Rootwilds didn't slow down.
It didn't hesitate.
It didn't breathe.
The moment Bruce and Vernon stepped deeper into its streets, the city swallowed them whole-noise, smells, bodies, movement, all layered together like a living beast that didn't care whether they were ready.
They walked shoulder to shoulder, Liralic leading them with an easy stride as though the streets were his own backyard.
Vernon's eyes never stopped moving.
Signs carved into wood. Alley mouths. Street bends. Elevated walkways that cut between buildings like veins. The way some streets curved too sharply, forcing blind corners where you couldn't see what waited ahead.
It wasn't a city built for beauty.
It was a city built to control flow.
Bruce, meanwhile, looked like he was going to explode.
"This is insane," he muttered, staring at a man tossing dough onto a flat stone that glowed faintly with heat. "They're just making food in the open like it's a show."
Vernon didn't answer.
His senses were busy trying to drown.
Rootwilds was loud-not just in sound, but in presence. Conversations overlapped. Footsteps echoed. Somewhere a child shrieked. Somewhere else metal rang against metal like a heartbeat.
The city wasn't speaking.
It was shouting.
Bruce leaned closer to Vernon, grinning.
"You look like you're about to throw up."
"I'm fine," Vernon said.
Bruce nodded seriously. "Good. If you throw up in public, I'm not carrying you."
Vernon shot him a flat look. "You'd carry me."
Bruce grinned wider. "I would. But I'd complain the whole time."
Liralic glanced back over his shoulder, ears flicking.
"You guys are weird."
Bruce pointed at him. "You're the one with a tail."
Liralic sniffed. "And you're the one with no manners."
Vernon muttered, "He's not wrong."
Bruce gasped dramatically. "Et tu, Vernon?"
Vernon didn't know what that meant, but the way Bruce said it sounded insulting.
He decided not to ask.
They turned down a narrower street, where lanterns hung even though the sun was still up. Decorative, probably. But the soft warm light they cast gave the whole area a golden tint, like the city wanted to pretend it wasn't made of sharp corners.
Liralic slowed, tail swaying behind him.
"Lantern Row," he announced, as if he was introducing a noble district.
Bruce squinted at the carved street marker.
"It's literally called Lantern Row."
Liralic smirked. "That's because there are lanterns."
Bruce stared at him.
"...You're a genius."
Vernon's mouth twitched.
Barely.
The deeper they walked, the more the streets shifted. Less food stalls. Less chatter. More carts. More storage houses. More guards standing at corners with eyes that didn't wander.
The merchant agency wasn't a building.
It was a compound.
Tall fences. Multiple storage halls. Locked gates. Workers moving in lines like ants carrying supplies.
A supervisor approached them the moment they stepped into the yard.
Broad-shouldered, shaved head, arms thick as logs. His gaze slid over them like he was inspecting livestock.
"Two kids," he said, then looked at Liralic, "and a beastkin."
Bruce's smile tightened politely. "We're here for the commission."
The supervisor's eyes narrowed at Liralic. "You're that cat boy from Lantern Row."
Liralic stiffened. "Yes, sir."
The man snorted.
"Fine. If you mess around, you're thrown out. If you steal, you're buried."
Bruce nodded like he was being told the weather. "Understood."
Vernon nodded too.
The supervisor gestured toward the storage hall.
"Move goods from Branch One to Branch Two. Carts are ready. Don't break anything."
Then he turned away as if they weren't worth another glance.
Bruce watched him go.
"I don't like him."
Vernon replied quietly, "He doesn't matter."
Liralic walked up to the nearest crate and placed both hands on it.
He strained.
His shoulders trembled.
His tail went stiff.
The crate moved maybe an inch.
Bruce stared.
Vernon stared.
Liralic froze, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"...It's heavier than it looks," he muttered.
Bruce stepped forward without hesitation, grabbed the crate with one hand, and lifted it like it was a sack of grain.
Liralic's jaw dropped.
Vernon didn't comment. He simply grabbed another crate and hoisted it onto his shoulder with quiet ease.
Nearby workers stopped what they were doing.
One man blinked twice like his brain refused to accept what his eyes were reporting.
Bruce began stacking crates into the cart with ridiculous speed.
Not reckless.
Efficient.
Like he'd done it a thousand times.
Vernon placed his crates carefully, distributing the weight evenly, making sure nothing would tip.
Liralic stood there like he'd just discovered monsters existed.
"...What are you two?" he whispered.
Bruce grinned. "Hardworking citizens."
Vernon muttered, "Quiet."
They began the transport runs.
Branch One to Branch Two.
Back and forth.
The path was long enough that normal workers were sweating by the second trip.
By the third, Liralic was breathing hard, his arms trembling.
He was clearly frustrated with himself.
Bruce noticed.
"You're doing fine," Bruce said casually.
Liralic snapped, "No I'm not."
Vernon spoke without looking at him.
"You're doing what your body allows. That's enough."
Liralic blinked.
"...That's a weird compliment."
Vernon shrugged. "It's true."
