They stepped beyond the immediate reach of the castle grounds, where the stone paths still carried a sense of deliberate order, their edges clean and recently kept.
For a while, little changed.
Shops lined the path in steady rhythm, their fronts open, goods arranged with quiet practicality rather than display. Bundles of dried greens hung in small clusters, roots tied together in measured portions, folded clothing stacked in even layers. Tools rested where they could be reached without searching. Transactions passed between people, brief and unforced, with neither raised voices nor lingering negotiation.
Arthur's gaze moved across them without pause.
He wasn't searching for anything specific.
Most of the food leaned toward plant-based preparation. Not enforced, not declared—simply consistent. Leaves pressed and dried, grains stored in sealed wraps, roots prepared in ways that preserved rather than transformed. Meat existed, but it appeared less frequently, handled separately, its presence quieter—as though it belonged to a different rhythm of use.
He didn't comment for this was how everyone acted.
A small bird descended near a stall ahead, landing lightly against the edge of a wooden counter. A thin strip was tied neatly to its leg. The merchant reached for it without hesitation, untying and reading with practiced ease before securing another in its place. The bird remained only as long as needed before lifting off again, slipping back into the open air.
No one looked twice. Arthur didn't either but, something caught his attention.
Near the base of a support beam, something pale shifted—thin, almost thread-like, its body coiled loosely where fibers had gathered. Strands clung to it, drawn from worn cloth or loose edges. A passerby brushed excess lint toward it without looking, and the creature adjusted slightly, settling as though the motion had been expected.
The street curved.
Not sharply.
Enough that the view ahead no longer stretched in a single line.
The shops remained, but the space between them began to widen—not abruptly, not enough to feel empty, but enough that each stood more distinctly on its own.
Cellis glanced around. "…It feels quieter."
"It always does past this point," Herold said, easy in tone. "You just start noticing it."
Arthur said nothing. Insted he was curious about the conflict ahead.
A man stood ahead at a stall, reaching toward a set of bundled supplies—cloth-wrapped, tied tight at the ends.
"I'll take that one," he said.
The merchant hesitated.
"…It's already been marked."
"For who?" the man asked, irritation slipping through. It was the last remaining of the bundles that he could afford.
Before the merchant could answer, another figure approached—not hurried, but certain. His presence shifted the conflict.
"That would be mine."
The first man turned. "You weren't here."
Arthur's attention shifted slightly.
The second man didn't raise his voice. He simply reached for the bundle.
He bore no overt armor, no raised authority—but along the edge of his sleeve, partially obscured beneath the fold of fabric, a subtle insignia had been stitched in. It wasn't decorative. It was placed where it didn't need to be seen clearly to be recognized.
It was a crest that had been stitched—subtle, but precise. A silver-maned wolf, its eyes marked in faint blue thread, the fur rendered in soft, clouded patterns.
"It was taken before you asked."
"That's not how trade works," the first snapped, stepping forward. "If it's not in hand, it's not—"
Herold moved.
Not into the argument.
A hand caught the man's arm—not forceful, but firm enough to stop the step from continuing.
"Probably not worth it, if you need a bundle I can buy you one. " Herold said, tone light, almost casual.
The man tried to pull back, but stopped.
Not because of Herold. But because of the others now standing nearby and the food that he was promised.
The second man didn't look at him.
He didn't need to.
The first man exhaled sharply, tension breaking in a single motion as he stepped back.
"…Fine."
He took the promised amount and turned away without another word.
Herold had released his arm, brushing his hands together once as if nothing had happened.
"See?" he said lightly, stepping back toward Arthur and Cellis. "Saves time."
Cellis looked between them. "…That just happens?"
"Not really, very rare especially the Furifur's transaction of small pouches," Herold replied.
Arthur's gaze lingered—not on the people, but on the exchange itself.
The decision had already existed before the words were spoken.
He didn't say it.
But he understood enough.
They moved on.
The street settled again.
The spacing widened further—not empty, just… spread. Goods began to shift in grouping. Tools appeared in sets now—bindings, containers, lengths of rope coiled and sorted.
Arthur slowed briefly near one.
The wear didn't match casual use.
Edges reinforced.
Handles replaced, not discarded.
Used repeatedly.
By more than one kind of hand.
He let it pass.
A small movement crossed above them—something gliding low before settling briefly along the side of a passing cart, clinging without resistance before lifting again.
