One of the knights, still holding his spear at his side, spoke politely as they stopped in front of the massive iron doors.
"If you head straight through this city, you'll reach the outer gates," the knight explained. "Once you pass through, keep walking down the main road. You'll eventually reach a crossroads with a signpost—it will show you which direction leads to the next kingdom, city, or town."
John nodded slowly, still clutching the bag of food and coins, his expression blank.
"Right… thanks, I guess," he muttered awkwardly.
The knights gave a short bow out of formality, then pushed open the enormous doors. A cold gust of wind swept into the hallway as they gestured for him to leave.
Without another word, John stepped outside. The knights closed the iron gates behind him with a heavy clang, the sound echoing like finality itself.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the towering castle walls before sighing deeply.
"Well… that could've gone better."
John walked straight down the main path, taking in his surroundings. The city was far larger than he expected. Rows of stone buildings lined both sides of the street—inns, markets, and bars buzzing with activity. The sound of merchants calling out prices mixed with the chatter of townsfolk and the clatter of horse-drawn carts moving through the cobbled roads.
As he continued walking, something caught his attention. Near the edge of the market square stood a small food stall—just a simple wooden stand with a worn-out canopy. Behind it was an old woman, carefully turning skewers of meat over a small grill. The smell of the barbecue drifted through the air, warm and smoky.
John slowed his pace, watching her quietly. From the looks of it, she didn't have many customers. A few people passed by without even glancing at her stand. Her ingredients were modest, and the basket beside her still looked full—too full for someone who'd been selling for hours.
In John's eyes, she looked tired… maybe even struggling to make ends meet.
John stopped in front of the stall, the scent of grilled meat too tempting to ignore.
"How much for one?" he asked politely.
The old woman looked up, smiling kindly. "Just five copper coins, my dear," she said. But then her eyes drifted over his clothes—his chef uniform, stained from his old world. "Oh my… you're not from around here, are you? I've never seen such strange clothing."
John gave a tired sigh. "You're right, ma'am. I'm not from this world. I was… summoned here, and apparently, there's no way back home."
The old woman's smile softened with pity. "Oh, you poor thing. Well, at least have something warm to eat. How many would you like?"
"I'll take five, please," John said.
"Wait just a moment," the old woman replied as she carefully turned the skewers. "They're better when they're fully cooked."
A few minutes later, she wrapped the freshly grilled meat in a clean leaf, tied it with string, and handed it over.
"That'll be twenty-five copper, dear," she said gently.
John opened his pouch and pulled out two gold coins, placing them on the counter. "Keep the change, madam," he said with a small smile.
The woman froze, wide-eyed. "G-Gold? Oh, my dear, that's far too much—"
But John was already walking away, waving off her protests. He bit into one of the skewers, sighing as the warm flavor filled his mouth.
What he didn't notice, however, were the eyes watching him from the shadows of a nearby alley. A group of figures whispered among themselves, their gazes fixed on the glint of gold coins he had revealed so carelessly.
In a city like this, flashing that much gold was the same as painting a target on your back.
The street was crowded, packed with merchants, travelers, and shouting vendors. John moved carefully through the noise, trying not to draw attention.
Then—someone bumped into his back.
Before he could turn around, a low voice whispered right behind his ear.
"Don't make a sound."
John froze. He felt it immediately—a cold, sharp point pressing against his lower back. The touch of steel was unmistakable.
"We've got you surrounded," the voice continued, calm but deadly serious. "Just follow us quietly… or you already know what happens next."
John's heartbeat quickened. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes on him, hidden among the crowd. He didn't dare move. The cheerful noise of the market suddenly felt distant—muted, replaced by the rush of blood in his ears.
John was dragged into a narrow alleyway, far from the noise of the market. The air there was damp and cold, the only light coming from a flickering lantern hanging crooked on the wall. The cheerful sounds of the city were gone—replaced by silence and the faint drip of water somewhere in the dark.
A rough shove sent John stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. A thug stepped forward, pressing the tip of a knife against his chest.
"Now… hand over the gold coins," the man growled.
John's breath hitched. "W-What gold coins?" he asked weakly, his voice trembling.
Another thug nearby let out a mocking laugh. "Hah! Look at him—he's shaking like a leaf! Some rich fool who doesn't even know how to beg properly!"
The one holding the knife sneered and slapped John hard across the face. The sound echoed down the narrow alley.
"Don't play dumb," the thug hissed. "We saw you flashing gold at the market. Now cough it up—unless you want your body left here for the rats to find."
John's cheek stung, and fear ran down his spine. His hands trembled as he raised them slowly, trying not to provoke them further.
"I-I swear, I don't have much… please, just take it and let me go," he said, voice breaking.
The thugs grinned at each other, closing in, their shadows stretching longer in the dim light.
Before the thugs could say another word, a young voice came from the end of the alley.
"Misters, do you want to buy a pack of cigarettes?"
All of them turned their heads. A small girl stood there, maybe ten or eleven, her clothes old and patched, clutching a small box of cigarettes.
One of the thugs quickly moved to block her view, hiding John behind his back.
"Oh, uh—sure, kid. I'll take one pack," the thug said, forcing a grin.
The girl smiled faintly and walked closer, handing him a small wrapped pack. "That'll be two silver coins, sir."
The thug dug into his pocket and tossed her a coin.
The girl looked down, frowning. "One copper coin? Mister, are you pulling my leg? This doesn't even cover half of it."
The thug chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Heh, times are tough, kid. Just take it."
The girl sighed softly. "Please, sir… I just need to make a living, to buy medicine for my sister."
"Get out, kid," one of the thugs growled, shoving her lightly. "Don't make a fuss. At least you got a coin."
The girl stumbled but quickly clutched the arm of the other thug, her voice rising in desperation. "No! Give it back! I need it to make a living, mister!"
The thug's eyes narrowed. He raised his hand, fingers tense and ready to strike.
"You—" he started, but before she could react, a sharp slap landed across her face.
The girl's body went limp, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
John froze, his heart pounding. The alley, already dark and oppressive, suddenly felt suffocating. He could feel the thugs' eyes boring into him again, their intentions clear.
John's eyes narrowed in an instant. His hand moved before thought could catch up—
he snatched the knife straight from the thug's grip.
A single, swift motion followed.
The blade flashed across the man's throat with silent precision.
The thug's eyes went wide, a choked gasp escaping before he staggered backward and collapsed.
John stood there, breathing steady, the knife now spinning between his fingers as if it had always belonged to him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was no longer timid or unsure. It was deeper—colder.
"Sigh… there goes my identity as a loser."