Jon rode his old mule towards the end of the line, waiting patiently as the procession moved along. While waiting, he could take a better look at the guards and who they were stopping for questioning.

The guards, all donning the same gray plate armor, were arranged in an orderly fashion by the main gate, each of them sporting a bored expression. Their swords hanged by their hips while their hands rarely came close to the hilts. Rather than negligence, it was the certainty that no one would dare to cause problems with them around.

As for the people stopped for questioning, they were either driving carts that needed to be inspected or carrying weapons.

Jon fit with the latter as well as being in full armor. So when he finally reached the gate, one of the guards pulled him aside.

“What is your name and reason to enter the city?” asked the man, the long hairs on his mustache blowing forward as he spoke.

“Jon,” he answered without giving a surname. He then dismounted, hesitating for just an instant before grabbing his missive and presenting it to the guard. “I’m here to take part in the tourney.”

After keeping the missive hidden for so long, he now felt a bit of trepidation for showing it to someone else. Danger and opportunity always walked hand to hand, inseparable. Other people he came across could start having ideas after discovering this missive in John’s possession, so better safe than sorry.

The same could be said for the magic key hanging from his neck, though on a much larger scale. Rather than farmhands and tanners, he’d have kings and queens to worry about.

The guard grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it, his gaze going straight for the wax seal at the bottom, not even bothering to read its contents. Undoubtedly, he had gone through this same process a lot more times today.

“Rochdale, huh? That’s a long trip on an old mule,” he noted, and, for a moment, Jon worried there would be some sort of problem. “But I guess you squires need to make do with what you got.” He handed the letter back to Jon. “The tourney will start in a few hours. Just follow the main street and you’ll reach the arena where they’ll ascertain your age and cultivation. Also, don’t cause any trouble while in here.”

Jon nodded in response, grabbing his mount’s reins and leading it into the city. As far as he knew, there were no laws preventing him from riding his mount inside a city. He had never seen a commoner doing it, though. Maybe it was due to tradition or maybe it came from some obscure law he was unfamiliar with. Either way, he wouldn’t take any chances.

The main street was just as large inside the city as it was on the outside, though much better maintained. The pavement under Jon’s sabatons felt as smooth as asphalt, with not a single stone block sticking out. A slight slope ensured that the rain would be drained towards the curbs.

Merchants of all sorts had their stalls set up throughout the street, selling everything from food and drinks to clothing and trinkets. Farmers boasted that their food had an exceptional concentration of mana, very useful for cultivating, while tinkers claimed that gold-coated baubles had belonged to some distinguished noble from years ago.

Maybe that was their excuse for the exorbitantly high prices. The cheapest steel swords were selling for no less than three gold centarii. Jon had acquired his blade for half the price at another city.

Buildings had an abundance of bright colors, large windows, and pitched roofs. One bell tower in particular could be seen in the distance ever since entering the street. Jon looked back and could still see it as he approached the arena, rising behind a red brick house.

The arena, on the other hand, looked completely out of place. Made of large blocks of weathered stone, sturdy columns, and rounded arches, it stood in stark contrast to the colorful buildings around it. Imposing was the first word that came to mind. Colosseum came in close second.

People from all walks of life walked through its entrances to watch the coming attraction. City guards made regular patrols around the circular structure, serving as a deterrent for anyone too rowdy or drunk enough to know better. Attendants donning colorful robes directed the participants towards an entrance at the side.

Jon was about to follow along when a woman covered head to toes in plate armor strode heavily in his direction. She clanked with every step taken, both from her armor and also from the bulging burlap sack she had over one shoulder. “Jon,” she called.

Even muffled by the closed helmet, the voice still sounded familiar. She came to a halt directly in front of him before removing her helmet, revealing her sharp features, shaved sides of the head, and braided chestnut hair.

