With his request already made, Discal roamed Sateya for a place to stay. He went north of the Guild, and discovered a sprawling marketplace. It was established beyond the five-meter high wooden wall that surrounded the core parts of the outpost.

At first glance, the marketplace looked to be hastily set up. One could see caravans and chains of disorganized shops scattered all over. There was no unity, nor plan involved. But after scouring his way through, and browsing the many wares, he found some semblance of order as shops hosting the same kind of product were usually found nearby.

After some scouting incited by his intrigue, he separated the market into four parts. One part, he found out only sold produce and goods.

The place was damp and the ground unpaved, and was little more than grimy mud. It stank of putrid air. The scent of spoiled food and rotting wafted through the streets. But even so, it did not stop people from trekking through in search for a day’s meal. And because of these things, it became a silly memory for the scholar.

As soon as he stepped in, he was immediately bombarded with noise. A merchant would come over and convince him of the wonders of his stock. They would even take on a pretentious air by using pompous words, as they took him to be poor and uneducated by his clothes. One merchant even had the audacity to sell him spoiled, rotting food. He was half amused and irritated at his plight.

After experiencing a few more similar instances, he made his way out.

Those merchants…. Who knew that a rotting apple was still edible. It had larvae in it, for Astorrah’s sake!

Having these thoughts, he led himself to another part.

This time, it was a much more reasonable and sanitary place. The shops here were more orderly and solemn in comparison. It had a dignified air, in contrast to the foul one he was in before.

His footing stepped on solid ground. The shops conducted proper as not one of the shopkeepers had overextended their bounds. Instead, they waited behind their counters and deemed hawking their costumers beneath them. Just from how things were, Discal liked the place more than the one before.

He wandered around, and soon discovered the place was selling apparel and equipment. Fanciful clothing and reliable armor were found here. And whether it was practical or not, just as long as one had the coin, they could be bought. Interested on what men who risked their lives in battle wore, he strolled over with vim in his steps.

He melded with the others, and sights he had not seen before were arrayed in front. Unusual things were about, and something itched in him to learn more.

Thus, he went to a clothing store first and was introduced to a whole new world. Clothing of remarkable quality was laid before him, and his eyes widened in surprise. He touched a robe and remarked how it was exceptionally soft. Leggings he grabbed for a test was as durable as a monster’s hide. On a shelf, he saw hats with colorful feathers attached, and coronets embedded with sparkling gems. He was awed, more so when he thought about his own worn-out mantle and shirt.

After admiring the items in the store, and receiving the baleful eyes of the storekeeper, he headed out. He looked to the cloudy sky, and thought, I have more things to learn. Books are just not enough… I mustn’t grow complacent.

He retracted his gaze with a nod. He glanced around and saw another store that hoisted the sign of a shield. Seeing the sign, he remembered something.

The helmet! he thought, and patted the bag on his back. He felt it up and the helmet was still there. Considering he was here, he should take the opportunity and show it to the storekeeper inside. If he was lucky, the storekeeper might have an inkling of what the helmet was. And if the helmet was judged to be of worth and a priceless antique, Discal decided to sell the helmet. He grinned at the prospect of earning more coin and directly walked in.

Once inside, he remarked that it was a quiet store. The only occupant being was a burly bearded man stationed behind an aging wooden counter. He spared Discal only a glance and did no more, as if customers were not something to be delighted at.

Before Discal went up to the man at the counter, he first looked around and saw a few pieces of armor hanging around. A hay mannequin stood at a corner, donning a chestplate. Vambraces and greeves placed lopsidedly on a shelf. Helmets of various sizes hanged loose on a wall. It was indeed an armor shop; though, the presentation required some work, he thought.

He headed for the man at the counter, and asked, “Could you check an item for me?”

The burly man replied with a gritty voice: “It will cost ‘ye.”

“How much?” Discal asked.

“A few copper coins,” said the burly man while raising an opened hand.

Discal celebrated inwardly that it would not cost him that much. After all, he only had a few silver coins of worth, and even if he were a miser, he had learned from Nasha at the Guild that it would only last him a week. Until he left the Guild, his face was plastered with a stiff smile.

“Okay.” Discal agreed as he handed five copper coins.

The burly man nodded at him and extended an arm out. “The item,” he levelly said.

“Oh, right,” Discal said as he put his bag down on the counter, and brought out the helmet within. Aged and ancient as he had remembered, but this time, he felt something peculiar.

