Chapter Sixteen: City of Delusions (Part One)
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh…
The drizzling rain fell like cow hair on the rooftops, splashing against debris, serenading paper bags skirting down dark alleys, mixing with fragmented chatter to produce a symphony of a city awakening.
A traveler cloaked in a heavy shroud stumbled out from a tavern, his steps as wobbly as a newborn deer, still caught in the grips of last night’s hangover. A moment later, he face-planted into the mud. Nearby, the blacksmith’s forge was clanging away, sparks flying like fireworks as the bearded artisan emerged, wielding a freshly forged sword, which he promptly dunked into a water trough. With a sizzling sound, steam erupted, startling a passing woman who yelped in surprise.
At the end of the street, a merchant caravan was mired in mud, the heft of their cart seemingly too much for the wheels to handle. The axle seemed shot, but the laborers behind it couldn’t grasp that concept; they simply pushed with all their might, yelling “One, two, three!” without a hint of progress.
Before long, a soft “thud” echoed from a side alley; something had plopped to the ground. It wasn’t loud, but it caught the attention of passersby. However, after a cursory glance, no one bothered to invest more than a second on it. Eventually, the merchant responsible for the goods rushed over, surveyed the situation, and unleashed a flurry of scolding upon those pushing. Then someone finally rolled up their pant legs, waded into the muddy pit, and began fixing the wheel.
A minute later, a small cloaked figure emerged quietly from the alley where the sound had come from, acting as if nothing had happened, blending right into the crowd. No one noticed her not-so-statured form as she meandered down the street. At the corner, a burly man nudged her aside, grumbling “Get out of the way,” and with a rather harsh glare, she dutifully stepped aside, tugging her hood, tilting her head back slightly, and munching on her thumb.
Let’s see…
Where’s the best place for food again?
I drifted a bit, lost in thought.
It felt like my impression of this city froze back to the time I arrived with the Knights’ Order two years ago.
Bloodshed, carnage, infernal fires staining the night black—beneath thick smoke were the relentless, howling cries of despair and chaos, along with the fallen knight’s spirits on the battlefield.
Those images flickered through my mind when I first laid eyes on the city. Scenes of corpses and fires began to overlap with the cobbled streets I saw today, leaving me in a muddle of memories.
But deep down, not much of those palpable feelings remained.
Where had all that sadness and anger gone?
Snapping back to reality, I realized I had unknowingly wandered away from the bustling street, my feet instinctively leading me toward the northern camp—where, that year, I met Barry, who had miraculously survived out on the battlefield. We had a spat—primarily because I viewed Grandma Claire as a precious remnant of his life and didn’t want him risking himself further. But Barry, being a boy on his path to manhood, had his own aspirations. He wanted to grow strong, to be a heroic man towering over his fears.
I had clarity back then.
If I had never shown up in that quiet little village, never disrupted their lives, never met Barry, none of this would have happened. Barry could have continued living his simple little life, and so would Aili.
And the reason why Barry strove to become a knight, eager to be a hero…
Was largely because of me, I guess.
I wonder if he’s still around…
It had already been nearly two years.
The chaos of the southern front was long gone; the straggling heretics likely cleared out. Barry should have moved on already—sent off elsewhere…
I probably wouldn’t find him here.
But I might just inquire about his whereabouts…
Lost in my rambles, I wandered through the rainy streets, tiny droplets hitting my oversized cloak with a dull “thud,” as a chilly breeze swept through.
Soon I arrived at the former camp, only to find it transformed into a market.
Oh…
A market.
Now that’s convenient.
The last piece of bread in my pack vanished this morning, but I still had a full jug of water.
Silgaya’s fertile lands and abundant resources meant it served as a vital grain storehouse for the whole Western Continent, starkly different from the barren wasteland of Eborista. Here, fresh water was plentiful, ensuring I wouldn’t starve even in the wild. However, I still needed to stock up on hay and spices for cooking, not to mention some dried rations just in case.
Mainly, I sought variety when I grew tired of game meat.
But entering the market, I was taken aback; it was far quieter than I had imagined. The usual ruckus of vendors hawking their wares was nearly absent. Most stalls were barren, and the few passersby echoed the overall desolation.
After searching for a long while, I finally spotted a handful of grain stalls—tiny vendors peddling rye and barley or a few scraggly loaves of badly baked bread. I peered into one, but the prices were eye-watering. With the coins I had left, I could only manage enough food for two or three days.
Just the most basic, low-quality grains…
Who on earth can afford these prices?
Are folks really eating one meal and skipping the next?
Almost two years have gone by…
What on earth is going on in Alectine City? Is the food crisis really this tough to tackle?
As I pondered, hesitation surfaced while perusing the goods. The stall owner was a stout, freckled old lady, clad in garish attire, and a clear “buy it if you want, but I don’t care” attitude plastered across her face. She scrutinized me with a disdainful gaze before promptly shooing me away.
“Scram! Don’t beg here; this ain’t your place. You might get your legs broken if you aren’t careful. Famished? Head over to Jasmine Lane on the west side—dig through the restaurant dumpsters; if luck’s on your side, you might find something edible… but only if you can snatch it before others do. Heh, I’m not saying I didn’t help you, dirty little wild girl… Just don’t come near here again.”
Her tone was harsh, but somehow, I sensed she might believe she was doing a good deed.
Of course, I wouldn’t get into a spat with her. Sure, I lacked the funds for much, and I had no intention of breaking the rules and resorting to theft. It would be easy, but I wasn’t one for such behavior. As for the reasons behind the skyrocketing food prices, I briefly mulled it over before tossing it aside—too much to care about right now.
As I stepped out of the market, unsure of where to scavenge for food, I wandered aimlessly down the street. Out of sheer boredom, I took stock of everyone that brushed past me, noticing most were frail, with sunken eyes and weary expressions, as if they were mere ghosts gliding along, feeding off whatever life they had left.
But if I turned my gaze to the distance, to those buildings and streets once devastated by war and infernal fires, now seemingly rebuilt, it made me realize this city might just be clawing its way back from destruction.
How strange…
But that odd “strangeness” didn’t linger long, for as I continued walking, I recalled the old lady’s mention of “Jasmine Lane.” It sounded like it had many bustling restaurants and taverns; surely, it would be livelier…
I wondered if I could afford anything delicious there, at the very least I needed a place to settle for the night before hitting the taverns to gather some intel.
