The group finally made their steps into the capital, a place where dreams were forged with fire and where lives often cracked like brittle glass. The moment their boots struck the sun-bleached stone, the sounds of the city washed over them—shouts from merchants, clattering carts, the hiss of beasts chained in alleyways. Immediately, the group huddled close, voices dropping low, a small island of tension in a sea of chaos, as they began to plan.
"Ok, we're here, what should we do?" Himmel's eyes flicked across the bustling crowd, scanning faces and doorways. The brush with death he had recently endured lingered in his expression, but he forced himself forward, gripping purpose like a blade.
"Well, we need potions, better gear and food for the journey. Also, we need to sell the you-know-what in that dungeon." Texan spoke quietly, each word edged with caution. His voice blended into the cacophony of the streets, but the weight of his meaning was sharp. All around them, orcs lumbered with heavy armor, goblins darted through gaps in the crowd, giants loomed like walking towers, beast men prowled with restless energy, and humans hurried with wary eyes.
"I really don't wanna be here for long," Recon muttered, stuttering slightly as his nerves betrayed him. He edged closer, almost shrinking beneath the weight of so many stares.
"Well then let's first get information." Himmel's gaze sharpened, catching sight of a wooden board nailed against a wall, its surface plastered with curling sheets of parchment. "Look, some information, I think..."
The group drew near. The board was a forest of paper: tattered notes, smeared ink, and scrawled pleas. Some demanded ingredients, some asked for help hauling stones, others offered menial wages for dangerous work. But one stood apart—its parchment finer, the ink steady and deliberate, the edges humming faintly with enchantment.
"Year 5605. The Orc King has declined the treaty for the 10th year. Out of the 19 races, 5 have declined the treaty. Orcs, Goblins, Giants, Demons, and Vampires."
Texan and Recon leaned closer, their brows furrowed, confusion tightening across their faces. The hell is this treaty? they thought in unison, the words unspoken but sharp in their eyes.
"Oh, you guys don't know." Himmel's hand hovered over the paper, feeling the faint hum of its magic. "It's enchanted, so it's definitely official. Basically, the treaty makes it so that everyone who signs it is guaranteed neutrality. If you don't… well, don't plan on going anywhere."
"So, didn't you want to leave this continent?" Texan asked, scanning the street with unease as passing goblins sneered and shoved their way through.
"Yes, I did." Himmel's lips pulled down, not surprised but undeniably burdened by the truth.
"Well, too bad, so fucking sad. What's the plan, bosses?" Recon began pacing in restless circles, boots crunching over sand that had blown onto the stone streets.
The capital stretched around them in brutal contrast. The paths were coated in gritty sand, and the buildings rose like jagged teeth, pressed close together, their rough concrete scarred by age. Sheets of cloth, stretched wide between rooftops, sagged against the desert wind, their faded colors casting patchwork shadows across the streets. In the distance, a pit gaped like an open wound, drawing shouts and jeers. Himmel reached into a stone container nearby, pulling free a map, and with a grim nod, guided the group toward the yawning noise.
Inside the pit, chaos reigned. A beast man and a human clashed with animal ferocity, their blows echoing through the arena like thunder. The Death Pits—Himmel had heard whispers of them, stories of gore and savagery, but the reality struck harder. The sand was dark with spilled blood, teeth littered the ground like scattered pearls, and the walls themselves seemed to echo with hunger. The air was heavy with iron, the metallic sting of blood hanging thick. Spectators screamed for violence, their voices raw, some hurling daggers, flasks, or crude charms into the arena to sway the battle.
"Damn, that sucks, man." Texan's voice cracked with unease. The group had known killing, had seen the raw edge of war—but this was different. Here, cruelty was not a necessity. It was entertainment. The hunger of the crowd was more terrifying than the fight itself.
Recon's stomach churned, and he turned away, bile rising. "Let's go buy those potions."
The group tore themselves away, weaving deeper into the streets. The capital reeked of smoke and spices, animal dung and charred meat. The alchemy shops announced themselves by their pungent odors—sharp herbs, tangy minerals, and bitter fumes curling out into the streets. The first they entered was dim, shelves lined with jars glowing faintly, liquids swirling inside like captured storms. Behind the counter stood a young orc, his tusks chipped, his scowl permanent.
"What are you looking for?" His voice dripped with disdain, every syllable a practiced sneer.
They asked for thirty level 2 health potions. The orc slammed glass bottles onto the counter, green liquid sloshing. The price was steep—50 copper each. Fifteen silver handed over, thirty-five left clinking in Himmel's pouch.
"Excuse me," Himmel pressed, eyes steady, "is there a merchant or a bank around here?"
"Yeah, near the city's center. About a 20-minute walk. Just follow the road." The orc sneered again, lips curling. "Oh, and leash your pets. Otherwise, people'll think you're soft."
Himmel nodded curtly, jaw tight, and the group left.
"Ughhh, is it gonna be like this in every single city?" Recon sighed, dragging his boots against the stone as though the weight of the place pressed into his bones.
Suddenly, the air shifted—an armored procession marched past. Rows of orcs in plated steel, banners snapping in the hot wind, the ground trembling beneath their synchronized steps. Their presence turned the street into a corridor of silence, all eyes tracking them.
A hooded figure near them leaned close, his voice low and deliberate. "That's the Second Princess's army. Looks like they're preparing for the Wild Land."
Himmel studied the speaker. Shadows masked most of his face, but the sheer size of his frame gave him away. Built like a fortress, he stood 7 feet 6 inches tall, muscles pressing against the folds of his cloak. Compared to Himmel's 5 feet 9 inches, the difference was staggering. Himmel felt, for a fleeting moment, like a child staring up at a mountain.
