The city took them in completely.
Aiden went along with the push of people, Rowan right beside him, sounds closing in from every direction. Sellers yelled louder than one another, wagons clattered on bumpy ground - off in the distance, a dog kept yapping till its voice gave out. Everything here buzzed with energy, wild and vivid, packed so tight it nearly seemed excessive.
He passed away for this spot. Yet it carried on, never skipping a beat.
"Does it get like this every time?" Rowan said, kind of amazed but also a bit stressed.
"This is nothing," Aiden said. "Wait until the markets open fully."
He turned down a side street. Not the main one - too open, too risky. Buildings here hunched nearer, squeezing darkness into tight spaces between shops and doorways. Clothes draped above on lines sagged like tired flags. The air changed - less toast and fire, more pee and wet rock.
Rowan scrunched up his face. "This place feels familiar - reeks just like my house."
Aiden looked down the road. Some guys stood around on street corners, keeping an eye out. The women argued prices with a fish seller who kept staring at Aiden's gear. Two kids ran by fast, one holding a snatched apple tight, like it meant something.
He wanted details - names, roles. Because if he rushed at Kael or Holt clueless about who blocked his way, it wouldn't just hurt - he'd stay gone for good.
The System's final alert stayed just outside his focus. Not hunters but ghosts.
Hunters - those chasing dangers. Ghosts - what slips past them, quiet, unseen.
He figured out where he belonged.
"First rule," he said quietly to Rowan. "In a place like this, keep your eyes open and your mouth small."
Rowan nodded quickly. "Got it. Small mouth. Big eyes."
"Exactly."
He eased up by a stand hawking rusty gear and knickknacks, acted like he was checking out a chipped blade while listening to the talk at his back.
"…they say the prince's celebration got bigger after that knight died."
"Of course it did. One less hero to steal his shine."
"Careful. You want to lose your tongue?"
Nervous laughter followed.
Aiden kept going - otherwise they might've seen how frozen he was.
"Where are we going?" Rowan whispered.
"Somewhere people talk too much," Aiden said. "And somewhere soldiers drink."
Rowan made a face. "Guess we're stuck with taverns now."
Taverns? That's where high-ranking guys let go and slipped up. Rumors ended up as mumbled truths. Hidden stuff turned into tales people told. Back then, Aiden once shared those benches, chuckling along - never guessing ears were catching every word.
Then it was his turn to listen.
They rounded a bend, then the road spilled out onto a tiny plaza. In the center stood an old fountain - broken, parched, littered with trash. Along its rim, three bars glared across at one another, each sizing up the rest.
The first seemed off - cracked sign, door tilted a bit, laughs way too loud yet shrill.
The next one looked tidier, glass still unbroken, while coins tapped and quiet talk slipped out.
The third one showed a new coat of paint on its sign, while a flute's tune slipped between the surrounding clamor.
Rowan looked at each of them. "So - what's your pick?"
Aiden acted fast - his finger shot toward the toughest guy. "Him."
"Sure thing," Rowan mumbled.
When they moved across the plaza, Aiden sensed stares once more - not just the typical side-eye aimed at someone clad in metal, but sharper ones; probing. Glances that weighed risk, gauging whether he'd spark chaos or crush it, based on whose purse was heavier.
Fine. Let them think he's just a guy on patrol. As long as folks believe it's a watchdog, nobody spots a spirit.
He shoved the pub's entrance wide.
Heat came before anything - then the stink of sweat, stale beer, thick soot lingering in the air. Inside, it was murky even with lamps lit; their glow barely cutting through layers of dirt on walls and ceiling. Wooden tables stood crowded across the floor, most made from rough planks nailed together. Men sat hunched over them, dressed in torn shirts or worn-out leathers. One guy wore something that might've been a dusty lion emblem once.
Chat died down once Aiden walked in. People looked his way. Some quietly reached for their concealed blades.
Rowan ducked back a little, hiding near Aiden's side.
Aiden moved like he fit right in, like it wasn't his first time. Actually, it was - one night only - but different bars, same smell.
The bartender - built thick, with a slash down his chin - propped himself on the bar. "Since when do we cater to kings?" he asked, staring at the metal suit.
"Hardly," Aiden replied. "Just a thirsty man with an empty throat."
Some people laughed. The stress let up just a bit.
The bartender nodded toward me. "Pay up front."
Aiden slid a hand beneath his armor, yanking free a tiny pouch snatched from a dead guard back in the crypt. A couple coins clinked onto the wooden bar. "Bring me cheap ale," he grunted. One more coin zipped sideways across the surface. "Water - get it for the kid."
Rowan blinked. "You remembered me."
"You're loud," Aiden said. "Hard to forget."
He grabbed the rough wooden mug sliding across the counter. The drink reeked - weak, kinda off. Still, he tasted a bit, just to look busy, then leaned on the bar, eyes drifting around the place.