Halfway through the job, trouble arrived.
Three young men stood near the entrance of Branch Two, leaning against the fence like they owned the street. Their clothes were decent, their hair well kept.
Not starving criminals.
Predators with comfort.
Bruce noticed immediately.
So did Vernon.
Liralic's ears flattened.
One of the men smirked. "Look at this. New labour rats."
Bruce ignored him, pushing the cart forward.
The man stepped into their path.
"Hey," he said. "That cart looks heavy. Why don't you hand it over and take a break?"
Bruce smiled politely. "No thanks."
The man's smile faded.
"That wasn't a request."
Vernon's fingers brushed his dagger.
Liralic shifted uneasily.
Bruce exhaled slowly.
Then-
A pulse.
A flicker.
Not visible, not loud, but the air suddenly felt heavier.
Pressure.
Qi.
The troublemakers' expressions changed instantly.
Their smirks vanished.
Their bodies stiffened like their instincts screamed at them to back away.
Bruce didn't glare.
He didn't step forward.
He simply looked at them calmly, like he was weighing how much effort it would take to fold them into the ground.
They took a step back.
Then another.
But before anything could escalate-
A voice cut through the tension.
"Enough."
A city guard stepped forward.
Simple uniform. Sword at his hip. Calm eyes.
He didn't look at the troublemakers first.
He looked directly at Bruce.
Bruce blinked. "We didn't do anything."
The guard's expression didn't change.
"You released cultivation pressure," the guard said calmly. "In public."
Bruce hesitated.
Vernon's stomach tightened.
The guard continued, "Don't do it again."
Bruce frowned. "They were harassing us."
"I saw," the guard replied. "Handle it with words. Or report it. Or leave."
The troublemakers looked relieved, as if the guard had saved them.
Then the guard turned to them.
"And you three," he added, "get lost."
They didn't hesitate.
They vanished into the crowd instantly.
The guard lingered a moment longer, eyes on Bruce and Vernon.
Not threatened.
Not impressed.
Just alert.
Then he walked away without another word.
Bruce stared after him.
"That was annoying."
Vernon's voice was quiet. "That was a warning."
Liralic swallowed. "Rootwilds isn't weak. Guards here deal with cultivators all the time."
Bruce muttered, "...Great."
They finished the commission without further interruptions.
When the last cart was delivered, the supervisor returned, checked the goods, then tossed them their payment.
"Fast," he muttered. "Too fast."
Bruce caught the pouch. "We're efficient."
The supervisor stared at him for a long moment.
Then leaned in slightly.
"Listen," he said quietly, "if the Verdant Branch notices you, they'll either hire you..."
His eyes hardened.
"...or erase you."
Vernon's spine chilled.
Bruce's grin faded.
Liralic's tail went stiff.
The supervisor stepped back like he hadn't said anything at all, then turned and walked away.
They left the compound in silence.
The sun had begun to sink, painting Rootwilds in amber light. Lanterns were being lit one by one, the city glowing warmly as though it was trying to pretend it had no teeth.
Bruce finally spoke.
"That guard made me mad."
Vernon replied, "That guard scared me."
Bruce turned. "Why?"
Vernon's eyes narrowed.
"Because he didn't panic. He didn't threaten us. He didn't overreact."
Bruce didn't reply.
Vernon continued quietly.
"He treated you like something he could handle."
Liralic nodded faintly. "That's how it is here."
Bruce exhaled hard.
"...Okay," he muttered. "That's really annoying."
Vernon snorted softly. "Everything annoys you."
Bruce smirked. "It keeps me alive."
They reached the tavern meeting point as the evening crowd began to swell.
The smell of food hit Bruce instantly.
His eyes lit up like a starving wolf.
Vernon grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't."
Bruce sighed dramatically. "I'm not spending money. I'm just breathing."
Liralic laughed.
Then stopped at the tavern entrance.
"I should go," he said, scratching the back of his head. "My family will wonder where I am."
Bruce waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. Go home."
Liralic blinked. "That's all?"
Bruce frowned. "What do you want? A goodbye ritual?"
Liralic laughed. "No-just..."
He hesitated.
"...I had fun."
Bruce paused, then smiled genuinely.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Me too."
Vernon hesitated.
Then nodded once. "You're not unbearable."
Liralic's eyes widened. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"
Vernon sighed. "Don't get used to it."
Liralic grinned, tail swishing.
"I'll catch you guys about!" he called, then jogged off into the lantern-lit streets, vanishing into the crowd.
Bruce watched him go.
"He's cool."
Vernon replied quietly, "He's normal."
Bruce blinked. "That's what makes him cool."
Vernon didn't argue.
They stepped into the tavern together.
Warmth greeted them instantly.
Noise. Food. Laughter. Life.
For the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like they were surviving.
It felt like they were living.
And somewhere beneath Vernon's calm expression-
beneath the careful control-
a quiet realization settled into his bones.
Rootwilds wasn't the forest.
Here, strength didn't make you safe.
It only made you noticeable.