Ethan crouched at the edge of the forest, staring up at the massive stone walls of the city. Towers rose high into the sky, each crowned with battlements where guards moved in precise, measured steps. Chainmail rippled as they shifted, spears tapping against cobblestones, helmets hiding faces but leaving narrow slits for eyes. Every motion radiated authority, every stance suggested control.
He watched people approaching the gate. Most were ordinary travelers, merchants hauling goods, or families with small children. Each of them reached into their pockets and handed two silver coins to the guards at the toll box. The coins were examined briefly and accepted, and the gate creaked open for them.
Then Ethan noticed the others—figures moving with confidence, carrying swords, shields, and other weapons. They didn't stop at the toll; instead, they bore a small emblem pinned to their clothing. The guards nodded to them, allowing them passage without question.With the knowledge from all those novels ,he could understand these were adventurers, recognized and trusted, while everyone else had to pay.
Ethan's mind worked logically: he wasn't an adventurer. He didn't have the pass, and his sword and shield were rusty and untested. To enter safely, he would have to follow the procedure of ordinary people—pay the toll.
He counted his coins: ten silver and five bronze. Pulling out two silver coins, he double-checked them, then handed them to the guard at the toll box. The clink echoed against the walls as the massive gate began to lift. Tucking the remaining eight silver and five bronze coins into his bag, he stepped cautiously into the city.
The streets were a living network of movement and noise. Merchants shouted in a language he didn't understand, gesturing vigorously at their wares. Children darted between people and carts, laughing as they herded strange, scaled animals with bright, reflective eyes. Smoke from cooking fires mixed with the metallic tang of armor and the earthy smell of livestock, creating a dense, unfamiliar scent.
Ethan moved along the edges of the crowd, hugging his bag close. He didn't need to hide—guards were focused on the flow of traffic—but caution had become second nature. One misstep or misread gesture could bring unwanted attention.
He studied the guards carefully. Each patrolled in steady, methodical rhythm: shields held at precise angles, spears tapping cobblestones. Gestures controlled the crowd—one hand raised meant stop, sweeping motions indicated move aside, a tap of the spear demanded attention. Ethan memorized these silent signals, knowing that understanding them was as important as learning the language.
Merchants followed predictable patterns. Point at an item, repeat a word, take coins, hand over the goods. At a fruit stall, a merchant held up a glowing fruit, repeating a phrase twice. The customer nodded, handed over coins, and left. Another merchant repeated the pattern with a small basket. Word plus gesture equaled object; coins equaled value. Slowly, patterns emerged.
Armed adventurers moved through the streets with authority. Guards acknowledged them with subtle nods, merchants treated them with deference, and other city dwellers gave them space. Ethan observed their movements closely, noting the difference between those who were recognized and those who weren't. His sword and shield were tucked into his bag—they would not grant him the same recognition. Observation and caution remained his best tools.
Finding a shadowed corner, Ethan checked his belongings: eight silver coins, five bronze coins, three books, water, and rations. Each item mattered. The book he had traded before had shown that knowledge had value. The remaining three might hold even greater potential if he could understand them.
As evening approached, the streets began to shift. Merchants packed up their goods, children ran home, and guards continued their patrols, relentless and precise. Ethan adjusted the strap of his bag and moved closer to the buildings, staying partially hidden. He didn't need to hide, but careful observation had kept him alive so far.
He spotted a modest inn tucked between taller buildings. Lanterns glowed softly, and travelers were moving inside. With a deep breath, Ethan pulled out five silver coins from his remaining eight and handed them to the innkeeper. He had no idea how long this would last—days, a week, maybe even a month—but the man accepted them without question and gestured for him to follow.
The room was small but secure: a cot, a sturdy wooden door, and a window overlooking the street. Ethan set his bag down and opened one of his remaining books. Strange symbols and cryptic illustrations stared back at him. He made careful notes in his notepad, linking symbols to gestures, objects, and repeated words he had observed outside.
As night fell, the city's chaos softened. Guards still patrolled, merchants were gone, and streets emptied gradually. Ethan lay on the cot, muscles aching, but his mind active. Observation, patience, and careful planning had carried him safely into the city. He had shelter, coins, books, and a chance to learn. For now, that was enough.
Closing his eyes, he reflected on the lessons of the day: the significance of coins, the patterns of merchants, the silent language of guards, and the confident presence of armed adventurers with their special passes. He drifted into a light, cautious sleep, knowing that survival here would demand constant vigilance, patience, and careful reasoning.