Three weeks later, Year 169 of Thornton.
"A rare treasure from the north!" Merchants enthusiastically raised their voices in animated negotiations, presenting exotic goods from distant lands. Meanwhile, skilled craftsmen diligently hammered and chiseled away in open workshops, their creations gradually taking shape under the warm embrace of the golden sunlight.
Amidst the lively scene, towering buildings cast long shadows over the bustling streets of Vehenna, the Capital of the Sylvania Empire. The air resonated with the harmonious blend of laughter, chatter, and the enchanting melodies played by street musicians, creating a symphony of life that reverberated through the city's narrow alleys.
"Long live the land of ambition!" Hector exclaimed, his dark curly hair framing his bright face. In his firm grip, he held an unopened bottle of liquor.
Unfortunately, Hector's excitement fell on deaf ears as his subordinates appeared absorbed in their own plans.
"I'll bring Haru along with me to shop for daggers and spears," Ivan declared, the oldest among the group. His textured wavy hair cascaded to his shoulders as he tilted his head. "Shall we part ways?"
Haru was simply leaning on a pole, his beautiful almond-shaped eyes quietly scanning the crowd. He can go with whoever wants to drag him around.
"Alright, Sir. I plan to visit my sister. As for Lieutenant..." Fredrik, their youngest yet tallest member, scanned the area for Sir Hector, his eyes quickly narrowed with concern. "Are you headed to Lady Monett's tavern, Lieutenant? She won't be pleased to see you already with a drink in hand."
Hector chuckled. "You're too green, Fredrik. You don't understand a woman's heart," he replied, now paying for another bottle to a merchant.
"What do I not understand?" Fredrik asked, raising his brow.
"Thaaank you," Hector said to the merchant and picked up the bottle before turning to Fredrik. He held the two bottles high, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. "Come on. We've been away for a year. She'll only be overjoyed to find out I'm still alive and kicking."
Fredrik titled his head slightly, his brow raised. "You say that as though you are lovers, Lieutenant. But you have been courting her for as long as I can remember," he remarked.
"Ah... Her extended willingness to let me court her speaks volumes about how deeply she values our connection," Hector replied, smiling at Fredrik.
"I do not understand," Fredrik said, glancing at Sir Ivan, the only married man among them, for explanation. But Sir Ivan merely shrugged.
"Ah, my dear lad. While you might not find yourself a lady love, you can still make the people of Sylvania proud," Hector responded, patting Fredrik's shoulder while he hugged the two wine bottles with one arm.
Fredrik gave an exasperated look while the others chuckled.
Hector patted Fredrik's shoulder one last time before glancing around. "By the way, did you see where the Commander was headed?" he asked.
In another part of the bustling city, Caym Fairburne walked among the crowd, his height towering over most people. Other than his perfectly toned body, there was one thing about him that would make men envious and women admire — he was the Grand Commander, standing at the top of the strongest military force on the continent, the Imperial Army of Sylvania.
"Mister, please buy some!"
A young girl extended her hand, displaying a handful of colorful talismans. She gazed up and her eyes immediately widened in amazement at the towering figure before her.
Caym glanced down, taken aback by her innocent enthusiasm. Before he could utter a word, a protective young boy appeared out of nowhere, swiftly pulling the girl away while casting a worried glance at the man.
"Lyra, I've warned you about approaching strangers! That man seemed dangerous!" the boy scolded, his concern etched across his face.
Caym raised an eyebrow as he watched the children running away. After seeing them disappear, his attention went back to his mission.
He assumed the role of Grand Commander just two years ago, at the young age of 29. Since then, he has hunted down more rebels than any of his predecessors.
Caym and his elite knights had recently returned after pursuing the rebels in the eastern region. They successfully apprehended all the suspects but stumbled upon mysterious messages engraved on Count Braille's brushes. The only information they have is that it was traced back to the capital.
