“There’s a long queue at the central gate. We would’ve wasted several days there,” Ralpie replied immediately. “We’d have been late for the celebration.”
That was the ‘reason’ they had come to the capital — the masquerade ball in honor of the Princess’ birthday. She was already twenty years old and the ‘oldest’ unwed Princess in the surrounding area.
The city had been decorated and cleaned in every way for the occasion. Even the poor district stunk a little less than usual.
“You should’ve shown them your medallion,” Serra sniffed, holding a silk scarf up to her nose.
“That would be an abuse of power!”
Despite his talent with a sword, Ralpie was a very naive young man with an oddly innocent worldview. Perhaps that’s why he had been sent to deliver a message to the Mad General. The headquarters had probably hoped that Hadjar, known for being hostile to people sent by them, would end up killing him.
“That didn’t stop you from shoving your medallion in the face of that guard half an hour ago,” Nero continued to grumble.
Around them, people with clothes as shabby as Hadjar’s own were buzzing about. The former General didn’t care. He was also the only one who wasn’t pinching his nose with anything and had remained calm.
Sometimes, Hadjar would thrust his hand into his pocket, take out a silver coin, and throw it to the dirty children.
To these people, a silver coin was like the moon itself — distant and mystical. Three silver coins a year were the average earnings of the poor farmers and street vendors.
That’s why, when they approached the gate that led to the trade district, the friends were slightly taken aback when the guard said: “Entry fee is two silver coins.”
Hadjar was shocked. South Wind had once told him that such a sum was the cost of entering the central district. Not the trade one!
However, for Nero and Ralpie, who had recently been to the capital, it didn’t come as much of a surprise. Nero just grumbled a little about the added cost. Five years ago, the guards had asked for a silver coin and 25 copper coins.
After handing the money over to the guards who wore armor the color of a dull emerald, the group entered the trade district. For a moment, Hadjar thought that they had somehow ended up in a different city. They saw clean streets, wide enough for four carts or carriages to go down side by side.
The neat houses had been built in straight rows and the people walking along the street were clean, wearing expensive clothes, and smiling. It looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world and were quite confident that their future was bright.
Even the signboards swaying in the wind weren’t squeaking at all. Moreover, some cafes, taking advantage of the pleasant spring weather, had erected wooden tables on the street. Various customers were occupying them. They were drinking wine, or something stronger, and eating delicious food that a simple soldier could only dream of.
The friends’ stomachs started growling at the sight of a baked duck.
“I know a good local tavern,” Nero said suddenly. “We stayed there when I was here with my father.”
Taking the reins, Nero directed the cart toward the next street.
Chapter 186
The capital, where almost seventeen million people lived, was a huge but well-designed city. All the streets were straight, and the houses were built in a uniform, square shape. Each of these ‘blocks’ had a patio as well.
Well, that was true for the trade and central districts. In the slums, a person could get lost even with a compass, a map, and a guide.
The residents of the capital, though afraid of the lizard, tried not to show it. Apparently, they were accustomed to just how vast and diverse the world was. The noble children, using their connections in the Empire to obtain them, would often flaunt such ‘miraculous’ possessions.
Nero brought them to the ‘Drunk Goose’ tavern. It was four stories tall and almost leaning against the wall separating the trade district from the central district. It was quite expensive, especially when you considered the annual income of the peasants — renting three rooms for just three days had cost them one gold and forty silver coins.
The receptionist smiled at Hadjar sweetly. Nero was off limits, Serra’s menacing look made that abundantly clear. Ralpie... Well, Ralpie was constantly overshadowed by his fellows. The receptionist hadn’t even noticed him.
It was rather crowded on the first two floors tonight. The guests were drinking, eating, laughing, engaging in loud discussions, and listening to the music coming from the stage where the bards sat, playing and singing.
The employees of the tavern helped them take their luggage up to their rooms on the top floor. Perhaps the price had been so high because Nero had asked for the best accommodations.
Entering his room — a very spacious one that even had its own wardrobe — Hadjar went to the window and looked at the fortress wall. It was right across from the tavern. Guards in golden armor paced along the wall above the high gate. They exuded the energy of practitioners at the Formation stage. In Haver’s time, they would’ve surely been Senior Officers or even Commanders.
Well, he had to hand it to Primus. He kissed the ass of the Empire skillfully.
Hadjar’s belongings had been left by the door — two little trunks and a spare sheath. After hanging the sheath above the headboard, Hadjar touched the handle of Moon Beam. The injuries he’d sustained in his fight against the Patriarch of ‘The Black Gates’ were almost healed, but he still didn’t want to risk unsheathing the blade.
He didn’t want to possibly aggravate the situation and do further damage to his body or, even worse, the core of his power that was forming inside his soul. It had suffered most of the damage that came from him… Channeling the Sword Spirit. Apparently, Hadjar was far from ready for this
