Chapter 4 — Names and Prices
The road widened before the city did.
Wheel ruts deepened. Footprints multiplied. The dirt grew harder, darker, packed by weight and repetition. Trade moved here. Regularly.
Yeager slowed as voices began to carry on the wind.
Not village murmurs.
Structured noise.
Shouting. Laughter. Metal striking metal.
Civilization, scaled upward.
The walls came into view over the next rise.
Stone.
Not magnificent, not towering—but deliberate. Reinforced gates. Watch platforms. Banners hanging from wooden beams above the entrance.
Two guards stood at the open gate, spears grounded but not relaxed.
A line of travelers waited to enter.
Merchants with carts. Farmers with sacks. A pair of men leading donkeys. One woman carrying a covered basket too carefully to contain something simple.
Yeager joined the line without speaking.
Eyes found him quickly.
His clothes were still stained. Darkened where blood had once soaked through. Dust from the road clung to him, but it did not hide what he was.
Alone.
Unarmed.
Unbothered.
The guards assessed each person slowly. Questions asked. Small pouches exchanged hands. Names written into a ledger.
Yeager watched the ink dry between entries.
When it was his turn, the nearer guard looked him over without subtlety.
“Name.”
The question hung in the air.
Yeager did not hesitate.
“Yeager.”
The guard dipped his quill.
“Family?”
“None.”
The quill paused for a fraction too long before scratching across parchment again.
“Origin?”
Yeager considered the forest.
“Traveling.”
The guard’s eyes lifted.
“That wasn’t the question.”
Silence stretched.
Yeager met his gaze without challenge.
“Nowhere that matters.”
The second guard shifted slightly, grip tightening on his spear.
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The first guard studied Yeager a moment longer, then moved on.
“Occupation?”
The question was routine.
The answer was not.
Yeager thought of death row.
Of needles.
Of blackness.
Of the wolf.
“…Labor.”
It was close enough to truth.
The guard finished writing.
“Entry tax.”
Yeager did not move.
He had nothing.
The guard waited.
The line behind him grew restless.
“You’re not entering for free.”
Yeager glanced past the guard at the city beyond.
Stone streets.
Open markets.
Structures three stories high.
Movement everywhere.
Opportunity.
He returned his attention to the guard.
“I have no coin.”
The second guard exhaled sharply, already shifting posture toward dismissal.
“Then you don’t enter.”
Simple.
Clean.
Final.
Yeager felt the faint stir of irritation.
It did not trigger fear.
It did not grant strength.
It was just… inconvenience.
He looked at the ledger.
“Is there another way?”
The first guard watched him carefully now.
“There’s always another way.”
He gestured vaguely toward a side building just inside the gate.
“The Adventurers’ Guild registers labor contracts. You work. They take their cut. City takes theirs. You get entry.”
Yeager followed the gesture with his eyes.
A wooden structure reinforced with iron bands. A sign hung above its entrance—crossed weapons burned into the wood.
Work.
That implied coin.
Coin implied leverage.
“Temporary entry?” Yeager asked.
The guard shrugged.
“They sponsor you, you enter.”
“And if they refuse?”
“Then you turn around.”
The answer held no malice.
Just fact.
Yeager nodded once.
The guard waved him aside.
“Next.”
Yeager stepped out of the line and toward the guild building.
Eyes followed him.
Not in fear.
In calculation.
Inside, the air smelled of sweat, metal oil, and cheap alcohol.
A large board dominated one wall, parchment sheets pinned in uneven rows. Tables filled the room. Groups of armored men and women spoke in low tones or laughed too loudly.
Yeager stood near the entrance and observed.
Weapons were varied.
Swords.
Axes.
Spears.
A few carried staves marked with faint etchings.
Energy users.
He could feel it—barely. A subtle vibration beneath the surface of their bodies, different from his own.
Contained.
Circulated.
Structured.
His was not.
His was reactive.
Wild, but obedient.
A woman sat behind a long counter near the back wall. Ledger open. Expression disinterested.
Yeager approached.
She did not look up immediately.