"You are right its unusual for such rich people to settle at small amount of food whe they could buy the larger packs." Cellis concluded.
"Not all member of Furifur are rich, especially the servent just now. It is unusual since, the closer market provides enough food for the castle and its residents" Herold replied.
Further along, near a shallow channel where water passed quietly between stone, a low, moss-like growth shifted along the edge. It thickened where debris gathered, thinning where the flow cleared, its movement subtle but continuous as the water passed through it.
Cellis watched it for a moment. "…It's cleaning the water."
"More like living off it," Herold replied. "Cleaning just happens."
Arthur's gaze moved past it.
The path curved again.
The castle rose between structures—distant, but always there.
He paused for half a step.
Orientation.
Even here.
Then forward again.
A sudden break in movement—
Fast.
Low.
Closer this time.
Something darted from between two structures, its motion uneven, wrong for the rhythm of the street.
Arthur's focus snapped toward it.
It was coming toward them.
All three were wary, Arthur followed it with his eyes and Cellis looked a bit tense, while Herold stepped in front without thinking.
"Stay behind."
The creature lunged—
—and stopped.
Not by distance.
By force.
A presence pressed down—not seen, but immediate. The creature faltered mid-motion, its body locking before it could reach further.
Two figures stood at the edge of the street. Behind them stood a Knightmane growling at the hostile creature still watching, then, approaced it.
The creature struggled once—
Then didn't.
It collapsed where it stood, stilled under that same pressure.
Herold exhaled, lowering his stance.
"…And that," he muttered, glancing back, "is why you mind your manners."
Cellis didn't respond.
Arthur's gaze never shifted past the creature.
To the one that had ended it. They held the same silver maned wolf carved into the back of their lightly plated uniform. They were there to catch the intruder or to save them. The body was being removed. But they did not ignore the three.
" You do not need to worry, this was the last of these."
He didn't need confirmation. Just the protection was enough.
They continued walking,the street thinned further.
Not fewer structures—
Just more space between them.
The path narrowed briefly between two buildings.
Arthur slowed.
Something about it—
Familiar.
He looked once more at the layout.
Then ahead.
"…This is where we came through."
Cellis blinked. "…It is?"
Herold glanced back with a small grin. "Impressive, you still remember where he left us."
Arthur didn't reply.
They stepped through a passage.
Behind the row of buildings—
The space opened again, leading to a back door. The inside was filled with items, though they had yet to enter, Herold had found the place that would help them survive the next part of the shorter, riskier part of the trip.
>>>
Herold led the way through the back, pushing the slightly open door without pause. The interior was dimmer than the streets outside, the air still, carrying none of the movement or exchange they had just left behind. Cellis followed after a brief hesitation, and Arthur stepped in last, his gaze moving across the space in a quiet, measuring sweep.
The arrangement was orderly—bundled goods stacked in sections, tools set aside in groups, nothing laid out for display. It did not feel abandoned, but it was not open either.
Arthur's gaze lingered a moment longer before Cellis spoke.
"…It's closed."
Herold didn't stop. "It usually is from the front."
They moved a few steps further in before a faint sound came from deeper inside. A curtain shifted, and someone stepped through.
Marlin.
She paused when she saw them, her eyes settling on Herold first, her expression unreadable for a brief moment.
"…You," she said, as if confirming something.
Then, more plainly, "What are you doing here? Taking the shorter route this time too?"
Herold gave a small shrug. "If it's there."
She exhaled faintly through her nose, something between acknowledgment and habit.
"Zarko's out," she said. "With Jason."
Herold nodded once. "Still keeping him busy."
Marlin didn't reply to that. Instead, she looked between the three of them once more before asking, "Same as before?"
"The usual," Herold said.
"One gold."
"Same as always."
She turned without waiting further and moved back through the curtain, the sound of quiet movement resuming almost immediately.
Cellis glanced toward Herold, lowering her voice slightly.
"…You have it, right?"
He had already reached for his pouch.
The motion was routine, unthinking.
His hand slipped inside—
Then paused.
He checked again, slower this time, fingers pressing along the inner fold, then the outer edge.
Nothing.
The movement stilled.
Arthur noticed the pause before anything else, his gaze shifting to Herold's hand.
Herold withdrew it slowly, looking down at the pouch as if confirming what he already understood.
A brief memory aligned—the stall, the contact, the moment dismissed too easily.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"…Looks like I paid someone else."
Cellis frowned. "What?"