Greymark Village was already awake when they entered. The transition from the scorched silence of the forest to the cacophony of civilization was jarring, a sensory assault of noise and motion.
Morning light spilled across the packed‑dirt streets, catching on wagon wheels and the rims of water buckets. Farmers bartered loudly over crates of vegetables, their voices thick with local accents. Chickens darted between carts, scattering feathers in their wake. A blacksmith's hammer rang in a steady rhythm, each strike echoing off timber walls like a ticking clock.
Above it all—the griffins circled low. Too low for routine patrol. The rhythmic thrum-thrum of their wings was a constant, heavy reminder that the sky was no longer empty.
Aleric noticed immediately, his pulse quickening. "We need to look less conspicuous," he muttered, tugging at the collar of his armor.
Athena's eyes flicked upward beneath her helm, her gaze tracking the lead griffin with clinical detachment. Fafnir didn't bother hiding his irritation; he looked like a king forced to walk through a gutter.
A clothing stall stood near the village well — travel cloaks in muted browns and greys hung from a wooden beam. Aleric approached, trying to smooth his expression into that of a weary traveler.
"Can I have three hooded cloaks," he said. "In neutral colors if possible."
The vendor studied them carefully — lingering a moment too long on Fafnir's height and Athena's posture. There was a stillness to them that didn't fit the frantic energy of the marketplace.
"They are thirty bronze each."
Aleric nodded and reached into his pouch. He reviewed what he heard about the kingdom's currency system again, mentally confirming the conversion rates: 100 bronze = 1 silver. 100 silver = 1 gold.
He had transmigrated with a leather pouch that contained 100 silver coins. There were no other denomination. No bronze or gold. Which meant: 100 silver = 10,000 bronze = 1 gold equivalent. A strong starting reserve. But that amount was not infinite. In a world where everything could kill you, money was the only thing that could make a difference between your death and your survival.
He withdrew a single silver coin and placed it on the stall, the metal cool against his palm.
The vendor examined the coin, nodded, and handed him back a small pouch containing ten bronze coins.
Three cloaks = 90 bronze. One silver paid = 100 bronze equivalent. Change = 10 bronze.
He now carried: 99 silver, 10 bronze. Total value: 9,910 bronze.
Athena pulled on her cloak on fluidly, the hood shadowing her features and turning her into a ghost of grey wool. Fafnir looked faintly offended by the coarse wool, his lip curling as the fabric touched his skin.
"If only he knew he gave such trashy clothing to a dragon," Aleric murmured, a small, dry smirk tugging at his mouth.
Fafnir did not dignify that with a response, though his emerald eyes flashed with a dangerous light.
They moved toward the central square soon after. Aleric adjusted the pouch at his belt, making sure it was tied securely. He had intentionally broken the silver first. Small villages most likely operated on a bronze coin circulation. Flashing silver repeatedly would most likely draw attention. Note to self: Spend bronze whenever possible. Try to keep the silver for emergencies. As they toured the central square, they noticed an inn.
The inn sat near the center of the square, its sign, The Howling Moon, swaying gently in the morning breeze. The smell of stew and baked bread drifted from the open windows, a warm, savory invitation that made Aleric's stomach growl with sudden, sharp intensity. As they moved inside, the lively atmosphere washed over the group.
At one table, farmers argued over grain prices. Two caravan guards drank early, boots propped on a bench, at another. A bard tuned a lute in the corner, though no one seemed to be listening. They moved to the back of the dining area and took an empty corner table, the shadows of the hall offering a small measure of comfort.
A waitress approached, wiping her hands on her apron. "Welcome to the Howling Moon, What can I get ya?"
"We'll take three bowls of stews, some bread and three mugs of ale please."
"Sure thing, that will be twelve bronze coins per plate and four bronze for each mug of ale. The bread comes with the stew free of charge."
'Damn.' Aleric thought. 'That is sixteen bronze coins per person. That means the bill will run up to forty-eight bronze. I thought the meals would have been cheaper than this.'
Aleric reached for his leather pouch—and paused. He only had ten bronze coins. Right. The math of survival was always more complicated than the theory.
He placed a silver coin on the table instead. "I only have silver."
The girl nodded once and left to get his change. She returned with fifty‑two bronze coins.
