In three days at the Hunters Inn, Alex had learned more about the pulse of the city than he had expected. Conversations often drifted toward local guild disputes—the Butchers Guild was clashing with the Carters over transport fees, and rumors hinted at fistfights breaking out near the market square. The city had three major trade streets: Iron Row, where smiths and armorers set up shop; Silkway, lined with tailors, jewelers, and spice merchants; and South Market, which served the working class with cheap food, tools, everyday goods, and was said to house black and grey markets for those who knew to find them—where one could find all manner of items and creatures. South Market had a reputation for being rougher after dark, with unpredictably levelled visitors, and Alex overheard that groups calling themselves by various names had been running various questionable rackets in that area.

  Alex picked up bits and pieces about a big campaign into the Frontier. Likely the one he would soon be heading to later that day. Nobody knew the full details, but people were watching the markets closely—the Crown had been buying up supplies in bulk, and city officials were hiring anyone willing to take on support roles. The numbers were anyone’s guess, but based on the sheer quality of weapons, armour, and provisions being bought, people assumed it wasn’t a small expedition. Even the stables were packed with extra horses, and porters were being contracted for weeks at a time.

  Most of the chatter came from merchants and traders, excited by the coin pouring into the city. The higher-end smiths and enchanters were working overtime, and even food vendors in South Market were clearing out their stalls to fill orders.

  It was interesting, to say the least. But none of it mattered more than what would occur today.

  Today was the day where all willing hunters would meet House Draymoore and the Crowns men at the main gate, form groups,

  Then head to the frontier.

  “What a great day,” Alex murmured mid-rest.

  The sounds of patrons and workers in the Hunters Hollow lower floors stirred slowly in the early hours, rising Alex from his contemplative haze. He sat at the edge of his bed, adjusting the sleeves of his dark tunic. With the advent of the system, sleep had become something of an indulgence; unnecessary in large amounts, but still as psychologically rewarding as it had been when he was nothing more than a normal human—before he’d gained his first level. He arose feeling refreshed, both in body and in mind. His new boots hardly made a sound as he crossed the room to the inn’s common room.

  It was quieter now, most of the rowdy patrons from the night before having long since left. The barmaid from the days before offered him a brief nod before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Liora was already waiting at a table.

  She lounged near the back, her halberd propped neatly against the wall beside her, rigid as a guard at attention whilst she nursed a cup of something hot, its steam curling lazily into the air.

  “Morning,” Alex greeted, sliding into the seat across from her.

  “Morning,” Liora mimicked, glancing up. Her gaze flicked briefly over his attire. “New clothes suit you.”

  “I know.”

  Alex nodded faintly, glancing around the room. The patrons here were different from the day before—quiet, relaxed types who kept their conversations low. Even so, he could feel their eyes on him. He’d noticed it the moment he walked in, the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances.

  “You’ve made an impression,” Liora said dryly, following his eyes, nodding toward a table where a group of hunters quickly looked away as Alex met their gaze.“People talk. The whole inn knows what happened yesterday.”

  Alex arched a brow. “The fight with Gideon?”

  Liora smirked. “More like the fact that you didn’t die. They’re impressed and curious about the swift applicant.”

  “Swift applicant?”

  Liora huffed a sly smirk. “You pushed him back, and that trick with catching the blade really left an impression. They’re all talking about it.”

  Alex had planned on using The Houses as a cover anyway. His apparent local fame, and the upcoming frontier campaign could help to establish a relationship with a noble house and solidify his cover as one of their men. It would also help to establish the level of danger posed by the rest of the summoned heroes and the world at large. “Let them talk,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

  The creak of heavy footsteps drew their attention. Osric—old and weathered, with his wild mane of white hair—approached their table, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. He carried a large mug in one hand, the contents sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

  “Is that seat taken?” he asked, though he was already pulling out a chair.

  “Go ahead,” Liora said.

  Osric sat with a groan, setting his mug down heavily on the table. His sharp gray eyes fixed on Alex.

  “So,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “Swift one. I hear you met the Hand and walked away without filling the healers coin.”

  Alex just met his gaze, waiting to hear what the old man had to say next.

  Osric chuckled, a raspy sound that carried a hint of genuine amusement. “Don’t look at me like that, young one. That’s no small feat. You forced him to back a step, they say.”

