Hajin walked along the sun-drenched commercial thoroughfare with Juna pacing silently beside him, the midday crowds parting smoothly around their confident strides.
The royal carriage deposited them near the bustling artisan district with no pressing appointments on their schedule and an outright mountain of coin burning a hole in his pocket.
His left inner pocket held the King's personal recommendation, his right held the provisional Gate permit, and the thick leather purse at his belt weighed enough to buy a modest estate.
'One thousand pure gold coins... two years of starving in the slums cannot easily process this kind of absurd wealth.'
'A high-grade armor set costs around forty gold, a master-forged sword another twenty... leaving hundreds untouched for our future guildhall.'
'Slum survival habits die hard... my brain still instinctively calculates every single price tag into loaves of stale rye bread.'
