For the past half hour, Beatriz had been moving at a blistering pace, her armored frame gliding over uneven terrain with the same ease most people had when walking across a flat street. Elrick, clinging to her back, had long since stopped worrying about falling. The wind tore at his hair and stung his eyes, but compared to walking for hours, this was almost… relaxing. Almost.
The forest around them thinned, and soon they spotted a strip of packed dirt cutting through the trees—a road.
"Hey," Elrick called over the rushing wind, "let's follow that. If we're lucky, we might run into a merchant… maybe buy some clothes. But we should travel alongside it, not on it. Less chance of being spotted."
Beatriz slowed her pace, scanning the road with her usual calculating calm. "Understood."
They moved parallel to it, just out of sight, weaving between the trees. It wasn't long before the sound of creaking wheels and plodding hooves reached their ears.
"Carriage," Elrick murmured. Through a gap in the foliage, he saw it—a stout, covered wagon rolling along with the steady clop of two brown horses. From here, it looked crowded.
"Let's go past them first," he said. "Then I'll meet them. If we're lucky, maybe they've got a cloak or something for sale."
Beatriz said nothing, merely adjusting her pace to move ahead of the carriage.
As they settled near a bend in the road, Elrick asked suddenly, "You're really not going to take off your golden mask? Not even for a little while?"
"Correct," Beatriz replied without hesitation.
Elrick sighed. "Right… well, I'll just ask if they've got spare clothes. It'll help us blend in instead of standing out like… well, like a seven-foot knight in tight gold-plated armor."
He stepped out onto the road, while Beatriz faded back into the treeline. Elrick tugged at his own clothes and winced. His T-shirt and trousers looked completely out of place here. "God, I hope I can speak their language… and that they don't freak out about my clothes."
The carriage came into view, and Elrick saw the driver—an older man with sun-creased skin—and a young boy beside him. Inside the wagon were six armed adventurers, their armor mismatched but functional, along with a woman and her small son, probably the wagon owner's family.
"We should be close to the city soon," the driver said.
"Good," one of the adventurers replied, "I've had enough of that dungeon for a lifetime."
The driver chuckled. "You six really don't plan on going back?"
"Depends," another said. "But I hope not."
It was then that the driver spotted Elrick standing in the road, waving awkwardly. His strange clothes immediately drew every eye.
The driver slowed the horses. "Hello?"
"Uh… hello," Elrick replied. There was a pause, thick enough to cut with a knife, before he said, "Would anyone be willing to sell me some clothes? Or… maybe a robe?"
The group exchanged puzzled glances. One of the women, a short-haired adventurer with a green cloak, leaned forward. "How much?"
"One gold coin," Elrick said without thinking.
That caused even more confusion. The driver frowned, and one of the men muttered under his breath. The woman raised an eyebrow. "That's… far too much for what you're asking."
"It's fine," Elrick said. "Keep the change."
She shrugged, rummaged through a travel sack, and pulled out a folded set of travel clothes. Then, without hesitation, she unclasped her green cloak and handed both to him. Elrick quickly passed her the gold coin.
"Thanks," he said, turning to head toward the trees.
"You're not coming to the city with us?" one of the adventurers asked.
"Got other business," Elrick replied.
"Think he's a bandit?" one of the men muttered as they started moving again.
"I don't know," another said. "Let's just go."
Once the carriage was gone, Beatriz emerged from the shadows like she'd been standing there the whole time. Elrick tossed her the cloak.
"Here. Put that on—cover the shiny armor."
She obeyed without comment. Elrick ducked behind a tree to change. The clothes were a bit big, but they fit well enough to pass. He looked down at himself and sighed. "If I wore this back home, I'd look like a hobo."
Elrick asked Beatriz if she could hide her spear. She complied, shortening it by about a foot before wrapping it in cloth and fastening it securely to her back.
With that done, they followed the road openly. The forest soon gave way to farmland, dotted with tilled fields and thatched cottages. Ahead, the stone walls of a city rose from the landscape. It wasn't massive, but it was far from small—high enough to keep out trouble, with squat watchtowers at regular intervals.
They approached the gate, where two guards stood with spears in hand. One stepped forward. "Toll's ten copper."
