The officers left soon after, boots clanking down the stairs. When Master Gareth asked what had happened, Captain Darius only offered a vague response and a shrug before disappearing into the street.
Lucien, meanwhile, returned to the forge. He immersed himself in the steady rhythm of hammering once again.
He wasn't shaping a sword—those were rare here. Only nobles or Academy students carried blades, and magic was a luxury few could afford.
No, this was something else entirely. A jagged, metallic piece of machinery. Possibly a component for a steam carriage or some industrial engine. Primitive, yet fascinating.
"Enough for today, boy! Go rest," Gareth called from across the forge.
Lucien glanced at the clock—5 p.m. He'd been working since dawn. His body ached all over, arms heavy with fatigue.
Still, he had no intention of resting.
"I'm going out," he said over his shoulder and ran before Gareth could stop him.
"Where the hell are you—? Tch. Kid's got too much energy today," Gareth muttered, then let out a small laugh. "Well… it's good, I suppose. At least he's got some fire in him again."
Chuckling to himself, the old man leaned back and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had work to do—Elara would be home tonight. It was her first vacation from the Academy in weeks. After his wife's death, she was all he had left.
"…Should I prepare meat?" he wondered aloud, already planning the evening meal.
###
Brass City
Lucien wandered through the streets in a daze. Steam carriages chugged by, belching vapor. Motorcycles roared down cobbled roads, and public omnibuses—massive metal boxes—rattled along their rails.
Vendors hawked roasted nuts, printed scrolls, and knockoff talismans from wooden carts. The air buzzed with motion, voices, heat, and smoke.
This was Brass City—named for the color of its pipes, its coins, and its soul. A city of laborers and engineers. One of the kingdom's most industrious districts.
Lucien passed massive factories and ironclad workshops, most of them leagues more advanced than Gareth's humble smithy. Compared to these, the old man's forge was practically a cave.
The old man needs to hire more people, he thought, watching a crew of twenty workers emerge from a competitor's shop. But he's too stubborn.
Not that it mattered to Lucien. He had other concerns.
His fingers found the coins in his pocket—36 copper pieces. Master Gareth paid him 10 every day, laughably low when the average salary was 30 copper. But room and board were included, so he could forgive the "old bastard".
Lucien stepped into a sweets shop tucked between two mechanical repair stalls. The warm scent of honey, sugar, and almond powder struck him instantly.
"Welcome to Miriam's Delights! How may I help you?" a young woman asked sweetly from behind the counter.
Despite his soot-stained clothes and forge-worn hands, she didn't sneer or grimace. In fact, she smiled like she'd done this a hundred times—serving half-starved apprentices and mud-caked mechanics.
Lucien eyed the neatly wrapped sweets.
Ten copper for ten pieces. He raised a brow. That was enough for a full, decent meal.
"What's so special about them?" he asked.
He expected her to rattle off ingredients, maybe mention some "low-sugar, hand-rolled" artisan process.
Instead, she smiled without blinking.
"If you're going to buy, buy. If not—get out."
Silence.
Lucien's lips parted, but then closed again. What was he supposed to say to that?
Her smile didn't fade. Not even slightly.
Sickeningly professional, he thought.
He sighed, then pointed to a box of particularly glossy red sweets. "That one."
Her tone shifted instantly. "Thank you for your purchase, sir!"
She handed him the box with a cheerful bow.
Lucien tucked it into his coat and walked out, feeling his pocket lighten.
Still, he didn't regret it. After everything—after surviving that—he deserved a small reward. Maybe he'd share with Gareth and Elara tonight.
Without another word, he left the shop.
He wandered for a while longer, winding his way through the noise and soot until he reached a quieter district.
And there it was.
A squat, armored building with chipped columns and a massive iron door. A battered sign above it read:
[⚔️ ADVENTURER'S GUILD – BRASS DISTRICT BRANCH]
Mercenaries, bounty hunters, and ruin scouts filtered in and out, weapons clinking at their belts. A large bounty board stood near the entrance, plastered with wanted posters and quest listings.
Lucien scanned it quickly. No sign of his face.
For once, the Mad Prince isn't on the wall, he mused.
Back on the mainland, I couldn't walk ten feet without seeing my own bounty. But here… nobody knows me.
He studied the crowd.
Not a single aura above Adept – Rank 2 (Initial Stage). This branch was small. Provincial. Just what he needed.
Without another word, Lucien stepped inside.