Morning light filtered through the high windows of the manor's inner halls, pale and even, touching stone more than warming it.
Louis walked the corridor at an unhurried pace, footsteps muted by the thick mosaic designed carpet beneath his boots.
He hadn't slept much.
That wasn't unusual anymore. A few hours of rest, eyes closed rather than mind stilled, had been enough. His body felt no worse for it. Just another quiet adjustment he'd stopped cataloguing.
He reached the dining hall as the others were already seated.
Breakfast was laid out in full, befitting a noble house rather than a travel stop: fresh bread, soft and still warm; cured meats and sliced cheese; eggs prepared with herbs; bowls of fruit and nuts arranged with understated care. Tea and a darker brew he suspected was something similar to coffee sat steaming near the center.
It was the kind of meal meant to be eaten slowly, by people who expected to remain where they were.
Louis took a seat and ate.
Conversation around the table was light and unfocused—nothing urgent, nothing worth engaging. He listened without really hearing, finishing what he'd taken and pouring a second cup of tea before leaning back slightly.
They were just about done when the doors opened.
The steward entered without fanfare, inclining his head once to the table as a whole.
"My apologies for the interruption," he said evenly. "I bring a brief update."
The room quieted.
"The Marquis will not be available this morning. Various matters currently require his immediate attention." His gaze moved across them, lingering on one face. "He has asked that you make use of the day as you see fit. Formal discussions will resume this evening."
A few of the summoned exchanged glances.
"However," the steward added, "the knights are conducting regular training in the southern grounds. You are welcome to observe or join should you so wish."
That was all.
He bowed once more and departed, leaving the decision behind with practiced ease.
For a moment, no one moved.
Louis sat back, hands resting loosely on the table, eyes unfocused.
This was usually the point where John would speak.
Not with a plan. Not with certainty. Just a question, or a suggestion—something to frame the choice. Stay idle. Watch. Train. Explore. He'd always been the one to push the group out of stillness, even if the decision itself had already been made.
Louis hadn't noticed how automatic that had become.
He exhaled quietly through his nose.
John had been left behind with the palace.
The thought came and went without weight, but it shifted something all the same.
Well, he thought. No reason to overthink it.
Training was available. His body could use the movement. And there was no benefit in waiting for instruction that wasn't coming.
Louis stood, collected a cloak, and headed for the southern grounds.
The sounds reached him before the sight—metal striking metal, voices calling short commands, the steady rhythm of practice. Knights moved across the open yard in disciplined patterns: sparring pairs to one side, formation drills to the other. Armor and padded tunics mixed freely, each suited to its task.
No one paid him much attention as he passed the edge of the yard.
He moved farther out, to a stretch of packed earth left intentionally open. Set his cloak aside. Rolled his shoulders once.
Then began.
The exercises were basic. Deliberate. Push-ups, slow and controlled. Squats, steady and even. Nothing meant to impress, nothing meant to test limits. Just maintenance. Familiar motion grounding thought.
Heat built gradually. Muscles loosened. Breath settled into rhythm.
A few glances came his way as the minutes passed—curiosity more than scrutiny—but he ignored them.
When he finally straightened, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, he felt settled again. Balanced.
That would do.
Louis retrieved his cloak and turned back toward the manor, the sounds of training continuing behind him as if he'd never been there.
Louis left the training grounds without urgency, letting the sound of steel fade on its own. By the time he reached the inner courtyard, the manor had returned to its usual rhythm—ordered, restrained, indifferent to his presence.
The steward approached when he saw Louis pause.
"Lord Louis," he said, bowing his head slightly.
"I'm going to walk the domain," Louis said. "I don't know the layout well enough yet."
"Very well," the steward replied. "Shall I have someone accompany you?"
"Yes. Someone familiar with the streets."
"At once."
A maid arrived a short while later and stopped a respectful distance away. She curtsied.
"You requested an escort, my lord?"
"Yes," Louis said. "You know the domain?"
"I do."
"Then take me through it."
She nodded and turned, setting a steady pace that neither rushed nor lingered.
They left the inner grounds quickly. Stone paths widened, foot traffic thickened, and the smell of metal reached them before the street itself came into view.
The road ahead was dense with stalls. Armor hung in long rows—leather, mail, partial plate—while racks of weapons filled entire storefronts. Spears were bundled by the dozen, blades laid out without ornament, shields stacked in neat piles. Smiths worked openly, sparks flashing as they shaped pieces meant to be used, not displayed.