“Marleya,” Jon noted, somewhat incredulous. For so many years, the knight had been his teacher in combat. When he last heard of her, she had been in a coma, wounded in a war that Jon himself caused. “How did you know it was me?” he asked. Just like her, he was completely covered in armor, albeit a much cheaper one.

She shrugged. “I just looked for the tallest person I could find. Only took me two tries to get it right.”

Jon chuckled at her answer. Southerners were unusually tall when compared to people from the north, and Jon took after his mother. Now a full-grown adult, he stood almost a full head taller than his old teacher. And yet, he didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that she could wipe the floor with him without breaking a sweat. The difference between a Paladin and a Crusader was simply too big. “Glad to see you’re okay. You still hadn’t wakened up when I left the camp.”

“Mostly okay. I still get a few headaches from time to time. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, are you going to tell me why you left? The lady refused to tell me anything.”

It didn’t surprise Jon that she didn’t know the specifics. Hagen and Athalia wouldn’t want the secret getting out. “I did something bad,” was all he was willing to say. “How is Neina, by the way?” he asked, in part out of genuine concern but also to change the subject.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me.”

Before Jon could even understand what was happening, her gauntleted fist connected with the side of his helmet. For a second he saw stars and his ear ringed without stop. He barely managed to remain on his feet.

“You’re lucky I want you to do well in this tourney, else I would really have hurt you,” she spat out the words. “Seriously, I have no idea what you did to the poor girl, but she would show up to the training grounds with swollen eyes almost every day.”

Jon didn’t try to defend himself and neither did he complain about the blow. He deserved it.

The lack of response seemed to incense her even further. “Oh, bloody hell. Here!” she exclaimed while shoving the sack into Jon’s arms. “It’s all the stuff you left in your room.”

“Did Athalia ask you to bring it to me?”

“No. Returning to the castle, Hagen ordered your room to be vacated, so I kept your equipment in my shed. Last week I told the lady that I wished to come to the capital to hand it back to you. She didn’t order me to do otherwise.” She placed the helmet back on her head. “Now you better do well today. Whatever you did, I doubt lord Hagen will ever allow you to return to the castle. Good luck.” Having done what she came to do, the knight turned around and walked away, leaving Jon with his old mule while a bunch of curious passersby looked his way.

Jon let go of his mount’s reins, dropped the sack to the ground, and began going through its contents. The first thing to greet him was a longsword covered in a leather sheath, which he promptly used to replace the one at his hip. A ripped steel sword would come a long way in the coming fights. Against regular steel armor, like the one he had on his body, it was possible to straight up stab through the metal given enough strength.

His old cuirass and blue gambeson came next, and he decided to put metal armor on as soon as he had a private place to change.

There were also two heavy books wrapped in thick leather covers. A gift from Athalia, each one costed a whole platinum Crown. They detailed various Mage level spells, making it easier to cultivate the mind. They would’ve been invaluable to Jon during the past couple of years.

At the time of his banishment, Jon had been a Mage of the 9th stage. Now he was stuck at the 10th, showing no signs of advancing into an Archmage anytime soon. Maybe he would’ve been able to do it if he had these books during this period, in which case today’s tourney would be a trivial affair.

That only went to show how important today’s event was. At his current pace, Jon would never manage to accomplish the Secret Realm’s requirements on time. He couldn’t progress fast enough on his own, so he needed outside guidance and resources.

Finally, at the bottom of the sack, there were a pair of short swords on black sheaths. Jon paused. Made out of rippled steel, the swords had belonged to his mother before her passing away. Along with the magic key, they were the only things of importance she left for him. Although infinitely less valuable than the former, the blades had an emotional value.

For as long as he could remember, these had been the weapons she used everywhere from hunting to training him. He had lost count of how many times he felt the cold blade’s side hitting against his skin. In a certain way, there was no other weapon he was more familiar with.

Jon took a deep breath before storing the items on the sack, standing up, and taking hold of the mule’s reins. He had a tourney to participate in.