-Day 13-

  The morning sun's rays pierced through the paper doors, stirring Sen awake. For a moment, he was disoriented.

  He yawned, stretching his limbs nguidly. "First, a wash and breakfast," he thought, "then I’ll head out."

  The memory of two nights of undisturbed rest and hearty meals at the inn had left him feeling rejuvenated.

  Descending the stairs, he was greeted by a nakai who bowed and guided him to the dining area where a buffet awaited.

  In less than twenty minutes, he had devoured his meal, wiping the st crumbs from his mouth.

  Noticing the bustling streets outside, he grabbed his leather bag, thinking, "I should get moving."

  As Sen stepped out of the inn, the hyena-man, who had been waiting since dawn, approached him eagerly.

  "So, what have you got for me today? Another fight?" The hyena-man fidgeted nervously, his hands twisting together.

  Sen stuffed his coins into a cloth, then tossed his chitin armor and leather bag at the hyena-man's chest.

  "Sell this and get me a new pouch. I'll be at the market center. Don't take too long"

  "Ah, all right," the hyena-man stammered, catching the items.

  As the hyena-man turned to leave, Sen called out, "Before you go, tell your name."

  "G-Ganto," he stammered, his eyes darting between Sen and the armor in his hands.

  "Don't forget what I told you, Ganto and make sure to get the best price you can for those junks." Sen jabbed a finger at the stuff.

  Ganto nodded, scurrying away to complete the given task.

  Sen watched Ganto vanish into the crowd, then gnced down at his ragged clothes looking worn out, ripped, and clearly saying 'street trash.' "Tch. I look like I rolled out of a dumpster. Time to fix that."

  -The Pza-

  Passing shops and stalls, Sen kept his eyes sharp and focused.

  Then he paused at the pza’s edge, scanning the crowd for a clothier’s banner. Merchants shouted their wares—“Fresh prawns!”, “Silken robes, best in the south!”, “Cured meats, just cut!”—but Sen ignored the noise, zeroing in on a modest tent with a sign painted in bold strokes that read Tashiro’s Wardrobe & Repairs.

  Under the canvas fp, a wiry man with ink-smudged fingers eyed Sen’s gear critically. “You need new garb,” Tashiro said without preamble, lifting Sen’s elbow to inspect the tear.

  Sen crossed his arms. “Got something tough enough for a brawl but light enough to sprint?”

  Rubbing his chin, Tashiro waved Sen over to a low bench. “I have just the thing. Give me a moment."

  As Sen sat restless, his fingers drummed against his knee.

  Behind him, the old man shuffled through a rack of garments, muttering, “No, too fshy... too thin... ah, there.” He emerged holding a dark grey ensemble—loose-fitting hakama reinforced at the knees, a sleeveless top with padded shoulders, and a long, sleeved haori with hidden inner pockets.

  “Durable weave and good movement range," Tashiro said, thrusting it at him.

  Sen held it up, giving a quick nod. “How much?”

  "12 Yellows."

  Sen tossed a handful of coins into the clothier’s palm and changed behind a hanging screen, leaving his worn out robe on the ground. When he stepped out, the difference was immediate. The new outfit felt light but resilient, breathable but snug in all the right pces.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, adjusting the haori. “That’ll do.”

  Walking out Sen gazed up at the sky. "Just about noon."

  As he waited for Ganto, Sen chowed down on the meat skewers he snagged for a single yellow coin.

  After quite some time, Ganto burst into view, panting like he’d raced the sun. He thrust a pouch at Sen. “Took some haggling, but I got fifteen Yellows for the armor—and the bag sold for three more.” He gulped down air, eyes gleaming with relief.

  Sen flicked the pouch open. Coins clinked. “Good job,” he said ftly, tipping 7 coins into Ganto’s cwed hand. “Now go get me a map quick."

  Ganto’s eyes widened at the unexpected bonus. “Y-Yeah, right away!” he barked, clutching the coins like they were sacred, and bolted back into the market chaos.

  Sen leaned against a post, chewing the st bite of his skewer. The meat was spicy, charred just enough to remind him of street food back home.

  Minutes passed. A few more. Sen was starting to lose patience when Ganto reappeared, panting again, this time with a rolled parchment held overhead like a torch. “Got it! Eastern trader had a pile of 'em. Picked the one with updated markings.”

