Chapter 14: Wandering Aimlessly

The moment I stepped out of Zeria’s room, I found Nemris waiting outside.

Of course she was.

The woman had claimed she would remain nearby, and apparently “nearby” meant standing directly across from the door like an armored security system with trust issues.

Her golden armor caught the corridor light. Her arms were folded across her chest, her lion tail moved slowly behind her, and the expression on her face told me she had spent the entire time imagining every possible conversation Zeria and I might have been having.

Then eliminating the possibilities she disliked.

Which probably left none.

Nemris looked at me.

I looked at Nemris.

Neither of us spoke.

Her eyes narrowed.

I smiled.

“Good talk.”

“What did Lady Zeria tell you?”

Direct.

Very direct.

Apparently interrogation was one of the benefits included with Lord Commander membership.

I leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“Several things.”

“What things?”

“Private things.”

Nemris’s stare hardened.

Interesting.

I could practically hear the gears behind her eyes.

Had Zeria told me royal secrets?

Prophecies?

Military information?

Nemris’s embarrassing childhood nickname?

All excellent possibilities.

“You were alone with one of the kingdom’s most important people,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“And you expect me not to ask what you discussed?”

“Yes.”

Nemris stared.

I smiled pleasantly.

She did not return the favor.

I was beginning to suspect that Nemris’s facial muscles had unionized against happiness.

The doors opened behind me.

Zeria appeared.

“Nemris.”

Her voice was cheerful again.

Nemris immediately turned toward her.

“Lady Zeria.”

“You’re interrogating him already?”

“I asked one question.”

“Your questions have armor.”

I looked between them.

“That explains why it felt heavier than normal.”

Nemris ignored me.

Zeria stepped into the corridor, still barefoot.

I was becoming increasingly fascinated by that detail.

The second most important person in the kingdom apparently possessed enough influence to command knights, summon strangers, and casually authorize restricted castle access.

Shoes, however, remained beneath her authority.

Zeria smiled at me.

“Enjoy the capital.”

“I plan to.”

“You have the insignia?”

I held up the golden emblem she had given me.

“Still shiny.”

“Good.”

Nemris looked toward it.

Then at Zeria.

“You gave him your personal crest?”

“Yes.”

“Lady Zeria.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Nemris slowly looked at me.

Her expression said she had severe doubts about whether anyone involved knew what they were doing.

Honestly, fair.

Zeria continued, “And make sure he has spending money.”

Nemris frowned.

“Spending money?”

“He arrived without any.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

I had not actually needed to tell her.

My current financial portfolio consisted of zero property, zero bank accounts, zero employment, and the shirt on my back.

I was essentially a divinely imported homeless man with unusually good cheekbones.

Zeria looked toward one of the nearby knights.

“Give Caled enough gold to move around comfortably.”

Nemris sighed.

“How much is comfortably?”

Zeria thought.

“A bag.”

I blinked.

Nemris blinked too.

“A bag,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“That is not a unit.”

“It is now.”

I liked her more every minute.

Nemris pinched the bridge of her nose.

One of the knights disappeared down the corridor and returned shortly afterward carrying a small leather sack.

He handed it to me.

It was heavier than expected.

Coins clinked inside.

I opened it.

Gold.

Actual gold coins.

A lot of them.

I stared into the sack.

Back on Earth, people spent decades working themselves into stress-induced cardiovascular conditions for numbers stored inside computers.

Here, an adorable barefoot sage had just handed me a bag of precious metal because she wanted me to enjoy sightseeing.

Reincarnation had unexpected benefits.

“Thank you.”

Zeria smiled.

“Use it however you want.”

Nemris immediately said, “Within reason.”

I looked at her.

“Define reason.”

“No.”

“Smart.”

Carrying a sack of coins around the capital sounded like an excellent way to advertise an upcoming robbery, so I focused on that strange internal sense I had acquired after watching Clyr use her ability.

Dimensional Storage.

The copied skill responded.

A small sphere of darkness formed near my palm.

The bag vanished into it.

Nemris’s eyes followed the fading darkness near my hand.

“Dimensional Storage. Sensible.”

“I have rare moments of good judgment.”

“It is useful for travelers.”

“I’m discovering that. Carrying a sack of gold through unfamiliar streets felt like an enthusiastic invitation to get robbed.”

Nemris gave me a flat look.

“With your personality, robbery may not be the greatest danger you encounter.”

I placed a hand over my chest.

