Luxy was still stunned by the view of the city. He had lived most of his life in the Dracogon Plain, which was nothing but a mere wasteland—a barren expanse of cracked surface, where the horizon stretched endlessly into a vast, dry land.
The most exciting thing that happened there was when the occasional dust devil whirled across the plains, kicking up dirt that would find its way into the makeshift shelter of the dwellers of the plain.
Even the vegetation seemed to have given up, and insect familiars had no option but to build their homes from either rock or dead plants, with only the most stubborn of shrubs managing to sustain their life in that deserted corner of the plain.
The city right before them looked like an imaginary painting come to life... At least to Ryder. Towering structures of glass and steel reached toward the heavens, their surfaces reflecting the sunlight in dazzling patterns.
The streets below teemed with life—people bustling about their daily routines, vehicles weaving through traffic, street vendors calling out to passersby.
The car horns playing their music, the noise from the busy passersby, and the mix of other sounds were almost overwhelming to someone like Luxy, who had lived nearly his entire life to the whisper of wind over empty lands back at the Astral Shadow Plain.
Experiencing the human settlement for the first time—even though Ryder had stayed in the city for two days since he left his village—those days weren't enough for Luxy to blend in.
"Look at that!" Luxy exclaimed for perhaps the twentieth time that hour, his hairy tail swishing with excitement behind him as he pointed at a street performer tossing around what appeared to be small orbs of dancing flame.
"How does he not burn himself? Is that magic? Or technology? Do you think he'd teach me if I asked nicely?"
"You can do better," Ryder responded flatly. "Besides, you cannot partake directly in activities such as that."
Right now, just like a few other times, Ryder summoned Luxy out in a way that made him appear like a projected image in the air. All he could do was experience the world while being outside Ryder's head.
In his state, he could not perform any physical activity or come in physical contact with anyone. His aura, as well, did not flow through the projected version of himself summoned by Ryder.
"And the smells! Ryder, there are so many smells here! Some good, some... well, that alley we passed earlier could use a good rain, if you ask me." Luxy wrinkled his nose, floating to Ryder's shoulder.
"You can perceive smells!?" Ryder questioned, shocked.
"Surprisingly, yes," Luxy responded. "But I prefer what's good. Like whatever that is!" He pointed his nose toward a small shop emitting the enticing aroma of spices.
Ryder would have normally been amazed by the horizon, but after all he had been through, he couldn't really care.
Nothing really fazed him right now.
What could faze a young man who buried his mother with his very own hands and lost his father to unknown entities? The memory was still fresh, a wound that refused to heal.
The weight of the shovel in his hands, the sound of dirt hitting the body buried without a coffin, the cold silence of a funeral attended by no one but him.
His eyes, once bright with curiosity, much like Luxy's, were now dimmed to a flat, dull gaze that barely recognized the wonders around him.
He practically moved through the city like a ghost, present in body but absent in spirit.
His mom's funeral was still weighing on him. No prayers, no flowers, no mourners—just him, a boy saying goodbye to the woman who had given him life, while the village remained oblivious, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded in their midst.
Ryder couldn't even organize a proper burial for his mom. He simply buried her all by himself and vacated his village afterwards, not inviting or alerting anyone.
How could he explain her death to the well-wishers, when he didn't fully understand it?
"Hey, are you listening?" Luxy nudged Ryder's cheek with his head, the fur having no effect on Ryder's skin. "I asked if we could try those noodles.
My stomach thinks my throat's been cut, and that smell is making me dizzy with hunger."
"So you know what that is," Ryder muttered, referring to the noodles.
"Yes, of course, I have quite a lot of your memories engraved in my head, you know," Luxy responded casually.
"Right," Ryder responded blankly and began to walk towards the shop. "Let's see how a projection eats physical food."
Stopping at a noodles shop nearest to him, he entered through the curtains and sat down on a wooden chair and waited.
He was quite surprised that a shop of this kind existed in a busy, developed city like this. Most of the establishments they had passed were smooth, modern with neon signs and other fancy things.
This place, with its warm wooden interior and traditional beautiful sculptures, felt like stepping into another world—or perhaps another time.
The interior was designed in the typical Eastern-like manner. Wooden tables and chairs, red cloth decorations hanging from the ceiling, intricate sculptures on the walls.
Picture frames portraying images of mountains shrouded in mist, of ancient Eastern dragons soaring through cloudy skies, of warriors engaged in battle with mythical beasts.
He observed through his cloak. Yes, a cloak. This was the cloth he had chosen after entering this city.
"An Eastern businessperson must have extended their business all the way from their country down here," Ryder observed.
"I wonder what exactly is their inspiration."
It was very uncommon indeed. The Eastern countries were very far from England of the United Kingdom, which was a factor to consider. Especially after knowing that the government agencies of England could mess with the business and go scot-free.
No one would do something so stupid if they didn't have a powerful somebody backing them up from the shadows.
"This world is a very corrupt one, after all; any higher-ups could ruin anything they want... just like they've done to me."
Before Ryder could drift into his thoughts, a certain movement suddenly caught his eye.
A young woman approached his table, her steps light, but carrying quite a presence.
