Arriving at the entrance of the capital's West Quarter, the sun had already set, and all kinds of people were out. Buildings usually closed during the day were filled to the brim with patrons.
Guards standing at their assigned post, swords sheathed on their sides. Keeping an eye out on any suspicious activity.
People getting together for a shared meal or the occasional couples holding hands. Other people moved slowly toward their homes after a long day of work.
Glancing around and seeing children following their parents home as they babbled on about what they did, gaining an occasional pat on the head from their parents.
This was a familiar moment she had experienced before, and she pushed down old memories, focusing on her surroundings instead. The West Quarter felt peaceful, much like the East and South Quarters.
Reaching an intersection, Bethel glanced up, finding what she needed to steer clear of. A magic stone covered in engravings of complex runes was placed within a lamppost where a candle should have been. It emitted multiple colors, making a soft ringing sound whenever someone walked by it.
It was a tool used to recognize Mana levels.
Every person is born with a minimal amount of mana, just enough to sustain their life. However, as they grow, this latent energy can branch out into different types of magical abilities. The most common path is to simply have enough mana to live, but not enough to cast spells, even with training.
Beyond this, magic diversifies into various ranks of magic that can be developed and controlled; the highly specialized divinity magic used by the Church; and powerful warrior auras that enhance physical combat. In contrast to these, some ruling families possess bloodline magic, a unique form of power passed down through generations.
This device was a way to oversee public safety while also casting out a net to catch the biggest magical fish they could find among the masses.
There were only a few of them scattered around the capital due to their high value. This was because it could detect unregistered Mana signatures that had not been added to the core within the Kingdom's Ministry, a way to prevent invasions before they could happen.
As far as the Cinderite Ministry was aware, her mana appeared to be no different than that of any other commoner.
Ah, what a headache... Bethel turned into a narrow alley between two closed stores. After navigating through twists and turns, she soon entered an open space surrounded by a cluster of buildings.
Clotheslines stretched across above her, connecting each home. Winds blew from other alleys, causing the hanging laundry to flap against itself.
Wild flowers grew freely from patches where pieces of stones once were embedded in the earth. They weren't ones that would be found in a wealthy family's garden, yet their charm didn't pale in comparison.
The silence felt deafening as voices of people's conversations seeped out of their homes.
"Marcus! Put your toy away, it's past your bedtime!" came from one of the windows.
"But I don't wanna go to bed!" a child shouted.
"Listen to your mother, son." a strict deep voice followed, resulting in a sad-sounding "Yes pops..." from the child.
A light laughter erupted within the confines of their home, a routine they went through every night. Almost second nature, as time moved forward, little changes would engrave themselves to become precious memories.
...I need to keep moving... she kept her lips in a firm line, not wanting to express how she felt while listening to them. She found herself an intruder that shouldn't be eavesdropping on unsuspecting people.
This bothered Bethel in a way she didn't want to understand. She refused to understand it; as an adult herself, this childish aspect remained to fester. Age doesn't always equal maturity.
Slipping into another narrow alley, a crowded street appeared once she left the cramped space, where loud sounds of an argument filled her ears.
"HOW DARE YOU CALL YOURSELF 'OUR BETTER'! I OUGHT TO TEACH YOU SOME DAMN MANNERS!" An older man of average height roared in anger toward a well-dressed gentleman before him.
Yet, the gentleman looked down at the older man with a smirk. "Honestly, are you that hard of hearing? Must be, since you are pointlessly raising your voice at me."
He calmly cleaned out his ear with an index finger, his arrogance being on full display for anyone enjoying the night to see. They even bought treats off a traveling snack cart to eat as they watched.
"Is ignorance a poor man's trait? Shouldn't you be bowing down in respect for a nobleman such as myself? After all, I am the second son of Marquis Percival. Sylvester C. Percival!"
He puffed up his weak chest to show off his importance in just presence alone.
The older man's friends held him back.
"Stop this, Frank! It's clear this young man is from a noble family," one friend spoke as he tried to hold him back by his waistline. "You're being played with! Let's just walk away from this nobleman!"
"You! You! YOU NO GOOD, MOUTH-BREATHING BASTARD! AAAH!"
The older man, Frank, shook his friends off like they were nothing more than bothersome flies. His face, once flushed with anger, was now a burning mask of fury. His friends stumbled back, their own expressions now a mix of fear and alarm.
Sylvester's smirk vanished. His eyes widened just a fraction, the serene calm he'd maintained now replaced by a flicker of genuine alarm. He was not prepared for this.
A tightly gripped fist collided into his unblemished flesh, knocking down the smirking nobleman to the ground.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The spectators, who a moment ago had been casually enjoying the drama, now cheered. Applause filled the air.
Panicking, the older man's friends pulled him away. "Frank! This is bad, we have to get outta here before those capital guards show up!"
Finally, the blind rage Frank had been experiencing subsided. He realized the gravity of the situation, which was now becoming apparent. Hitting a nobleman was all the grounds needed to be thrown into a jail cell.
"Shit! I'm not at fault here!" He spat a wet one at the unconscious man before fleeing with his friends down a different alley, using the backstreet to their advantage, getting as far away as possible.
"It's over, everyone! Let's keep it moving before those guards start patrolling this area." Someone yelled among the crowd. All spectators went back to enjoying their evening.
No one tried to loot the unconscious man; they either walked around him or stepped over him, much like a dead rat. People avoided looking directly at him, believing someone else would scrape him off the cobblestones instead.
Blending in with the crowd, she proceeded to step over him. There was no need to feel concerned for him, as he chose to arrogantly look down at others.
What happened here could have gone multiple ways. A capital guard could have appeared.
A hand sprang out, grabbing her ankle before she could lift it. A sudden jolt of alarm shot through Bethel. The grip on her ankle was firm. She looked down, her gaze meeting Sylvester's as he lay on the ground. His face had a rapidly forming bruise, but his eyes, though filled with pain, were lucid and sharp.
"Hey, do you think it's polite to walk over a badly injured gentleman?" he rasped, his voice barely audible above the returning clamor of the street. "What happened to common sense between fellow countrymen?"
As she looked at him, she noticed his arrogance hadn't diminished a smidge after getting punched. Even while staring up, there was still that sense of condescension in his eyes.
Was he raised as the Goddess's greatest gift? Or did his family just spoil him to the point of no return? she questioned, knowing that asking him would result in learning about him. Bethel wasn't interested in his crappy existence.
Bethel found this noble fool amusing, not even trying to hold back her sneering laughter. Looking down at him, she said, "Oh? I believe your 'common sense' flung itself out the door long before your cheek kissed another man's fist."
His eyes widened in genuine fury, the smirk finally gone. "How dare you speak to me like that! I am the son of a Marquis! You will apologize—"
"Apologize?" Bethel's voice was low and menacing. "I'm only sorry that man didn't hit you harder."
"The commoners these days have no respect for their betters! What's the point of protecting these thankless poor people? I should tell father about this assault!"
Bethel looked down at the pathetic nobleman. "Tell him what? That you were bested by an old man in the street? That your arrogance got you a face-full of pain?"
She knelt down, bringing her face closer to his, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Did I bruise your ego? Good. Now it matches your disfigured face."