“Nemris, was that concern? We’re progressing beautifully.”

Zeria covered a smile.

Nemris then made another suggestion.

“You should take an escort.”

I stared at her.

“For sightseeing?”

“For security.”

“I survived outside your capital without one.”

“That does not make you safe.”

“That was unexpectedly personal.”

“I can assign two knights.”

“No.”

Nemris’s gaze hardened.

Before I could argue further, Zeria interrupted.

“Let him go alone.”

Nemris turned.

“Lady Zeria.”

“He will be fine.”

“You cannot know that.”

Zeria gave her a look.

Nemris went quiet.

Interesting.

Was that Great Sage confidence or actual foresight?

I filed the question under Mysteries I Will Annoy Her About Later.

Zeria waved at me.

“Go explore.”

I bowed dramatically.

“As the great barefoot authority commands.”

Nemris looked offended on Zeria’s behalf.

Zeria laughed.

Then we said our temporary goodbyes.

Nothing emotional.

No dramatic promises.

I had only just met her, and somehow I already suspected this would not be our last conversation.

Mostly because she had given me permission to walk straight back into the castle whenever I wanted.

Dangerous decision.

I left Nemris and Zeria behind and made my way through the palace.

Several guards noticed the insignia when I passed.

Their posture changed immediately.

Some saluted.

One opened a door before I even reached it.

Power was fascinating.

Yesterday, I had been the strange outsider helping repair wooden walls in Silverclaw.

Today, I was carrying a magical golden badge that apparently transformed castle security from suspicious to aggressively helpful.

Society had changed.

Human behavior had not.

Eventually, I reached the enormous front doors of the castle.

The guards pulled them open.

Sunlight struck my face.

And the capital welcomed me.

For the first time, I was seeing it properly.

From the sky, Inizio’s capital had looked impressive.

From street level, it felt alive.

The road leading away from the castle was wide enough for several carriages to travel beside one another. Smooth stone covered the ground, worn slightly by thousands of boots, hooves, and wheels.

Buildings crowded both sides.

Some were made entirely of stone.

Others combined stone foundations with timber upper floors.

Signs hung above shop entrances.

Colorful fabric awnings stretched over merchant stalls.

Smoke drifted from chimneys.

Bells rang somewhere farther into the city.

And people were everywhere.

Beastkin.

Mostly Lionkin.

No surprise there.

I was standing inside the capital of a kingdom apparently governed by people who had decided lions deserved both political authority and excessive architectural representation.

Golden ears moved above heads throughout the crowd.

Tails swayed behind merchants, soldiers, workers, nobles, children, servants.

But Lionkin were not alone.

I spotted Wolfkin.

A woman with fox ears.

Someone whose curved horns made me suspect goat heritage.

A short Beastkin with round ears I could not immediately identify.

A pair of Spriggans walked by together.

Actual Spriggans.

My attention immediately went to their backs.

Their clothing had been designed around the glowing wings extending from their wing-shaped markings.

They hovered a few centimeters above the street while talking casually.

I stared.

Friendship-powered aviation.

Still ridiculous.

Still impressive.

Nobody stared at them.

Several people stared at me.

Understandable.

A lone Spriggan walking through a Lionkin capital without visible wings probably looked strange.

My clothing did not help.

I headed down the street.

Immediately, smells attacked me from several directions.

Cooked meat.

Bread.

Sweet pastries.

Smoke.

Spices.

Perfume.

Animals.

People.

A city had a smell.

Every city did.

This one smelled like medieval civilization had discovered seasoning.

I approved.

Merchants shouted from stalls.

“Fresh ironhorn steaks!”

“Silk from Azalea!”

“Moonberries! Sweet moonberries!”

“Protective charms!”

A man standing behind a table covered in carved stones shouted directly at me.

“Young Spriggan! Protect yourself from curses!”

I kept walking.

“I already have personality problems. I’m at capacity.”

He stared after me.

I wandered with absolutely no destination.

Which was fantastic.

For the first time since arriving in Aphrodasia, I was simply sightseeing.

I passed a blacksmith shop where sparks flew onto the street.

A bookstore almost distracted me, mostly because I remembered Zeria saying Nemris secretly wanted to be a librarian.

That image would never leave my brain.

The terrifying Lord Commander sitting behind a desk telling children to whisper.

Beautiful.

I kept walking.

A group of children ran past carrying wooden swords.

Two merchants argued about fish prices.

A woman leaned from an upstairs window and screamed at someone below for blocking her doorway with a cart.

