Soon enough, another man came out of the arena’s interior—this one wasn’t dressed like a fighter or a spectator.
He wore a simple tunic, sleeves rolled up, a leather belt strapped with various keys, and a faint scent of ink and parchment clinging to him.
In his hand was a pouch, fat and jingling softly with every step he took. Coins, clearly. Probably my reward money.
Trailing behind him were two burly workers, both dressed in stained aprons and carrying what was left of Emerak’s corpse.
They heaved the body onto their backs without a second of hesitation, like it was a bag of grain rather than a man who’d fought and died only moments ago.
The crowd parted, barely giving them a glance as they hauled the dead body back into the depths of the arena.
The man with the pouch stopped in front of me, bowing respectfully as he extended the bag forward.
"Your earnings, honored challenger."
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the pouch, untied the cord and peered inside. Silver glinted in the dying light of day, mixed with the duller tones of copper. A quick count revealed the contents: twenty silver coins, thirty copper.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
From a single fight? This was practically generous.
Just to be sure, I decided to confirm a few things.
"Hey," I said, slipping the pouch into my pocket and glancing up at him, "what’s the usual rate for staying overnight at an inn around here?"
The man looked slightly surprised at the question, but answered quickly. "Most inns charge between two to three copper coins per person, depending on quality. The higher-end ones might go up to five."
I nodded. That was cheap. Dirt cheap, really. I could afford a week of decent sleep and still have change left over.
"What about transportation? To the next town, let’s say."
"Transportation?" he echoed, tilting his head. "If you’re heading to the nearest town, Cybele, it’ll cost about five silver coins per person. It’s the standard fare for the chariot service here. Pulled by high-blooded horses. Swift and secure."
So that’s where our group was headed. Good to know.
"Alright. That’s all. You can go."
The man bowed once more and walked off, disappearing into the arena’s halls. Probably had more corpses to tally up.
I shoved both hands back into my pockets, feeling the familiar comfort of their weight and warmth, and walked out of the arena.
There was nothing more for me here. I’d gotten what I came for: cash and a little experience. No need to stick around in this bloodstained colosseum.
Outside, Evelyn was standing just by the steps, absentmindedly twisting a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. When she saw me, she perked up and walked over.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "The people here saw the group. They went toward the next town. Cybele. Probably hours ago."
I nodded. "Alright. We’ll follow tomorrow. For now, let’s find an inn. I’m not planning to sleep in the alleyways."
Night had fallen without warning. The sky was painted in layers of navy and grey, stars slowly blooming above like hesitant fireflies.
The streets of Tirie were now lit by manalights embedded in tall iron lampposts.
Crystals buzzed gently, casting a steady glow over the cobblestone roads and wooden storefronts. The whole town looked quieter, even more so than during the day.
Evelyn gestured down one of the winding streets. "There was an inn not far from here. I saw it while we were looking around earlier."
I shrugged. "Lead the way, then."
As we walked, she peeked at me from the side. Her lips curled into a teasing smirk.
"Did you like your new name?"
I gave her a blank look. "What name?"
"Purple boy," she said, holding back laughter. "The crowd really liked you."
"No, I don’t. Just because my hair is violet doesn’t mean I want to be called purple boy. That’s the stupidest nickname I’ve ever heard."
She looked genuinely surprised. "Really? I thought you’d be into it. You know, own the flair."
I ignored her, face forward. "I don’t need flair. I need peace and quiet."
"And maybe a bath," she muttered under her breath.
Soon enough, the inn came into view. It wasn’t large, nothing fancy or elegant.
A squat building made of cobblestone and aged hardwood, with flower pots hung under each window and a crooked sign swinging slightly above the door. The sign read The Iron Lily in faded gold lettering.
It looked cozy. Homely. And most importantly, cheap.
Evelyn walked up to the door first, pushing it open with a soft creak. Warm yellow light spilled out, along with the scent of baked bread and roasted meat. My stomach grumbled instantly.
"Let’s stay here," she said, looking over her shoulder with a soft smile. "Looks decent enough."
