As the fiery sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson, two guards stationed outside the imposing gates of Bratanium found themselves trying to kill time.
The first guard, a burly man with a jovial demeanor, nudged his companion with a grin. "How about we grab some drinks later? My treat this time."
His companion, a lean, wiry figure, arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Feeling generous? What's the occasion?"
The burly man shrugged with a hearty laugh. "Just felt like it. And hey, there's a new spot in town I've been dying to check out."
"Oh? What kind of place?"
"A fine establishment, my friend. A whorehouse." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I hear they've got quite the selection. Even some Arlanians."
His companion recoiled, disgust flashing across his face. "Are you out of your mind? Have some shame."
The first guard chuckled, unfazed. "Why? If we can't avenge the emperor with our swords, the least we can do is do it with our cocks."
Before his companion could respond, their banter was cut short by the sight of twenty men approaching the gate.
Armed men.
The first guard straightened, his jovial expression hardening as his hand went to the hilt of his sword. "STOP RIGHT THERE, CITIZENS!"
The air shifted. The approaching men did not stop.
Armor clinked with each step, steel catching the last light of day. Heavy boots struck the cobblestone road that led into the city. They moved with purpose.
The guards exchanged wary glances.
It was never a good thing to see this many armed men at the gates.
At the forefront of the group stood a young man, his black hair cascading in unruly waves down the nape of his neck. His sharp jawline accentuated the symmetry of his face, while his fair complexion hinted at youth and vigor. He wore a suit of chainmail, the links glistening under the dying light, and a sword rested snugly in its sheath at his hip.
As he neared the gate, he murmured a few words to his companions before stepping forward alone. His gaze swept over the two guards stationed at Bratanium's entrance, assessing them with a keen eye. Then, he smiled.
"Good evening, sirs. Apologies if we startled you—we mean no harm. We simply wish to enter the city," he said, his tone respectful yet firm.
The first guard eyed him warily, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Words mean little these days. State your identity and purpose. And keep your hands off that hilt."
The young man did as instructed, raising his hands slightly in a show of goodwill. "We are mercenaries, seeking a city to resupply and rest for a while. We'll be heading south soon—looking for work, maybe some glory along the way."
The guard snorted. "Glory? The only thing waiting for you is a bloody grave." He studied the strangers before adding, "How many of you are there?"
"Five hundred," the young man answered plainly. "Obviously, we won't all enter. We only ask to set up camp outside the city walls while a portion of us acquires supplies. We'll be gone before you know it." His smile remained, but his words carried weight.
The guard hesitated, scrutinizing the man before him. He was young—too young to command five hundred swords. "You their leader?" he asked, doubt creeping into his tone.
The young man met his gaze unflinchingly. "Yes."
A beat of silence passed before the guard exhaled sharply. "Fine. Your men can camp near the walls, but they'll be watched. For security reasons, of course. Ten silverii per hundred men, per day. Everything clear?"
Alpheo's smile widened just slightly. "Crystal."
With that, Alpheo and the eighteen men accompanying him paid the customs toll and entered the city.
As the gates creaked open, they were immediately met with a bustling scene. The streets of Bratanium swarmed with merchants, travelers, and city folk. Given its location along the road to the capital, it was no surprise the city was thriving—a hub where traders converged, deals were struck, and fortunes were made or lost.
Alpheo turned to his men "Alright, boys, let's get to work."
He gestured to one of them. "Egil, take five men and buy some lances and shields. Get a price for 120 of them."
Egil nodded. "Understood, Alph. You heard the man—move it!" He led his group off toward the blacksmith district.
Next, Alpheo turned to another companion. "Clio, get us some grain and oats. Our supplies aren't low, but better to stock up while we can."
Clio gave a quick salute. "I'll be back before sundown." He disappeared into the crowd with his team.
That left Alpheo with nine men. He exhaled and rolled his shoulders. "As for us, we're heading to a tavern."
A grin spread across Laedio's face. "Drinks on you?"
"One drink. We're not there to get drunk," Alpheo clarified, already striding forward.
Laedio fell into step beside him, brows furrowed. "Then why go?"
"To gather information. I need to know what's happening around we haven't heard of our old masters in a long time."
Laedio let out a skeptical chuckle. "And the best way to do that is to ask drunkards?"
Alpheo shot him a sidelong glance. "If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears."
Laedio shrugged. "Can't say I do."
"Then we find a tavern."
Alpheo scanned the streets, his mind already piecing together the next steps. He had to admit—he missed newspapers. Relying on half-intoxicated gossip wasn't ideal, but it was the best they had. For now, it would have to do.