The wooden wheels of the merchant caravan clattered along the rocky road as Alex sat in silence, his hood casting a shadow over his sharp eyes.
He had hired a merchant caravan heading to Town Dera. Apparently, lone travelers were charged a hefty fee to enter the city—and he was running low on money.
So he paid a modest sum to the caravan leader, and they didn't mind letting him ride along.
As the caravan crested a small hill, the sprawling walls of Town Dera came into view.
Built from a mix of stone and ironwood, the outer defenses looked formidable.
Beyond the walls, smoke curled from chimneys, and distant shouts echoed—a sign of bustling life.
The caravan entered without issue.
Inside, Alex immediately noticed the difference. This place was no village.
People walked with purpose.
He already had an image of the town lord in his mind—formed from overheard whispers and things Joel had mentioned.
"They say anyone who tries to sneak into the dungeon never returns."
"And once, when a town official from the commercial quarter found something in the dungeon—maybe a clue or fragment—the lord came out himself. Killed the man in broad daylight. Brutal. Tore him apart in front of his people. No one's dared cross him since."
A man who hoarded power. Who killed without hesitation.
Alex was ready to uncover how to level beyond ten—and learn more about this world.
He stopped at a vendor selling dried meat. The man looked up with a grin.
"Traveler, huh? You've got the look. Quiet type. From the east?"
Alex simply nodded, handed over a few copper coins, and took a small pouch in return.
He spotted an inn nearby and slipped inside, choosing a window seat.
Joel had entered the city with him, then left to visit a friend. The young man was restless, trying to find purpose.
Alex didn't mind his company. Joel had provided a lot of useful information.
He sipped a mug of herbal brew, half-listening to the gossip swirling through the room.
Then, the inn door slammed open.
A young man entered, his crimson-red hair catching the firelight like a burning flame. His bright eyes scanned the room like he owned it.
His regal clothes were dusted with dirt and travel stains.
"Oi! You call this food?" he barked at the innkeeper, slapping the plate. "It's colder than my damn bathwater!"
The innkeeper, used to loud customers, muttered an apology and took the dish away.
The man grumbled and dropped uninvited into the seat beside Alex.
"What are you looking at, dark-eyes?"
Alex turned to him. "Nothing."
"Good. I've had a long day. Bandits. Mud. And now—cold stew. What's next?"
Alex returned to sipping his drink.
The man leaned over, squinting.
"Not much of a talker, huh? You've got the look of someone dangerous. I like that."
He extended a hand with a cocky smile. "Name's Raven. Raven Black."
Alex said nothing.
"You'll remember it," Raven added with a smirk. "Because someday, I'll be the strongest damn king this world's ever seen."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
Raven slapped the table. "I'm serious. My old man is a king. Sent me here to 'grow up'—because apparently, punching through a stone wall isn't 'mature behavior.' Whatever."
Alex glanced at him. An annoying, immature rich brat.
He didn't have time for someone's ego-filled ramblings.
He stood up. Time to meet Joel.