It was said that all villages were the same, but cities could never be alike. Never was this made more obvious than when comparing Nerasol to Linatol. Architectural changes aside, the very nature of the city was completely different. Nerasol could be described as the city of second chances—a place on the frontier that grew to what it was because it had to. No one was guaranteed anything in that city other than the distant chance to gain everything. Linatol, in contrast, was entirely based on established values. This was the place that people who had already made a name for themselves went to in search of even greater rewards. There was no open hostility, yet no mercy either. Everyone and everything was measured from appearance to skills and behavior. Even items—at least those who had the ability to communicate with others—compared themselves to each other, finding the appropriate slot in the city’s unspoken hierarchy.

Even Dallion hadn’t escaped that. There was a brief period during which he thought he’d be given a pass as a hired mercenary and first-time visitor. Now it became very clear how much he was mistaken. He never had any illusions of the invitation to the top platform being an honor. However, even he wasn’t prepared for the feeling that came along with it. As Dame Vesuvia led them along wide roads of sparsely populated districts, he could feel being assessed. It wouldn’t be surprising if a monetary value was also added to the assessment, as well.

“There are three buildings of note on this level,” the dame explained in a calm, measured tone. “The Archduke’s palace, the Academy’s embassy, and the Imperial residency.”

“The Order doesn’t have a temple here?” Dallion asked.

“It does, but it isn’t of considerable note,” Vesuvia replied without a clear explanation of what that meant.

Careful, dear boy, Nil warned. The whisper of words is enough to create a hurricane here.

Isn’t it expected for hunter mercenaries to be rough and stupid? Dallion asked.

Don’t overplay your hand. Right now, you’re here as someone’s piece. If you stand out too much, you’ll either bring embarrassment to your player or envy. Neither will be to your benefit.

A flutter of crystal shardflies flew by as the group made their way to the palace. Dallion attempted to exchange a few words with them, but the creatures ignored him. Strangely enough, it was Ruby that was the target of their admiration. As a ruby-winged specimen, the little fellow exceeded their “rank” and was already treated as a superior. Dallion, though, wasn’t even a noble.

A series of six statues greeted the group, positioned on both sides of the great stairway leading to the palace’s entrance. All of them were ten feet high, carved out of fine marble with such detail, one would think that they would spring to life at any moment. Or, at least, five of them were. The sixth—located on the left side of the lowest section of the staircase—was half destroyed, leaving only enough of the legs to indicate that it had been there. For a city as meticulous as Linatol, it was clear that this was made to send a message.

“A reminder of what happens to the losing side,” March said before Dallion could ask. “That’s what’s left of the noble that tried to claim the Archduke’s title during the Wars of Succession and failed.”

All the stress was put on the last word. The warning was clear—this was a place in which victors were admired and losers killed or cast out. Considering that, it made a lot of sense why some of the previous groups tasked with finding the world sword had quit. Giving up was a sigh of failure, but it was still far from the real thing.

Do you think anyone knows about my past? Dallion asked, thinking about the role his grandfather played in the war. It could be said that the old man had backed the winning side, although having him de-leveled and banished back to Nerosal suggested he had lost any semblance of support.

Most definitely, dear boy. However, discussing it would show weakness. Just be sure not to open the topic and you’ll be fine. You have one huge thing going for you.

And what’s that?

You’re an otherworlder. All actions before your awakening are not your own, let alone those of your family. If someone insults you at such an event because of them, they would reveal how vulnerable they are.

That didn’t make much sense, but Dallion took the echo’s word for it.

“Welcome to the archduke’s palace,” Dame Vesuvia said. “From here on, you’re to continue on your own.”

“You’re not joining us inside?” Dallion asked in sincere surprise.

The faintest of smiles appeared on the woman’s face, quickly vanishing moments after.

“I am just a dame, not one to be invited to such events. My role is only to bring you here and back.” She stepped to the side. “Of course, I’ll be here for when you are to return to your inn.”

After a momentary pause, March took the lead, ascending the stairs with the authority of one who had done so before. Dallion got the distinct impression that when she was an imperial lieutenant, such visits must have been common. Even Archdukes were subject to imperial rule. Now, though, she was just another mercenary in their service.

Two mid-level awakened stood at the massive door, dressed in red and gold uniforms. The moment March approached, they quickly opened both sides of the door, letting her enter without a word.

The entrance hallway was almost as big as the Combat Arena’s lobby back in Nerosal. Breathtaking paintings, three times taller than Dallion and a lot wider, were placed on pure sky silver. The floor was made of a mosaic made of colored glass, then melted, giving it a perfect shine. Small scratches emerged every time March took a step, though they were quickly mended by the serving staff present.

“Good evening.” A tall, dark-skinned man dressed entirely in shades of yellow approached them. “Would you please take all blocking items off?” His tone was polite, but it was clear that this wasn’t a request.

Reluctantly, Euryale did so.

