The capital city of Altherion smelled like ozone, woodsmoke, and a faint, metallic tang that Itsuki claimed was the "god radiation" settling in the evening air.
Ren walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the collar of his jacket pulled up against the evening chill. The Atmospheric Barrier above them hummed with a barely visible golden distortion, holding the shattered, jagged remains of the moon, Lua, suspended in the night sky. It was a beautiful, terrifying sight. A constant reminder that they were standing on a dying world.
"I'm telling you, the castle food is starting to taste like salted cardboard," Daigo complained, his massive [Vanguard] frame taking up half the cobblestone sidewalk. He bumped shoulders with Riku, nearly sending the smaller boy into a fruit cart. "Master Era said this place has meat that actually bleeds when you cut it. I need protein. My Strength stat isn't going to maintain itself on steamed vegetables."
"Your Strength stat is a magical numeric value assigned by a cosmic UI, Daigo," Riku muttered, adjusting a pair of copper-wire goggles he'd cobbled together in the Artificer workshop. "It doesn't literally require protein. You're just a glutton."
"I am a growing wall of muscle, you little gremlin," Daigo shot back, grinning. "And I'm hungry."
Itsuki walked silently on Ren's left, his eyes scanning the architecture of the local shops, probably analyzing the structural integrity or the mana-conduits running along the rooftops.
They were a long way from the pristine, white-marble halls of the royal district. This was the lower ring of the capital, where the streets were narrower, the people were louder, and the armor on the guards looked significantly more dented. Master Era had scribbled a rough map on a napkin and told them to find a tavern called The Copper Kettle.
"Here," Itsuki said, stopping in front of a slightly lopsided wooden building with a sign depicting a boiling pot. The windows were fogged over from the heat inside, and the muffled sound of raucous laughter spilled out into the street.
Ren pushed the heavy oak door open. The blast of warm air was immediate, carrying the mouth-watering scent of roasted garlic, seared meat, and dark ale. It was loud, crowded, and perfectly normal. For a second, if he ignored the occasional flash of a glowing blue spell or the fact that the bartender had faint scales along his jawline, Ren could almost pretend he was back on Earth, walking into a ramen shop after cram school.
They found a battered wooden booth in the back corner. Daigo practically threw himself into the seat, making the wood groan under his weight.
A waitress approached their table before they even settled. She looked to be in her twenties, wearing a stained apron, her hair tied back in a messy knot. She had dark circles under her eyes and the unmistakable aura of someone who did not give a single, solitary fuck about who they were.
"What'll it be?" she asked, pulling a piece of charcoal and a notepad from her pocket. She didn't look up.
"I want the biggest, bloodiest piece of meat you have in this establishment," Daigo declared, slamming a hand on the table. "Something that used to have a family."
The waitress blinked slowly, finally looking at him. She looked at his pristine, royal-issued clothes, then back at his face. "We have the roasted bore-bear flank. It's tough, it's greasy, and it's the size of your stupid head. Comes with a side of root mash."
"Perfect," Daigo beamed. "I'll take two."
"I would like to inquire about the thermal properties of your oven," Riku leaned forward, his eyes gleaming behind his goggles. "If you are using standard wood-fire, the heat distribution on a bore-bear flank would be uneven. Do you employ any minor pyromantic runes to stabilize the internal temperature?"
The waitress stared at Riku for a long, agonizing five seconds. The silence was thick enough to cut.
"I'm going to bring you a bowl of the house stew," she said in a deadpan voice. "If you ask me another question about the oven, I'm going to dump it on your lap."
"Stew sounds highly efficient. Thank you," Itsuki intervened smoothly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I will have the same."
Ren couldn't help but crack a small smile. "Make it three stews. And whatever local ale you have."
"Right. Two flanks, three stews. Try not to break the furniture, castle boys," she muttered, turning on her heel and vanishing into the chaotic crowd.
"I like her," Daigo laughed, leaning back.
But as the waitress left, the lighthearted energy at the table began to dissipate. The noise of the tavern seemed to fade slightly as the four boys sat in the dim light of the candle flickering in the center of their table. Daigo's smile slowly dropped, replaced by a heavier, more serious expression. He leaned his massive forearms on the table and looked directly at Ren.
"So," Daigo started, his voice dropping an octave so the neighboring tables couldn't hear. "Are we going to talk about the absolute bullshit the King dropped on you last night?"
Ren felt the knot in his stomach pull tight. He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "I was really hoping we could just eat dinner without talking about my mandated sex life."
"Bro, we can't ignore it," Riku hissed, leaning in. "The King literally pulled you aside and told you to start a royal breeding program with Princess Elara. That is the most unhinged, medieval shit I've ever heard. He basically wants to farm your [Hero] title."
"I know what he wants, Riku," Ren snapped, a bit sharper than he intended. He took a deep breath, forcing his [Calm & composed] demeanor back to the surface. "I hate the idea. I hate everything about it. I'm seventeen. I'm dating Rika. And suddenly this old man in a crown is telling me it's my 'divine duty' to sleep with his daughter to ensure the 'Golden Grace' stays in his bloodline. It makes me sick."