“Registration fee is five copper,” she said flatly.
“I have none.”
Now she looked at him.
Her gaze lingered on his clothes. His posture. His stillness.
“Then you’re here to waste my time.”
“I was told you sponsor labor.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“For a cut.”
“I will work.”
She leaned back in her chair.
“Everyone says that.”
She tapped the ledger with her quill.
“Rank?”
“I have none.”
“Experience?”
“Enough.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Confidence isn’t currency.”
Yeager said nothing.
Silence stretched.
The room behind him grew louder. Someone cheered. Someone cursed.
The receptionist studied him a moment longer, then reached for a stack of smaller parchments.
“F-rank provisional labor contracts.”
She slid one across the counter.
“Low risk. Low pay. City clearance for the day if you complete it.”
Yeager picked up the parchment.
It detailed a task in simple script:
Clear oversized vermin from grain storage on the east side. Report carcasses for verification.
Payment upon confirmation.
He looked up.
“When?”
She shrugged.
“Before sunset if you want today’s entry validated.”
Yeager folded the parchment once and tucked it into his clothing.
“Where?”
She gave directions without embellishment.
As he turned to leave, her voice followed him.
“If you die, don’t bleed inside the city.”
He did not answer.
Outside, the gate remained busy.
No one stopped him as he re-entered the road briefly to circle along the outer wall toward the eastern district.
The grain storage buildings stood separate from the denser housing.
Practical.
Flammable.
Important.
One large barn-like structure had its doors partially open.
Two workers stood outside arguing quietly.
“You’re not going in again.”
“We lose more if we don’t.”
Yeager approached.
They noticed him immediately.
“You guild?” one asked.
He nodded once.
The man stepped aside quickly.
“Big as dogs. Fast. Bit Joren bad.”
Inside, the air was thick with grain dust and the faint scent of rot.
Yeager stepped into the dimness.
Movement echoed across the rafters.
Scratching.
Multiple.
He did not draw a weapon.
He had none.
The first vermin dropped from above.
It was rat-shaped only in concept.
Its body was swollen, limbs elongated, teeth too numerous. Eyes cloudy but aware.
It lunged.
Yeager moved without thinking.
His hand intercepted its skull mid-air and redirected its momentum downward. The impact shattered bone against packed earth.
More followed.
Three.
Five.
They moved unpredictably, bouncing off walls, skittering across beams.
Yeager let one bite.
Its teeth pierced skin.
Blood surfaced.
It did not fall.
He grabbed it by the spine and snapped it cleanly.
The others hesitated.
Fear.
Animal.
Raw.
It brushed against him.
His body answered.
Strength deepened.
Vision sharpened.
He moved through them efficiently.
No wasted motion.
No cruelty.
When the last one fell, the barn grew still.
Grain dust drifted slowly in slanted beams of light.
Yeager looked down at the carcasses.
Too easy.
That thought did not bring pride.
Only assessment.
He gathered the bodies by their tails and carried them outside.
The two workers stared.
One swallowed hard.
“Just… like that?”
Yeager dropped the carcasses at their feet.
“Verification.”
They nodded quickly.
One ran toward the guild.
The other kept a careful distance.
Yeager stood in the open air and waited.
The city moved around him, indifferent.
A few people glanced at the carcasses.
Most did not.
When the guild runner returned with a marked token, he handed it over without meeting Yeager’s eyes.
“Validated. Present at gate before dusk.”
Yeager took the token.
Coin would follow later.
For now, entry was enough.
He walked back toward the main gate as the sun dipped lower.
The guards recognized him.
The first guard examined the token, then stepped aside.
“Labor confirmed. Entry granted until sunrise.”
No ceremony.
No welcome.
Yeager stepped through the gate.
Stone replaced dirt beneath his feet.
Noise surrounded him.
Life pressed close on all sides.
He felt it.
Thousands of heartbeats.
Thousands of veins carrying iron-rich warmth.
The pressure behind his eyes stirred faintly.
Not hunger.
Awareness.
The city did not know what had entered it.
And Yeager did not yet know what it would cost him to stay.