Elrick patted his pocket. No copper. Just silver and gold. He handed over a silver coin. "Keep the change."
The guard's eyebrows went up. "…Thank you." He stepped aside and waved them through.
As they entered, Elrick muttered, "Is 'keep the change' going to be my motto now?"
The streets were cobbled but worn, lined with timber-framed buildings whose upper floors jutted slightly over the street. Merchants called out from wooden stalls, selling everything from bread to trinkets to chunks of roast meat. The smell was a strange mix of fresh baking, livestock, and smoke.
Elrick stopped in the middle of the street and exhaled slowly. "Where should we start?"
Elrick glanced around, eyes scanning the bustling streets. Every face, every building, every merchant's stall screamed fantasy setting, but he didn't know where he fit in yet—or how dangerous the average person might be here.
"We need information," he muttered to himself. Beatriz, towering silently beside him under her borrowed cloak, simply followed his gaze.
"Information about… what?" she finally asked.
"About everything," Elrick replied. "Currency, politics, geography, how magic works here… oh, and whether some random farmer could accidentally blow me up with a magic sneeze."
Beatriz tilted her head. "A curious priority."
They moved deeper into the city, passing clusters of townsfolk. Some wore simple linen tunics; others, bits of leather armor or robes embroidered with runic stitching. Several of the latter carried staves or wands, and Elrick found himself wondering how much training it took to sling a fireball.
The thought of asking a random passerby seemed… risky. If this world had different cultures, the wrong question could make him sound like an idiot—or a foreign spy.
So he aimed for the safest source he could think of: a tavern.
---
The sign outside was a crudely painted wooden board that read The Bronze Tankard, complete with a splash of green paint meant to be ale foam. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of meat stew, roasted onions, and spilled beer. The murmur of conversation was loud enough to give him cover, but not deafening.
Perfect.
He picked a table in the corner, back to the wall, and motioned for Beatriz to sit. She didn't drink, but she obeyed. When the serving girl came over, Elrick handed her a silver coin and asked for food and ale, telling her to keep the change.
Beatriz leaned forward slightly. "You give away too much currency."
"Call it bribing the universe for good service," Elrick said.
As the food arrived, so did an opportunity. A group of three men in dusty leather armor sat at the next table, loudly discussing something about "tier-three spell slots" and "mana exhaustion."
Bingo.
Elrick leaned toward them. "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm new in the region. You were talking about… tiers?"
One of them, a scar-faced man with a tankard the size of his head, raised an eyebrow. "You don't know about the Ranking System?"
"Uh… humor me."
The man smirked and set his drink down. "Adventurers, mages, soldiers—it doesn't matter. We all get measured the same way. Starts at Tier Zero—basically civilian level. Tier One's a trained fighter or apprentice mage. Tier Two, you're dangerous enough to make a living from it. Tier Three and above… you start getting noticed by guilds and noble houses."
Another chimed in. "Tier Five's the stuff of legends. There are maybe a dozen of those in the whole kingdom. Anything above that… well, they say Tier Seven folks can wipe a army."
Elrick kept his face neutral, but internally, his brain was doing cartwheels. Okay. That's… terrifying. Also very anime.
"How does someone move up in tiers?" he asked.
The third man shrugged. "Train. Fight. Survive. Some people get lucky—rare skills, magic affinity. Most just die before they get far."
Beatriz, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke. "What tier are you three?"
They laughed. "We're Tier Two," the scar-faced one said proudly. "Not bad for a bunch of dungeon delvers."
Elrick filed that away. Tier Two sounded competent but not world-shaking. Beatriz, in contrast, had slaughtered monsters like she was swatting flies. That meant either she was already high tier… or the tier system wouldn't even measure her.
The conversation drifted, and Elrick let them go back to their drinks. He leaned back in his chair and thought, Alright. Now I've got a rough power scale. Step one, survive long enough to climb it. Step two… figure out what the hell tier Beatriz even is.
He took another bite of stew. "Not bad," he muttered.
Beatriz, without looking up, said, "You're smiling."
"Yeah," Elrick said. "For the first time since we got here, I feel like I know the rules of the game."