It feels familiar, he advertently thought. But he could not grasp the feeling, as if something hindered him from doing so. His brows furrowed in frustration.

The burly man paid no heed. Instead, with a stern face, he repeated with a little more force, “The item.”

“Ah!” Discal shouted as he jolted back from his reverie. “Sorry about that,” he said before he hastily handed the helmet to the storekeeper.

“Good,” said the burly man as he received the helmet. He glanced at it for a moment before turning to Discal. “It might take me some time, so I suggest ‘ye to come back after a day.”

“That long?” asked Discal suspiciously.

“Yep,” the storekeeper responded. He slightly raised the helmet, and pointed a finger at it. “It’s not a simple one. Even ‘ye should know that.”

“…All right,” Discal said after a pause. He did not want to complicate things.

“I should be back by tomorrow,” Discal said as he put on the bag. But he remembered that he had something to do tomorrow. He continued, “If not, hold onto it until the day after.”

The storekeeper only nodded back. Absorbed with the helmet, he shooed Discal away.

Taking the cue, Discal walked back to the door and headed out. “I wonder what that helmet is,” he muttered.

He strolled towards another part of the marketplace which was an open expanse. Wherever Discal looked, cheap stalls and small wagons littered the field. It seemed to be an unruly place where anyone could set up his own shop.

Discal strutted over, and after some exploring, he learned the place sold anything people could find. One stall displayed a presumably magical wilted branch the owner had come upon in a forest. It had a smooth, glossy texture and glowed eerily along the lines, and the owner claimed that it could heal any injury once the sap inside was applied. Some larger stalls hosted auctions, with one auctioning off slaves to the highest bidder. Discal frowned, but he kept himself from speaking out.

Avoiding where the slaves were, Discal meandered about. He came upon some stalls that had caught his eye, while others he only gave a cursory glance. After some time, he almost searched the entire place and prepared to head back to the streets. As he did, he encountered a desolate stall. Intrigued on why that was, as most stalls he came upon usually had a customer or so, he repositioned himself for a better angle to see. In doing so, it became clear: placed upon the counter were books.

“I guess the people in Sateya are just not interested in mere books,” he spat.

Discal walked to the stall and spotted a grim-faced old man beyond the counter. His hair and beard was unkept. His figure hunched in his chair, and looked at him lifelessly with crooked eyes. Must be of his old age, Discal thought dryly.

He ignored the old man and browsed the books on the counter. One was titled, “The Saga of Astorrah’s Hero”, and another, “The Basics to Mana-Weaving.” He was disappointed for he had already read these two books. He dropped them and grabbed a few more, but it ended in vain. No matter what book he grabbed to read, it was something he had already come upon. He sighed that he was not able to find any book to read.

“At least I won’t have to buy something,” he said to console himself. Left with nothing to bring back, he looked up at the grim old man. Discal pondered if he should just leave without saying anything. He almost decided to, until he saw a battered small book at the far corner of the counter.

Discal reached out, and grabbed it. But before he inspected it closely, his eyes unconsciously wandered to the old man. The old man remained unfazed, though something had changed in his eyes as if a bit of life had returned to him. Discal brought his gaze back to the book. It lingered on the front cover and no title was in place.

“A journal?” he asked to no one.

He touched the cover; coarse and uneven. He then traced the cuts and tears as it told him of the book’s legacy. He looked at its spine. The adhesive had loosened off, and caused some parts of the book to fall apart. Luckily, the damage had not yet reached where the pages had unbound. He rejoiced. This was a journal, and a book he had not yet read.

He raised the journal up with one hand, and asked the old man, “Is this for sale?”

The old man stared at him in silence. After a moment, he spoke in a raspy voice, “It is, young man.”

“How much?” Discal asked promptly.

The old man shook his head. His chest heaving as it gasped for air. The gesture left Discal puzzled, but he waited for the old man to catch his breath.

The old man having recovered, spoke, “I’ll give it to you for free.”

Discal was skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said with a faint smile. “I am quite sure.”

Discal did not know what to say. He took the offer, thanked the old man and walked away. The old man stared at his back with the same faint smile.

While walking, Discal proceeded to remove the string-latch that kept the cover from flapping. Afterwards, he opened the journal and read the contents of the first page. The handwriting was readable, but unrefined. It did not bother him, though, as his interest of finding what its pages hold kept him affixed. His eyes flitted passed the words.

“It was our first day in Huntsman’s Copse,” said the first line.