Ethan crouched at the edge of the forest, staring at the city walls rising before him. Massive stones, weathered and uneven, formed a barrier taller than anything he had ever seen back home. Guard towers jutted up at regular intervals, each topped with battlements where armored figures paced with precise, mechanical steps. Chainmail shimmered faintly in the morning sun as the guards shifted their weight, spears tapping the cobblestones below. The helmets hid faces, leaving only narrow slits for eyes, yet even from a distance, their authority radiated outward.
He studied the gates carefully. The main entrance was enormous—large enough for merchant wagons, carts loaded with crates, and maybe even small carriages. He could see the traffic moving slowly through it, guards inspecting documents, stamping parchments, counting coins. The level of scrutiny was intense. He didn't have any papers, and the only possessions he carried were the items from the convenience store, some coins, and his notepad.
Then, at the side, he noticed a smaller gate, narrow and less imposing. Pedestrians moved through it, some walking briskly, others carrying small packs or baskets. A guard stood beside a coin box, checking a few items, counting silver or bronze, and waving people through with quick gestures.
Ethan's eyes sharpened as he watched the scene. Most of the travelers paid the toll: two silver coins handed over, the guard's hand flashing briefly, then a nod before the gate swung open.
And then he noticed the others: adventurers.
Figures moved through the streets with confidence, swords and bows strapped to their backs, small shields at their hips. Some carried strange, wrapped objects—proof of their ventures into the wilderness beyond the city walls. They didn't stop to pay. Instead, each showed a small emblem. Guards acknowledged them with subtle nods, never asking for coins or documents.
From the novels he had read, Ethan could understand the implication. These were recognized adventurers, trusted by the city. Ordinary travelers had to pay, but the adventurers' badges granted them free access.
Ethan's mind worked quickly, logically. He wasn't an adventurer. His sword and shield were rusty, untested. He had no badge, no special papers, nothing that would earn him a free pass. Following the ordinary travelers' procedure—paying the toll—was his only safe option.
He checked his pouch: ten silver coins, five bronze. Carefully, he pulled out two silver coins and stepped forward.
The guard's voice was alien—fast, sharp—but the gesture was unmistakable. Outstretched palm. Ethan placed the coins in it, listening as the metallic clink echoed off the walls. The guard examined them briefly, nodded, and stepped aside. The gate began to lift slowly, creaking against its massive hinges.
Ethan stepped inside, keeping his bag close. He wasn't hiding, not really—he didn't have to—but caution had become second nature. His muscles tensed, his eyes scanning for any sudden movement, any sign of trouble.
The city inside was alive, chaotic, and overwhelming. Merchants shouted in rapid, incomprehensible language, waving their arms and gesturing toward their wares. Children darted between carts and people, herding strange creatures with bright, reflective eyes and scales like shards of glass. Smoke from cooking fires, the tang of metal from armor, and the earthy scent of livestock mixed into a thick, unfamiliar haze.
Ethan moved along the edges of the crowd, trying to blend in while observing. Guards patrolled the streets in steady, precise rhythms: shield angled, spear tapping, a hand raised to stop traffic, a sweeping gesture to signal movement. Every action had meaning, and Ethan noted it carefully. Understanding these silent cues, he realized, was as important as understanding the spoken language.
Merchants followed predictable patterns. Point, repeat a phrase, accept coins, hand over the goods. At a fruit stall, the merchant held up a glowing red fruit, said a word twice, and waited for the customer's nod. Coins changed hands, and the customer left with the fruit. Another stall, a basket of woven cloth—same pattern. By observation, Ethan began connecting gestures to meaning. Word plus motion equaled object; coins equaled value.
Above the din, he noticed adventurers moving with authority. Guards acknowledged them with subtle nods, merchants deferred to them, and other city dwellers gave them space. He tucked his rusty sword and small shield deeper into his bag; even if they were visible, they wouldn't grant him recognition. Observation and patience remained his strongest tools.
Finding a shadowed corner, Ethan paused to check his belongings: eight silver coins left, five bronze, three books he had brought, a small amount of water, and his remaining rations. Every item mattered. The book he had traded before had proven that knowledge held value. The other three might be even more important if he could decipher them.
Evening approached. Merchants packed their wares, children hurried home, and guards continued their relentless patrols. Ethan adjusted his bag strap, moving closer to the buildings and staying partially hidden. He didn't need to hide, but the city had taught him that caution rarely hurt.
A modest inn caught his eye, tucked between two taller buildings. Lanterns glowed softly through the windows, and a few travelers were entering. He stepped inside, placing five silver coins on the counter—half of what he had left. The innkeeper accepted without question, gesturing toward a small room upstairs. He didn't know how long this room would last—days, a week, perhaps longer—but the coins bought him shelter, food, and a place to rest.
Upstairs, Ethan set down his bag and opened one of the remaining books. Strange symbols stared back at him, illustrations of creatures and objects he didn't recognize. He scribbled in his notepad, connecting symbols to gestures and patterns he had observed outside. Each small deduction felt like a victory in a world that seemed determined to overwhelm him.
Night settled over the city. The streets below grew quieter, the patrolling guards still moving in steady arcs, lantern light flickering across the cobblestones. Ethan lay on the cot, body aching but mind alert. Observation, caution, and patience had brought him this far. They would carry him further still.
He reflected on the lessons of the day: the significance of coins, the rhythm and silent language of the guards, the careful patterns of merchants, and the confident presence of adventurers with their badges. One day, he thought, he might join them. Not yet, but one day.
For now, he closed his eyes, letting the soft creak of the building and the distant city noises lull him into a cautious sleep. Tomorrow would bring more observation, more understanding, and the next step toward surviving in this strange, dangerous world.