The capital was a marvel, even for someone like me who had lived in a world full of skyscrapers and modern cities. It was an enormous sprawl of towering structures, each one a testament to human ambition and the wealth that had accumulated over centuries. The streets were wide and paved with stone, lined with buildings so tall they seemed to scrape the heavens. Shops, inns, temples—each more elaborate than the last—stood shoulder to shoulder, boasting intricate carvings, golden inlays, and vibrant banners. The sheer scale of everything was overwhelming.

  But all of this, the grand streets and opulent buildings, was nothing compared to the tower. The colossal structure at the center of the capital dominated the entire landscape. Its golden walls gleamed in the sunlight, so tall that it reached beyond the clouds, disappearing into the sky as if it were a bridge to the gods. No matter where you stood in the city, the tower was always visible, dwarfing every other construction, a constant reminder of the power held by those who ruled.

  The city sprawled out beneath it, like ants beneath the feet of a giant. This wasn’t just a city; it was a monument. A place where wealth and power converged, where human hands had built something that could almost rival the cosmos itself. Almost. Even in my modern sensibilities, the sight of this place was... impressive.

  As I strolled through the streets of the capital, it became painfully clear that I had wandered into the kind of district reserved for people with money, or at the very least, a name that held some weight. The cobblestone beneath my boots had a polish to it, unlike the worn-out roads of Sharptown. These stones shimmered as if they had been swept clean of any dirt by invisible servants.

  The people passing by were a sight to behold—each more refined, more meticulously crafted than the last. Women in layered silk gowns, embroidered with gold thread, floated down the streets, their parasols open despite the fact that the sun was barely peeking through the clouds. Men in doublets and long coats trimmed with fur walked with staffs not out of necessity, but because they were adorned with jeweled heads, glittering in the light. It was all a performance, really—an elaborate parade of wealth, each individual a living decoration.

  I passed a group of nobles standing outside an upscale tea shop, engaged in conversation, though their voices barely carried. Something about a scandal involving a viscount's daughter running off with her tutor. The words were hushed, the kind of gossip that never reached ears outside these streets, spoken with feigned concern but laced with barely-contained satisfaction. Behind them, a well-dressed servant in livery stood silently, holding a basket of exotic fruits, as though waiting for the right moment to offer one to his master, who was far too engrossed in the trivial drama of his peers.

  The architecture of the buildings lining the streets was almost oppressive in its grandeur. Every storefront was intricately carved with elaborate designs, each trying to outdo the next. The windows were framed in marble and gold, shimmering with imported glass so clear it looked like you could reach through it. The streetlamps here weren’t ordinary iron poles, oh no—these were works of art, wrought from silver and topped with enchanted glass that glowed softly even in the daytime.

  I passed by a merchant with a cart full of trinkets and fine cloth, bowing his head deeply as a noblewoman fingered the fabric with disinterest. Across the way, a group of well-dressed children played with a small automaton, their laughter echoing through the street as the mechanical figure danced and twirled for their amusement. No beggars here, no filthy peasants clogging the road—just wealth stacked upon wealth, polished and shining for all to see.

  It was a world where every breath cost a fortune, and every glance was weighed with judgment. Here, the wrong look could cost a person their reputation—something far more valuable than any coin. As I walked through these pristine streets, I couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was real and how much was just for show.

  I couldn’t help but notice the glances—those barely concealed stares from nobles and high-ranking merchants alike. Their expressions ranged from subtle curiosity to thinly veiled disdain. It took me a second to realize why.

  My clothes.

  Sure, I had managed to keep them in one piece thanks to that tailor back in Seryne, but after the beast raid and multiple impromptu river washes, the outfit was barely holding up. If you looked closely—and trust me, these people were experts at looking into details—you’d notice the ragged patches, frayed at the edges. I must’ve looked like some kind of misplaced mercenary who’d wandered too far from the battlefield. Well, that, and the oversized sword strapped to my back certainly wasn’t helping matters.

  Looking like Guts wasn’t exactly ideal in a place like this.

  I could almost hear the unspoken judgments: Who let the barbarian into here? Honestly, the sword alone was enough to make me stand out like a sore thumb.

  Of course I can't throw it away even though it's heavy and a huge source of attention.

