Alaric trudged onward, his head bowed in exhaustion. The weight of his burdens had strained him for a while, but he had finally arrived at the upper noble district. His attire revealed his commoner status, as there were no reputable shops in the lower district. However, as long as he could pay the fee, the worst that could happen would be an attempt to rough him up before being sent on his way. Finally, he laid eyes on the grand gate guarding the opulent buildings— his destination. He had returned to the place where he had been abducted, where the world had torn before his very eyes.
Beyond the imposing iron gate, the capital city unfolded like a grand tapestry of wealth and power. The cobblestone streets glistened under the midday sun, meticulously cleaned and lined with flowering cherry blossoms that swayed gently in the breeze. Yet beneath this serene exterior lay a palpable tension. The air was heavy with a sense of unease, an unspoken fear that lingered in the hearts of the people.
The buildings here were architectural marvels, each more splendid than the last. Tall, elegant spires reached for the sky, their golden tips catching the sunlight and casting a warm glow across the district. Intricate carvings and ornate balconies adorned the facades of grand estates, showcasing the opulence and attention to detail that characterized the noble quarter.
The streets, though bustling with activity, were filled with an anxious energy. Noblemen and women, clad in luxurious silks and fine velvets, walked briskly, their eyes darting about as if expecting danger at every turn. Conversations were hushed, their tones edged with a nervousness that betrayed their otherwise composed appearances. Servants hurried along the avenues, their faces set in grim determination as they carried out their duties under the watchful eyes of their masters.
Alaric’s gaze was drawn to the various shops and establishments that lined the streets. There was the jeweler’s store, its windows glittering with precious gems and intricate pieces that seemed almost too exquisite to touch. Yet, despite the opulence, there were fewer patrons than expected, and those who did enter moved quickly, their glances wary.
Next to it, a tailor’s shop displayed the latest in high fashion, mannequins dressed in flowing gowns and sharply tailored suits. The tailor inside worked with feverish speed, as if trying to complete his tasks before something dreadful could occur.
The aroma of gourmet cuisine wafted from an upscale restaurant, its outdoor seating area shaded by large, decorative umbrellas. Patrons dined in silence, their meals an artful arrangement of colors and textures, but their eyes often flicked towards the street, as if anticipating an unwelcome interruption.
Across the way, a bookstore with polished wooden shelves and large, inviting windows seemed a sanctuary of sorts. Inside, a few customers browsed through rare tomes and literary treasures, their movements slow and deliberate, savoring a moment of peace in an otherwise tense environment.
Further down, an apothecary showcased shelves lined with exotic herbs and potions, the air inside tinged with the scent of healing spices and botanical wonders. The proprietor moved with a nervous energy, hands trembling slightly as he arranged his wares.
A confectioner’s shop tempted passersby with an array of sweets and chocolates, the displays a riot of vibrant colors and enticing shapes. Yet, even here, the usual joy of indulging in sweet treats was overshadowed by the pervasive fear that gripped the district.
Alaric continued to walk, absorbing the sights and sounds of the upper district. Despite his weariness, there was a certain thrill in being amidst such grandeur, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the lower district. However, the fear that permeated the air reminded him of the fragility of this opulence. As he kept on staring at the familiar stores and places, the memories of his past returned with a bittersweet clarity, reminding him of the reasons he had come back to this place.
A sharp voice pierced the air, jolting Alaric from his thoughts. “Hey, you there! Are you blind?”
He realized with a start that he stood merely a step away from entering the gate without permission. Two guards adorned in the regalia of the royal forces loomed before him, and a chilling realization washed over him—these were the same guards that had protected many of the royal events, years ago. The guard on the right forcefully pushed Alaric backward, causing him to stumble, though he managed to regain his footing. While apologizing profusely outwardly, an intense anger rose within him.
How could this guard treat him with such disgust?
Were all of his people subjected to such treatment? Were the guards always hiding their true colors?
He thought of an idea, maybe drawing his sword and placing it at the arrogant guard’s throat, but occupied as he was with all the bags, engaging in such a fight would only worsen his situation. Internally, he sighed, letting go of his anger. After enduring a barrage of insults from the guard, to which Alaric dutifully apologized each time, he finally had the opportunity to present the three gold coins required for entry— almost all of what he had earned at that village.
The guards glanced at him incredulously, as if contemplating extorting more money from him. Eventually, they thought better of it, which made Alaric sigh in relief.
