The days blurred until the carriage rolled to a halt at the gate of the Arden Kingdom. Knights stopped them at the entrance; and checked their dog-tags, glanced at Izuku's papers, and nodded. "Envoys from Meiga Sōgen—permitted to enter." The gates swung open.
It was Bruce's first time in Arden. He stared. Streets were paved with brick, fountains danced in the plazas, banners for the upcoming festival snapped in the breeze. People bustled everywhere—markets, performers, children chasing each other—life in loud color compared to the mountain's gray hush.
Izuku nudged him. "First time?"
"Yeah," Bruce admitted.
"What about you?" Izuku asked Sinclair.
She only shrugged. "I grew up around here."
The carriage dropped them off in front of a small inn. Meiga's arrangements had covered lodging; Izuku announced, "For the mission, this is where we'll stay." They went in.
—The inn: simple, a two-story building with a single reception and modest rooms. Fifteen rooms on the first floor: some single beds, some doubles. Single rooms cost 5 copper denar a night; doubles ran 20 copper denar. Upstairs rooms were larger—1 silver coin per night. In local terms, a copper denar was the day-wage of a poor laborer; a silver coin equaled roughly twenty copper denar. Most townsfolk lived hand to mouth—buying food, paying rent—so even a single silver coin could feed a small family for several days. The inn's rates were affordable to merchants and well-paid hunters, but to a peasant they were a stretch—hence why Izuku paid a silver for the second-floor room without blinking.
They settled in. Bruce blinked at the modest comforts. "We sleeping here?"
"No," Izuku said. "You two will rest. I'll scout tonight." He changed into a tuxedo with an absurd calm, smoothing the lapel. "Don't stay up. Don't leave the inn. Food will be delivered soon. Sinclair—manage the blood you have for now. I don't know when I'll get fresh supply."
Bruce watched him leave, tux without ceremony, and muttered, "You really dressed up for this?"
Izuku didn't look back. "You have no idea."
—Night crawled in. Bruce woke, stomach tugging him to the washroom. The corridor was dim; he blinked and nearly collided with Sinclair, half-awake, moving oddly. For a breath he thought she ignored him—then she lunged.
Panic slammed through him. "Hey—what are you doing?!" he blurted.
She didn't answer. Driven by hunger, she sank her fangs into his neck. The world narrowed to shock and hot pain; he thrashed, tried to force her off. "Snap out of it—" he managed, but she couldn't hear reason. Blood left him warm and fast; strength fled in waves until black laced his vision.
When Bruce woke, Izuku was there, hands quick and efficient. A rough bandage, a plaster—Izuku's face unreadable. Bruce felt faint, weak, hollowed out. The room smelled of iron and night air. Plate after plate of food lay stacked on a table—Izuku had made sure he'd had calories even if unconscious.
Sinclair knelt beside him, hands trembling. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It won't happen again." Her eyes were a mess of shame and something else—hunger thwarted, apologies pouring out.
Bruce forced a laugh that came out thin. "Just… stay away from me," he rasped. He didn't know how else to handle the violation—betrayal wasn't the right word; she hadn't meant malice—and yet he'd been helpless. Images of Belita's death—her face, the way she'd fallen—kept slamming into him. The helplessness of both moments merged into a cold knot: Belita's fall had been brutal, sudden—someone he'd barely begun to know ripped away—and now he'd been drained in his sleep by someone he was supposed to protect. It made him feel small, violated, and hollow all at once.
Izuku watched him, expression tight. He tapped the bed and tossed two small, curious devices onto the blanket. "Wear these when you travel," he said. "Mana earphones. They use minor mana streams to transmit sound directly to the wearers' ears. Quiet in the field, secure, and no shouting needed. Useful for infiltration." He pressed one into Bruce's hand and one into Sinclair's.
A quick explanation: the earphones were carved bands with a rune core. The rune picked up the user's voice as mana-vibration and sent it through the device's tiny channel into the wearer's auditory nodes—like a whisper that only the other ear could hear. Useful for stealth, they also blocked out surface noise when needed. Izuku had long used them; now he gave a pair to his charges.
"Don't make me repeat myself: don't fight unless I tell you to," Izuku warned, then paused. "And change. The tuxedos are for appearances—if you're coming on this mission, you'll need to blend."
He pointed at the tuxedos laid out on the bed—a ridiculous, formal contrast to the dungeon dirt and travel wrinkling their clothes. They dressed in silence. In a minute the devices clicked into place and settled warm against their ears. Their voices felt oddly private, like sharing secrets in a crowded room.
They stepped out into the night together.