“Thank you. Follow me to the second hall, please.”

Second hall? Dallion asked.

The main hall is reserved for the high nobility and their personal guests, Nil explained. Guests of lesser interest or importance go to a connecting hall adjacent to the main one. Everyone else is brought to the third hall. Usually, that would include guild masters, heads of trade organizations, people fallen out of favor, or unawakened who have achieved enough to be noticed.

Hearing the last category made Dallion think of the general. Despicable methods aside, one couldn’t but admire what the man had achieved. As a local military officer, his grandfather had likely been an awakened of some import, though nowhere near the level of a noble. That hadn’t stopped the general from using the resources at his disposal to rise to the point he was today, all the time not being an awakened.

“You are only to address people from the main hall if and when addressed,” the man in yellow continued. “And under no circumstances enter the main hall unless the archduke himself invites you.”

“We know the etiquette,” March said, a sharp edge in her words. “As well as our place. Be sure you don’t forget yours.”

A wave of dread emanated from the man.

That’s another thing you’ll have to look out for while here, Nil said. People of lesser importance are likely to take liberties they normally wouldn’t just for the chance of getting noticed by the Archduke, even if they too are likely to suffer as a result.

The servant led the trio to a large banquet hall already full of people. There were no introductions, no further instructions. Once they were there, the man just turned around and left, leaving them to their own devices.

“What now?” Dallion asked. “Should we mingle?”

“You’re not nobles,” March whispered back. “Find a place to stand and remain there until they call for us.”

“You think they will?”

“That’s the whole reason we’re here. No one would invite us if we weren’t to be part of the spectacle in some way.” The woman quickly scanned the room. “Don’t sit.”

That was a rather disturbing thought, but Dallion could see it being true. Before he could ask anything more, March moved away, stopping at a table, where she took what appeared to be a glass of water and took a sip.

“We better move further away from the door,” Eury whispered.

Dallion nodded. As they walked, occasionally passing between groups of people, Dallion looked around. With this being such a large event, he was curious whether there would be any more otherworlders. The way the halls were connected prevented him from seeing most of the main hall, but even here, the people seemed pretty high level.

Suddenly, he felt someone approaching. His senses had become sharp enough to detect when someone was intentionally moving towards him, even in this crowd. Briskly, he turned around, expecting to see another servant wanting to target him. Instead, he saw someone else entirely.

“Falkner?” Dallion asked in disbelief.

“It’s been a while, Dal,” the other replied.

Back when Dallion had joined the Icepicker guild, Falkner had been little more than a boy—a young noble who’d gone to Nerosal with the explicit goal of learning from March. He and Dallion had been close, one might even call them friends. But that had later changed.

The person standing in front of Dallion looked nothing like the Falkner Dallion remembered. He had grown considerably in a year, turning into a young man. His refined clothes made it clear that he was a full noble, if not in level, then definitely in pedigree.

“Congrats on becoming a hunter,” Falkner said in a reserved fashion.

“Thanks.” Dallion wasn’t sure what to say. He could congratulate the noble on passing the fourth gate, considering that Dallion was in his sixties, that could be misinterpreted as being condescending. “I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you’d be in the main hall.”

The suggestion made the young man smile. Apparently, there was still a grain of friendship remaining between him and Dallion.

“That’s reserved for my parents when they’re here,” he humble-bragged. Dallion was getting the distinct impression that Falkner was trying to impress, although he couldn’t be sure whether the noble was trying to impress him or March. Or maybe both. “I told you that he’s the archduke’s brother?”

“No, I’m not sure you did. Does that mean I’m welcome to visit your city sometime?”

“Sure, although it might not be the best time right now. With the poison plague and the border tensions, maybe wait for a few years.”

“Yeah, that sounds like good advice.” Dallion nodded. He knew that it was a lie, of course. City rulers had the power to make any exceptions they wanted. While it was true that Falkner wasn’t his father, he could also have phrased it in a very different fashion. “So, how have you been? I haven’t heard anything since you left the guild.”

“I haven’t left it officially,” Falkner corrected. “But it’s true, I haven’t had time to deal with it, or anything else, for that matter.”

“Monster issues?”

“No.” Falkner semi-laughed, shaking his head. “I promise to drop your name to my father if we ever have any wilderness issues. Rather, I’ve been focusing full time on the preparation for my wedding.”

“Wedding?” Dallion blinked. As far as he knew, nobles only married for political reasons after a long engagement period. Rumors and gossip would circulate for years before the event, especially when the child of a city-lord was concerned. “Well, congratulations.” He fought the urge to tap Falkner on the shoulder. “Who’s the lucky bride?”

“Who do you think?” a familiar female voice asked a few steps away.

Turning around, Dallion saw none other than his friend and childhood crush Gloria standing there in a dress that made her look like a high noble herself.

This is rather unexpected, Nil said. Dallion had to agree.