Louis slowed, eyes moving across the street with more focus than curiosity.
"This entire stretch," he said, "it's all arms?"
The maid glanced at him, a touch of surprise crossing her face. "Yes. This is part of the arms quarter."
"Part of it," he repeated.
She nodded. "This lane handles direct sale and commission. Repairs and fittings branch off nearby. Storage is kept farther in."
Louis watched a pair of guards inspecting armor before moving on.
"That's a lot of output," he said. "Even for a border domain."
She hesitated, then answered carefully. "The Marquis keeps reserves. Equipment wears quickly. And… demand has increased recently."
Louis didn't press her on it. He asked instead, "If someone wanted civilian gear?"
"That would be further east," she replied, gesturing. "Clothing, general goods, tailoring."
He considered it briefly, then shook his head. "No. Take me to the residential district."
She paused, then adjusted their route. "As you wish."
They left the arms quarter behind as the streets narrowed and the light softened. The sound of metal faded, replaced by layered voices and the steady movement of people returning home.
By the time they reached the residential districts, the day had begun to dip toward evening.
Buildings here were closer together but better kept than Louis had expected. Stonework was old but intact. Windows were shuttered properly. Small signs of routine stood out—laundry hung from upper floors, lamps being lit one by one, children moving between doorways under half-watched eyes.
Louis took it in as they walked.
"This is better than I thought," he said after a while.
The maid glanced at him. "The inner residential quarters are maintained regularly."
"Doesn't look strained," he added.
She nodded. "The Marquis prioritizes stability within the living districts."
They continued on, the streets gradually sloping downward.
Far ahead, the character of the road shifted—not abruptly, but enough to catch Louis's attention. Lanterns were closer together and more vibrant, light pooling unevenly along the street. The noise carried differently. Laughter rose and lingered in a way that didn't belong to homes settling for the night.
Louis slowed and looked down the stretch.
"What's that area?" he asked.
The maid followed his gaze and hesitated. "If we continue that way… that leads into the red-light stretch."
"And?"
"The slave market runs through it as well," she added. "It extends along the boundary before the lower districts."
Louis studied it for a moment, then nodded once.
"Alright," he said. "Let's keep going this way."
They walked deeper into the residential area instead.
The streets grew quieter. Homes were smaller but orderly. People sat outside their doors, eating, talking in low voices. The smell of cooked food drifted through the air. It wasn't comfortable, but it was functional.
Then Louis caught something else.
A smell that didn't fit.
He slowed, then turned off the road without warning.
"Wait—" the maid started, startled, hurrying after him.
Louis followed the odor to a low fence running along the edge of a neglected stretch of land. The boards were old, uneven, more symbolic than functional.
He stopped, stepped closer, and looked through.
On the other side, the ground dropped away.
Makeshift buildings there were packed tight and poorly aligned, some leaning into one another. Extensions jutted from stone that should have been torn down years ago. Few people moved through narrow paths between structures, not lingering, not stopping. The smell was stronger here—waste, damp, rot layered together.
The slums.
Louis straightened slowly.
The maid had reached him now, breathing slightly harder. "My lord, you shouldn't—"
"I'm not going in," he said. "Just looking."
She fell silent.
After a moment, Louis stepped back from the fence. "Alright. Let's head back."
They returned the way they'd come.
As they passed nearer to the boundary of the red-light stretch again, Louis's gaze flicked sideways at the sudden scuffle, a broad-shouldered man, coat half-unbuttoned, gripped a woman's wrist and yanked her into the mouth of an alley. She stumbled once, foot scraping stone, but didn't cry out—only a muffled protest swallowed by the dark as he pressed her against the wall, hands already fumbling at skirts and belts. The act unfolded in hurried, mechanical thrusts, grunts echoing faintly against brick. Passersby—merchants closing stalls, a pair of guards sharing a flask, even the maid at Louis's side—didn't pause, didn't glance twice. It was as unremarkable here as rain on the sidewalk. Louis felt a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or the old Earth reflex to intervene—but it died quickly. This world had its own rhythms, its own prices. He noted it, filed it away like any other detail of this world's underbelly, and kept walking, the maid's soft footsteps matching his without comment.