"Princesses, you say. And what about you—where will you go?"
The orc's lips curved faintly. "Probably the Seventh Princess—she has the most potential. The Fifth Prince is safe, clever. Then again, the Thirteenth—the youngest—I could carve a place at his side. He's still green."
"Well, good luck to you. But could you show us around? You seem pretty trustworthy."
The orc barked a laugh, low and humorless. "Trustworthy? Boy, no one is trustworthy. The moment I stand against you, I'll cut you down without a second thought."
Despite his words, Himmel felt no venom in his tone, only honesty—firm, unyielding. "Then for now, while we stand on the same side, show us the merchant area. I want to sell something pricey."
"Ha! You've got spunk. Let's go then."
The hooded figure led them into the bazaar. It was alive with sound and color—orcish smiths hammering sparks from anvils, goblins bartering with high-pitched cackles, giants lifting crates heavier than oxen. Goods glimmered from stalls: books that whispered with magic, blades dripping with enchantments, trinkets of gold and jewels. And chained at the edges, silent and hollow-eyed, were slaves.
Recon grimaced, muttering, "At least the rumor about y'all eating them was wrong…"
Himmel said nothing, his gaze already sweeping the crowd. Trust was rare here, and rarer still among merchants. His eyes landed on two. One was a young orc, nervous, clearly incapable of deception. The other was an elder—gray-haired, scarred, with a face like stone, his prices carved into certainty. Himmel weighed the choice, then stepped toward the elder.
"Excuse me, I would like to sell you some pearls."
The older orc's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Are you selling me pearls, boy… or the knowledge of pearls?"
Himmel hesitated. "The pearls themselves. We found them in a dungeon south, and we'd like to sell them."
A grin cracked the old orc's face. "Kid, do you have the pearls here?"
"No," Himmel admitted, the word bitter on his tongue.
"Then you've sold me nothing but words. And since you've already spoken them, you've sold them for free." He clapped Himmel on the shoulder, firm and almost fatherly. "That's economy. Learn it now, or get eaten alive."
Himmel groaned inwardly, face in his hand. The pearls were lost before they'd even been theirs. Still, he steadied himself. You can't cry over spilled milk—or pearls.
"So what are the Wild Lands?" Himmel asked.
The old orc's face hardened. "A yearly event. Only those sworn to royalty may enter. It's a cursed place where the sky itself is wild—sun one day, storms the next. Dungeons rise and vanish. Beasts roam at level 3 or higher. It's not land, boy—it's a trial."
Before Himmel could ask more, Recon's restless chatter filled the air, a scatter of questions that even tested the orc's patience. Himmel let it go, instead focusing on business.
By day's end, the group had traded blades for silver, hides for copper, and restocked their supplies. Himmel tallied aloud: "Recon sold his sword and armor for 10 silver, bought a bow and new gear for 15. Texan sold his armor and gauntlets for 5, bought new for 15. I bought nothing. We bought a new saddle for 50 copper. That left 19 silver and 50 copper. Then we sold hides for 56 silver and 19 copper. Total: 75 silver, 69 copper. Three weeks' food for 9 copper. A decent haul."
"Well, thank you, sir. You've been a good guide," Texan said, offering his hand.
"You know, mermaids are stranger than you think," the orc replied cryptically. "I'll be seeing you off now. Good luck. Maybe we'll meet again."
They clasped hands. Then the paths split—the group north, the orc into the city.
Past the last gates, mountains rose like jagged spears, their snowy tips piercing the sky. The map marked a border passage toward the arachnid race. Rumors whispered that anyone who joined the border guard rose to level 4 within a month—even the weakest. It was a chance they couldn't ignore.
The road itself shimmered with magic. Grass glowed faintly green against the barren earth, guiding them forward like a living lantern. The air was cooler, crisper, and the silence heavy.
"Himmel," Recon said softly after a while, "thanks. You treat us like equals in a land that doesn't. If you were stronger, I know you'd knock heads for us."
Himmel's hands tightened on the reins. "And yet I do nothing. I see oppression. I shut my mouth. I feel like a coward."
Texan shook his head, leaning back. "You saved Recon from that farmer. You pulled me from the streets. You take what you want when others won't. That's not cowardice."
Recon shifted with a grin. "Still… three guys on one horse feels kinda gay."
Texan snorted, pressing closer. "What, can't a man show love without you panicking?"
Laughter rippled, warm and easy. For three days they traveled—sometimes walking, sometimes picking berries and fruit, sometimes keeping watch through the night as fires burned low.
At last, the border gates rose. Iron and steel walls patched by stocky men. Above, winged couriers dipped through clouds, dropping packages. This wasn't just a border. It was a fortress-town, and every person radiated strength.
A middle-aged man approached. Sword at his side, his aura pressed like a storm. "Woah there, what brings y'all here?"
"We're here to join the border guard," Recon said, his voice flat but his eyes nervous.
The man smiled faintly, and his strength was suffocating. Stronger than Madam Kimpa. Maybe stronger than anyone they had met.
"I like the spirit, but you're too weak. Level 4 is the bare minimum. Come back when you're ready." He gestured them back toward the capital.
"Wait—at least let us prove our strength. So when we are level 4, you'll remember and let us in without complaint," Texan urged.
The man's grin widened. "Fine. If you can scratch me, I'll even give you a gift."
The group smiled, steel in their eyes, and prepared for the fight.