  This sword was abnormal to be able to withstand such temperatures. It may not be an artifact, but there was something magical about it. At least it had some kind of special metal.

  As I strolled through the capital, the setting around me began to shift subtly. I was still in the inner sanctum, or at least its outskirts—a place reserved for the lower-tier nobles and high-level merchants, those that clung to their status like it was a life raft. Everything here was polished, pristine, yet it had an air of forced elegance. The buildings, while grand, lacked the true opulence you’d see closer to the heart of the capital. It was like the capital was trying to be too fancy, but not quite hitting the mark. Still, even this was too much for my house now.

  My family used to own estates in these parts—hell, even deeper within the sanctum where the real power players were. But those were different times, back when Blackwood meant something. Now, any property we had in the capital was long gone, snapped up by vultures like House Merno.

  Suddenly-a sudden loud voice of an old man interrupted my inner monologue.

  "Solarian the Great! Solarian the Unyielding! Solarian the Slayer of the Eternal Flame! To you, we give our reverence! We are but worms, crawling in the mire of our own decay, while you have risen from the ashes of mortality and now walk among the celestial spheres! Yet, you were once man! Aye! And as man, you declared, “Witness the might of Solarian, born of Albion, where my breath scorches the earth. I breathe now as a sovereign, and with my will, reshape this world which is mine by right. This I do for you, mankind, for I cherish you beyond measure.”

  Cherished, indeed! Even in flesh, mighty Solarian saw in us—yes, in each of us—the future of Albion! The future of mankind! And there, my brothers and sisters, lies the unvarnished truth!

  We are the children of man! Solarian is the true Messiah of mankind, who ascended from blood and bone to rule the ethereal realm! Such blasphemy burns in the hearts of the Demons, our ancient foes! To share the heavens with us, mere mortals? Ha! They seethe with loathing, barely able to suffer our existence upon the soil of this world! Today, they tear from you your faith, defiling the temples built in Mesra's name. But what of tomorrow? What then? Do they rip from you your lands? Your bloodlines? Will they devour your children? Your very souls?"

  It was...a priest.

  It was as if everyone had heard this a thousand times. They passed by without blinking and acted as if the old priest seemed completely invisible, i kinda feel bad for him honestly.

  I overheard a couple of merchants talking as I passed by.

  "Tsk, this old priest never gets tired, does he?"

  "Yeah, my grandfather said he's been doing this since he was young."

  "He must be insane to do this every morning from sunrise. Doesn't he get tired? But again, choosing to become a priest as a career... makes your sanity itself questionable."

  The other one chuckled. "Insane? Hell no. With all the tax money they take from us, I bet he gets a ton of gold just shouting about nonsense. If they paid me as much to scream like a madman in the middle of the street, I'd do it too."

  "So, why didn’t you become a priest then?" the first merchant asked with a smirk.

  "Aside from being castrated, it’s because I have something called ambition. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, so it’s hard to understand."

  "Didn’t your last batch of goods sell terribly?"

  "Say the one who almost became a slave because of his debt."

  "That was a... bad season. All the main goods were being inspected to death because the nobles are paranoid about demon possession. They don’t want one of them sneaking into us after the academy slaughter."

  "Yeah, tsk, it's really hard to survive for us little merchants while all the big ones need is a handful of coins to pass anywhere except the capital."

  their voices were low enough that other people couldn't hear what they were talking about, but with my sharp hearing it was like they were talking right next to my ear.

  As soon is i knew they didn't have any more important information I kept walking.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Eventually, I crossed the threshold where the luxury began to fade. The grandeur gave way to something simpler, though far from shabby. It was more practical, less about flaunting wealth and more about function. These were the areas where the less influential, the practical people lived—Luxury shop owners, high Government employees, fairly good merchants, knights.

  Not your evreyday peapole but still, people who actually had to do something to make a living, instead of lounging around counting their inheritances.

  My destination was clear, an inn carefully chosen by my grandmother—just outside the inner sanctum. She had planned it that way, and not because she couldn’t afford a high-end hotel. She knew I’d be better off avoiding unnecessary interaction with nobles for now.

  Not that I want to, I'm perfectly happy to stay as far away from

  any kind of nobles as possible.