Ren looked down at the wooden table. Princess Elara was beautiful, sure. She was radiant and ethereal, but she looked at him like he was a religious artifact, not a human being. And Rika… if someday she heard I was going to marry Princess Elara, she'd probably burn the entire castle down.
"I just want to avoid it," Ren said quietly. "As much as possible."
Itsuki folded his hands on the table, his expression completely unreadable. "Logically speaking, Ren, following the King's order is the safest political maneuver. You are the [Hero]. In their eyes, you are the most valuable strategic asset on this continent. Assets are either utilized, or they are contained. If you outright refuse the King, you humiliate him and the Royal Family. They might not kill you, but they will make our lives, and the lives of the rest of the class, very difficult."
"So what, he just bends over and does it?" Daigo growled, glaring at the Sage.
"No," Itsuki replied coolly. "I am outlining the reality of our situation. If Ren chooses to deny the request—which I agree is the morally correct choice—we cannot do it from a position of weakness. Right now, we are living in their castle, eating their food, and relying on their protection. We are pets."
Itsuki adjusted his glasses, the candlelight reflecting off the lenses. "If you want the power to say 'no' to a King, you must be untouchable. We need to level up. We need to become so unequivocally powerful that forcing you to do anything becomes an impossible concept."
"Itsuki's right," Riku said, his usual chaotic energy replaced by a surprising sharpness. The Artificer tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table. "Look at what happened in the beginner dungeon two days ago. We have these shiny, god-tier titles. Daigo has Strength that breaks the local scaling. Sayaka has enough mana to level a city block. But we almost got our asses handed to us by a pack of cavern-crawlers."
Riku looked at Ren. "We don't know how to fight, Ren. We know how to read blue UI windows. The locals—like Grog or that Warlord—they fight with instinct, with grit. They exploit casting times, they aim for the joints, they fight dirty. If we stay locked up in the capital doing basic training, we're just going to be show ponies with high stats. And staying here means you are constantly in the King's line of sight. He will keep pushing the marriage."
"Out of sight, out of mind," Daigo nodded slowly, catching on. "If we're out in the shit, clearing high-level zones and actually doing the 'saving the world' thing, the King can't exactly drag you to the altar."
"Exactly," Riku said. "We delay the political bullshit by making ourselves indispensable on the front lines. We grind. We learn how this world actually bleeds. We find out the hard limits of our Mana and stamina before it gets us killed."
Ren listened to them, the tension in his shoulders slowly starting to ease. They were right. All of them. Hiding in the castle and hoping the King would forget about his demands was a coward's strategy. And Ren wasn't going to let himself be treated like a prized stallion. He was the Hero. He needed to start acting like it, on his own terms.
"We need real experience," Ren said, his voice firming up. "Not training dummies. Not supervised dungeon runs where the royal guard steps in if we get a scratch."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Daigo grinned, leaning forward.
"I'll talk to the rest of the class tomorrow," Ren said, looking at the three of them. "We need everyone on board. Daigo, you talk to Toru and Hinata. Itsuki, handle the magic casters. We get the whole class to agree that we are done playing it safe."
"And the Kingdom?" Itsuki asked. "They will not let their golden geese wander into the wild unsupervised."
"I'll handle Captain Valdorn," Ren said, a steely resolve settling over him. Sir Caelric Valdorn respected strength and discipline. He didn't care about royal politics; he cared about stopping the Demon Lord. "I'll corner him. I'll tell him that if he wants me to kill Kaelthar, I need to know how to survive without a royal escort. I'll make him approve a long-term field expedition."
Riku smirked. "Oh, man. The King is going to be so pissed when his prized breeding stud fucks off to the badlands."
"Let him be pissed," Ren said. "I'm not doing this for him."
"Food!" Daigo suddenly roared, nearly startling the entire tavern.
The tired waitress had returned, balancing a massive wooden tray with one hand. She slammed two enormous slabs of roasted, bone-in meat in front of Daigo, the grease sizzling and popping. Then, she unceremoniously dropped three heavy clay bowls of thick, dark stew in front of Ren, Itsuki, and Riku, followed by four tankards of frothy ale.
"Eat up, heroes," she said dryly. "Try not to choke."
"I love this place," Daigo practically wept, tearing into the flank with his bare hands.
Ren picked up his wooden spoon and dipped it into the stew. It smelled heavily of root vegetables and spices he couldn't name. He took a bite. It was hot, incredibly flavorful, and grounding. It tasted like reality.
For the first time since the King had summoned him to that private study, Ren felt like he could breathe. He looked across the table at Riku complaining about the viscosity of the broth, at Itsuki neatly sectioning his food, and at Daigo eating like a starved wolf.
They were going to leave the capital. They were going to get stronger, exploit the hell out of their blue windows, and take control of their own fate. And when the time came, Ren would be powerful enough to protect Rika, protect Sora, and tell the King of Altherion exactly where he could shove his royal bloodline.