The smell of this city was a mix of the sweat of thousands, firewood smoke, and the stench of stone sewers.
Kanos dragged his numb legs up the steep cobblestone street. The descent from the cliff to Marrath's outer gate absolutely tortured whatever energy he had left. If it weren't for Belida occasionally grabbing the back of his shirt collar whenever he was about to fall, Kanos would've definitely rolled all the way down.
The line to enter the city gate was incredibly long. It was filled with wooden carts, merchants in shabby clothes, and armed people who looked like they just got back from a hunt.
A dull cloth was suddenly thrown right into Kanos's face. It smelled unimaginably musty, like a mop that hadn't been washed in a month mixed with monster sweat.
Kanos immediately yanked the cloth off and threw it right back at Belida's chest. "Are you crazy? I'd rather die getting bitten by a lizard than get poisoned by B.O."
"Use it to cover your head," Belida hissed quietly. The giant man had already covered his own face with a hooded cloak he got from God knows where. "Marrath's guards are not friendly to foreign faces without a guild crest."
"No. Seriously, this smells absolutely foul, Belida," Kanos refused, covering his nose with his shirt collar. "My face is already battered anyway. Who's even gonna pay attention to me."
Belida snorted loudly, but didn't push it. The giant man turned around and walked ahead.
When it was their turn at the gate, two guards in dull iron armor blocked the way. Their eyes immediately locked onto Kanos. Without the cloth covering him, Kanos's face—caked in dried blood, dark eye bags, and his trembling hunched posture—was fully exposed.
One of the guards let out a mocking laugh. "Heh. Since when did Marrath start accepting scrap refugees? What forest did you drag this trash out of, big guy?"
The other guard joined in grinning, spitting on the ground right next to Kanos's shoe. "Skin and bones, no weapons, no guild crest. Hey, beggar. If you want to beg, you better do it outside the gates. This city will chew you up alive before sunset."
Kanos stayed quiet. His hand was itching to draw a concrete brick to drop on the guard's head, but his stinging ribs reminded him that he was in no condition to pick a fight. The corner of his mouth just twitched, holding back his annoyance.
"Entry tax," the first guard said, shoving his hand toward Belida with a condescending look.
Belida didn't say a word. His right hand reached under his cloak, then placed something on the guard's palm. Two fairly large Coral Lizard claws.
The guard raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised to see the mid-level hunting loot, then nodded and gestured for them to pass. No follow-up questions. No ID checks. As long as you had something of value, you could get in.
The moment they passed through the thick stone gates, the noise of the city immediately slammed into Kanos's ears.
Marrath from the inside was way more cramped than it looked from the cliff. Stone and wooden buildings were messily crammed together. The streets were narrow, packed with merchant stalls offering everything from roasted monster meat to weird, faintly glowing stones.
But what Kanos couldn't stop staring at were the numbers.
Hovering above the heads of some passersby were words and numbers. They were a dim white. Kanos watched a man in nice armor bump into a fruit vendor, sending fruit spilling everywhere. Above the man's head floated the text: [ LEVEL 42 ].
The fruit vendor, who didn't have any numbers above his head, immediately bowed in apology and frantically picked up his own fruit from the mud. The armored man just walked away without a second glance.
"Social castes," Kanos muttered softly, watching the scene unfold.
"Only registered adventurers and elite soldiers have their level panels visible to the public," Belida answered Kanos's muttering in a super low voice, while continuing to push through the crowd. "Level shows power. Power shows who has the right to step on who in this city. Don't look the high levels in the eye."
"What if the high levels turn out to just be a bunch of idiots?"
"Then you die by an idiot's hand," Belida replied flatly. "We need a safe place. And I need you to make something we can trade for coin. I can't hunt monsters inside the city to pay for our dinner."
Kanos nodded in agreement. His stomach had been burning from hunger for a while now. "Take me to a pawn shop or the black market. Just any store that sells art supplies. Ink, anything liquid that sticks."
Belida pulled Kanos's arm, turning into a narrower, quieter alley that smelled like piss. They went deeper into Marrath's slums, far away from the main streets filled with high-level adventurers.
The end of the alley brought them to a small shop with rotting wooden walls. No signboard. Just a chalk drawing of a glass bottle on the door.