  ***

  I approached what looked like the inn, and it was… impressive, actually. Far larger and more refined than I expected. Then again, I shouldn't have been shocked—this was the capital, after all, and my grandmother, wouldn’t leave me in some ramshackle dive. Not when I was here representing the Blackwood house.

  As I moved closer, I caught sight of a familiar face, a girl standing on the corner shouting at the passersby she was ...advertising her inn?

  What is she doing here?

  I tried slipping past the inn’s entrance without drawing attention, but no such luck.

  "Thane!" I heard the voice before I saw her.

  Oh, no.

  Before I could vanish into the crowd, she was already running toward me. And I swear, she practically teleported. Her quiver of questions hit me faster than an aura slash.

  "Hey! Did you just try to ignore me? That was so cold! How were you? Did you miss me? Did any other bi—women get close to you? Why are you carrying a big sword? How long are you staying? They sent you here for the princess's party, right?"

  I barely had time to blink before she bombarded me.

  “Yes, better ten seconds ago. No. None of your business. Because it looks cool. Couple of weeks. And how the fuck did you know?"

  Seriously. How did she know?

  She giggled, not even bothering to answer, and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the inn like i was some kind of stuffed doll.

  How could somone so small have so much strenght ?

  I glanced at her as she tugged me along. She was cute, sure. Her reddish-brown eyes sparkled with a mischief that could ignite a bonfire. A thin ribbon tied her tawny-red hair into a side ponytail, the loose strands framing her face in an annoyingly perfect way. Her skin was smooth, with just the right touch of warmth, and her figure... well, let's just say that ribbon wasn't the only thing about her that was tied in all the right places...

  Before i realized i was already pulled to the hostel.

  The inn's interior was warm and elegant. The floors were polished wood, glowing under soft lantern light, while ornate tapestries draped the walls. A fireplace crackled in the corner, adding a homely charm to the otherwise refined atmosphere.

  A woman in her thirties with a tired expression stood behind the counter. "Elora did you drag somone in here without his will again how many time i have to tell you-" She was cut off when her eyes landed on me, her mouth forming an O shape.

  "My lord, it is such a great honor to see you again," she said, immediately kneeling on one knee.

  "It's been a long time, Miss Martha," I responded, trying to keep my face neutral despite the slight discomfort from Elora still clinging to me like a leech.

  Martha stood up, her eyes wide as she took in the scene—particularly Elora wrapped around me like a scarf.

  "Elora! Stop bothering the lord!" she snapped, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

  Elora pouted dramatically. "But, mom~"

  "Now," her mother ordered with a sharp edge in her voice.

  "Fine~" Elora sighed, finally letting go of me, much to my silent relief.

  Martha glanced at me apologetically. "Please follow me this way, my lord." She gestured toward a door at the back of the inn.

  "Can I—" Elora started.

  "No," Martha cut her off without missing a beat, her tone firm.

  I couldn't help but give Martha a thankful look as I followed her, leaving pouting elora behind.

  ***

  I took a seat in what was obviously Martha's office, grateful to be away from Elora’s endless questions. The room wasn’t overly fancy, but it had a certain elegance. The kind where everything seemed to fit together, almost too perfectly, creating an atmosphere designed to make you feel at ease—whether you liked it or not.

  A sturdy table was centered between a few fancy sofas, with a large, ornate desk pushed up against the far wall. The real focal point, though, was the fancy chair. It was made of the famous Blackwood,which is now almost extinct.

  It was clearly Martha's chair.

  Except, she wasn’t sitting there. Instead, she insisted I take her seat.

  How polite.

  No really, i miss this.

  I nodded to her politely and settled into the chair, trying to figure out exactly how far I could lean back without looking too disrespectful.

  “How have you been?” I asked, keeping my tone calm, neutral. No point diving into heavy subjects just yet.

  “I’ve been good, my lord, thanks to Lady Blackwood’s great assistance. I owe this inn to her, and I’m in deep debt for the lady's kindness..." Martha responded, her voice carrying the familiar sense of humility that always surrounded her.

