After leaving the Tang estate, Taizong's strides were brisk, purposeful. The cool night air bit against his skin, carrying with it the mingled scents of roasted meat from street vendors and the sharp tang of spirit wine wafting from the seedier parts of the capital. His father might have refused to help him, but he already had enough money to buy a sharper blade his family could ever offer.
The mercenaries' quarter was alive with sound, a chaotic blend of drunken laughter, slamming mugs, and the raucous calls of dealers peddling weapons and dubious "luck charms" to would-be killers. At its center stood the bar. Not just any bar, but the bar, famous across the Central Region as the meeting place for the most dangerous men and women willing to sell their skills.
