Kaelholm was as chaotic as ever. The cobblestone streets teemed with life—vendors shouting, carts clattering, and townsfolk jostling for space. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of roasted meat, sweat, and livestock. The noise and movement felt overwhelming, but to Gabriel, it was all background noise. He walked ahead of the group, his sharp green eyes scanning the bustling crowd with practiced ease.

Behind him, Alexander kept pace, his blue cloak swaying as he moved. Despite weeks of work on the farm, his noble demeanor was impossible to miss. Jordan followed silently, the large sack of grain resting on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Sorin, always lingering just far enough to seem unbothered, strolled behind with a faint grin on his face.

“This place gets louder every time we come here,” Sorin remarked, his tone light. “Do you think they compete for who can scream the loudest?”

Gabriel didn’t look back. “If they are, they’re all winning.”

Sorin chuckled softly, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Kaelholm. The city of champions.”

Alexander said nothing, his attention shifting as muffled voices carried faintly through the marketplace. He slowed his steps, his eyes narrowing toward a narrow alley nearby. The voices grew louder—sharp, aggressive, and unmistakably hostile.

Gabriel noticed it too, his gaze flicking briefly toward the source of the commotion. His expression didn’t change as he kept walking. “Not our problem.”

Alexander stopped, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. “Someone’s in trouble.”

Gabriel turned slightly, his voice calm but firm. “Someone is always in trouble. It’s Kaelholm. You can’t save everyone.”

Alexander hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced toward the alley again. “I’m not ignoring this.”

Gabriel sighed sharply, tilting his head back. “Of course you’re not.” He continued walking but slowed his pace, keeping them within his line of sight.

Alexander stepped toward the alley, his movements deliberate. Jordan followed silently, his presence steady and purposeful. Sorin lingered, leaning casually against the edge of the alley, a smirk playing at his lips.

“He can’t help himself,” Sorin said, glancing at Gabriel. “You know that.”

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, his tone dry. “He’ll learn.”

The alley was narrow and damp, its walls marked with grime and faded graffiti. Three barbarians stood over a man pinned against the wall, their sneering faces illuminated by the faint light filtering through the buildings. The man’s magenta hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead, and blood ran from a cut on his temple. Despite his battered state, his posture was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

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The leader, a hulking brute with scars crisscrossing his chest, jabbed a crude blade toward the man’s throat. “You think you can walk away from the clans and live?”

The magenta-haired man glared, his voice rough but steady. “Do what you came to do.”

The brute’s grin widened, sharp and cruel. “Oh, we’ll take our time. You’ll beg before the end.”

The second barbarian, shorter but stocky, hefted a bloodstained club. “Maybe we start with his legs.”

The wiry third barbarian laughed harshly, his feral eyes gleaming. “Take his tongue first. Let’s see how loud he screams.”

Alexander stepped into the alley, his voice cutting through the tension. “Three against one. Cowards.”

The leader turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he took in Alexander’s clean cloak and polished sword. “What’s this? A rich boy wants to die?”

Jordan moved in behind Alexander, his broad frame casting a shadow over the group. His silence made one of the barbarians falter, their confidence wavering slightly.

Gabriel leaned casually against the alley wall, his arms crossed as his gaze swept over the scene. His tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Great. A barbarian scuffle. That’s exactly what we needed today.” He waved a hand lazily toward the group. “By all means, jump in. Maybe they’ll let you join their club.”

The leader lunged first, his blade aimed at Alexander’s chest. Alexander sidestepped smoothly, his sword flashing as it deflected the strike. His counterattack came fast, a shallow cut across the brute’s arm forcing him back with a snarl.

The wiry barbarian darted toward Alexander’s side, but Jordan intercepted him, driving his knee into the man’s ribs. The barbarian crumpled to the ground, gasping for air as Jordan stepped over him, his scythe poised.

The stocky barbarian swung his club at Gabriel, but Gabriel moved with practiced efficiency, sidestepping the blow and sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. The barbarian hit the ground hard, his weapon clattering against the cobblestones.

Before the leader could recover, the magenta-haired man surged forward, landing a solid punch to his jaw. The crack of impact echoed through the alley as the brute stumbled back, blood dripping from his split lip.

The leader clutched his arm, glaring up at Gabriel with bloodied rage. His voice was venomous. “You. I’ll skin you alive for this.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. He turned to Sorin, his tone exasperated. “Why me? I didn’t start this.”

Sorin grinned, barely holding back a laugh. “Must be the charm.”

The leader snarled but retreated, dragging his comrades out of the alley and into the chaos of the city.

The magenta-haired man turned to the group, his breathing heavy but steady. His sharp eyes lingered on Alexander before moving to Gabriel.

“You didn’t have to get involved,” he said, his voice flat.

Alexander sheathed his sword, his tone firm. “You’re welcome.”

The man’s lip curled faintly. “Didn’t ask for your help.”

Sorin stepped forward, his grin widening. “We get that a lot. What’s your name?”

The man hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Ronan.”

Sorin nodded. “Nice to meet you, Ronan. Try not to get cornered next time.”

Ronan’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t expect a thank-you.”

Gabriel exhaled quietly. “Good. I wasn’t expecting one.”

Without another word, Ronan pushed past them, vanishing into the crowd.

As the group exited the alley, the noise of Kaelholm engulfed them once more. Gabriel walked ahead, his focus back on their task. Sorin nudged Alexander with a smirk.

“Not bad, noble boy,” Sorin said lightly. “You actually looked competent for once.”

Alexander shot him a glare but said nothing. Jordan remained silent, though his presence was steady as ever.

As they neared their destination, Alexander finally broke the silence. “That man—Ronan. He’s trouble.”

Gabriel glanced back briefly, his tone unreadable. “So are we.”

Alexander frowned but said nothing more. The group continued their task, but Alexander couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last they’d see of Ronan.