Liam rode at the front, leading the group as they continued their journey toward Arthalon City. For three grueling days, they had pressed forward, enduring the endless stretches of wilderness, the uneven terrain, and the biting chill of the night air. Despite their initial concerns about the dangers of the road, the journey had been surprisingly uneventful.
Eleanor, who had expected a constant threat of bandit ambushes, had kept her guard up the entire way, but not a single attack had come. The silence was unnerving—as if the world itself was waiting for something to happen.
"I don't get it," Eleanor muttered as she rode alongside Liam. "I was told this path was crawling with bandits. Yet we haven't seen a single one."
Sophia, just behind them, shrugged. "Maybe they got scared when they heard we were coming?" She smirked, adjusting her bow across her back.
Marcus snorted. "Or maybe Grogath and his crew were supposed to be the ones waiting for us, and we just got to them first."
Liam said nothing, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead. He could already see the faint outline of Arthalon in the distance, its towering structures rising like ancient sentinels against the sky. The closer they got, the more the air seemed to change—filled with the scent of civilization, a mix of burning wood, roasting meat, and the distinct metallic tang of weapons being forged.
Then, finally, they arrived.
Arthalon City was nothing like they expected.
The first thing that struck them was the sheer size of it. The city walls loomed high, carved from dark stone and reinforced with massive iron gates. Towering ancient buildings lined the streets, their facades covered in intricate carvings and strange glowing runes that pulsed faintly in the late afternoon light. Bridges arched over winding canals, connecting different districts of the city, while narrow alleyways twisted between the structures like a labyrinth.
The streets were bustling with people. Traders shouted over one another as they peddled their wares—exotic spices, enchanted trinkets, gleaming weapons, and shimmering fabrics. Warriors in sturdy armor walked with purpose, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Rogues in hooded cloaks slipped between crowds, their eyes scanning for opportunities. The noise was overwhelming—the chatter of merchants, the clinking of coins, the distant sound of hammers against anvils.
Liam and his group entered through the main gate, their eyes scanning their surroundings in awe. The moment they stepped past the threshold, a familiar system ding echoed in their ears.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
MISSION COMPLETE: Proceed to Arthalon City
Liam felt a sudden rush of warmth spread through his body, like a wave of energy surging through his veins. Then, as the system interface appeared before his eyes, he realized why.
---
Updated Stats:
Strength: [6/100] (+1)
Agility: [7/100] (+1)
Endurance: [5/100] (+1)
Intelligence: [8/100] (+1)
Dexterity: [6/100] (+1)
Charisma: [9/100] (+1)
Luck: [5/100] (+1)
---
Liam clenched his fist, feeling the subtle difference. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Before he could process it further, another system message appeared—this time in a bold red font.
[ERROR: NEXT MISSION UNAVAILABLE. USER LEVEL TOO LOW.]
A long silence stretched between them as they all read the message. Then—
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Marcus exploded, his voice loud enough to make a few passing merchants glance in their direction. "Why didn't it tell us to level up before coming here?! We've been traveling for three days just to get slapped with a damn error message?! What kind of bullshit is this?"
Sophia sighed, rubbing her temple. "This system is a pain in the ass."
Liam, however, was less concerned about the mission and more focused on what they needed to do next. He glanced around the busy streets, taking in the organized chaos of Arthalon. Merchants were haggling, blacksmiths were hammering away, and bounty hunters were scanning wanted posters. Everyone was focused on their own business.
Good. That meant no one was paying attention to them.
Liam turned to Eleanor and tossed her the bag of glowing crystals. She caught it effortlessly, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet his.
"Find a place to exchange these," Liam instructed. "We need money, and you're the best negotiator we have."
No one argued. Eleanor had already sold these crystals once before, and she had managed to get them a fair price. If anyone could handle the sharks in Arthalon's market, it was her.
Eleanor nodded, securing the bag over her shoulder. "I'll take care of it."
Liam pointed toward a narrow alleyway just ahead, tucked between two tall buildings. "We'll wait there."
Eleanor didn't waste any time. She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, blending in like a shadow. The rest of them made their way toward the alley, moving past carts of fresh fruit, vendors shouting about enchanted jewelry, and armored men exchanging stacks of gold.
Liam leaned against the rough stone wall of the alleyway, arms crossed, his gaze scanning the streets beyond. The city was loud and alive, but back here in the shadows of the alley, the noise felt distant, muffled by the towering buildings that loomed over them.
The group settled in as they waited for Eleanor to return. Marcus rested against the wall, tapping his fingers against his thigh. Jason crouched near the entrance, drawing idle patterns in the dirt with a stray stick. Sophia adjusted her quiver, her expression unreadable.
They had barely been resting for five minutes when a soft whispering drifted from the deep end of the alley.
Liam's eyes flicked toward the source of the sound. A group of ten men stood huddled together in the dim light. Their cloaks were tattered, their clothes stained, and in their hands were thin, burning sticks, emitting a thick, grayish smoke that curled in the air.
The stench was immediate—bitter, pungent, and nauseating.
Jason wrinkled his nose. "Wait, they smoke here too?" he muttered, glancing at the men. "I thought we were in some medieval fantasy world. What the hell are they even smoking?"
Marcus exhaled, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. I just know it fucking stinks."
The group of men had noticed them now. One of them nudged another, and soon, all ten pairs of bloodshot eyes were turned in their direction. Slowly, the men pushed off the walls, their movements lazy and unsteady, like they'd had one too many drinks.
And then—
A sharp, drawn-out whistle.
"What's a girl this beautiful doing in a place like this?" one of the men slurred, his voice thick with amusement. His yellowed teeth glistened in the dim light as he grinned at Sophia.
Sophia didn't react. She had dealt with this too many times before. The best thing to do in these situations was ignore them. Acknowledging them only made it worse.
But the men weren't taking the hint.
Another one of them took a step closer, his eyes roaming over her. "Come on, sweetheart. No need to be shy."
Sophia's hand tightened around her bow, but she still didn't acknowledge them.
The men chuckled. One reached out a grimy hand, as if to touch her.
That's when Marcus moved.
With an irritated sigh, he pushed off the wall and stepped in front of Sophia, effectively blocking the approaching man. His gaze was sharp, his stance unwavering.
"These NPCs are so damn annoying," Marcus muttered under his breath. Then, louder, he spoke, his tone flat and cold.
"Scram."
The men blinked at him. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the one who had whistled earlier grinned, flashing his rotting, brown teeth.
"Look at this tough guy," the man slurred, stepping forward until he was face-to-face with Marcus. The reek of alcohol and smoke hit immediately.
Marcus gagged. "For fuck's sake, who the hell designed these characters? How are you so fucking ugly?" He took a step back, covering his nose. "What the hell did you eat? A rotten skunk?"
The men laughed, but their eyes glinted with something dangerous.
Liam's gaze hardened.
This was about to get messy but not for them.
****
Support with Golden tickets and Power Stones