Ah.

Civilization.

Eventually my stomach reminded me that sightseeing did not count as nutrition.

I had not eaten since earlier.

The smell of grilled meat became increasingly persuasive.

I followed it.

That brought me into a large public park surrounded by shops and homes.

Trees provided shade along winding stone paths.

Several fountains decorated the area.

Families sat on benches.

Children chased one another around flowerbeds.

Musicians played near one entrance.

Food carts lined another.

I immediately headed toward the carts.

One displayed strips of dark meat sizzling over charcoal.

The vendor, an older Lionkin man with a thick mane of golden-brown hair, smiled when I approached.

“Brown Raptor skewers.”

I looked at the meat.

“Brown Raptor.”

“Yes.”

“Was it dangerous?”

The merchant proudly nodded.

“Very.”

“Excellent. Revenge always improves flavor.”

He laughed.

“How many?”

“Three.”

He named the price.

I reached into Dimensional Storage, retrieved one gold coin, then realized the amount was absurdly too large.

The vendor stared at the coin.

Then at me.

“Do you have anything smaller?”

“New to the economy.”

Eventually he changed it into several smaller coins.

I received my skewers and found a seat along the edge of a large fountain.

I took a bite.

My eyebrows rose.

“Okay.”

Monster tasted good.

Extremely good.

The meat was slightly smoky, surprisingly tender, and coated with some spicy herb mixture that made me immediately reconsider every dinosaur joke I had ever made.

I took another bite.

While eating, I watched the crowd.

People passing.

Children playing.

Merchants working.

Guards patrolling.

Then something caught my attention.

The guards.

Not what they were doing.

How they were doing it.

They looked normal.

Mostly.

But underneath the professionalism was tension.

Knights moved quickly between streets.

One stopped another, whispered something, then separated.

Several guards checked alleyways.

Another questioned a carriage driver.

Nobody was shouting.

Nobody announced an emergency.

But something was happening.

Subtle panic.

The governmental variety.

The kind where everyone desperately tried preventing ordinary citizens from realizing somebody important had screwed up.

I took another bite.

Two silver-armored knights approached from different directions.

They nearly collided beside the fountain.

“Anything?” one whispered.

The second shook his head.

“Nothing.”

The first knight swore quietly.

“Did you search the northern market?”

“Twice.”

“And the temple district?”

“Yes.”

I continued eating.

Not eavesdropping.

Just possessing ears.

Very different legal category.

The second knight leaned closer.

“There’s still no trace of the First Princess.”

My chewing slowed.

Princess.

Interesting.

The first knight immediately hissed.

“Lower your voice.”

He glanced around.

I took an innocent bite of barbecue.

Citizen.

Eating.

Definitely not listening.

The knight continued even more quietly.

“If anyone discovers she’s missing, we’ll have a riot.”

“His Majesty already knows.”

“That is the problem.”

“He’s furious?”

“He’s running out of patience.”

The second knight rubbed his face.

“Then we need to find her before sunset.”

They separated quickly.

I watched them go.

Then looked at my skewer.

“Interesting.”

So.

A missing princess.

The First Princess, specifically.

His Majesty was currently busy dealing with something personal.

Nemris had said that earlier.

Puzzle pieces.

Nice.

I was not going to interfere.

Absolutely not.

I was new to the city.

Royal family problems had nothing to do with me.

This was called maturity.

I finished eating.

Then spent the next several hours wandering.

The capital seemed designed specifically to punish anyone who disliked walking.

Every district led into another.

Commercial streets became residential neighborhoods.

Residential neighborhoods opened into courtyards.

Courtyards fed into markets.

Markets turned into narrow streets containing shops selling things I did not understand.

At some point, I found a merchant selling preserved monster eyeballs.

I did not ask.

Some doors should remain closed.

The sun gradually lowered.

Golden light spread across rooftops.

Lanterns began appearing along streets.

And I realized something.

I had no idea where I was sleeping tonight.

Excellent planning.

I could return to the castle.

Probably.

Zeria had given me the badge.

But showing up at her bedroom after sunset and saying, “You said anything,” felt like the sort of misunderstanding Nemris might solve using a sword.

I could rent a room.

Except I had no idea which inns were good.

Or bad.

Or brothels pretending to be inns.

Not necessarily a problem.

Just something worth identifying accurately.

I wandered toward the edge of another marketplace.

This area was less crowded.

Buildings leaned closer together.

