Kazuya sat in silence in his room, deep in thought as the morning sun spilled through the window and bathed the side of his face in warm light.
It had been nearly a week since the battle against Kalthor.
After escaping with the unconscious Ling Wu, Kazuya had brought her straight back to the house. It hadn't taken long for her to wake. He explained what had transpired: how he had somehow resisted the flower spores' sleep-inducing effect, hauled her out of the trap, and discovered a critically injured Kalthor on the ruined street. Neither of them, however, had any clue who or what had inflicted such devastating damage on him.
In the days following the incident, city guards had come knocking on Ling Wu's door to interrogate her. It was entirely predictable; when Kalthor first launched his attack, dozens of civilians had witnessed her engaging him in combat and subsequently reported it to the authorities.
Ling Wu was deeply annoyed that the guards had failed to intervene during the actual crisis, only swooping in afterward to interrogate survivors. Yet, she also felt a sense of relief that they didn't question Kazuya. In truth, few people had seen her with the boy, and those who had couldn't remember his face due to his utterly unremarkable features. Even amid the chaos of Kalthor's assault, standing directly beside her, he simply hadn't drawn anyone's eye.
The day after the battle, Kazuya had returned to inspect the ruined street. Aside from piles of rubble and scorched debris, he found nothing. The two men who had fought alongside them were nowhere to be seen. Whether they had managed to flee or had been dragged away for questioning was something he neither knew nor particularly cared about.
Now that the dust had settled, Kazuya turned his focus back to organizing his thoughts and long-term plans.
Continuing his physical training under Ling Wu was a given, but it was far from sufficient. His clash with Kalthor had laid bare his current limitations, if he wanted to survive in this world, he needed to learn Ritual Arts.
He knew the premier destination for mastering such arts was Luliava, but traveling there was out of the question for the time being. He would have to make do with whatever scraps of knowledge he could acquire locally.
After securing Ling Wu's permission to venture out, Kazuya left the house to explore the city on his own for the first time. On previous outings, he had always been accompanied by Ling Wu, their destinations strictly limited to training grounds.
He soon found himself navigating a vibrant street market crammed with wooden stalls and shouting vendors. The rich smell of street cooking drifted through the crowd.
He paused to watch a middle-aged vendor with bronze skin roasting a small, strange creature over an open flame, wafting an enticing scent into the crowd. Kazuya had no idea what the animal was. Aside from some dangerous beasts and monsters, he remained remarkably ignorant of this world's native fauna. Because he had never given it much thought, he had never bothered to buy a reference book; he simply asked Ling Wu whenever curiosity struck, and she would identify the creatures for him.
Though Ling Wu found it bizarre that someone his age couldn't identify basic wildlife, she knew Kazuya was far from ordinary. She accepted his odd questions without pressing him, choosing out of respect for his privacy not to pry into his past. She assumed that, in time, he would share his story when he was ready.
The vendor's loud cries for customers blended into the chorus of the bustling market. Passing through the corridor of stalls, Kazuya emerged into an open stone plaza anchored by a crumbling and dry fountain.
Looking up, Kazuya spotted a man standing atop the fountain's centerpiece. He had messy black hair and heavy dark circles under his eyes. A sizable crowd had gathered around the basin, listening attentively. Some appeared genuinely captivated, others were merely passing the time, while a group of children watched with bright eyes.
Curious, Kazuya drifted toward the perimeter of the crowd, looking up at the storyteller.
At a closer distance, Kazuya noted the man's crooked, decaying teeth, several of which were missing entirely. He dismissed the man's appearance with a single glance and focused on his words.
The storyteller spoke in an impassioned cadence, as if lost in a reverie: "...Though she had slain dragons and brought deities to their knees, she was ultimately crushed by the weight of the heavens. Death claimed her at the journey's end. For all her heroic deeds, for all the blood and flesh Empress Esoteric offered to protect the people of this world, she died utterly alone, shivering in the bitter cold of death and solitude!"
As he uttered the final words, tears welled in the corners of his eyes, his voice cracking with genuine grief.
Kazuya's expression remained flat. Scanning the crowd, he saw some audience members clapping enthusiastically at the dramatic tale, while others murmured amongst themselves about the tragic Empress Esoteric. A small portion of the crowd looked utterly unimpressed, dismissing the performance as a meaningless children's fable before walking away.
As the crowd rapidly dispersed, Kazuya turned to leave. But before he could step away, the storyteller hopped down from the dry fountain and marched straight toward him, his eyes locked onto the boy.
Kazuya briefly regretted not leaving sooner, but held his ground, calmly meeting the approaching man's gaze.
The man flashed a wide, crooked grin and bowed slightly, extending a calloused hand. "A fresh face! My name is Judd. I recount the great tales here in this square, it is my solemn duty and life's calling. Tell me, young man, don't you find such histories utterly fascinating?"
Kazuya sized him up. With his wild hair, filthy garments, missing teeth, and sunken eyes, most passersby would recoil or refuse physical contact. But Kazuya paid physical appearances no mind and casually accepted the handshake.
Judd was visibly stunned. He intentionally preached from the elevated fountain to maintain a comfortable distance from his audience, fully accustomed to people flinching away or rejecting his hand. The quiet indifference of the youth before him caught him completely off guard.
Judd's smile broadened, but Kazuya spoke first. "You called me a fresh face. Is my appearance really that memorable?"
Judd paused for a second. Had anyone else asked, he might have assumed they were boasting about their looks. But looking into Kazuya's flat gaze, he realized the question was purely logical.
He quickly clarified, "No, no, not at all! I simply possess an exceptional memory. I can recall almost any face after seeing it once or twice, especially those who stop to listen to my tales. That is how I knew you were new."
