The spring fog draped over the city of Grivanna.Kurtub like a veil reluctant to be lifted.
In this city without a banner, every door held a secret, and every alley could lead to death or information.
No kingdom ruled here—
but that didn't mean there was no control.
>Grivanna.Kurtub was not a city of peace.
It was a city where everyone held a dagger behind each other's back, across the same table.
Jainal arrived while the sky was still gray.
His hood covered most of his face, and his black cloak had grown worn from travel.
He stared at the city's stone gate—weathered with age, guarded by soldiers wearing no insignia.
He handed over forged documents: a wandering technician from the West, a restorer of leftover magitek devices from the war.
The guard glanced over them briefly.
Their eyes were dull—like those who had seen too many corpses.
> "Your business?"
"To repair and sell. Maybe even hear some good news."
"There's no good news here. Only news... paid for in blood."
---
G.Kurtub: A Symphony Without a Root Note
The main streets were filled with people from various tribes, kingdoms—even half-magical beings.
The central market sold cracked magic stones, broken weapons from forgotten battlefields, and items that should have only existed in restricted military research facilities.
Jainal watched one vendor selling identity-erasing masks—prototypes that should have been locked away in the internal files of Research Site 01.
At another stall, he heard a familiar code phrase:
> "Scar Mark... copper tone."
It wasn't just a product. It was a password.
He noted it quietly.
---
Behind the Veil of Diplomacy
In an underground tavern called The Third Floor, former diplomats and black-market traders sat together.
They weren't friends—just people who could speak without blowing the place up.
> "Vildemar wants to lock down the South with a water treaty."
"Arvent is preparing to buy labor from the eastern magic orphanages."
"But Grivanna? Grivanna's playing both sides."
Jainal listened from a shadowed corner.
A dusty glass of water sat before him, untouched—his ears sharper than his thirst.
Information about the children in the experimental project was traded like livestock—
complete with age, magical potential, and "stabilitystatus."
---
First Clue
By nightfall, he slipped into an old drainage tunnel.
Based on stolen research maps, Kurtub once served as a distribution node for Project Δ-Lambda,
disguised as a medical logistics company.
Behind a collapsed wall, he found a hidden chamber—
a former magical monitoring center, its floor still scattered with shattered rune fragments.
One symbol caught his eye: a scar crossing through a circle, etched with blood and salt.
> "They carved this into the children..." Jainal muttered.
In a half-burned notebook in the corner, one name surfaced:
> Scar Collector – Sector 13, Iron Alley.
Someone—or something—that gathered remnants of the dark experiments.
Perhaps the only witness not yet silenced.
---
End of the First Day in G.Kurtub
As night deepened, a small fire flickered in the corner of a rundown shelter.
Jainal cleaned his magitek blade, eyes never fully relaxed.
He knew—this wasn't an open battlefield.
It was the kind of place where a single misstep could bury you
before you ever had a chance to speak.
G.Kurtub was more than just a city without a flag.
It was the unofficial stage of the world—
where shadows gathered...
and truths were whispered,
never shouted.