(Meal cost: 48 bronze. 1 silver tendered = 100 bronze. Change returned: 52 bronze.)
(Current holdings: 98 silver, 62 bronze. Total value: 9,862 bronze.)
Aleric leaned back, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. Even after the purchases, he retained over ninety‑eight percent of his original funds. It was a comfortable amount.
However if they had to stay on the run and hide from the knights, Aleric doubted his funds would last long. If the Griffin knight patrols indicated anything, trouble must be brewing. Why would a knight order be after them when their fight in the woods didn't impact any settlement otherwise? Also if trouble was brewing, maybe the economy will be hit as well. Would the taxes increase? If so, food prices would probably rise. Travel tolls would increase as well. Any information brokers worth their salt would also increase their rates. In the end, his ''comfortable'' amount of capital would amount to nothing.
At the moment, he currently holds just under the equivalent of one gold. Aleric probably has enough for a few weeks of travel funds. Enough to pay passage tolls, maybe spend a few nights in an inn. Perhaps buy the necessary for outdoor living but sooner or later, they will run out. It all depends on what is currently happening in this country.
Money equaled options. Options equaled survival. And right now, he was playing a high-stakes game with a very thin deck.
As he was mauling over his options, behind him, a caravan guard laughed, the sound wet and loud. "…My cousin's unit got recalled to Valedorn."
"...He got called back to the capital?"
"They say the High Council's preparing for war."
"War with who?"
"Demons." A murmur spread, thick with unease. "And the demi‑humans."
Athena's eyes sharpened slightly, the grey depths of her gaze turning to flint. That tid-bit of information is exactly what they were looking for. Aleric didn't look at her and kept listening, but he could feel the temperature at the table drop.
If this country was really about to head to war, maybe they could use this. Maybe become mercenaries. Use the war to create a name for themselves. Earn fame and prestige. Capitalise on the need of soldiers to ingratiate themselves with the nobles.
As Aleric was lost in thought, the inn door swung open. Silence fell over the room like a guillotine.
Silver‑blue armor caught the light as Captain Elowen Virelle stepped inside. She removed her helmet slowly, her expression a mask of disciplined calm. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary.
Once the shock of the newcomer subsided, conversations resumed — but quieter, the air in the room suddenly thin. As she scanned the room, her gaze passed over Aleric and the others. Her gaze paused over them. Not long. But long enough for the hair on Aleric's neck to stand on end.
Aleric lifted his mug casually, the ale now tasting like iron. Athena did not move, becoming as still as if she were a statue. Fafnir however met Elowen's gaze without flinching. Their gazes held no animosity or submission. It was a clash of predators evaluating one another, silent and invisible.
Elowen turned to the innkeeper. "Innkeeper, have you seen any unfamiliar travelers that entered Greymark this morning or that came here to eat or drink?"
"Well I had a few merchants," the innkeeper replied nervously, his hands trembling as he wiped the counter. "Nothing unusual, Captain."
Her eyes swept the room for a final time. This time it was slower. Athena — with her posture too straight. Fafnir — his warrior build, with no visible insignia. Aleric — watching her carefully. Their gazes met. He offered a polite, mildly confused traveler's expression, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
A beat passed. She turned away. "For your safety," she addressed the room, her voice ringing with authority, "no one is to enter the the western forest. Avoid it as much as possible and please report anything unusual."
She put on her helmet and left shortly after the announcement. The inn seemed to exhale, a collective shudder of relief.
Aleric did not. "She noticed," he murmured, his voice low.
"Probably," Athena replied, her eyes still fixed on the door.
They finished enough of their meal to avoid suspicion. Then left.
The square outside felt different now. It seemed quieter. It felt like everyone was suddenly watching one another. Every window felt like an eye.
"We're being followed," Aleric murmured, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.
"I feel them," Athena said calmly. "It doesn't appear to be their first time tailing either."
Fafnir smirked faintly, a predatory glint in his eye. "I can end that."
"No, we can't afford to leave bodies," Aleric said immediately, his tone sharp.
They turned toward a narrow alley between two storage buildings. Halfway through—footsteps echoed behind them. They sounded measured and unhurried.
Captain Elowen stepped into the alley entrance. Four knights stood in line behind her while the last two are blocking the far exit. They were boxed in. They seemed to have fallen into their trap.