Alaric couldn’t help but feel the weight of the exorbitant taxes and costs as he made his way through the Noble District. Ignoring the stares that followed him, he purposefully strode towards the nearest inn, determined to find respite from the day’s trials. However, a lingering sense of unease washed over him as he glanced behind his shoulder, catching sight of a few individuals observing his every move.
The presence of the thieves was an additional problem he would need to address. Alaric quickened his pace, jogging to the inn and ascending its stone steps. He rapped on the door, prompting an eye to appear in the peephole.
A muffled voice from within asked, “Who goes there?”
“Just a traveler seeking lodging for the night. Do you have a room available?”
Alaric attempted to alter his accent, but it faltered slightly at the last word. Thankfully, the innkeeper seemed oblivious to the slip-up.
“Yes, come in,” the innkeeper responded.
The door creaked open, revealing a grand, if somewhat intimidating, inn. The foyer was dimly lit by chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, their crystals refracting the light in a thousand directions. The walls were paneled in rich, dark wood, giving the space a sense of both opulence and foreboding. Alaric could smell the faint aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, mingling with the scent of aged wood and a hint of lavender, likely from the cleaning agents used to maintain the place.
The inn’s lobby was spacious, with a large, ornate reception desk carved from mahogany standing at the far end. Behind it, a stern-looking innkeeper, dressed in fine but practical attire, glanced up with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. The floor was covered with a plush, crimson carpet that muffled Alaric’s footsteps as he walked toward the desk, its pattern an intricate weave of gold and burgundy.
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“Ah, thanks,” Alaric acknowledged.
“No problem. So, what brings you here, Ansout?” the innkeeper inquired.
One of the village girls had taught him that word. He remembered his cowardly actions from a few days back and felt a tinge of regret.
“Self explanatory. Being a journeyman,” Alaric replied.
"I see that you don't mince words, but I can't trust every nobody on the street anymore."
Alaric nodded in agreement. “I’m a traveler from Swiftpost, and I've dedicated my whole life to tasting every flavor of fruit,” he stated, walking his way through the conversation.
He chuckled. “That's a new one."
The innkeeper put a hand on his forehead, thinking for a moment.
"Alright, well, if you injure anyone, we do have full rights to the guard. Just hope you know that they are powerful and stronger than you can…”
Alaric interrupted, his anger suddenly rising, “No need, I will be well-behaved.”
The patron smiled, “We also partner with a tavern. If you just enter that door, the rooms will be above. Finally, your key will have your room number inscribed within it. Here, I've decided that your lodging for a night will be a silver, but for the residents, it’s higher. Count yourself lucky.”
“I will," Alaric steadily replied.
After a polite exchange of cash and small talk, Alaric finally got the silver key, and they had someone take his bags to his room for him.
Compared to all the places the prince had been in the last few years, the rooms were surprisingly good, especially for the cheap cost. The bed was sturdy and draped with clean, crisp linens; a small window let in soft, golden light that played across the polished wooden floor. A modest, but elegant, desk stood in one corner, and a simple vase with fresh flowers added a touch of color and life. The walls, painted in warm, earthy tones, made the room feel cozy and welcoming, a stark contrast to the rough and often hostile environments he had recently endured.
If his previous self saw him now, he wouldn't believe that he had to go through all of that effort at the village to just enter his hometown. Since it would be night soon anyway, he started walking in the opposite direction. If he could get more information from those who were drinking, that would further his cause.
Eagerly stepping out of the cozy inn, Alaric’s eyes widened as he approached the entrance of the ornate bar. Beyond the unassuming door lay a breathtaking sight—a beautiful garden, immaculately maintained with intricate carvings and shimmering golden accents. With a moment of silent appreciation for the grandeur surrounding him, Alaric ventured further into the establishment.
Navigating through the hushed conversations and clinking glasses, Alaric caught glimpses of elegantly dressed nobles. Their sluggish movements and subtle gestures betrayed their apparent drunkenness, but Alaric knew better.
These were individuals skilled in the art of manipulation and well-versed in politics, just like himself. He kept his hood low, ensuring his true identity remained hidden, as he didn’t know if they would recognize him or not even after all of the changes he had been through.
Alaric approached a table where three well-dressed people were talking animatedly. He positioned himself just far enough to catch bits of their conversation.
An old man, his voice calm yet full of arrogance, spoke in hushed tones. The younger ones were less careful, their words more easily heard. As Alaric drew closer, he caught snippets of the old noble’s words, his ears straining to listen.
