The air in the alley carried a mixture that smelled of sewage and death. Neale stood still as his body went taut. The conversation of the people shrouded in black cloaks sent a chilling shiver through him that was completely different from the feeling he got around soldiers, and different from the smaller winged demonic beast he had encountered — it was something cruel and truly cold, as if aimed at someone. Those people were not refugees or vendors. They were vultures with a locked target: the Order's convoy.
"V-zero." The word echoed off the alley walls. The vehicle Neale saw as his only way, his only chance to reach his goals, was in the sights of people whose faces he could not even make out. If their plan to move on the convoy when it stopped in Valerium succeeded, Neale's mission to become a student would be an irreparable failure. It was like playing chess on a minefield.
He edged slowly away from the alley so as not to draw attention, the twenty coins held tight in his hand against his trouser pocket so they wouldn't make any noise as he moved, leaving the people and that alley behind. With the sale of the pocketknife having been a success, he now also had two knives at his waist — blades about the length of his forearm, forged from a mix of Damascus steel and titanium — so they would probably last a little longer than the pocketknife if he happened to "fight" some creature of the absolute races. Something he definitely did not want and was not ready for, given how weak he felt in that moment. He walked the streets lost in his many thoughts.
Neale realized that the presence of those mercenaries was like an enormous double-edged blade. They made things even more dangerous and complicated; even if they could serve as a distraction that would let him get onto the convoy to Kirden, they would still steal the vehicle or destroy it trying to take it, and that would destroy all his chances. But it was no use — his head was full and he couldn't think logically beyond that. First he had to focus on priorities.
He needed to look more like a student and less like some kind of beggar.
The Order would not accept a boy who smelled of demonic blood, mud, and rust in his hair. Neale headed to a few shops, choosing one that seemed to carry clothes close to his style and cheap as well, until he reached a shop with a calm appearance away from the bustle of the main streets; on that street the shop lights were dimmer and questions were far less likely.
"Hello… I need clean clothes, something that won't draw too much attention, but that won't make me look like I just crawled out of a dumpster," he said awkwardly to an older, tired-looking woman in the back of the shop; she seemed a bit detached from reality, as if she observed the world with empty eyes.
He used four silver coins to buy a dark gray cotton shirt with long sleeves; its collar and the cuffs were a little thicker than the rest of the fabric, and the collar was fairly open and almost showed his chest. Two coins bought a pair of black sweatpants with no print but two red stripes down each side of the legs. Two more coins bought mid-calf boots, both a little worn but clean. For a moment he found himself wondering if these clothes would match his future uniform if he managed to become a student, but that was pointless for now since he hadn't even infiltrated the convoy. He looked at the bags with the clothes, thanked the shopkeeper, and then left.
"At least I won't look like I just came from a trash heap anymore," he thought as he continued on his way.
With his new clothes in bags tucked into his backpack, Neale felt slightly renewed. On his way back to the small abandoned building where he had been sleeping, isolated from the city's noise, he spent two more coins to buy four loaves of bread and some water to top off his dry canteen at a bar that was a bit more hidden than the others but, luckily, still sold most of its food fresh — enough to provide minimal nourishment for the following day.
Ten coins and the beast coin remained; it was a bit larger than the others, its reddish color and texture strange to the touch, and it still pulsed with that energy of the absolute races that Neale couldn't sense yet, but it would be enough to pay for a few more meals if he needed them.
As Neale continued his way back to the small building, trying not to draw much attention from the shadows that might hide in the city — especially with possible mercenaries scattered around — he ran into a slow-moving man. The man's skin was bronzed, a sign he spent a lot of time under the sun; his hands bore heavy scars and marks of hard labor. Behind him was a girl maybe three years younger than Neale, carrying heavy scrap metal from some kind of vehicle or other large device.
"Excuse me, sir… may I help you?" Neale asked as he approached them gently.
The man handed over his scrap and thanked Neale for his kindness, while the girl behind him seemed to hide behind the scrap, peeking out briefly but saying nothing.
Along the way the man talked with the girl, who didn't reply — she only nodded — but it was hard to see her under so much scrap. At the same time the man, wanting to include Neale in the conversation, spoke calmly and with an extremely polite manner for someone living in that city.
"We can't forget to go back and get more of this scrap to sell, Maria, and you, young man, I've lived here a long time, but I've never seen you around here, at least not in this part of town," he said in a hoarse voice and as softly as he could.
"I moved to this city recently and I was heading back to get some sleep before dawn when I saw you and decided to help," Neale replied with a gentle smile, while Maria stayed behind the man with smaller steps, as if shrinking into his shadow with shy eyes she seemed to want to hide.
After a long walk and a smooth conversation filled with the man's advice and stories about his life, they arrived at his home, one of the few houses that actually had electricity.
"Thank you so much for your help, young man. Please stay and eat something with me and my daughter," the man said as his daughter ran inside the house as if hiding.
"Oh no, sir, I can't accept that. Helping you was enough for me," Neale answered.
"I insist, please come in. Don't worry about my daughter — she's a little shy with new people, but she's a good girl, far too good for a rotten city like this. Come on in," the man finished, entering the house.
Neale followed him, a bit awkward. "Excuse me."
"Take a bath while I heat up our dinner. I won't take no for an answer, young man — it's my way of thanking you for your help," the man called, his voice fading between the rooms.
Neale felt shy but didn't refuse the offer; it would be his first bath after everything he had been through. As he bathed, the water gently ran over his body, revealing scars and bruises he hadn't even known were spread across him. As he cleaned the wounds and cuts, the water washed his body and hair, relaxing him, though he kept watching his backpack and clothes leaning against the door. It felt almost like being at home as he finished his bath; the convoy was now only five days away from the city of Valerium.