  “I didn’t force him to do anything,” Alex shrugged. “He stopped when he wanted to.”

  “Hmm.” Osric tapped a finger against his mug, his gaze never leaving Alex. “I expected you to get a glancing blow in, maybe. That handshake proved you had a little something about you. But I still expected the Hand to paint your face red with blood by the end of it. But you did a lot better than that. That’s not bad at all.” He took a swig of Liora’s drink, gently placing his mug down as though concentrating before gesturing two fingers at the barmaid, ordering two more before she could protest.

  Liora frowned before she relaxed, noting her new drink arriving. Then she shot Alex a glance. “He right, you know. They might try to put you upfront in the campaign because of it… What’s your level?” Her eyes lit up with curiosity,

  “Bah! Who cares about that?” Osric interrupted with a wave of his hand and raise of his mug, the frothy ale clinging to the rim. He took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the taste before setting it down with a solid thud. “You’ve got potential, lad.” He continued, “better not get yourself killed trying to realise it.”

  Alex frowned. “I’m not interested in showing off, or dying.”

  “That’s good” Osric said with a smile. “In the campaign’ she said. The Frontier doesn’t care how strong you are or if you’ve got steel or stars on your shoulders. It’ll take you all the same if you’re not careful.”

  Alex leaned forward slightly, curiosity piqued. “You’ve been out there?”

  Osric’s grin widened. “Aye. Spent more years than I care to count wandering those cursed lands. Seen things most would call nightmares. It’s still hard to imagine some of them were real.”

  Osric paused, eyeing the both of them, tapping the table with his knuckles the entire time. “There’s a smith I know—Talwyn. He runs a shop near the eastern district. Best armor in the city, hands down. If you’re going to the Frontier you’ll both need something enchanted, I don’t care how high your level is. Won’t gouge you on the price, either.”

  Alex considered for a moment before nodding. It was what he had planned on doing anyway. Hopefully the armour prices would be less than the amount of gold he had stored in his spatial space.

  “Alright. Let’s go.”

  ***

  The city streets were bustling by the time they reached the smith’s shop. The building stood at the corner of a wide street, its stone fa?ade adorned with scuffs, scratches, scars, and burns.

  Inside, the forge burned steady, a heart beating in iron and flame. The air was warm and the scent of metal and leather thick. Armour lined the walls, each piece displaying fine craftsmanship—breastplates, gauntlets, helmets, and more. Most shining with mana enchantments. A large man with soot-streaked arms stood behind the counter, inspecting a newly finished cuirass.

  “Talwyn,” Osric called, striding toward the counter. “Brought you a customer.”

  Talwyn looked up, his keen eyes holding slight warmth as he took in the trio. “Osric. Been a while.”

  “Too long,” Osric agreed, clapping the smith on the shoulder. “This is Alex. He’s looking for armor.”

  Talwyn’s gaze shifted to Alex, then drifted to Liora assessing her with the practiced eye of a craftsman. “You’ve got the look of someone who needs more than just protection.”

  “Actually, it’s me.” Alex corrected him. “I need armour—something light,” Alex said. “Flexible. But it has to cover everything.”

  “Odd, you seem sturdy enough.” Talwyn studied him briefly then nodded slowly. “Follow me.”

  He led them to the back of the shop, where more specialized pieces were displayed. One set in particular caught Alex’s attention—a sleek suit of metal armor that rippled faintly in the forge’s light. The design was minimalist yet elegant, with clean lines and a polished finish. It was light armour, but metal—A work of endless segments constructed to match the users every twist and motion.

  “This,” Talwyn said, gesturing to the set. “Steelcore plating. Lightweight, reinforced with minor enchanted alloys. It’s mostly to deflect arrows, but it’s still enchanted, a little. Won’t slow you down, and it’ll hold up against most attacks under level 200.”

  Alex stepped closer, running his hand over the smooth surface. The helmet, shaped with a curved crest and short metal mane, reminded him of the Roman centurian helmets from Earth, except its face held a featureless mask, bearing nothing but two narrow angled slits for his eyes to see through. He traced a finger along the ridge, noting the craftsmanship, sensing the enchanted defensive mana’s minuscule hum in response to his touch.

  “It’s perfect,” he said quietly.

