A month passed as swiftly as the winter wind, leaving a lingering chill behind. James's daily routine was reforged by pain and Brack's merciless discipline.
His body was tempered and molded anew until it was almost unrecognizable.
This morning, the training yard behind the bar was no longer just a stage for a boring, static stance, but a theater for fierce close-quarters combat.
James was moving with agility, dodging and parrying Ann's attacks, which were as swift as the wind. Though he was still mostly on the defensive and couldn't yet find a sharp opening to counterattack, he no longer collapsed as easily as he had a month ago. His body, now visibly thicker and stronger, could withstand impacts and move with stability. This was the tangible result of his torturous training.
"That's enough for today!" Brack's gruff voice boomed, ending the long training session.
Ann stepped back with a satisfied smile, while James stood panting heavily, but still on his feet.
Brack walked over with a new mission. "The nobles in the Upper District need the liquor they ordered," he said, tossing a rolled-up order slip to Frey.
"Frey, you know the way better than anyone. As for you…" he turned to James, "You're strong enough to help lift things now. Go with Frey and get the delivery done."
This was the first important task Brack had assigned James outside the bar. It was a sign of growing trust and a push for him to face the outside world.
A short time later, James and Frey were helping each other lift two medium-sized oak barrels onto a wooden-wheeled cart pulled by two oxen.
"Hop on, my friend. Today, I'll show you around the inner district," Frey said with an enthusiastic voice as he jumped into the driver's seat.
The cart moved out of the back alley and onto the bustling main street. The grinding of the wooden wheels on the packed earth mixed with the clamor of people and the calls of street vendors. It was a chaotic vitality.
Both sides of the road were lined with old, two-story wooden buildings packed tightly together. The ground floors of most buildings had been converted into shops. A stall selling grilled meat sent smoke and a delicious aroma throughout the area.
Next to it was a second-hand clothing store with old garments hanging in the front, and a grocery store filled with various spices and grains.
Children ran and played in the narrow alleys, while laborers carrying goods hurried past. It was a picture of a life of struggle, yet brimming with energy.
As the cart moved through a large, bustling intersection, another towering stone wall came into view ahead. It looked stronger and older than the outer city wall they had passed through earlier. Watchtowers stood at intervals, with armored guards actively patrolling on top.
This high stone wall was not just architecture; it was an invisible line that completely separated two worlds…
The world of the chaotic lower class they had just left, and the world of quiet opulence of the nobility that lay ahead.
"That's the inner wall," Frey said when he saw James's curious gaze. "Felnia is bigger than you think. Tens of thousands of people live here, with nearly ten thousand soldiers stationed. That's because our city is the last fortress before the northern mountain pass."
Frey's explanation made James realize the strategic importance of this city. As they drove the cart through the massive stone gate of the inner wall, the scenery and atmosphere changed completely, as if they had stepped into another world.
This was the Noble District.
The familiar clamor fell silent, replaced by a quiet opulence. The road, once packed earth, was now paved with perfectly cut and fitted stones. Both sides were lined with exquisitely constructed manors, each with a beautifully manicured garden.
Even in winter, some trees and shrubs retained their greenery. The people walking by were dressed in fine silks and moved with elegance. Their gazes towards the old delivery cart were filled with a placid indifference. It was a world completely detached from the chaos of the Lower District.
They arrived at a manor with imposing black wrought-iron fences, carved with intricate patterns. Frey jumped down from the cart and approached the guard at the gate with a deferential posture. "We've brought the liquor from Cranewold Bar for the Baron," Frey said, handing over the stamped order slip.
The neatly dressed guard inspected the order before handing it back to Frey. He then slowly opened one of the heavy iron gates.
"Go to the back courtyard," he ordered curtly.
Frey nodded and quickly got back on the cart, driving it to park in the rear courtyard. There, an elderly butler in a dark uniform stood waiting with a stern face. Frey followed the same procedure.
The butler took the order slip before pointing to a corner of the yard. "Put them over there. And get going. Don't get the ground dirty."
James and Frey diligently lifted the heavy liquor barrels off the cart. As they were setting the second one down, James overheard two servants standing nearby whispering to each other.
"More fine liquor… The baron has been drinking heavily every day since the young lady…"
"Shh! Quiet! Do you want to get us punished?"
The voices fell silent when the butler shot them a sharp look. A female servant then walked over and handed Frey a pouch with the remaining payment, as was custom. She placed it in his hand, barely even looking at them.
As they were about to leave, a commotion broke out in front of the next manor, which was even larger.
A group from the City Garrison was storming into the manor and dragging out a middle-aged man who looked like a nobleman. His clothes were disheveled, and his hair was a mess. He was struggling with all his might and shouting frantically, his words sounding delusional and fearful.
"I saw it! I saw the calamity that comes with the flames of destruction! The stars will dim! The darkness will arrive!"
Townsfolk and servants from nearby houses came out to watch, whispering amongst themselves. "Poor Monroe family… another baron has lost his mind," or "I heard he became obsessed with the old legends about the stars and went mad."
James watched the scene, motionless, but inside, he felt a sense of abnormality. The nobleman's words… they weren't just the ramblings of a madman. They sounded more like a chilling prophecy.
On the way back, Frey, noticing James's silence, spoke up to break it. "I heard Sir Brack talking to Lady Elen… is he taking you into the forest tomorrow for training?"
James pulled his attention away from his thoughts and nodded. "Yes… for training."
The cart passed a blacksmith shop, the sound of a hammer striking steel echoing out rhythmically. A wave of heat and the smell of burning coal wafted from the wide-open door. James glanced inside and saw the silhouette of a burly man swinging a hammer, striking a red-hot piece of iron, sending sparks flying. He watched for a moment before turning to Frey.
"Can you wait for me for a second?"
He jumped down from the cart and ran into the shop. The inside was scorching hot and filled with the smell of sweat and metal. On wooden shelves along the walls were finished weapons and farming tools, waiting to be sold.
James looked at the daggers laid out on a shelf. He picked up one that looked simple but had a good balance.
The silver blade reflected the light from the forge. The hilt was wrapped tightly in leather. He turned to the blacksmith, who had just put down his hammer. "How much for this one, sir?"
The burly man, his face covered in soot and sweat, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "50 silver coins," he answered curtly.
James frowned. Even though Elen had been secretly giving him his wages for the past month, it wasn't enough. He only had a little under 40 silver coins saved up. "I only have 40… can you give me a discount?"
The merchant shook his head. "The price is firm." But then he paused for a moment when he saw the determination in the young man's eyes. He sighed and went to the back of the shop, returning with a wooden tray holding a few daggers with minor cosmetic flaws. "These just didn't turn out pretty, but their sharpness and strength are no different. If you're interested… I'll sell one for 40 silver."
James looked at the knives before picking up the best one and haggling once more. In the end, he got it for 35 silver coins.
He walked back to the cart and handed the newly acquired leather-wrapped package to Frey.
"What's this?" Frey asked, curious.
"Open it."
Frey slowly unwrapped the leather, confused. Inside was a new, gleaming dagger. He looked up at James in surprise.
James stared straight ahead and said in a simple but sincere tone, "The knife you lent me… I stained it with blood. So I bought you a new one to replace it."
"It was just an old knife. You didn't have to buy me a new one. You should keep it," Frey said, about to stuff the package back into James's hands, but James stopped him.
"No, I can't. That knife saved my life. If I don't repay you, I'll feel like I'm in your debt, my friend," James said, looking Frey in the eye to show his sincerity. Then he quickly clapped Frey on the shoulder, as if not giving him a chance to refuse again.
"Let's head back. There's a lot more work waiting for us at Cranewold."