  Martha had been in the service of House Blackwood since birth. She wasn’t a novice—she didn’t have the cultivation rank for that—but she had been trained extensively, just like every other maid in the house. House Blackwood didn't keep just any ordinary servants. No, even the maids were equipped to defend the family, in more ways than one.

  She could probably take down any normal person who wasn’t a novice or higher, and that was no exaggeration.

  House Blackwood had a peculiar practice, one most people outside wouldn’t know about. From birth, certain members of the household staff were subjected to blood manipulation magic. It gave them superhuman physical abilities at the cost of something more... personal. Their lifespan.

  Maids like Martha were lucky if they saw their thirtieth birthday. And yet, here she was, a living testament to the old house’s methods. Martha was special.

  "I hope your health isn’t an issue," I said, watching her carefully.

  "Not at all, my lord," she replied, offering a small smile. "Thanks to the medicine gifted by the main house, my health has improved."

  "That’s good to hear," I said, and I meant it. Martha was a good maid, one of the best the house had seen.

  She wasn’t just a maid, though. House Blackwood trained its servants to be versatile, whether it was serving in the mansion or... more covert roles. She’d been sent on missions ranging from acting as an envoy to another noble house to espionage and assassination.

  Martha had once saved my grandmother from an assassination attempt when she was younger. That earned her the title of ‘honorary maid,’ granting her freedom from duty and a large sum of gold. She’d married and technically retired after that, but she kept working for the house, albeit in less dangerous roles. Owning this inn in the capital to welcome Blackwoods whenever they visited was one of those roles.

  Still, the sacrifice she’d made for the family was clear. She had earned every bit of respect she received, even if that respect came quietly.

  The reason Martha was owning an inn, not working in it, was simple: Blackwoods weren’t allowed to have any property or land in the capital. It was part of the long list of sanctions against the family. So, the house had to resort to clever little workarounds, like this one.

  “Should I serve thee tea or coffee, my lord?” Martha asked.

  “I’m fine with just water.”

  After becoming a novice, all of my senses had heightened, which wasn’t always as glorious as it sounded. Taste, for example? It became... problematic. Everything was ten times stronger. Imagine biting into a piece of fruit and being overwhelmed by the flavor. Not exactly a blessing.

  So, I stuck to tasteless things when I could. Martha knew that about me. She smiled softly and returned with a jug of water, filling my cup.

  "Thank you."

  She smiled.

  "Thou art welcome, my lord."

  Now, onto the real reason I was here.

  "I think you’ve noticed my lack of... company."

  Her eyes sharpened instantly. "Indeed, my lord."

  I could tell she’d been dying to ask why I was alone, no guards or companions, but she waited. Polite, as always.

  Take notes you peapole, this is how manners work.

  "There was an assassination attempt on me... most likely," I said, keeping my tone light.

  Martha didn’t so much as flinch.

  I could see in her eyes that she was already calculating.

  “Have you informed the main house yet, my lord?” she asked calmly.

  “Not yet.”

  “A wise choice, my lord.”

  Of course, she understood the situation. Someone from within the house might have leaked my movements. The question was, who?

  It couldn’t be my grandmother; she’d gain nothing but headaches from it.

  My mother? No, she was too far removed to even know about my journey.

  Eric? ...pfft, Okay, that was funny, no.

  The old butler? He was the most loyal of them all, having served House Blackwood since he was a child. There’s no reason he’d betray the family he’s devoted his entire life to.

  Mind control?

  Brainwashing?

  No, the house regularly checked for those kinds of things—at least with the primary servants.

  Martha? No, I didn’t even suspect her for a second. She couldn’t have done it, especially since she wasn’t informed about the exact route I’d take to the capital. While she knew I was coming, the specific details were kept tight.

  The only ones who knew were me, my grandmother, and the old butler. Even the carriage driver and guards were kept in the dark. I told the driver where to go step by step as we traveled. So, if there was a leak, it had to be from the highest level... or maybe it wasn’t a leak at all.

  "I shall report to Lady Blackwood now that thou hast reached safety, my lord," Martha said with a calm and collected tone.

  "Please do so."

  Unlike me, Martha had access to a Communication Urb. Technically, every noble and even great merchants had one of these fancy little orbs. House Blackwood? We used to own dozens of them.

  Yes, used to.