Her apron—clean white with red embroidery along the edges—was tied neatly around her waist.
"What would you like to order, sir?" She spoke in a foreign tone that gave off the vibe of an easterner, making it clear that, through her tongue, English wasn't her first language.
Ryder didn't raise his head to stare at the waitress's face directly, but he could feel that she had a polite smile on her face.
It was there in her voice—that particular tone people used when their lips were curved upward, smiling in a gesture of warm welcome.
A smile meant to put customers at ease, to encourage them to spend more, and to leave generous tips. Just a single smile that explained many things.
He wondered, briefly, if it was genuine or merely a professional expression that she wore for work.
All thanks to his cloak, his face remained hidden, making his analysis of the lady probably secretive.
This cloak was truly playing its part. It was suggested to him by Luxy. The situation would not be looking good if he was recognized and targeted too soon.
"Trust me," Luxy had said as they prepared to buy the clothes quite a while ago, "humans are creatures that depend on visuals.
They remember faces, not presence. Cover your face, change your outfit, lower your voice—become someone else entirely."
He was interrogated by a member of the FSG, and he knew for sure that footage of him would have been recorded on the cameras around, which he had never paid attention to, though he noticed they were all around.
Although he practically destroyed half of the FSG base, which alone was a lot, he still knew there could be surprises, and didn't want any of them right now.
Additionally, there was also someone who knew him, while conversely, he knew nothing about that person. That person was the one who killed his mother and abducted his father.
He was quite confident in his ability, but right now, he wasn't in the mood for all that cockiness.
He just wanted to enjoy enough peace and mourn his mother's death until he was stable enough to go find his father with full-fledged dedication.
"I'd like a bowl of noodles, wi..." Ryder's eyes suddenly fell on the embroidery crest on the apron—Thunderwhisker Koi. The emblem reflected a red koi-like fish with whiskers that had crackles around it, positioned as if swimming in an endless circle.
Although Ryder rarely left his home in the village, his family still had a small number of gadgets, such as a radio and others, that could help him attain awareness of the latest news in the country.
Apart from that, he was not completely caged; he did leave his house once in a while, so he had general knowledge, especially about summoners society and guilds.
That crest! It is the crest of the Red-Eastern guild.
He had some information about this particular guild. They had been overdoing things and making a big contribution to the country, enhancing its growth in the process.
Due to that, they made some connections with some of the higher-ups in the country, including a good number of state governors and even the overall federal government here in England.
'Now I get it, they have the backing of the Red-Eastern guild or rather,' Ryder realized. 'The people running this shop shouldn't be just any ordinary people; they must be very closely related to the Red-Eastern guild.'
Such unfortunate luck for Ryder to have. Of all the places in this vast city, he had wandered into one connected to one of the most powerful organizations in the country. Was it coincidence? Or was this his unfortunate fate?
But that raised the question, why noodles? They couldn't have left their country for England in the United Kingdom just to sell noodles.
It seemed an odd choice for such a powerful guild. Surely there were more reasonable, more influential businesses they could have established?
So... What exactly was their aim?
"What would you like to order, sir?" the lady asked again, noticing that her customer was lost in thought, snapping Ryder back to consciousness.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Any of your best delicacies should be enough," Ryder spoke, trying to show some emotion, but his tone, unfortunately, was still flat.
"As you wish, your noodles are on their way now," the waiter said with a wide grin once again before walking away.
Just as she said, the waiter who had just finished speaking to Ryder hadn't even walked five steps away when the door at the corner of the shop opened and another waiter came out from the room, holding a bowl of noodles on a tray.
Ryder's eyes widened. "Impossible! How did she hear me from so far away? This is impossible for just any ordinary summoner, except... they are really powerful ones!"
Summoners—humans with the ability to forge contracts with creatures from the Astral Shadow Plain, gaining enhanced abilities and special affinity as a result.
Weaker familiars could barely cause any significant general enhancement, while powerful ones could make a person seem superhuman.
The sharp hearing of this waiter was simply superhuman.
The waiter dropped the bowl of noodles on Ryder's table, then walked off without another word.
The steaming bowl emitted an aroma that made Ryder's stomach growl with hunger, but still hesitant, though there was a mixture of fresh herbs and spices he couldn't identify inside.
The noodles themselves were thin and delicate, floating in the clear broth alongside slices of meat, green onions, and what appeared to be some kind of mushroom.
A delicacy indeed, and anyone could tell by its smell, but still, there was one sure fact Ryder knew: these people weren't in the city without purpose.
"I wonder, maybe there is a relation between them and what happened at my house," Ryder wondered as he picked up the chopsticks from the tray, right beside his bowl of noodles.
Clearing his mind, he raised the bowl and held it in his arm, then gobbled up all the noodles extremely fast.
The especially loud clacking sound the bowl made as he returned it to his table made heads turn in his direction.
"I do miss mom's cooking," Ryder admitted inwardly as flashbacks of his mom's corpse came back to his head, which nearly made him throw up. These noodles weren't bad, but his mom's were better.
The waitress who had spoken to him earlier returned to his table with her usual smile plastered on her face.