Several storefronts were closed.

The cheerful merchant noise from the larger streets faded behind me.

Then I noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings.

Dark.

Poorly lit.

Suspicious.

Perfect.

Every sensible instinct said keep walking.

My curiosity put both hands over sensible instinct’s mouth and dragged it into an alley.

I slowed.

Two men stood near the entrance.

One leaned against the wall.

The other handed him something.

A coin.

Not ordinary currency.

It looked stamped with some strange symbol.

The man guarding the passage checked it.

“The event starts soon.”

The second man nodded.

“Then let me through.”

“Hurry.”

The guard stepped aside.

The other disappeared into the passage.

I stared.

Secret entrance.

Special coin.

Mysterious event.

Nothing about this screamed legal.

I should leave.

I had been in the capital less than one day.

Getting arrested before dinner would be embarrassing even by my standards.

I took one step.

Toward the entrance.

Because apparently boredom was stronger than survival instinct.

The man looked at me.

His eyes moved over my clothing.

Then my face.

Then, probably, the back he assumed contained Spriggan markings beneath my shirt.

I raised one hand.

“Evening.”

He frowned.

“The event begins shortly.”

“Fantastic.”

He waited.

I waited.

His expression became impatient.

“Are you participating or watching?”

Participating?

Oh.

That improved things.

Before I answered, he examined me again.

Then laughed.

“Never mind.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Never mind what?”

“You’re obviously watching.”

“Obviously?”

“A lone Spriggan?”

He snorted.

“You wouldn’t last one minute inside the cage.”

There are sentences that offend you.

There are sentences that challenge you.

Then there are sentences that casually hand your ego a loaded weapon.

I smiled.

But for once, I resisted.

Mostly because I still had no idea what cage he meant.

“Watching sounds lovely.”

He held out his hand.

“One gold.”

“One?”

“Yes.”

“Expensive mystery.”

“Pay or leave.”

Customer service here remained historically accurate.

I reached into Dimensional Storage and produced a gold coin.

The man took it.

Then stepped aside.

“Straight ahead. Don’t cause trouble.”

I looked at him.

“That instruction has never had a strong success rate with me.”

He frowned.

I entered before questions began.

The passage descended.

Stone steps led beneath the surrounding buildings.

The air became cooler.

Damp.

Noisy.

At first, only muffled sound reached me.

Then shouting.

Cheering.

Laughter.

The corridor turned.

Dim orange torchlight appeared.

And suddenly the space opened.

“Oh.”

An underground arena filled the chamber.

Hundreds of people surrounded a large metal cage built into the center.

Wooden platforms rose around it in several levels.

Spectators packed every available spot.

Some held drinks.

Others waved coins.

Men stood beside betting tables shouting odds.

The air smelled of sweat, alcohol, smoke, and the accumulated ethical failures of organized entertainment.

I loved it immediately.

People shouted.

“Three silver on Stonehorn!”

“Rabbit takes him!”

“No chance!”

I moved through the crowd.

Nobody cared about me.

Perfect.

Inside the cage, two fighters entered through opposite doors.

The first looked like a humanoid rabbit.

Long ears.

Gray fur.

Lean build.

Sword in hand.

He bounced lightly from one foot to the other.

The second was enormous.

Bull head.

Horns.

Huge body.

A hammer rested across one shoulder.

“Minotaur?”

A man beside me looked over.

“Bullkin.”

“Close enough.”

An announcer climbed onto a raised platform.

He shouted their names.

The crowd erupted.

Money moved between hands.

Then a bell rang.

The fight started.

The Rabbitkin disappeared.

Not fast.

Disappeared.

Then reappeared several meters away.

I leaned forward.

Blinking.

Some kind of short-distance teleportation.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The Bullkin roared and charged.

His hammer smashed against the cage floor.

The Rabbitkin vanished again.

Reappeared behind him.

Slash.

Blood sprayed from the Bullkin’s leg.

The crowd screamed approval.

The Bullkin turned.

Another blink.

Another cut.

The pattern continued.

Fast.

Brutal.

Efficient.

My learning ability stirred quietly inside me.

I focused.

Useful information.

The Rabbitkin eventually cut behind both knees.

The Bullkin collapsed.

Two more quick strikes disabled his arms.

The bell rang.

Crowd exploded.

No death.

Apparently winning required incapacitation, not necessarily killing.

Civilized illegal cage fighting.

Progress.

Another match followed.