“The King is ruining our kingdom. His heavy taxes are a burden even for us, and he's sending nobles like us to work in the mines while he enjoys his luxuries.” The old man slammed his beer on the table, some of it spilling.
Alaric’s grip tightened around the hilt of his twin swords. He felt the people’s pain and suffering. The prince, though, didn't fully understand what had happened after the kingdom was overthrown. With a quiet breath, he prepared himself for what he might hear next, his mind racing with questions and suspicions. Something was deeply wrong with the kingdom, and the riots seemed orchestrated, as if someone was pulling the strings.
Scanning the room once more, Alaric’s eyes widened. The three had noticed him. The young nobles' faces shifted from suspicion to hostility, their swords drawn in an instant, gleaming in the dim bar light. The old man smiled at Alaric's cloak and attire. They likely thought he was an easy target, just a street rat they could deal with quickly.
In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Alaric quickly assessed the situation. The tavern owner merely shrugged, indicating that he would not intervene. These nobles were determined to settle their dispute through an illegal duel. It became clear to Alaric that they were supposedly trying to keep everything they said private.
Alaric’s swords flashed from their sheaths, cutting through the air with a sharp hiss. The clash of steel echoed through the room as he met the first attack head-on. He moved swiftly, his body a blur of motion. Every swing and parry was precise, his twin blades dancing in a deadly rhythm.
One of the young nobles lunged at him, but Alaric sidestepped smoothly, the flat of his blade smacking the man’s arm with a sharp thud. The noble stumbled back, clutching the bruised limb. Another attacker came at him from the side, but Alaric’s other sword met the strike mid-air, the force of the collision sending a shiver up his arm. He spun, using the momentum to bring the back of his second blade against the second noble’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him.
Alaric’s eyes darted around, taking in every movement, every shift in the room. He could see the desperation in their eyes, the pride driving them forward despite their injuries. One charged at him with a wild swing, but Alaric ducked low, his blade’s flat edge striking a clean blow across the man’s thigh. The noble fell, groaning as he hit the floor.
The second young noble hesitated. Alaric used the moment to his advantage, advancing with a series of quick, controlled strikes. Each move flowed into the next, his twin blades a blur of silver in the dim light. The noble’s defenses crumbled under the relentless assault, and with a final, decisive blow from the flat of both swords, Alaric sent him crashing to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Alaric stood among the fallen, his swords returning back to the sheaths on his back.
The defeated nobles stared at their fallen weapons in disbelief, their faces flushed with embarrassment and defeat.
The tavern owner, his stern expression softening, broke into polite applause, acknowledging the extraordinary talent and prowess Alaric had just displayed. However, the local patrons applauded a bit louder.
As Alaric moved toward the exit, the sound of applause faded into the background, his mind racing with the unexpected turn of events. He hadn’t meant to disrupt the tavern; he had only been looking for information. Now, with disappointment and confusion swirling inside him, he quickened his pace toward the door. Just as he reached the threshold, a subtle shift in the air made him pause. Without warning, the two lunged at him, their blades aimed at his exposed back.
Caught off guard, Alaric had little time to react. Pain seared through his neck as one of the nobles’ swords grazed him, leaving a shallow but stinging wound. His instincts took over, guiding his movements as he swiftly raised one of his swords, deftly parrying the oncoming strikes.
He stopped breathing for a moment, his focus narrowing. He twirled his swords in his hands, the motion fluid. In an instant, he dropped into a low crouch, his muscles coiled like springs. With a powerful leap, he flipped backward over his attackers, landing gracefully behind them.
The nobles, surprised by his acrobatics, turned to face him. Alaric didn’t give them a chance to recover. He spun, the flat of his blades striking their wrists with precise, painful blows, disarming them. Before they could react, he lunged forward, grabbing each by the neck and slamming them to the ground.
They lay on the floor, gasping for breath, their eyes wide with shock and pain. Alaric stood over them, his swords still at the ready, a silent warning against any further attacks. The old man and the remaining patrons watched in stunned silence as Alaric turned and walked out of the tavern, the cool night air washing over him.
The swordsman attempted to staunch the bleeding with his hand. That honor-less blow from before, the sight of nobles attacking in ways that disobeyed the Laws of Honor, was unsettling. The Kingdom seemed to be plagued by numerous problems that had eluded his knowledge. Alaric’s understanding grew, but so did his disgust.