"Seems like you are enjoying your meal," she said as her gaze flicked briefly toward the bowl. "Would you like to pay now, or order a new bowl?"
Ryder took a moment of silence before responding. "I'd like to pay now."
Dipping his hands inside his cloak, he pulled out four silver coins. At that moment the realization hit him, causing him to clench his fist. He was in deep trouble.
The coins glinted dully in the warm light. Four silver coins—enough for a decent meal in his village, perhaps even considered generous. But here, in this restaurant, it wasn't quite enough.
This wasn't like his village. This was a city. He seemed to have forgotten that until now.
He calmly searched his pocket for more money but to no avail. The realization settled into the pit of his stomach: he had miscalculated, badly.
The city's higher prices had depleted all his money more quickly than he predicted, and now he found himself unable to cover even this simple meal.
"Seems like you are having trouble paying, eh, young man." The waitress's smile, which had looked all generous and polite, took on a predatory edge, her earlier politeness thinning to reveal something harder beneath.
"I believe you saw the fee on the menu—the cost for one bowl of noodles is six gold coins," she said, as her finger tapped the table lightly, drawing Ryder's attention to a small, ornate menu card he had overlooked until now.
The prices listed there made his blood run cold—not just expensive, but beyond what he anticipated, clearly aimed at clients with deeper pockets than his.
Ryder slammed his four remaining gold coins on his table. This money was the remainder of the money left in his family savings from his already-destroyed home.
His entire family savings was what he had been spending in the last two days in the city, and now it was exhausted.
His parents' entire life savings only managed to sustain him for two days in the city.
His parents weren't rich, nor were they poor. They were living a normal life, like that of typical village folk.
His parents mostly had just enough for them to use for a day whenever they returned from work, and because of that, they barely had money to save.
"I am so sorry, but I am out of cash," Ryder said, the admission felt like it was burning his throat.
"Is there any other way I can compensate you?"
"Oh, yes, of course." She smiled, though the expression reminded Ryder of a predator baring its teeth rather than a gesture of warmth. "There is some domestic work you can do here, especially in the kitchen."
"For the fact that you do not have two coins to compensate us with, you will be working here for the next two hours," she continued, her tone suggesting this was a generous offer—a kindness extended to someone who, by rights, should face harsher consequences.
"Just two hours?" Ryder could barely keep the surprise from his voice. In his village, if one was unable to pay for a meal, the punishment might result in days of labor, depending on the creditor's mood.
"I have no objections." Ryder stood up. "Lead me, please."
"Sure," replied the waiter, before walking toward one of the busiest doors around, constantly being used by the workers here.
"Since when did a waiter have the privilege to make such decisions without the permission of the head of the shop?" Ryder couldn't help but question inwardly.
In his limited experience with establishments like this, such arrangements would typically require the approval of someone higher in the hierarchy—a manager, an owner, someone with the authority to waive part of a debt in exchange for labor.
As they entered the staff section of the shop, Ryder was greeted with a tense sight. The atmosphere of the room was intense, and all the people in the room did not appear to be chefs at all; they appeared to be thugs or perhaps, fighters.
It was made up mostly of men—muscular with chiseled muscles. Some had scars; few had tattoos.
With a sneer, they all turned to stare at Ryder with sharp gazes.
They were all powerful summoners. There was no doubt about that now, because there was no way hulking men of this nature would be working as chefs and cleaners in this restaurant.
While summoners were being enhanced by their familiar, they sometimes developed incredible physical characteristics depending on the nature of the familiar they had contracted with—enhanced musculature, unusual eye colors, colored hair, and so on.
They must be members of the Red-Eastern guild.
Upon reaching the unattended vacant work area, the waiter decided, "This will be your job; you'll be washing dishes for the next two hours."
After that, she walked away, concluding, "Better get to work now so you can leave by afternoon."
Ryder stared at the pile of bowls and other utensils piled up. Soap and sponge could be seen, already prepared on the ground.
"Sigh!" Ryder squatted and flung his cloak backwards. "To think that I'll have to do this—how awful."
Picking up a big bowl from the ground, he observed, "There is no water in it, and I need some."
Turning around to stare at a source where he could get water, he noticed it.
The gazes of the nearby workers were fixed on him. The moment he turned to them, they all turned away, acting as if nothing had ever happened.
Ryder narrowed his gaze before turning away toward the tap he found by the side, unfazed.
There was someone already there, so he had to wait.
"Wanna fetch some water?" the worker asked, his tone suggesting that the question was not carrying genuine concern for Ryder, but was fake—an attempt to start a conversation with him.
"What does it look like, I want to wash my arse?" Ryder retorted in a calm, emotionless tone.
"That's rude, I hope you know that..."
He spoke and then smirked.
"EVERYBODY, THIS TRASH OVER HERE IS BEING RUDE, HE HAS INSULTED MY DIGNITY!!!"
The moment his words were heard, a wide grin appeared on everyone's face. They averted their attention instantly towards Ryder, approaching him slowly.
Everyone left their tasks at hand and walked towards Ryder; some were cracking knuckles, some cracking necks—in all, they had only one intention, and that was... quite apparent.