In Eleres's mind, the Black Mark System began calculating the spoils.
[System Notification]: Loot collected. Copper coins: 38Silver coins: 3Miscellaneous: 4 (low value)—Total: 8 silver, 6 copper.
His brow furrowed slightly, a faint trace of displeasure passing over his face—just two silver short of the registration fee. So close, yet still not enough.
He rose to his feet without looking back.
In the far corner of the shack, the shadows stirred in silence. From the darkness, the Third Prince extended a thin ribbon of shade, gliding soundlessly toward the oil lamp hanging on the wall. The flame quivered at his touch, then the lamp was tipped sharply, crashing to the floor.
Half a bottle of oil splashed across the mold-stained boards with a hiss. The fire caught instantly, flaring to life like a wild beast freed from its chains. Orange tongues licked at the walls, dry wood popping softly as the air thickened with the acrid bite of burning oil.
At first, it was only a small flicker, like a cat breathing in the corner. But within a few breaths, it had devoured the floor and was climbing the rotten beams toward the ceiling. Dust from the rafters swirled in the heat, drifting like a swarm of tiny fireflies through the smoke.
The temperature inside spiked, the air turning heavy and stifling. Firelight twisted over the unconscious bodies on the floor, casting their faces into grotesque grimaces. One of them let out a groan, half-awake, but before his eyes could open, the flames were already at his feet.
Eleres pushed the door open and stepped outside. Behind him, the fire was already writhing like a hundred burning tongues. The door cracked under the heat with a sharp snap, and black smoke poured through the gaps, curling upward into the overcast sky.
The Third Prince's shadow slipped soundlessly from the inferno, flowing back to Eleres's feet as though nothing had happened at all.
When he returned to the marketplace, the stall owners had gone utterly silent. Those who might have met his gaze earlier now fixed their eyes firmly on their work. One man bent over a bolt of cloth, never looking up; another twisted a rag in his hands until the seams began to fray.
Eleres stopped before a stall—the same vendor who had been selling the gloves earlier."Where did they usually stay?" His voice was quiet, but it carried the kind of edge that sank straight into the bone.
The stallkeeper hesitated, licking his lips before replying. "Old granary on the west side… by the dry well. Been empty for years. They took it over."
Eleres gave a single nod and turned away.
The granary was exactly as described—a two-story stone building, its roof patched haphazardly with scraps. Sunlight filtered through the cracks, and dust drifted lazily in the beams. Broken crates littered the floor, gnawed through by rats.
He began searching with practiced efficiency, prying open barrels and drawers. Most of it was worthless—moldy blankets, a dented kettle, a few cracked dice.
Then, in the corner, he spotted a loose floorboard. Lifting it, he found a sword beneath—its leather grip worn smooth, the crossguard nicked with age. It wasn't fine work, but it was well-balanced, the edge still sharp. He slid it into his belt and left the rest of the junk where it lay.
t dawn the next day, Eleres stood before the west gate of the small town. Beyond the walls, the king's road stretched into a pale morning mist, where the faint outlines of a caravan could be seen in the distance. Around him, others had gathered to wait.
A group of young men clustered together, their voices loud and unrestrained. They wore bright wool cloaks fastened at the chest with polished brass clasps that caught the sunlight, soft leather boots on their feet, and belts inlaid with silver. Some had their hair slicked back and neatly combed, their laughter sharp and carefree. Two of them carried walking sticks carved from dark wood—more for show than for any practical use.
Not far away, a broad-shouldered youth stood in silence. His palms were thick with calluses, and his face was ruddy from long hours under the sun. The coarse cloth coat he wore had patches at the elbows, but it was clean. From time to time, he glanced at the richly dressed youths, only to quickly lower his head again.
Then there were three others who carried themselves with a certain oily arrogance. Their clothes were finer than the farm boy's, yet lacked the refinement of the true gentry. They spoke loudly, laughter rolling from them as their eyes swept over Eleres without restraint.
"Look at this one," one of them said, jerking his chin in Eleres's direction. "Rags from head to toe, boots about to fall apart—thinks he can sign up looking like that?"
Laughter followed. Eleres's gaze drifted over them like smoke. His coat was indeed worn—once black, now faded to a weary grey by years of travel, its hem frayed, every crease carrying the marks of the road. His boots were cracked and scuffed, the leather pale from wear. Against their silver-buckled tunics and silk-lined boots, he looked like a man from another world entirely.
The sound of hooves and the rumble of iron-rimmed wheels broke the moment. The caravan rolled into view—six wagons in all. The first three were enclosed, their dark-painted bodies gleaming with polished copper fittings. Heavy velvet curtains hung in the windows, and thick-cushioned seats waited within. Each was drawn by a pair of horses adorned with white plumes.
A seat in those wagons cost far more than the few copper coins Eleres had left.
He made his way to the rear instead—the last wagon was an open flatbed piled with burlap sacks and wooden barrels, with just enough space for two people to sit. The farm boy was already there; when he saw Eleres approach, he shifted aside to make room.
Eleres climbed aboard without complaint. The boards groaned faintly beneath his weight, and the smell of grain and dust filled the air. Up ahead, the wealthy passengers settled comfortably into their padded seats, one of them even leaning out of the window to glance back, a smirk tugging at his lips.