I nodded. "Yeah. This’ll do."
We walked directly into the inn. No fanfare, no bell above the door, just the muted creak of old wood and the faint smell of smoke and damp earth.
The interior was dimly lit by a few scattered mana lamps—small crystalline bulbs embedded in the walls, pulsating softly like a heartbeat.
An old woman was hunched over the floor, scrubbing it with a wet cloth and bucket beside her.
Her gray hair was tied into a loose bun, and her skin bore the unmistakable weathering of time—wrinkles carved deep by years of toil, eyes that had seen far too much.
Evelyn took the lead, stepping forward with her usual grace. "Hello, Ma’am," she said politely, offering a courteous nod. "We’d like to take two rooms for the night. How much would that cost?"
The woman looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly before they flicked from Evelyn to me. She gave me a longer glance, as if trying to judge something just beneath the surface, then turned her attention back to Evelyn.
"Two copper coins per person," the old woman said, her voice gravelly but not unkind. "The rooms are upstairs. Go check if they’re to your liking."
Evelyn nodded. "Thank you." She turned toward me, I motioned her to go upstairs. "Go on up. I’ll stay here and sort things out."
I moved to the side and took a seat on a rickety wooden chair near the wall. The old woman watched me curiously, then sat across from me, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Hey, Grandma," I said casually, tilting my head. "How’s life here?"
She blinked at me. "You mean in this town, or in the kingdom?"
The woman let out a soft sigh, as if the question itself carried weight. "To be fair, life isn’t exactly good, child. Violence is promoted here—encouraged even—all in the name of the so-called upcoming war. A war that was already negotiated, from what I heard, but they still use it to justify everything."
She looked away for a second, her gaze lingering on the stained wooden walls, the tired air around her. "People here don’t care about the weak. The young chase strength, the middle-aged die chasing it, and the old... well, we’re just forgotten. Folks like me, we aren’t looked upon kindly."
I ran a hand through my hair, then leaned back in the creaky chair. "I’m from Alaris. Life’s not like that there. Sure, strength is respected, but not to the point of obsession. We value minds just as much. Some people are famous just for their intellect—like Simeon, he’s a strategist. Scary smart. You don’t need to swing a sword to make an impact where I come from."
The old woman offered a wistful smile. "Sounds like a fine place to live. You’re a lucky child. What are you then? A peasant, a minor noble, maybe a scholar? Or are you a knight in training?"
I chuckled softly. "None of those. Just a student."
She gave a nod, almost as if that answered more than it should have. "Ah, yes. Only students talk about ideals like that. You haven’t had the world beat the hope out of you yet."
I couldn’t help but laugh. "Idealistic? Come on, grandma. That’s not some fantasy. It’s not like your town’s walled off from the world—don’t tell me you people seriously have no idea about the other continents."
The woman tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "Of course we know. We know how they all cowered before our kingdom. How their armies shattered when faced with ours. They live in fear, and rightly so. We’re the strongest military power in all of Cronica."
My smile widened a little too much. "Ever heard of the Lancasters?"
The shift in her demeanor was instantaneous. Whatever humor or warmth she had cracked open briefly slammed shut. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes," she said with venom. "Those cursed Lancasters... they were the only ones who dared challenge us. A blight."
I snorted, struggling to hold back a full laugh. The irony was too rich. Here I was, one of those "cursed" Lancasters she spoke of, sitting across from her like an old friend. I leaned back, folding my arms. These people were genuinely brainwashed.
’What the hell was the king of Opalcrest feeding them?’
It was like they’d never stepped a foot outside their precious border. No actual experience with the outside world, yet they declared themselves the strongest with full confidence. Who were they measuring themselves against? Themselves?
Let them have their fantasies. I wasn’t going to crush them with the reality of things. I wasn’t that petty... yet. But when the time came, when the real power clashed with their made-up delusions—they would shatter like glass.
And it wouldn’t be my fault.
Just... fate catching up. But I would enjoy the fear and dread in their eyes.