Near the rear, tucked by a table set off from the others, three guys stayed seated. Their gear didn't match, yet looked sturdier than most. On one guy's shoulder, a lion symbol stood out - fresher, cleaner than Aiden's taken badge.
They whispered, hands curled around cold drinks. The first one carried himself like a man who's always calling the shots - everyone listens when he speaks.
Aiden tilted his head their way. "What's their deal?" he muttered to the bartender.
The man snorted. "Watch detail. Rotating from the inner district. Think that makes 'em better than the rest of us."
"Inside area?" Aiden said again.
"Closer to the palace," the barkeep said. "Closer to the ones who don't bleed in the mud like everyone else."
Near Kael now. Then a bit toward Holt. Not far from Seris either.
Aiden sipped his ale again, slow this time. He let it linger before swallowing.
Rowan pulled on his cuff. "Uh... do we stay here?"
"Not yet," Aiden murmured. "Stand. Listen."
Fragments of talk drifted toward him.
"…extra patrols since the knight's death…"
"…captain's been in a foul mood. Heard he wanted the body burned, but the priests refused…"
"…they say the corpse was moved to some crypt on the outskirts. Safer, they said."
So word never spread that he'd betrayed them. Among the junior folks, though, his name stayed strong.
The idea squirmed inside him.
One of the inner-district guards slammed his mug down. "I'm telling you, something's off. Holt doesn't brood like this over a dead knight. He hated the man."
"Yeah?" another said. "Maybe he's just pissed the prince is getting all the praise again."
The first snorted. "No. It's something else. Rumor is, they couldn't open the coffin after the blessing. Priest said the lock wouldn't break."
"Magic?"
"Or bad carpentry."
Laughter.
Aiden squinted. Looks like they'd made a move to reach his body again. The priests got in the way this time. Some glitch with the blessing - maybe the System itself - blocked them.
He drained the last of his drink, dropped the cup onto the table, then shoved away from the bar.
Rowan raised his eyes to meet the man's gaze. "So, what's next?"
"To sit closer," Aiden said. "And to let them talk louder."
He moved across the space, picking a spot by the inner-block sentries - near to catch talk, distant enough to look detached. Rowan dropped into the chair facing him, gripping his drink tight with two palms.
"Remember," Aiden said under his breath, eyes on his mug. "You're just a boy heading for work. I'm just a tired soldier. We don't care about anything."
Rowan gave a small nod, hoping to seem invisible.
The guards kept talking. Names came up - cops, places, duty times. Meanwhile, Aiden tucked each detail into memory, slowly piecing together who ran which zone.
Then a single name stood out from the others.
"…Seris attended the ceremony herself," one guard said, sounding almost impressed. "She even spoke a prayer for the knight. Poor bastard never knew how high she stood."
Aiden gripped the mug tighter, knuckles whitening slightly.
Seris. During the burial. Talking beside the casket.
He imagined her right there, head down, hands crossed. Faking sorrow. Those very lips - once murmuring vows - now saying prayers.
His jaw hurt. So he made himself loosen it.
Holt?" one guard said. "Yeah?" another replied.
The first shrugged. "In and out of the barracks. Drills. Extra inspections. If you ask me, he's looking for something. Or someone."
A shiver ran up Aiden's back - sharper than ice in winter.
It rubbed him the wrong way.
If Holt got curious - or someone wondered whether Aiden's body was missing - everything would spiral out of control before schedule.
He had to get going faster - strike with more force.
Rowan shifted. "You're doing that thing again," he whispered.
"What thing?"
"Your eyes go all… sharp. Like you're about to stab the table."
Aiden shut one eye, real slow. "Got it."
He got up slowly. Drink the rest - time to go
Rowan swallowed the rest quick, then jumped to his feet. "So - did you find what you were after?"
"Enough to start," Aiden said.
When they returned to the open space, sunlight had moved. Dark lines grew across the ground, life in the area slowing down while midday slipped away.
The System chimed.
[Quest: Hunters and Ghosts – Progress Updated.]
[Information acquired:
Lady Seris showed up at your funeral.
Captain Holt's upping patrols - also stepping up checks.
Body spot isn't seen as steady anymore
[New Sub-Quest Unlocked: Mask of the Living.]
To stay under the radar in town while tracking key people, build a solid cover
Aiden exhaled through his nose. "So being a walking corpse in stolen armor isn't stable enough for you."
Rowan looked up. "So what's next?"
"Now," Aiden said, eyeing the busy streets, the alleys, the endless faces, "we stop being ghosts only in the dark. If I'm going to hunt them, I need to walk among them without anyone asking why I don't blink enough."
He headed down the block, thoughts racing ahead.
Somewhere in this town, folks faked documents, stole identities, hit spots where cash made silence.
As they braced for dangers in plain sight, the lifeless guy ensured the hidden threat crept nearer.