Aleric turned slowly. Elowen removed her helmet. "I dislike inconsistencies," she said evenly, her voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "You seem new to this village. If I had to guess you arrived earlier this morning. From the cloaks you are wearing, you seem keen on blending in and being inconspicuous."
Every statement seemed to hit Aleric close to home. He knew she was right. He didn't know if she figured it out or if she guessed but her ability to surmise was truly frightening.
Her gaze sharpened. "When I went to question the gate guards about you with your descriptions, they failed to properly recall every letting you in." A pause. "They are disciplined men, even as members of this villages' militia. That lapse in attention does not occur without cause."
She was getting closer to the truth. Aleric could feel her suspicions growing by the second. She wasn't certain yet. If she was, they wouldn't be confronting one another right now. Aleric lifted his hands, palms open. He had to shift her suspicions. "Captain, we're just—"
"Enough." She wasn't loud but her tone was commanding. "I did not allow you to speak. You will answer my questions."
Athena stepped forward, her cloak swirling around her feet. "And if we decline?"
Elowen studied her carefully. "We will have no choice but to arrest you and continue this from a cell?"
"I think not." Athena replied calmly, her voice as smooth as silk.
The nearest knight moved, trying to apprehend her. His movements were disciplined. His blade was half‑drawn. Athena stepped into his guard, her movement a blur of lethal grace. Her palm struck the radial nerve at his wrist. His grip failed him instantly. She then hit him with two knuckles into the brachial plexus at his neck. He collapsed —he remained conscious, but neurologically, he became overwhelmed. There was no wasted motion in her movements. All her movements were efficient as if she had repeated that movement countless times. She probably has.
Elowen lunged next. She was Fast. Very fast. Her blade cut toward Athena's ribs. Athena pivoted, redirecting the strike with her forearm at a precise angle. Her hand slid along the seam of Elowen's gauntlet. She twisted and tried to gain leverage over her strength.
Elowen released her grip before the lock completed. Good instincts. They reset simultaneously. Steel flashed again. Athena caught the flat of the blade between her palms. Skin split slightly. She did not flinch. Her knee struck a nerve cluster along Elowen's thigh. It was controlled. It destabilized her whole stance.
Elowen staggered one step back — and recovered instantly. Recognition flickered in her eyes. The woman before her wasn't some random brawler. Her movements were disciplined. Not a single wasted movements. She was trained in the art of combat and she was clearly a veteran.
Behind her, Fafnir straightened fully. He did not transform. He just stood to his full height. A heavy pressure radiated from him, a heat that seemed to warp the very air. Two knights hesitated for half a second.
Aleric kicked a crate into stacked barrels during their moment of hesitation.
Crasssshhhh.
Dust burst into the confined air. "Move now!" he snapped.
Athena smoothly disengaged Elowen. Fafnir drove his heel into loose stone, sending debris upward to thicken the dust cloud. The trio moved in a tight group through the disruption.
By the time visibility cleared, the alley was empty. They had escaped.
Two knights were disarmed. One is temporarily incapacitated. Yet no one died. Elowen stood very still, her chest heaving. She flexed her wrist. Her thigh throbbed. That woman. Her techniques were too clean. She obviously held herself back. Even with minimal force, she still managed to to this much damage.
"They were never merchants," she said quietly, her voice tight with frustration.
A knight swallowed. "What are they?"
Elowen replaced her helmet. "They were clearly professionals." She turned sharply. "I want you to seal the western gate. Double the patrols. I also want eyes in the air." She paused. "Also have the gate guards examined by a mage. Something influenced their minds — whether deliberately or incidentally, I want to know how."
Griffins shrieked overhead as they took off again.
Tiles shifted underfoot as Aleric vaulted upward, landing on a roof, breathing hard, his lungs burning with the exertion. "That escalated fast," he muttered.
Athena's eyes gleamed faintly beneath her hood. "She is competent."
Fafnir's lips curled slightly. "You do know she will chase us."
Aleric looked toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to dip. "I think that is a good thing."
They both glanced at him.
"If this kingdom's preparing for war with demons and demi‑humans," he said quietly, his gaze turning hard, "we need to know in which camp they think we belong."
Below them, Greymark tightened its defenses. Above them, griffins circled. The hunt had officially begun. And Aleric Saint was no longer just a traveler; he became a target.