The next morning, the sky was clear, and the griffins cut through the air like they owned it. Students rode in tight faormation, surrounded by guards who kept their eyes peeled, scanning the skies and the ground below.
The day passed without incident, and by evening, the horizon finally revealed their destination.
Brixton.
Even from the distance, you could tell the place was more guarded then the previous three cities. The walls were massive—way bigger than any cities before—and made of dark stone that caught the last rays of the sun and shimmered like steel.
Watchtowers spiked up from the city, and soldiers paced the perimeter, even their number was far greater than the three cities before.
As they flew over the city's outskirts, a massive cavern appeared, and a steady stream of armored adventurers marched into it, disappearing into the dungeon below. A few of the students gasped, some looking over at each other, wide-eyed, some whisper in awe, some in fear.
"Look at that," someone whispered, voice shaky. "That's the dungeon? No way I'm stepping foot in there."
"Not if I can help it," another muttered, glancing nervously at the griffin beside them.
The griffins finally descended into the sprawling courtyard of the City Lord's manor. Waiting for them was the City Lord himself—a middle-aged man with a scholar's refined bearing, yet his broad shoulders and confident stance betrayed a body kept honed for battle. His sharp eyes scanned the arriving group.
But instead of greeting the crowd, he walked right past them.
Pete, Catherine, the students, all of them—he didn't even spare them a glance.
The City Lord's eyes locked on Ace and Lucy. Without hesitation, he bowed deeply.
"Lord Ace. Lady Lucy," he said, his voice calm, respectful. "Brixton is honored by your presence."
The silence hit like a punch. Pete froze mid-step, his jaw tightening. His eyes darted between the City Lord and the others, watching as they ignored him, as if he didn't even exist.
'What the hell?' Pete thought, rage bubbling up inside. 'I'm the Hero, the Chosen. He just—he just walks right past me?'
Ace didn't even blink. He gave a slight nod, like he was just another guard. "You've got your duties, Lord. Don't waste them on us. Go back to your business."
The City Lord bowed again, without hesitation. "As you command." He turned to the guards standing by, who were already moving to escort the students toward the guest manor. "The chambers for Lord Ace and Lady Lucy have been prepared in my personal manor."
Lucy gave a polite smile. Ace simply nodded.
But behind them, Pete's fists clenched, his face darkening like a storm cloud. His teeth ground together, and his jaw throbbed with the effort to keep his anger under control.
'I'm the Hero, ' he thought, fury twisting in his chest. ' I will save the empire, fight demon lord, and save everyone. And this bastard—this City Lord—just ignores me?'
His heart raced with humiliation, but he swallowed it down. Barely.
The guards led them to the guest manor, but Pete's temper didn't cool. When they finally arrived, he couldn't hold it back anymore. His gaze swept over the rooms—clean, luxurious too. Par enough to be called noble accommodations.
"This is it?" Pete snapped, gesturing sharply at the furnishings. "Not even half the luxury of Oakridge or Kelworth! Do you expect the Hero to rest in a common traveler's inn?"
The guards, unphased by Pete's outburst, bowed respectfully. "The arrangements were made personally by the City Lord, sir. We cannot alter them."
That did it. Pete's face twisted in anger, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening until his knuckles went white. He ground out his words, each one dripping with venom. "This... this is his doing. Ace."
The thought festered immediately in his mind—Ace must have arranged this insult, this deliberate attempt to make him look lesser. The Hero's grip tightened on the hilt of his holy sword as he bit back the urge to shout. His resentment deepened, burning hotter with every passing second.
Suppressing the anger boiling inside him, Pete changed his clothes from the journey and into something simpler. Plain tunic, dark trousers, boots scuffed just enough to look like he blended in. He draped a deep hooded cape over his shoulders and pulled it low, concealing his face.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he forced a smirk—if Ace thought he could humiliate him, he'd show him how the Hero truly won the people's hearts.
Without wasting another second, he slipped out of his chamber and strode down the hallway. The manor was quiet now, lanterns casting dim, warm light along the stone walls. He stopped before Catherine's door and rapped sharply with his knuckles.
The door creaked open. Catherine stepped out, her soft golden hair braided loosely for the evening, her night cloak resting lightly over her shoulders. But when she caught sight of Pete's disguise, her brow furrowed.
"Pete… what's the matter? And why are you dressed like that?"
Pete leaned in, voice lowered but urgent."We're going into the city. For inspection. This is the perfect time—before Ace change things to his favor tomorrow."
Catherine blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. For a moment, her steady gaze seemed to pierce right through his words. Then, calmly, she asked:"…Did you do this in all the cities before?"
