"Hey Erebus, look at those fresh fruits over there. Should I take one of them? No one would notice anyway."
"Yeah, you can do that, Kit, but do it yourself, because I am not pushing this wheelchair for you to go stealng things!"
It is always hard to talk to friends with disabilities—you don't want them to feel like you are treating them differently, but you also don't want to hurt their feelings.
Kit, on the other hand, is a total bastard who slaps people in his sleep, so I don't care much, and he certainly doesn't care either.
We had entered the market. The shops were lined up in a remarkably messy manner. The citizens' clothes looked like something straight out of the Taiketsu era—most people wearing flowing, slim garments adorned with fresh flowers used as a luxury sign of wealth.
The market stretched all the way into the inner city, somewhere I didn't even want to go. I just wanted to go home.
"Hey Erebus, look at that shop! Those are the famous cakes of Leverentia, right?"
I rolled the wheelchair in that direction.
"Leverentia city was discovered after the Three Sons War. It shouldn't even exist yet. The recipes must have traveled here somehow."
The air in the market was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and lavender—which the poor used to mask their odor, much like modern people using perfumes, only the lavender smelled much sweeter.
Soon, I found myself roaming around the market as if we were on a leisurely vacation.
"Erebus, look at that sword!"
Kit pointed toward a blade made of black steel. But it wasn't normal steel; it was Galapagos ore—one of the rarest materials of this era.
Nowadays, most wealthy knight houses owned at least one Galapagos sword.
Of course, this particular blade was a cheap knockoff. You couldn't expect real masterworks to just be lying around for cheap at this point in history. If you thought it was real, you were a complete dumbass.
I wanted to rub Kit's stupidity right in his face.
Before I could, Kit spoke up. "Such a shame that it's just a knockoff."
Well, there went my chance to tease him.
There were plenty of other weapons on display: simple iron blades, steel daggers, and standard swords. Curiously, there were no shields or polearms. I wanted to see some versatile weaponry, but I was met entirely by a wall of swords.
On the flip side, the wheelchair-bound boy was completely dazzled by the display. I saw him smile for maybe the second or third time ever—though given how serious he usually was, it was hard to track.
"You want to be a knight, Kit, right?"
I am generally supportive of people trying to chase their dreams, but let's be real—there are limits. You can't ask a toad to fly, nor can you teach an eagle to swim.
I glanced at his face, expecting the usual humble answer: I want to be a knight and I'll try my best, followed by the crushing reality check he'd inevitably face in a few years.
Instead, he puffed out his chest, recreating the proud stance he had used earlier.
"I don't want to be a knight. I am a knight."
He had caught me completely off guard.
"How on earth are you a knight when you don't even know how to swing a sword?"
Keeping that same proud stance, his commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.
"It's not that I totally don't know how to use a sword. I'm just not very good yet. I can improve fast as I practice more."
I had a million counter-arguments. How could someone fight when they couldn't even walk? But I decided to finish the debate with one final, definitive question.
"A man can only be knighted when he takes his solemn vows before a king. You aren't a knight."
I thought I had driven the final nail into the coffin. But this guy literally crawled out of the grave and stood up like a mummy.
"A man does not become a knight when he takes his vows. A man becomes a knight when he protects the innocent, even when he knows using a shield is more beneficial than using a sword. That is my oath, and I follow it every single day."
He had beaten me in this mental duel fair and square.
I bowed my head in mock defeat. "Okay, Sir Kit. I understand. Please, spare me any more lectures!"
Suddenly, a harsh, burning smell pierced the air. It completely overpowered the sweet lavender market, replacing it with the foul stench of scorched flesh.
I slowly rolled Kit's wheelchair forward, noticing that he was sniffing the air with the same disgusted look on his face.
We followed the stench toward the entrance of the inner city, passing shops of ornaments and flowers along the way.
The wooden storefronts quickly gave way to heavy stone buildings, and the muddy pathways turned into solid rock roads.
I was shocked to see a massive crowd gathered around a wooden platform in the center of the square. There was nothing inherently tempting about the structure itself—just an old wooden stage with five upright beams.
Because of the sheer sea of people, the view was blocked. It took me a full ten minutes of pushing through the gaps to realize what this was: one of the infamous public torture pillars from the history books.
The crowd had gathered to watch three men. They had long, unwashed beards, filthy bodies, and were completely stark naked—exposed to the jeering public for punishment.
I glanced sideways at Kit. He wasn't enjoying the spectacle at all. His lips were pursed in deep disgust, and his eyes were glued to the ground.
"What did they do to deserve something like this?" Kit muttered, voicing the exact thought running through my head.
The crowd erupted into a fresh wave of vile chanting:
(Kill them!) (Torture them until their eyes swell shut!) (Make them pay for what they are!)
(Kill these blue-blood trolls!)
That last comment hit me like a physical blow.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Blue-blood.
We weren't in the Taiketsu era at all. We were standing right in the middle of the post-Arcanson era!