As Caym continued walking, his gaze landed on a quaint shop with a faded sign reading "Moonlight Stationery," the oldest stationery store in Vehenna according to the information he received. After a subtle observation of his surroundings, he walked towards the entrance and entered the large wooden doors.
The shop was filled with the lovely scent of aged parchment and ink. Meticulously arranged on the shelves were an assortment of scrolls, quills, and bottles of vibrant paints. On top of a large mixing table were small mortar and pestle sets. On other shelves were brushes of different sizes and shapes neatly organized in pottery containers.
Behind the worn wooden counter stood the young shopkeeper wearing a vibrant yellow dress and a large blue ribbon on the top her head. Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of Caym's entrance, and she welcomed him brightly. "Welcome! Good sir, what can I assist you with today?"
Her gaze lingered on Caym, noticing the tousled strands of his dark hair peeking out from under his cloak. Then, her gaze moved to his eyes. "Wow," she mused silently, "His eyes... they at like gold. And how tall is he? Is he a knight?"
The shopkeeper awaited his response, but there was none. He merely looked to some nearby shelved.
"Ahem," the shopkeeper cleared her throat, undeterred by his silence. "Are you in search of paints, parchments, or brushes?" she inquired, trying to draw his attention.
Caym turned to her, his face slightly raising his brow. "Do you happen to stock weapons in a stationery store, milady?" Caym finally spoke.
"Mmm? Pardon?" the shopkeeper replied, her eyebrows shooting up in confusion. She couldn't discern whether he was jesting with that serious face of his.
Their awkward pause was interrupted by an angelic voice.
"Hello. I would like to purchase these," a lady said, her white scarf concealing her hair and a veil shrouding her face—typical attire for nuns and widowed women. Only her delicate, pale hands were visible as she moved weakly. She looked up at Caym, her soft blue eyes conveying a weariness, cloudy as if she had been holding back tears.
Caym hadn't realized he had been staring too intently until the woman spoke again. "Oh, I am sorry. It seems I have interrupted," she apologized and quickly moved away.
Caym simply shifted his gaze to the shopkeeper. "I shall explore on my own," he informed and made his way towards the nearest shelf.
"Oh! P-please don't hesitate to ask for assistance, sir," the shopkeeper offered.
With the two left alone, the shopkeeper sighed and turned her attention to the woman. "Sorry about that. Let me see. Hmm. That would be thirty-six silvers in total... Just a moment, let me pack these for you."
"Thank you."
Caym picked up a brush from a pottery container, then glanced at the rest. He noticed that the wood used in many of them resembled that of Count Braille's brushes. "If these brushes are so common, the investigation will take a long time," he mused.
Unfortunately, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a piercing yell, "You wretch! Do you realize how much this dress costs?"
Caym furrowed his brows in disdain. "How crude," he thought, dismissing the commotion, and resumed his task.
"I deeply apologize. How much is it?" he could barely hear the other woman speak.
"It's worth more than your life!"
Caym raised an eyebrow. "I had expected better behavior from customers of a scholarly shop," he mused, returning to his examination of the brushes. But once again, his concentration was shattered by another sharp cry.
"Heavens! Are you crazy? Don't you know I'm a noble? You must be out of your mind!"
Caym sighed, his jaw clenched. Finally turning to check the commotion, his brows furrowed in annoyance as he witnessed an angry noblewoman whose dress was splattered with paint. In front of her stood the woman with a face covering he encountered at the counter.
"Here is 964 silvers. It should be more than enough," the woman said with such a gentle voice, yet dropped the bag of silver on the floor.
Coins scattered, and some onlookers hurried to collect them. The angry noblewoman was torn between her desire to pursue the woman and the need to salvage her money. Begrudgingly, she stopped to gather the silvers before anyone else could snatch them away.
"Get away, you scavengers, or I will summon the imperial guards!" she threatened, her voice seething with frustration. "Hey! Where do you think you're going? Come back, you wench!"
Caym never thought he would see something as chaotic as the battlefield in the middle of the capital.
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