Belida pushed the door open. A small bell above it rang sharply.
The inside of the shop smelled like mold and old dust. Items were cluttered on wooden shelves. There were piles of dry parchment, empty bottles, and even animal bones of unidentifiable shapes. The shop owner sat behind the counter—a skinny old man with one eye covered by a black patch. The number above his head was extremely dim: [ LEVEL 8 ].
"Shop's about to close," the old man said without bothering to stand up. His good eye studied Belida's massive posture under the cloak, then shifted to Kanos, who looked like a sickly bum.
Kanos stepped up to the counter, dragging his feet which felt increasingly heavy.
"I need ink," Kanos got straight to the point. "The thickest you have. Not regular water-based ink. Something made from natural materials or monsters."
The old man scoffed. "Alchemical ink is expensive, young man. Especially ink from monster blood. You do not look like someone who has silver coins to buy it."
"Just bring out a bottle first. Let me test it," Kanos retorted. He glared at the old man. "If the quality is good, I'll pay you more than a silver coin."
The old man hesitated for a second. But Belida's posture, standing silently behind Kanos, clearly posed a physical threat that couldn't be ignored. Grumbling softly, the man ducked under the table and placed a small glass bottle in front of Kanos. It was filled with a thick black liquid.
"Dirt-squid ink. Standard quality for guild scribes," the shop owner said. "One bottle is five silver coins."
Kanos popped the cork open. It smelled fishy, but the consistency was perfect. Thick and oily. This was way better than charcoal.
He needed a brush. Kanos glanced around the counter, his eyes catching the broken tip of a quill pen thrown into a wooden ashtray. Kanos picked up the broken pen, chewed on the wooden tip a bit with his front teeth until the fibers frayed out, forming a rough makeshift brush.
The old man watched Kanos's behavior in disgust. "What are you doing? If you are not going to buy it—"
Kanos ignored him. He dipped his emergency brush into the ink bottle.
Alright. Let's try a level two medium.
Kanos took a slow breath. He pressed the ink-soaked wood fibers onto the scratched surface of the counter.
His brain immediately visualized a simple but deadly inanimate object. He didn't draw a massive sword that would require a lot of material. He drew a karambit knife. A curved blade exactly like a tiger's claw, with a ring at the end of the handle for his index finger, the blade thin but made of solid carbon steel.
Drawing with liquid ink felt completely different from charcoal. The strokes were smooth, flowing without resistance. Kanos pulled the curve of the blade in one full breath.
Done.
The next second, an excruciating pain slammed into the back of Kanos's head. His vision spun instantly. The nausea hit immediately. Transforming liquid ink into the density of steel metal apparently demanded a ridiculous physical toll from his mere level one body.
Fresh blood dripped from Kanos's nose, falling right next to the drawing he just made.
The ink lines on the table glowed a deep blue. Luminous dust from the air got sucked in with a low humming sound, brutally filling the drawing's wireframe.
THWACK.
A real steel karambit dropped, its blade tip stabbing firmly into the wooden counter. It was steel-gray, shiny, and unbelievably sharp.
Total silence fell over the tiny shop.
The one-eyed old man jolted back in shock so hard his chair tipped over backwards. He crashed into a wooden shelf, his eyes bugging out wide staring at the steel knife that had just popped out of an ink doodle.
Even Belida behind Kanos tensed up slightly. The knight was clearly shocked seeing a metal object created that loud and solid just from squid liquid.
Kanos gripped the edge of the table tightly so he wouldn't collapse. He was panting. He wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve, then pulled the steel karambit out of the table. The sound of the metal scraping against the wood sounded smooth and precise.
Kanos tossed the knife onto the table right in front of the old man, who was still trembling in fear.
"Pure steel. The sharpness will hold for a month if you just use it to cut regular meat, and it's definitely gonna fetch a high price if you resell it," Kanos said. His voice was incredibly raspy and low from holding back the dizziness. "That knife is yours."
The old man was still speechless, his eye darting back and forth between the knife and Kanos's bleeding face.
"In exchange," Kanos continued, tapping his finger on the dirt-squid ink bottle on the table. "I'm taking this ink, five more bottles from your bottom shelf, that leather sketchbook in the corner, and a safe room for us to sleep in tonight. We got a deal?"