The streets were even more crowded now, the life of Godeylet in full swing. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble—or opportunity.
Eventually, he found a tavern.
The tavern, named The Bronze Mare, was dimly lit despite the bright afternoon outside. The wooden beams were aged with time, the scent of ale and smoke clinging to every surface. The place was filled with all manner of individuals—hired swords nursing drinks, merchants discussing deals in hushed voices, and a few gamblers arguing over lost coins.
The tavern was packed.
Jolthar made his way to the bar, his imposing presence earning him a few wary glances but no outright challenges. He ordered a meal and a mug of ale, his eyes scanning the room as he waited.
He was looking around, subtly, all while sipping his ale.
He got the attention of the women in the room; his appearance was hard to ignore. His handsome features and his physique drew their gaze at him. A woman or two even attempted to offer him a drink, but Jolthar politely refused them.
It wasn't long before a stranger approached him, a man with a sharp face and a calculating gaze. He was dressed in fine clothes, though they were slightly rumpled, and he carried himself with the air of someone used to getting what he wanted. He slid onto the stool next to Jolthar, a sly smile on his lips.
"That's quite the drake you've got," the man said, his voice smooth but with an edge of greed. "I couldn't help but notice her. Rare creatures, those.
I'd be interested in purchasing her if you're willing to part with her."
The talk of the appearance of the drake had already spread, and this man had been following Jolthar since then.
Jolthar took a long sip of his ale before responding, his expression unreadable. "She's not for sale," he said, his tone firm but calm.
The man's smile didn't waver. "Everything has a price," he said.
"Name yours. I assure you, I can meet it."
Jolthar set his mug down, turning to face the man fully. His eyes were hard, his voice low and dangerous. "I said she's not for sale. That's the end of it."
The man's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, leaning in closer. "You might want to reconsider," he said, his tone taking on a threatening edge.
"You don't want to mess with me," he added.
Jolthar's expression didn't change.
He leaned in, his voice a low growl. "I don't care who you know or what gods you pray to. The drake is mine, and she's not for sale. Now, unless you want to find out how well your connections can protect you from a blade, I suggest you walk away."
By this time, all the people in the tavern turned to them.
A woman from before who asked him for a drink leaned towards him as she said, "You don't want to offend him. He is the brother of the countess. He will kill you if you leave this place."
The murmurs of the people grew as he was glaring at him.
Jolthar thanked the woman, and he didn't falter.
The man's face flushed with anger, but he wisely chose not to press the issue. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and gave Jolthar one last glare before disappearing into the crowd. Jolthar watched him go.
He finished his meal in silence, his mind already turning to the next step.
After settling his bill, he talked with the women for a little longer. They were giggling and laughing like they were in a daze, staring at him. The talk almost lasted an hour, and by the time he was done, they were all over him. He excused himself, saying he had to go to the castle. The source of this content ɪs NovєlFіre.net
A smile crept up his face as he walked out of the tavern.
The reason he went into the tavern was to have a meal, and he also wanted to learn more about this place, but he had unexpectedly stumbled upon some very amusing information.
The road to the castle was a single, long stretch that ascended toward the fortress standing atop the rocky heights. The sight of the grand structure was impressive, a testament to Count Hamen's rule over this peculiar land.
Godeylet might have been neutral, but it was still watched by many powerful eyes.
Jolthar adjusted his cloak as he walked, blending into the steady stream of people moving toward the castle for various reasons. Some were petitioners hoping to secure trade agreements, and others were mercenaries looking for work. But just as he was about to ascend the steps leading to the castle gates, something—or rather, someone—stopped him in his tracks.
A young man, similarly cloaked, was walking in the opposite direction. Their shoulders brushed slightly as they passed, and Jolthar felt an odd sense of familiarity. He turned sharply, as did the other man.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then recognition dawned upon them both.
That man blinked in shock. "Jolthar?"
The two stared at each other for a moment, the tension between them palpable.
Jolthar said, his voice neutral but with a hint of curiosity. "What are you doing here?"
Myron hesitated, his eyes darting around as if unsure how much to say. "I could ask you the same thing," he said finally.
Jolthar studied him for a moment before responding. "I'm here to meet the empire's army."
He didn't see any reason to lie to him, as it was the truth. But more than that, Jolthar wondered what Myron was doing here, far from the empire, in this corner. The last time he saw him was at the clan's estate.
He noticed how he was dressed, concealing most of his appearance. Like he didn't want to reveal his identity to anyone. But people who knew Myron could easily recognise him.
"Empire's army?" Myron scrunched his brows.
"What? You didn't know?" Jolthar asked him.
"What's happening, Jolthar?"
When he was about to answer, they heard something, more like they could see the people making way for the castle; they turned to see them.
They were soldiers, and leading them was a man who Jolthar knew.