This time, a Lizardkin entered against a broad Turtlekin.

I stared.

“This is getting better.”

The Lizardkin inhaled.

Then breathed fire.

Actual fire.

A stream of flame filled part of the cage.

The Turtlekin raised both hands.

Water fired from his fingertips.

I blinked.

“Of course.”

Fire-breathing lizard against finger-gun turtle.

If someone had explained this to me on Earth, I would have assumed they had consumed medication recreationally.

Here, the audience simply started betting harder.

The Lizardkin won eventually, overwhelming the Turtlekin’s defensive water with heat and speed.

More matches followed.

Different species.

Different abilities.

Different fighting styles.

A feline Beastkin fought with chained blades.

A horned woman hardened her skin into something resembling metal.

A birdlike fighter used wind to push himself through the air inside the cage.

I watched everything.

Partially entertained.

Partially studying.

My strange ability constantly assessed what I saw.

Some movements made immediate sense.

Footwork.

Weapon techniques.

Body mechanics.

The magical skills.

Not impossible.

More observation.

More understanding.

Interesting.

Then the final preliminary match ended.

The crowd changed.

People who had been talking stood.

Drinks were abandoned.

Coins appeared everywhere.

The volume doubled.

A man near me shouted, “Finally!”

Another laughed.

“The boring fights are over!”

Considering I had just watched a turtle shoot water from his fingertips at a fire-breathing lizard, their definition of boring concerned me.

The announcer stepped onto the platform again.

His voice boomed.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

The crowd answered with cheers.

“The moment you came to see!”

More shouting.

“The main event!”

Metal doors opened on one side of the cage.

A massive figure entered.

He looked like someone had built a person from a collapsed mountain.

Stone covered his entire body.

Not armor.

Body.

Rock plates formed shoulders, chest, arms, and head.

Every step made the floor tremble.

He lifted both fists and roared.

The audience booed.

Aggressively.

One man threw something.

It bounced off the stone fighter’s head.

He did not notice.

The announcer lifted one hand.

“Our challenger!”

The Rock man slammed both fists against his chest.

Dust fell from him.

Then the announcer turned toward the opposite gate.

The crowd quieted.

Not completely.

But enough.

Anticipation.

Real anticipation.

People leaned forward.

Someone beside me muttered, “Here she comes.”

The announcer smiled.

“And now!”

The second gate slowly opened.

“The undefeated champion!”

The crowd erupted before anyone appeared.

“The terror of the cage!”

Cheers grew louder.

“The woman who has crushed every challenger foolish enough to stand before her!”

People stomped their feet.

Metal platforms shook.

“The vicious!”

The announcer raised one fist.

“The merciless!”

Something moved inside the tunnel.

Golden hair caught the torchlight.

“The one and only!”

The crowd screamed the title with him.

“THE MERCILESS LIONESS!”

She stepped into the cage.

Lionkin.

Golden ears.

Long golden hair flowed down her back.

A lion tail moved behind her.

She was not enormous.

Not built like Nemris.

Not covered in armor.

Her body was lean and athletic, built for speed rather than bulk. There was clear strength in the way she carried herself, especially through her legs, shoulders, and stance, but nothing about her looked heavily muscular. She had the compact, conditioned build of someone who fought often and knew exactly how to use every part of her body.

She wore a sleeveless fighting top and short combat trousers designed for movement.

Her arms and much of her thighs were exposed.

Naturally, my attention conducted a very professional tactical assessment of the thighs.

Solid.

Powerful.

Entirely relevant to combat analysis.

Probably.

Her skin was pale.

A dark mask covered the upper portion of her face, hiding enough to prevent easy identification.

But not the eyes.

Blue.

Bright blue.

She stepped toward the center.

Raised both hands.

The entire underground chamber erupted.

People screamed.

Stomped.

Chanted.

“LIONESS!”

“LIONESS!”

“LIONESS!”

She soaked it in.

No hesitation.

No modesty.

She turned slowly, acknowledging every side of the crowd as if she owned the cage, the spectators, and possibly the building.

The Rockkin roared at her.

She looked at him.

Then rolled one shoulder casually.

No fear.

No concern.

Just the relaxed posture of someone who had been told her dinner might require slightly more chewing than usual.

I leaned forward.

Now this was interesting.

I took in the roaring crowd, the enormous stone challenger, and the masked Lionkin standing opposite him like she had already decided how the fight ended.

A slow smile spread across my face.

“Main event, huh?”