  Sen snatched the map, unrolling it with practiced hands.

  "Where are we on the map."

  Sen’s eyes darted across the sprawling map, lines and symbols sprawling like veins on ancient parchment. The nd was vast, divided into jagged kingdoms and sprawling regions, a patchwork quilt of power and conflict.

  Ganto, catching his breath, stepped closer and pointed to a border dividing a region with a cwed finger. “We’re in the central trade hub of the southern territories, near the edge of the Ryūzoku Empire. See that?” He jabbed at the vast expanse stretching along the southern coast, a glittering swath marked by mountain ranges and winding rivers flowing into a massive sea of sand and dry nd.

  “That’s the Empire’s heartnd,” Ganto expined, voice low with a mix of pride and caution. “Ryūzoku rules most of the south — a sprawling domain bordered by the Desert Sea. It’s harsh out there. No rain for months, and the sand eats everything alive.”

  Sen narrowed his eyes. “So why do they bother holding it? Doesn’t sound like paradise.”

  "No, not heaven," Ganto sneered. "But it's incredibly wealthy. This territory is brimming with minerals—ore veins buried deep underground, crystals that shimmer softly in the shadows, and gems that are worth more than you could ever imagine. The Empire's fortune is built on extracting these treasures and bartering them across the continent."

  Sen squinted at the heartnd markings, then tilted his head. “All right. So who's actually running this shithole?”

  Ganto flinched a little at the bluntness, but answered quickly. “The Empire's ruled by the Dragon Throne. But the real power’s divided among seven cns—each tied to bloodlines blessed by Ryūjin, the sky dragon god. Each cn runs its own chunk of territory and specializes in something—military, trade, crafting, even bloody spirit magic.”

  Sen snorted. “Seven families holding the leash, huh? Sounds like a polite way to say 'organized ruling cartel.' Who’s at the top of that pile?”

  “That’d be the Hoshin Cn,” Ganto replied. “Human nobles. Traditionalists. They hold the capital and command the Shōgun’s Guard. The others—Sarnith, Kazuko, Eryndor, Zha’Rok, Tal’Shiri, and Wyrahn—they jockey for favor, nd, and influence, but no one moves against the Hoshin outright. Not without risking a civil war.”

  Sen’s brow furrowed as he folded the map and tucked it into his haori. “Sounds like a powder keg that hasn’t popped. Yet.”

  Ganto nodded. “Tensions are always simmering, especially between the Kazuko and Tal’Shiri. Old blood feuds. You know how it is.”

  “I know it always ends with someone’s guts on the floor,” Sen muttered. “What about ws? Can I knock some bastard’s teeth out without ending up on a pike?”

  Ganto let out a shaky ugh. "It all hinges on who you take down. If it’s just a nobody or a street thug, no one bats an eye. You might even earn a bit of street cred. But if you go after a merchant with cn backing, or heaven forbid, a cn enforcer? You’d be fortunate if they only chop off your hands."

  Sen grunted. “So it’s the usual story. Laws for the rich, cuffs for the rest.”

  "Right on the money,” Ganto remarked, raking a cw behind his ear. “The cns stick to their own rules. The Hoshin follow the Empire’s ws, but once you step outside the capital, it’s a wild world out there. My best tip? Steer clear of anyone funting a family crest unless you’re looking to pick a fight with folks who have plenty of cash and even more dangerous connections."

  Then Ganto added, “And another thing, if you go slinging energy around, it won't end well. The moment someone starts channeling an element in public, it’s a different set of ws. Empire doesn’t tolerate unlicensed elemental use unless you're registered with a cn or got a sigil mark.”

  Sen blinked. “Wait. Elemental what now?”

  “Energy. Magic. Whatever word you want. The gifts given by Ryujin during the Founding. Fire, wind, earth, water, lightning—it’s what keeps the Empire on top.”

  Sen gave him a look like he’d just offered a bedtime story as fact. “You expect me to believe people can shoot lightning out their palms because a dragon said so?”

  Ganto looked at him sideways. “You serious right now?"

  "I don’t do fairy tales.”

  The hyena-man hesitated, then leaned in. “What are you then? A lost wanderer?”