  Talwyn nodded. “It’s not cheap. Seventy gold.”

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  Alex had One-hundred-and-nine gold and thirty-eight silver left. He had sold three spare swords he had taken from the remains at the sect’s trail entrance, their damaged frames still being deemed valuable by vendors simply due to the quality of their materials and the rare yet durable energy conductive ores they had been crafted from. Staying at the Hunters Inn had then cost him four silver a night for the past three nights, reducing his reserves, slightly. The currency system was simple enough—one gold was worth fifty silver, and one silver was worth fifty copper. It wasn’t what he expected, but he quickly got used to it. Alex pulled a pouch from his belt, counting out the gold coins and setting them on the counter. “Done.”

  The smith chuckled. “No haggling? I like you.”

  Liora watched the exchange with mild amusement. “Most hunters would’ve spent an hour arguing over that price.”

  Alex shrugged, taking the armour from Talwyn and swiftly moving to an adjacent room to change. “Time’s more valuable, we have to make it to the gate.”

  “The gate? House Dreymoore?” Talwyn’s expression grew serious. “The moneys good, so I understand the scramble, and I heard the crowns involved so it won’t be as bad as it could be, but you’ll want to watch your back out there with them.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow from the other room, his voice carrying. “What kind of trouble are we talking about? You’re saying the Sanguine Houses are a problem?”

  Through the walls, he sensed Talwyn shoot his position sharp look. “I’m saying they’re the problem.” The smith called back. “The other Houses aren’t as bad, but honestly—Doesn’t matter if you’re dealing with Dreymoore or any of the others. Their contracts will make you rich, but they always cost the rest of us more than you think.”

  “They know.” Osric interject, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered his friends words. "The crowns protection forces them in line—thanks to our blessed King—but because the fringe towns have no one to protect them. They demand tributes—blood, resources, sometimes people," he said, his voice firm. "Just last month, the entire village of Green Hollow was wiped out. Families vanished overnight because they couldn't meet the Sanguine House’s demands. Now, only ashes remain where children once played."

  Not the most convincing recruitment speech, huh? Alex’s brow furrowed at the new information regarding the brutality of his contractor. He returned to the room, donning his new sleek armour that covered every facet of his form in well crafted segments. He glanced at Liora. Is this normal here? What Osric said didn’t sit right with him, but Liora’s expression showed no surprise, only acceptance and gratitude for the Crown and King that strangely conflicted with her earlier sentiments. It was a strange conundrum that shed some light on the potential purpose of the hero summoning, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. He pushed the thought aside.

  “Charming,” Alex said flatly, shifting his weight. Liora paused in appreciation of his armour and Osric merely nodded in approval. Alex nodded back, then glanced at the case Talwyn was carrying, sensing the items inside.

  It seemed Liora had made a purchase of her own.

  “Charming?” Talwyn gave a short laugh as he began closing the clasps on the sturdy leather case. “You’ll see soon enough. I heard the crowns helping with the campaign, so it shouldn’t be too bad, they’ll keep them in check. It’ll be dangerous, but still, there’s money to be made,”

  “And time is money.” Alex said in response.

  Talwyn laughed again, louder this time as he handed Liora the case. “You’ve got the right mindset. The Frontier waits for no one and out there, every second’s worth its weight in gold.”

  They left the store soon after, with Osric bidding his friend a warm goodbye, his voice carrying over the clink of metal and the soft thud of the leather case against Alex’s hip.

  The three of them walked in the direction of the main gate—Alex, Liora, and Osric trailing behind them with a steady stride. He insisted on accompanying them to the gate, waving off Alex’s objections with a dismissive gesture.

  “In case I never see you again,” Osric had said. Alex found it both endearing and pretty rude.

  As they made their way through the winding streets, the conversation shifted easily between stories and questions. Osric took on the role of storyteller with a natural confidence that made Alex suspect he’d done it a hundred times before.

  “You know,” Osric continued, “when I was young—before everything turned into what it is now—you’d never see the kind of mess between the Crown and the Houses that made the Hand what he is.”

  Liora glanced sideways at Alex but said nothing, letting the old man speak.

  “They kept their wars in the shadows back then,” Osric continued. “Behind locked doors, in places where regular folk wouldn’t hear the screams.”