The question struck him like a blade. Pete's face flushed, heat rushing to his ears. He opened his mouth—closed it again—then finally stammered out, "Th-there was no need for it in other cities. But here… it's different. It's necessary. Will you come with me?"
Silence lingered between them for a breath too long. Catherine sighed softly, her lips curving into that polite, practiced smile she always wore when she disagreed but didn't want to wound.
"…Very well. Wait here."
She closed the door gently, leaving Pete standing in the hall with his fists clenched.
A few minutes later, she emerged dressed more modestly, a simple dress tucked beneath a cloak that covered her frame. She looked far less like a princess and more like an ordinary girl ready to stroll through the streets unnoticed.
"Shall we?" she said lightly, her tone carrying both resignation and patience.
Pete nodded sharply, relief mixing with determination. Together they stepped out of the guest manor.
The air outside was brisk, tinged with the faint smoke of forge fires and the distant sound of evening bells.
The streets of Brixton at night were alive—lanterns strung above cobblestone alleys, hawkers selling skewered meat and hot bread, adventurers in battered armor laughing with mugs of ale, and children darting between the crowds with wooden swords. The city pulsed with a vitality that was different from the other places they had visited—less pomp and glamour, more grit and pride.
Pete strode through Brixton's evening streets with his hood pulled low, Catherine trailing gracefully beside him. Every corner they passed, his voice rang out in hushed but heated tones.
"Look at them, Catherine." he jabbed a finger toward a group of laborers unloading crates. "they're nothing but workers. And in the other cities, there were no workers, everyone was rich, so they didn't need workers."
Catherine looked at Pete as how stupid can one be, how can a society work without workers.
She tilted her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And what's wrong with that?"
Catherine looked at the men, sweat-slicked and muscle-bound, grunting with effort. But there was no pain on their faces, no heaviness. They were laughing, trading jabs, their voices loud and raw, working with the rhythm of life itself.
Pete scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt. "What's wrong? They shouldn't be any labors, Ace should have solved poverty with the tax money. It's—"
He gestured as if the sight of them physically disgusted him. "It's not how it's supposed to be. There should be no need for people like them."
Catherine raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Instead, she hummed softly under her breath, almost like a tune to herself. "Mm."
Moments later, Pete's gaze snapped to a drunkard slumped against a tavern wall, bottle in hand. "And that! In other cities there were no drunkards. Here they leave them sprawled in the streets, as if filth belongs in plain sight!"
Catherine glanced at the drunkard. He didn't even look up as they passed, his ragged breathing the only sound he made. Again, she just gave a small nod, her voice a soft murmur. "I see."
Pete kept walking, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "In other cities, everything was pristine, everything in its place. Not like this. There were no beggars on the streets. No stains on the sidewalks. It was clean, orderly."
As they walked, Pete's words kept coming, each one growing heavier in tone. He pointed to the guards as they passed—a group clad in simple, worn armor—and his voice was venomous. "Look at them. No silver. No shine. Just these crude men guarding this place like it's worth nothing."
Catherine's eyes lingered on them. Their armor wasn't polished, but it was practical, even carrying battle marks. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. She couldn't bring herself to argue.
To Pete, it was an endless list of flaws. But to Catherine… it was the opposite.
Catherine saw something else. The uneven pavement. The dim glow of lanterns swinging in the breeze. The children playing in the streets, not rushing for any hidden corners or expecting reprimands. The laughter spilling from taverns, the smoke curling up into the night sky.
And for the first time, irritation pricked at her heart. Not toward the people, but toward the city itself—for daring to ignore the rules of presentation, for daring to not bow their heads even when the princess and the hero is here.
This has never happened so her, she thought, her brow tightening faintly. Everywhere she ever visited in empire, they rush to prove their worth. But here… they keep everything as it is even when their lord's son, Ace is here.
The thought unsettled her more than she wished to admit.
Pete huffed, breaking her thoughts. "It's... it's frustrating. You know? Everywhere else they were atleast showing result. But not here. Not in Brixton. They don't care about what the Empire expects."
Catherine's brow furrowed slightly as she thought about what he said. This place—this gritty, unpolished place—it didn't bend. Didn't try to please anyone. It was... alive in a way she hadn't noticed before. Something different from the controlled elegance of previous three cities.
"What's wrong with that?" she muttered softly, almost to herself.
Pete didn't hear. Or he didn't want to. His thoughts were already elsewhere.
At last, as the bells tolled the late hour, Pete exhaled sharply. "Enough. We'll return. Tomorrow, they'll see who truly leads them."
Catherine inclined her head, hiding the flicker of thought in her eyes. "As you say, Hero."
And together, the two turned back toward the guest manor, the streets of Brixton alive and unbothered behind them.