  Sen raised an eyebrow. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You talk like someone who wasn’t taught the basics. Only people who come here clueless like that are usually one of three things: exiled, cursed, or born under a rock,” Ganto muttered, folding his arms. “Wanderers are folks who got booted from their nds—or worse, from the Empire. Or they’re outws hiding from some blood debt.”

  Sen didn’t respond. His expression hardened like granite.

  Ganto took the silence as a maybe. “Either way, careful who hears you say things like that. Ignorance is tolerated until it isn’t.”

  Sen looked away, jaw tight. “And what about you? You spouting all this like you’ve got power—why aren’t you flinging lightning bolts?”

  The hyena-man looked off for a second. “I’m half-breed. My kind came after the blessings. Most people who don’t have the Blessing are either exiles, outws, or—like me—half-breeds. Beastfolk like me weren’t part of the Empire when Ryūzoku first rose. The dragon’s favor only blessed those cns present at the start. We got left out. No powers, no privileges. Just scraps.”

  Sen’s eyes narrowed, the edges hardening. “So a second-css citizen because you weren’t lucky enough to be born in the right family, huh.”

  Ganto spat to the side. “We get by, but never climbing up the ranks .”

  Sen nodded, processing it all. “Sounds like a kingdom built on privilege, bloodlines, and a whole lot of bullshit. Maybe it’s not so different from anywhere else.”

  Ganto gnced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

  “There are certain people,” he said slowly, “who were'nt born with the Blessing… but still managed to obtain elemental power.”

  Sen raised an eyebrow, already smelling bullshit but willing to hear it out.

  Ganto continued, “They say some hunters, or desperate bastards, consume the flesh or blood of elemental beasts creatures born with raw elemental energy coursing through their veins. Fire behemoths, Thunder trigons, Stone tortoises, whatever it is that they call them around here. Eating that kind of power supposedly transfers the elemental energy into your own body.”

  Sen snorted, folding his arms. “Sounds like a fast track to getting gutted.”

  “Most of them don’t make it,” Ganto admitted with a grim nod. “But those who do... they gain strength that rivals the blessed cns. Not many dare try it, though. It’s a quick way to either become legend or a cautionary tale.”

  Sen’s jaw tightened, interest sparking despite his skepticism. “And you? Ever try your luck?”

  Ganto shrugged, eyes darkening. “Can’t. Half-breeds like me don’t get the Blessing, and we’re not strong enough to wrestle those beasts alive. Most of us just scavenge what’s left or sell what others bring back.”

  Sen then looked down at his hand, flexing it slowly. “Huh. Eat a monster, become one.”

  “That’s the gamble,” Ganto said. “The Empire calls it forbidden consumption. If they catch you with beast-infused power and no cn to back it. You’re marked for purging. Branded. Hunted.”

  Sen’s smile widened just a little. “Heh. A shortcut for someone like me I guess.”

  Ganto added. “Or death.”

  Sen cracked his neck. “Either way, better odds than kissing the feet of some noble with a god complex.”

  Ganto looked at him for a long second. “You really aren't from around here, are you?”

  "Doesn't matter, I have no intention of returning," Sen tapped his finger against his shoulder. “Tell me where I can find these things.”

  Ganto scratched at the fur under his jaw, looking uncomfortable. But he answered.

  “They’re scattered. Wild elemental beasts don’t stick to the pces you’d expect, but... there’s a pattern.” He pointed vaguely in several directions, mentally mapping it out.

  "You may encounter fme-throwing beasts lurking around the Frostcap Reaches. It's the chilliest area up north. They slither into that spot to avoid being scorched to death."

  Sen’s brows creased. “Fire hides in ice?”

  Ganto nodded. “Ice beasts, on the other hand, linger in the volcanic belts of the Embercoils—massive magma vents and steam-choked jungles. They need the heat to regute their cursed frozen cores.”

  “Opposites.” Sen muttered, already thinking in angles. “Smart.”

  “For Wind. You want the Howling Peaks mountains so high the sky gets thin. Things up there ride the jet streams, soar like gods. Dangerous terrain, no solid footing. If you fall, you ain’t stopping.”

  Sen nodded once, expression unreadable.

  “Thunder beasts keep to the dense forest of the Stormwood. Common rain. Tall Trees. They feed on static, build it up and bst it out. Twitchy things, real fast.”

