side.”
Genuinely moved, Tom bowed deeply to Serawin, not sure how else to express the boundless gratitude he felt for the knight.
“Thank you.”
----------------------------------------
“What is the meaning of this!” Zenakris bellowed furiously at the two Dungeon Guards under employ of the [Divine System], stunned by their preposterous actions. The tip of a long spear and the edge of a double-bladed axe rested against his throat, the absolute focused expressions on the guards’ faces conveying the seriousness of the matter.
Valeria Nezarie— the only one quick enough to react to the Dungeon Guards movements had not moved from her spot, even as her two fellow Academy students and Zenakris’ friends readied their weapons.
“Sirs, I am sure there has been some confusion. Can you please explain why you are pointing your weapon at the heir-apparent to the Renain Family?” Valerie Nazarie managed to maintain a mask of composure where most of her peers would either be too shocked to react or react combatively,
“This’one’s no lord,” One of the Dungeon Guards growled furiously, though his blade remained frozen in space.
“Two hours ago there wasan’ another lad who identified himself as Zenakris’- looked ta same, walked ta same and talked ta same. That means one of them gotta be an imposter!” The other guard exclaimed, causing the fury to drain out of Zenakris’ face.
The calm mask Valeria was wearing cracked as she began to fathom the implications of that statement.
“My father! Call my father, he can identify if I’m the imposter or not,” Zenakris asked, no requested, after reaching the conclusion that arrogance and being temperamental would only worsen his cause.
The best thing he could do was the exact opposite of what the imposter would do in this situation—- remain calm.