  Liora raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

  “Now?” Osric’s laugh was dry. “Now, they’ve gotten bolder. Same blood, different battlefield

  ***

  The gates of the city stood, forged by hands who knew what waited beyond them. Even without extending his senses, Alex could feel the sheer density of mana woven into the walls—layer upon layer of protective wards, reinforced by the craftsmanship of countless generations. The walls flanked the gate, stretching high into the sky, their surfaces imbued with a lattice of enchantments that caused the air to taste somewhat mettalic. Guards moved along the high walls, idly watching the gathering below.

  Osric let out a low whistle. “Impressive, eh? They’ve reinforced it more than I remember.”

  Liora nodded, her expression neutral but her posture tense. “They’ve been busy.”

  His footsteps, muffled by the segmented plates of his armor, blended into the distant clatter of carts and quiet murmurs. His helmet concealed his face entirely. Only narrow slits allowed him to see the world beyond, his expression hidden from those gathered before the city’s threshold.

  The crowd was large.

  Two hundred or so, by his count, or perhaps more, gathered in clusters across the courtyard. The gathered hunters were a restless sea, each wave crashing into the next without care for what lay ahead. They filled the space with muted conversations and shifting bodies. Most of them wore practical armor—leather, chain, some full plate, some with designs Alex didn’t recognise. Their weapons were strapped loosely to belts or carried casually in hand. Some others wore enchanted armour scuffed from use, and high quality weapons strapped in places of easy reach. Practical gear for more practical people. Veteran hunters, by the look of them, those familiar with danger and experienced enough to know when to act. They seemed acceptable, but far from enough to survive the threats Osric claimed they would be facing. Better hunters, but not the best. Standard veterans amongst fresher blood.

  The hunters moved through the crowd, pacing and restless, like beasts waiting for the call to action.

  Alex walked along the edge of the gathered group, gaze steady beneath his helmet. The faces blended together at first. Ordinary. Familiar types. Men and women hardened by survival, their gear worn but functional.

  Then he noticed them.

  A man with a bow walked through the crowd, his movements easy, his smile unforced, and his shoulders relaxed. The sound of his name traveled ahead of him in murmurs, and hunters turned to look, craning their necks for a better view. He greeted those who called out to him by name, tossing playful remarks as more hunters gathered around him, their admiration bordering on awe, laughing at his remarks and hanging on his every word, treating him like a legend from a story they all knew. He acknowledged them all with an easy nod, exuding familiarity that only fed the crowd’s excitement. Wherever he went, voices rose in recognition.

  Not far off, a larger man passed through the gathering, his many needle-like weapons spinning idly between his fingers. Heads turned the moment he came into view, and conversations quieted as people jostled each other to catch a glimpse. The crowd around him thickened with every step, admiration rippling through those watching, some whispering his name like a shared secret. He gave them little more than a nod or a quick handshake, yet their numbers continued to swell.

  Liora’s eyes lifted briefly as the man passed by, her expression brightening with recognition before she turned back to the front with renewed focus.

  And there were others.

  Another man stood near a supply cart, arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t larger than those around him. He didn’t carry an obvious weapon. Yet no one came near. People adjusted their paths without looking directly at him, feet shifting unconsciously to avoid his space.

  Alex tracked the movement, noting how subtle it was.

  Another figure caught his eye—a woman with a faint scar along her jawline. Her armor fit close to her form—like his—polished enough to suggest recent repair and regular maintenance. No one tried to make conversation. She moved through the crowd like a shadow through torchlight—seen, but never approached. Heads turned briefly in her direction, only to shift away just as quickly.

  Four so far.

  Among gathered hunters were individuals who stood apart—not by their clothing or weapons, but by the way people unconsciously moved around them. It told a story of fame and notoriety. Conversations grew quieter—or louder—when they passed. Others adjusted their stances, keeping their hands closer to their weapons or rushed to ask questions. These weren’t ordinary hunters. Each carried themselves like walking beacons, moving with the ease of people who had grown well accustomed with guaranteeing victory in matters of life and death.

  Alex stood still, his reflective armour glistening with each breath as he observed the gathered crowd. The helmet concealed his expression entirely, leaving nothing for onlookers to interpret, only his posture gave hints to his observations—calm, unhurried, but focused. Alex noted each of the strange hunters among the gathered quietly, letting the count rise in his mind.