  “And water?” Sen asked.

  “Water ones are easiest to track. Swamps, kes, ocean cliffs, anywhere wet and miserable. The trick is not drowning before they kill you. Some near invisible until they pull you under.”

  Sen looked at Ganto, intrigued. “And I’m supposed to hunt one of these down and eat it? That doesn’t sound too simple.”

  Ganto shifted uneasily, scratching his side. “No one said it was easy. But if you don’t want to chase one down yourself... there’s always the Crimson Market.”

  Sen raised an eyebrow. “Crimson Market?”

  “They sell the fresh corpses of those creatures—mostly to people looking to harvest their powers without all the risk. You pay the price, and you get the body, ready for consumption. Freshly killed. Might even get a few perks without needing to py the hunting game yourself,” said Ganto.

  “How much?”

  “Depends on the creature. The bigger and rarer, the higher the price."

  Sen let out a heavy sigh. “Seems like I’ve got options. And no matter what I do, I’ll probably end up with someone hunting my ass for it.”

  Ganto shurgged. "You still want to go through with it? Or are you gonna keep wandering and finding your next fight like always?”

  "You said it yourself—I’m not from around here. I might as well see what this Empire’s got to offer.” He clenched his fists, the excitement of the hunt already stirring in him. “I’ll take my chances with the monsters and the market.”

  Ganto looked him over, his eyes flicking nervously. “You’re a strange one. But I’ll keep my mouth shut. You want to start with the Crimson Market, I can point you there. Just... be careful. You get too deep in this, and you’ll have people coming after your skin.”

  “I’ll do just fine. Anyways,” Sen cracked his neck as he stood up straight, eyes locked on Ganto like a bde ready to strike, “I got a question.”

  Ganto blinked. “Yeah?”

  “For a gambler,” Sen said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion, “you sure know a heck lot. Elemental beasts, market connections and the cns. Where the hell do you get your intel from?”

  Ganto paused, mouth twitching. For a second, he stayed quiet.

  Exhaling through his nose, Ganto then spoke. “Let’s just say… I’ve had to keep my ears open and my mouth shut to survive in this pisshole of a world. You don’t st long gambling with monsters and nobles unless you know what moves they’re about to make.”

  Sen didn’t blink. “Still sounds like more than just street wisdom.”

  “You’re not mistaken. I used to roll with a rougher bunch. Real scoundrels. Mercenaries, smugglers, and info dealers. Got burned, flipped the script, and began wagering instead of suffering. But some wounds carry secrets, and those secrets still murmur to me when the booze runs out."

  “So you’re an ex-snitch who got too smart for his own good?”

  Ganto smirked. “More like a roach that crawled out of too many fires. You don’t gotta trust me, but I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I?”

  Sen gave him a hard look, then snorted. “No, but if you do… I’ll tear out your tongue and feed it to whatever elemental I hunt first.”

  Ganto raised his hands with a dry ugh. “Fair enough. But if you do get a power, try not to melt half the city by accident. We still got a betting pool running.”

  Sen turned away, muttering, “Then tell your little pool to put money on the house burning first.”

  “Where are you pnning to go?” Ganto asked, trotting behind.

  Sen paused, one boot tapping against the cobbles. He cast a sidelong gnce at Ganto. “Heading to the Crimson Market first,” he growled, voice low enough to keep ears pricked. “Need to scope out those fresh carcasses before someone else snaps them up or before the Empire’s goons decide to torch the pce.”

  Ganto’s whiskers twitched. “That pce is a blood-soaked den. You still sure?”

  Sen cracked a grin. “Perfect spot for someone like me. If they’re selling elemental corpses, that’s where the real monsters hang out—both the beasts and the bastards running the show.” He shoved his hands into his haori pockets. “Stick close, Ganto. If things go sideways, I don’t fancy making my exit alone.”

  Ganto swallowed, gncing down the narrow alley leading eastward. “Alright… follow me. And, uh—keep your fists to yourself until I give the word. The st thing we need is your fist turning the market into a battlefield.”

  Sen shrugged, shoulders loose. “No promises.” With that, he fell in step behind the hyena-man, strides long and confident, eyes already scanning for the scarlet banners that marked the underworld’s darkest bazaar.