The stench of humanity hit Hilda like an invisible wall. It was a dense, almost solid mix of sweat, exotic spices that stung the nose, the metallic smell of coal from a nearby blacksmith, and the sweet aroma of manure from the beasts of burden. Balthazar’s caravan had plunged into the arteries of Lutoa, and the torrent of life was a chaos that threatened to drown her.

“Welcome to Lutoa, my saviors!” Balthazar’s voice, brimming with an almost paternal pride, barely managed to rise above the din. “The noisiest crossroads in this part of the kingdom! You can find anything here, from smuggled silks to a wyvern’s head, if you pay the right price!”

People brushed past her without apology. An adventurer in armor made from the shells of giant insects bumped his shoulder against hers, barely giving her a glance. A merchant in a dirty turban shouted an offer for a rug while gesturing wildly. A pair of beast-men with cat ears and twitching tails watched her with feline curiosity, their vertical pupils dilating as they sized her up.

“It’s… a madhouse,” she murmured, instinctively moving closer to Paul’s solid presence, seeking a haven in the sea of people. “It smells of cinnamon and desperation. It’s nothing like the capital.”

A lazy, familiar smile spread across his face; he felt completely at home.

“Smells like home, you mean. Or at least, like opportunity. Like people with coins in their pockets and problems that need solving. My kind of place.”

As they moved on, Hilda noticed something that froze her for a second, before the feeling turned into a strange euphoria. People looked at her, yes, that was inevitable. Even in her new leather attire and covered in the dust of the road, her posture, the way she held her back straight, the cascade of her fiery red hair, and the symmetry of her features set her apart from the rest. But they looked at her the way one looks at a particularly bright flame in a bonfire, not the way one looks at a member of royalty. There was no forced deference, no clumsy bows, no lowered, submissive gazes. They were evaluating her. They were gauging whether her beauty was a sign of weakness or the facade of a hidden danger.

Her anonymity was an invisible cloak, liberating and a little disconcerting. For the first time in her life, she was a nobody. And it felt absurdly good.

They helped Balthazar navigate the crowded streets to a large warehouse near the merchant district. The merchant, his face flushed with excitement, supervised his workers as they began to unload the precious bales of silk. Then, he turned to them, wringing his hands with a gratitude that seemed about to overflow.

“Truly… I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said, attempting a bow that was clumsy due to his bulk. “My reputation, my business… My head… It all would have ended on that road, devoured by those stone pigs.”

“We just did our job, Balthazar,” Paul replied, though his relaxed tone didn’t entirely hide his satisfaction. “You paid us to keep you safe. You’re safe. Contract fulfilled.”

“And what a job! What a spectacle!” the merchant exclaimed. “Please, this isn’t a payment, it’s a bonus. A token of my deepest and most eternal gratitude.”

He pulled out a small, heavy, purple velvet pouch and placed it in Paul’s hand. Paul, without even looking at it, passed it to Hilda. She opened it with curious fingers. Inside, a single, massive Asura gold coin gleamed with a warm, powerful light. It was thick, with the effigy of an ancient king on one side and an intricate dragon on the other. It was more money than she had ever held in her hands—money that hadn’t come from her father’s allowance or the sale of an inherited jewel. She had earned it. With her sweat, her fear, and her will.

She felt the weight of the coin in her palm. It was the weight of freedom.

“And this isn’t goodbye,” Balthazar continued, interrupting her reverie. He handed Paul an expensive-looking card, made of thick cardstock with his name and an address in Creston engraved in gold ink. “If ‘The Rose and the Sword’ ever needs a sponsor, a well-paid job that requires discretion, or simply a friend with a good wine cellar, my door in Creston will always be open. You are the best escorts I’ve had in twenty years of business. And I’ve had many.”

“We’ll keep your offer in mind, Balthazar. Take care on the roads,” Paul said, this time shaking the merchant’s hand with a firmness that sealed a mutual respect.

When Balthazar disappeared into his warehouse, shouting orders at his employees, Paul and Hilda found themselves alone in the middle of the bustling street, their pockets full for the first time. It was a crucial moment, the true beginning of their independence. The air vibrated with possibilities.

“So what now, strategic genius?” Hilda asked, a playful smile curving her lips. She held up the gold coin, letting it shine in the setting sun. “We have money. We’re an official group of adventurers. We’re… free. What’s the first executive order from our glorious leader?”

Paul put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward him in a gesture that was both protective and possessive amidst the anonymous crowd. He drew her so close she could smell the scent of cheap soap and new leather that emanated from him, mixed with something that was purely his own.

“Now,” he said, his voice a deep, conspiratorial murmur that vibrated directly in her ear, “the first order of business is an unconditional surrender to hedonism. A real bath. One with water hot enough to melt your muscles and with no leaves floating in it. And then, the best and most expensive inn this town can offer. And after that… a bed. A huge one. One that doesn’t move, doesn’t creak, and where I can show you my gratitude for your excellent performance in combat.”

The promise in his voice sent a blush creeping up her neck. She found herself smiling like a fool.

“That’s an order I can obey without protest.”

The Wyvern’s Rest inn lived up to its reputation. The name was an exaggeration, of course, but it was the cleanest and most expensive establishment in Lutoa. The room they got was a luxury neither of them had experienced in a long time. It had a bed so large it looked like a battlefield of clean sheets and fluffy pillows, a stone fireplace already crackling with a cozy fire, and, most importantly, a gleaming copper tub in an adjoining alcove, big enough for two.