  Three. Four. Five.

  Not ordinary.

  He shifted his gaze to the front of the gathering, where two groups stood distinct from the rest.

  The summoned heroes.

  Twenty-nine of them, gathered in loose formation. Retainers hovered nearby, adjusting armor straps, checking supplies. The heroes themselves stood quietly, some observing the crowd, others simply waiting.

  Alex recognized most of them, though he had made no effort to engage with the group since his abrupt arrival in this world. Still, certain figures stood out even in memory—One drew his focus immediately.

  It hovered a few inches above the ground, humanoid in shape but only in outline. A being of crackling, violet energy, limbs replaced by tendrils of light that twitched and coiled like restless wires. Its chest swirled with concentrated light, power folding inward and expanding in rhythm, like something barely contained, a humanoid housing a swirling vortex of light and power.

  Next to it, another figure stood taller than anyone around it.

  Silver plates, segmented and constantly shifting, formed the shape of a mechanical body. Each movement of its limbs was fluid, too smooth for metal. Its glowing eyes moved in slow sweeps across the gathered crowd, pausing on individuals as if calculating something unseen.

  Alex let his gaze shift again.

  The woman beside the machine stood still, her hair cascading in waves of molten gold. The strands shone and swayed faintly, independent of any breeze. Her eyes glowed faintly too, though it was subdued in under the sun. She stood with casual ease, entirely unbothered by the towering machine and the crackling energy beside her, though there was a lethal grace to her stance, as though violence was her natural state of being.

  Alex scanned the rest of the heroes. They stood apart, heroes from another world, with the weight of gods in their gaze and the flaw of men in their hearts. Some bore upgraded gear, while others remained unchanged since the summoning, their varied appearances barely noticed by the gathered hunters, yet striking to Alex. Some appeared human, while others bore features that marked them as anything but—horned figures, scaled beings, and one man whose eyes were entirely black, void of any light or emotion.

  The heroes… they’re all brainwashed. It was subtle, but the thought came unbidden. He could still recall the lingering traces of mental influence woven through their auras in the throne room. Whatever the crown had done to them during the summoning had taken likely taken hold. They probably still thought they were free.

  Alex turned his head slightly, watching how the crowd reacted—or didn’t react—to the summoned heroes.

  Beside him, Liora’s posture stiffened. Her gaze shifted to the second group leading the campaign. His attention followed, turning to the second group at the front.

  Armour.

  Polished silver, angular in design, with dark almost black-crimson accents tracing the seams. The figures wore it like ceremonial attire, yet there was nothing ornamental about how they carried themselves. Their movements were efficient, their postures controlled and near-perfect.

  At the front stood two men.

  Both towering. Both without helmets.

  The two stood out even among the armored figures behind them. Both were taller than any present, with deathly pale skin and long, pointed ears that marked them as something other than human. Their crimson eyes glowed faintly, even in the midday sun.

  The crest on their armor marked their allegiance, but Alex didn’t need to see it to know who they were. The moment he laid eyes on them, he knew.

  The Sanguine. The Houses own.

  They stood like rulers in waiting, measuring the crowd with cold precision. It was clear in every twist and every cold stare that to them, everyone present was a resource. Weapons to wield. Pawns to place. Crimson eyes swept slowly over the gathered troop, pausing on no one for long. The way they observed was calm and methodical— like a person eyeing ants scurrying at their feet. They made no effort to hide their intent, their expressions distant, as if considering futures none of the hunters would live to see.

  They were here. Of course they were. The Sanguine moved through their retinue like cold embers waiting for the wind to stir them into fire. Alex kept his expression neutral and his gait unchanged beneath the helmet. He’d known they would be here—but seeing them, was different. It was easy to believe what the others had said. The gathered hunters shifted subtly as though each were incapable of ignoring what stood before them, like Alex had. Backs straightened, their attention drawn despite themselves. No words were spoken, but Alex could see it in the crowd, in their posture—the acknowledgment of something dangerous, something familiar.

  The Sanguine. The Heroes.

  Liora glanced between the two groups, then between the two inhuman men, her own thoughts unreadable. Finally, she leaned back, a faint smirk on her lips.

  “Well,” she said, “this is going to be interesting.”

  The is up and running. So if you like, you can read ahead there!