  It's not that we can’t afford them it’s just that, as part of the long list of royal sanctions, any member or direct servant of the Blackwood family is forbidden from using a Communication Urb. You cut off a house’s communications, you cripple it. It’s that simple.

  So, if I wanted to inform my house of anything—assassination attempt included—I’d have to send a crow.

  Yeah, a crow.

  And guess what? It’d take almost two weeks to get to the house from the capital.

  Two weeks! By the time they hear about my little run-in with death, I could have been resurrected, died again, and come back as some kind of undead king.

  Of course, there are always loopholes. My house is very creative at circumventing these sanctions. For example, someone like Martha, who isn’t officially a direct servant of the house? Well, she’s free to use one. Not to mention the network of others we have in place—people like Martha in key locations, still loyal, but technically not servants.

  Funny thing is, the royal house knows about it. They just conveniently look the other way as long as we don’t cross any major lines, like selling Blackwood’s coveted timber or dealing with merchants under the table.

  "Art thou well, my lord? Surely thou must be fatigued after such a long and arduous journey." Martha’s voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts. It was filled with genuine concern, and honestly, I appreciated it more than I probably should’ve.

  I thought about it for a second and realized something, i hadn’t slept in days. Not a wink. It wasn’t exactly wise to sleep when traveling through dangerous paths—especially not when you're alone, even for a novice. In the caravan, I could relax a bit, knowing the guards would give me a heads-up if things got messy. But out there, on my own? Sleeping was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  As a novice, we’re supposed to get about 32 hours of sleep per week—sounds better than what normal people get, but it’s still not that impressive. It works out to about four hours a day, give or take. And, well, I hadn’t even hit that low bar in the past few days.

  Martha stood up and made her way over to a fancy-looking closet, she opened a drawer and pulled out a golden key, handing it to me with a gentle smile.

  "Please feel free to rest in thy chambers, my lord. And fear not, I shall ensure that Elora is... kept in check." She added a small laugh at the end, as if she knew the girl was a whirlwind of chaos but found it endearing nonetheless.

  “I apologize again for the trouble that girl hath caused thee.”

  I waved it off, "No, no, while she can get a bit... overzealous, it's actually kind of fun having her around."

  Straight. Up. Lie.

  There was something about her daughter that made my skin crawl.

  Still, I smiled politely, took the key, and left the room.

  ***

  After making sure the door was securely closed, I did a quick sweep of the room, checking for any sort of magic spying artifacts. It was almost second nature by now, after dealing with too many people who thought themselves clever. Satisfied, I collapsed onto the bed.

  Soft.

  Like, ridiculously soft.

  For a second, I questioned if I’d actually fallen into a cloud.

  But, there was something more important than the softness of the bed.

  I sat up, reaching under the pillow where I’d hidden a blade. The cover was ornate, too flashy for my taste, but necessary to keep up appearances. With a quick motion, I unsheathed it, revealing the crimson blade inside. Its sharp edge gleamed ominously in the faint light of the room, and the bloody aura that clung to it...

  I stared at it for a moment.

  This... relic.

  I’d kept it hidden the entire journey to the capital. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing it.

  Owning one of these? Even for a noble, it was dangerous.

  Too much attention, too much suspicion. Even a house like mine—once considered great—had fewer than ten of these relics, and each one was guarded by a ton of knights.

  Only my grandmother and Eric had relics for personal use. And now, I had my own. Not that I was planning to flaunt it anytime soon.

  I wasn’t reckless enough to use it without knowing exactly what it could do. I saw what happened with Leonard. The way he bled just to draw out a fraction of its power.

  It cut into Leonard’s lifetime. Literally. Each time he used it, a chunk of his life disappeared. Sure, I might be able to handle it better as a novice, but that doesn’t mean I’m keen to slice off years of my life for the sake of experimentation.

  “I’ll need a place to test this,” I muttered to myself.

  But not now.

  Now, it was time for something far more important. A long, uninterrupted night of sleep.

  I lay back down, letting the softness of the bed swallow me whole. For the first time in days, I let myself relax. The sword would be there tomorrow. The dangers of the capital would be there tomorrow. Everything could wait.

  For now, I was going to savor this.