Hours later, the world felt like a new place. The hot water had washed away the last layer of grime and fatigue from the road. Dressed in new, clean clothes they had bought at a nearby shop—Hilda now in more comfortable dark linen pants and a soft cotton blouse instead of her adventurer’s shirt—the conversation turned strategic. They were sitting on the bed, barefoot, sharing a simple dinner of wild boar stew, warm bread, and a surprisingly decent jug of wine from room service.

With resources and a moment’s respite, they needed a plan.

“This city is a good place to hide out for a while,” Hilda said thoughtfully, dipping a piece of bread into the gravy. “We could take some missions from the local guild. Keep earning money, gaining experience. Solidify our name.”

“It’s an option,” Paul agreed, leaning back against the pillows with a sigh of satisfaction. “A safe, boring option. But your magic… your magic has a potential we can’t ignore, a potential that won’t be developed by hunting goblins in the sewers.”

His eyes, which had been lazy and content, sparked with a new idea, one that was both logical and, unbeknownst to him, incredibly dangerous. He leaned forward, the wine forgotten.

“The basic book has gotten you this far. It’s taught you the alphabet. But for you to become the battle mage I know you can be, you need to start reading novels. You need deeper knowledge.”

“And where do we find that knowledge?” she asked, caught by his intensity.

“Tomorrow, we’ll rest. We’ll buy some potions and supplies, no rush. We’ll enjoy this bed. The day after tomorrow, we’ll go to that bookstore Balthazar mentioned, ‘The Scholar’s Library’ in Creston. It’s only a day’s journey if we take the main road.”

He moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper full of conviction.

“It’s time to take your training to the next level. You need an intermediate-level earth magic tome. Something that teaches you more than just throwing rocks and raising walls. Something that teaches you how to make the earth tremble.”

The proposal filled her with a dizzying excitement. Intermediate level? The idea of becoming even stronger, of having more tools to fight by his side, of never again being the damsel who needed rescuing, was intoxicating. The power she had tasted on the road was a drug, and she wanted more.

“Do you really think so? That I’m ready? I still feel like I can barely control the little I know.”

Paul took her hand, his fingers, rough with the calluses of his sword, lacing with hers, which were still soft and manicured.

“Hilda, after what you did with the bandits, how you thought, how you adapted under pressure… you’re ready for anything,” he affirmed, and his conviction was so absolute it swept away all her doubts like a gust of wind. “You’re a natural. You just need the right instruction manual.”

She smiled at him, a radiant smile full of gratitude, anticipation, and a deep, growing affection for the man before her; the one who had seen in her not a noblewoman to be seduced, but a warrior to be forged. The decision was made. Their next destination was Creston.



Meanwhile, in the merchant city of Creston, the night was cold. The air smelled of money, of fish from the distant port, and of the expensive beer served at the local adventurer’s guild. The place was a two-story chaos, much larger, louder, and more dangerous than the one in Rikarisu. At a grimy table in a dark corner, Captain Gideon Fleurmont slammed his gloved fist on the wood, making the mugs of beer jump.

“Nothing!” he growled, his voice a contained thunder that made the nearby adventurers fall silent. He turned to his second-in-command, a young knight named Marcus whose face was pale with exhaustion. “We’ve interrogated every caravan merchant, every innkeeper, every city guard who takes bribes! No one has seen a red-haired noblewoman or a swordsman with the last name Greyrat. It’s as if the earth swallowed them whole!”

Marcus, his lieutenant, looked just as tired, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Captain, there’s no trace of them. We’ve shown the portrait to hundreds of people. It’s as if the guild master of Rikarisu lied to us. As if he sent us on a wild goose chase.”

Gideon fell silent for a moment, his eyes hardening as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind with a painful snap. Kaelen. His professional calm. His conveniently useful “rumor” about the caravan route to Creston. It had been a trap. A false lead so obvious in retrospect that he felt like an idiot for following it.

“Or they’re more cunning than we thought,” he finally said, his voice an icy hiss that cut through the air. “He tricked us. That damned guild master is protecting Greyrat. He’s made us lose precious days.”

He rose from the table, his tall figure casting an ominous shadow. His frustration had cooled, solidifying into a new, frigid determination. It was no longer a matter of duty; it was personal.

“It doesn’t matter. Rikarisu is a small town. People talk. Someone must know where they were really headed. Tomorrow, at dawn, you’ll send Roric back.”

“Roric, sir?” Marcus asked, surprised. Roric was the most cynical and brutal of his men. “Wouldn’t it be better to—?”

“Roric is perfect,” Gideon cut him off. “Have him question everyone again. The merchants, the innkeepers, the blacksmith who sold the girl her sword, the shopkeeper who sold them rations. Have him offer double the reward. No, triple. Make it clear that we are looking for a kidnapper and his victim, and that the generosity of House Fleurmont is limitless for anyone who helps us rescue her. Someone will talk. For that kind of money, a man would sell his own mother.”

He headed for the exit, his cape billowing behind him like a crow’s wing.

“And when they talk,” he added, pausing at the door and looking back at Marcus over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light, “we’ll be ready. And this time, there will be no mistakes. We will find Paul Greyrat, and I will make him wish he had never been born.”