Kazuya gave a subtle nod of understanding. Where others saw a repulsive beggar to be shunned, Kazuya saw an eccentric individual with a remarkably useful cognitive trait.
"Tell me about your stories," Kazuya said flatly.
Judd's eyes lit up. "My stories are real! Well... almost real. Since I did not live through those bygone eras, I gather myths and fragments from across the lands. If I can weave them into a compelling narrative, I present them to the public, even if the original legends are completely unrelated! I might take three or four disparate myths from entirely different regions and splice them together. If it forms a grand, captivating story, I do so without hesitation."
Kazuya noted the irony. In a way, Judd's creative mixing of lore was muddying the waters for future historians attempting to piece together true history. Yet, he reasoned that if scholars were capable of unraveling the truth from those shattered myths, they would have done so already. In reality, Judd was simply repurposing useless, forgotten folklore to entertain the masses.
"Your last tale," Kazuya queried, "about Empress Esoteric..."
Judd's gaze drifted back into a nostalgic haze as he rambled passionately. "Ah! Though my knowledge of her is fragmental, I can feel her grand essence! Empress Esoteric was a legendary figure, a dazzling sun, the radiant light of dawn, as magnificent as a full moon in a pitch-black sky! She was a hero, a savior, the Mother of Goodness and Blessings, Sacrifice Incarnate, and the Saint of Blood! She is the ultimate ideal humanity should admire and strive toward! She is undoubtedly—"
"But isn't she dead?" Kazuya interrupted, his tone completely deadpan.
The words choked in Judd's throat.
Kazuya continued, his voice cold. "According to your own story, she sacrificed everything only to die terrified and alone in the cold. Wouldn't admiring her simply encourage others to follow the same path, only to suffer the exact same miserable fate?"
The words made Judd freeze mid-breath. The figure he idolized, the heroine he virtually worshiped, was being dismantled before his eyes with blunt logic.
"T-That's... that isn't true!" Judd stuttered weakly, his confidence shattered. "She was a magnificent figure! People must aspire to her example... to make the world a better place!"
Kazuya stared at him in silence for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh. "I won't question your beliefs. Admire her, or worship her if you wish. I won't stop you."
Without another word, Kazuya turned and walked away.
Judd remained rooted to the spot. It took several seconds before he turned to look for the youth, but Kazuya had already melted into the crowd. He had never expected such plain words to shake his convictions so deeply. Shivering, Judd clasped his trembling hands before his mouth, closed his eyes, and began to pray in silence.
...
An hour later, Kazuya halted his march through the city streets, a faint frown touching his features.
While the existence of Ritual Arts was common knowledge among the public, actual materials and texts were nowhere to be found in standard shops.
Is deeper knowledge regarding Ritual Arts so tightly restricted that a public market simply cannot exist? he pondered.
Furthermore, if Foci and Ritual Arts represent two opposing vectors of power—one intrinsic and internal, the other learned and external—do they follow a similar rule of innate affinity? Not everyone is born with a Foci, so it's entirely plausible that not everyone possesses the capacity to use Ritual Arts. Kalthor's exceptional talent for Ritual Arts, despite the system being theoretically learnable, heavily supports that hypothesis. Perhaps this internal predisposition is the very reason Ritual Arts claim so few practitioners.
Or perhaps there is a more practical reason: the municipal authorities are actively suppressing the proliferation of Ritual Arts to prevent civil chaos and preserve their monopoly on power. If so, people would go to extreme lengths to operate in the shadows, avoiding the notice of city guards.
That explains why every seller I've encountered so far has been a petty fraud offering worthless items. If the genuine market is hidden, how do I find it? I need to think like a smuggler. If I were selling illicit ritual goods in this city, where would I set up shop?
A sudden realization struck him.
Taverns and bars.
If I were a merchant dealing in heavily regulated ritual items in a city like this, I would never set up a traditional storefront. I would hide in plain sight, embedded within the loudest, most chaotic hubs where the authority of the officials is stretched thin.
Furthermore, these establishments are natural gathering points for traveling merchants, desperate mercenaries, and corrupt low-level guards. These are the precise spots where smuggled goods change hands after breaching the city gates.
A follow-up thought made Kazuya pause, weighing the logic carefully.
But wait... if I can deduce this in a matter of minutes, the city authorities have undoubtedly reached the same conclusion. They know what transpires in these venues. Why permit it?
After a few moments of careful deliberation, the answer became clear. It was a deliberate strategy.
On one hand, it's a matter of containment. If the government completely wiped out the bars and taverns, the black market wouldn't vanish, it would simply scatter into private basements, hidden tunnels, and residential alleys across the city. By permitting a few known, specific hubs to operate, the authorities created a manageable containment zone. Monitoring a handful of rowdy taverns with undercover informants is far easier than hunting phantoms across the entire city.
On the other hand, it came down to corruption. Low-tier guards likely line their pockets with bribes and protection fees from these establishments. High-ranking officials deliberately turn a blind eye because a well-bribed, comfortable guard force will remain loyal and doesn't need to demand higher wages from the municipal treasury.
The authorities aren't foolish. They don't want to eradicate the black market, they want to regulate it, skim from its profits, and ensure it never grows powerful enough to threaten their rule.
Having unraveled the underlying structure of the city's underbelly, Kazuya set out to locate the nearest establishment.
It didn't take long to find a weathered building bearing a creaking wooden sign: The Dawn Sky Bar.
Kazuya pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
Instantly, the roaring laughter, clinking glasses, and loud chatter died out completely. Every eye in the dimly lit place turned to fixate on the young newcomer standing in the doorway.