City Guard Office. "One gold coin," the clerk said without looking at me. His hands were busy sorting files. "For what?" "Residency tax, civil administration, and a security guarantee for one year."
I stared at the gold coin in my hand.
This single coin could feed an impoverished family for years. But here, it was merely the price of a stamp. The price of an illusion called 'security'.
I placed a single gold piece on his desk.
Clink.
The clerk startled, his head snapping up. It was rare for a vagrant—as he surely saw me—to pay off their annual tax upfront. His eyes widened at the gleam of the gold.
"Y-Yes... yes, of course! Right away, sir. Your citizen card is active. But remember, you still need to report in every two weeks."
I took the card and walked out.
I sat on a bench by the main road and lit a cigarette.
Haa...
This city was prosperous. Shops on every corner. Luxurious inns. Humans laughing without a care in the world.
I had money. I could rent the best room, eat meat every day, sleep on a goose-down mattress.
I was safe.
But my chest felt tight.
This sense of safety... it was poison.
If I stayed here too long, my instincts would dull. My ears would forget how to distinguish the sound of the wind from the breathing of a predator. My muscles would grow soft, just like theirs.
Monsters could appear anywhere. Disaster did not recognize city walls.
I could not trust this man-made peace.
I stood up, crushing the cigarette butt under my boot.
I had to be prepared. Always.
Luxury Clothing Boutique.
Marble floors, velvet curtains, and the scent of lavender.
Two guards at the door glared at me—my clothes were tattered, dusty, reeking of the desert. They were about to block my path, until I deliberately let my coin pouch clink against the hilt of my sword.
Chink.
They stepped aside.
"Welcome..." A female attendant approached. Her smile was perfectly rehearsed, yet her eyes scanned the dust on my boots with thinly veiled disgust. "What are you looking for... sir?"
"New clothes."
She led me to a row of noblemen's suits. Silk, lace, ribbons. Clothes meant for dolls, not men.
"I am a hunter," I cut in coldly.
"I understand, sir. But in this city, appearances are a second currency." She pointed to a crimson suit embroidered with gold. "Inspired by the city's hero. Very popular."
"Too flashy. Do you take custom orders?"
The woman paused, one eyebrow raised. "Custom? Yes, we accept those as well."
"I have a design." I asked for pen and paper.
I sketched quickly. Sharp lines. No lace. Functional.
"For the material... I want something tear-resistant. Fireproof, if possible. Breathable. Flexible."
She stared at my sketch. "Fireproof? Are you looking for armor?"
"No. Armor restricts movement. I want fabric. Do you have cloth that can repair itself? Or at least something woven with magic?"
The woman looked at me, then back at my design. The doubt on her face vanished the moment she realized I knew what I was talking about.
"We have fabric woven from cave spider silk. Extremely rare. It can mend small tears due to the magical memory in its threads, but it is not as sturdy as steel. The cost is... quite exorbitant."
"How much?"
"Hmm... one gold coin per set."
One gold coin. Five years of taxes. The price of a small house in a village. Just for a single outfit.
"Make five sets."
I placed five gold coins on the counter. The stack gleamed, reflecting the greed sparking in the attendant's eyes.
The woman's eyes lit up. The disgust on her face vanished instantly, replaced by absolute subservience. Money always spoke louder than status.
"We will get to work immediately, sir. Immediately."