Konola City sat on the border of the Kingdom of Camos, flanked by mountains to the west and the Aigma Wasteland to the east. A canal ran through it, making transportation and trade highly convenient. Its location was both strategically advantageous and defensible.
Though the Kingdom of Camos had long been a barren and warless land, tensions with the Kingdom of Dylan had escalated in recent years. Konola, positioned near the southern border with Dylan, had seen a surge in stationed troops.
Punk and Kane approached the city gate, where a massive crimson flag bearing an abstract griffon emblem fluttered above.
The imposing 20-meter-high walls, constructed of solid granite blocks, bore deep scars from past battles. Their angular, timeworn surfaces exuded an air of historical weight.
At the entrance, a queue of merchants and travelers awaited inspection. The soldiers stationed there, burly and unrefined, openly demanded bribes.
An elderly man in tattered clothes, failing to satisfy a guard's greed, was shoved to the ground and kicked mercilessly.
To the side of the main gate, a smaller entrance was reserved for nobles and professionals.
Unlike the chaotic main gate, this side door remained relatively quiet. Commoners kept their distance, while an old warrior sat lazily on a wooden chair, sipping from a flask—clearly the gatekeeper. A brief scan revealed him to be a first-level apprentice warrior, too old to harbor any hope of advancement.
"I have no intention of waiting in that line," Kane stretched, glancing toward the side entrance.
"Let's go through there. That old man wouldn't dare stop us."
Punk had the same thought. Carrying his staff, he moved toward the smaller gate.
The old gatekeeper, noticing the approaching duo, sluggishly stood and retrieved a parchment from his coat. After taking another slow sip of alcohol, he stepped into their path.
Punk's gaze darkened.
The man's posture reeked of someone expecting a "convenience fee," but with only five gold coins to his name, Punk had no intention of wasting any. While five gold coins could sustain a common household for half a year, they were nothing for a mage hungry for knowledge.
"If that geezer asks me for money, I'll beat him down right here," Kane muttered, clearly just as irate.
After a grueling week of travel, his patience had long since worn thin.
Punk, however, was unfazed. It was unlikely the old man would dare provoke two fourth-level professionals over a petty bribe.
Sure enough, the gatekeeper did not demand payment.
He simply had them register their professions and levels—without even asking their names. When he realized these two young men, barely fifteen years old, had already reached level four, the parchment slipped from his trembling hands.
Kane, ever the show-off, unleashed his aura of power before striding through the gate with a theatrical clatter of armor, ignoring Punk's look of disdain.
Inside the city, Konola's medieval charm unfolded before Punk's eyes.
As a military stronghold, its streets were paved with coarse gravel to accommodate the army's movements. In the humid spring air, patches of moss clung to the edges of the stone roads, adding a touch of green to the otherwise gray cityscape.
At the entrance stood a bustling marketplace.
Shops displayed large, straightforward signs—typically the owner's name followed by their trade, such as Sibak's Clothier or Guge's Fresh Meat. Vendors without storefronts hawked their wares from roadside stalls, creating an atmosphere of lively disorder.
Despite the apparent chaos, the city radiated prosperity.
"So, what's your plan now?" Kane clapped a hand on Punk's shoulder with an air of forced camaraderie.
Punk sidestepped the touch.
"What about you?"
"Me?" Kane grinned.
"I'm off to the Adventurer's Guild to start my glorious career as a hero of legend!"
With that, he turned toward a row of food vendors.
"But first—food. A proper feast to reward myself!"
"Then goodbye," Punk said flatly, turning in the opposite direction.
"Yeah, yeah—goodbye~~" Kane waved dismissively, already haggling over food prices with a merchant.
Punk was more than pleased to part ways.
Though Kane seemed carefree and easygoing, Punk had long since recognized the truth—he was a cunning and ruthless individual. Working with him ensured efficiency, but also demanded constant vigilance.
A man like Kane would not hesitate to bury a knife in a "brother's" back for the right price.
Punk much preferred cooperating with those from the so-called "righteous" factions.
With them, as long as one played along with their ideals, there was no need to worry about betrayal. At critical moments, those "noble knights" would even throw away their lives for justice—perfect, disposable shields.
With that in mind, Punk continued toward a striking structure with a high spire.
Unlike the marketplace's rustic buildings, this one was built with proper blue bricks and tiles, giving it a refined, scholarly air. A nine-petaled, purple-red flower insignia adorned its banners—the mark of the Mage's Guild.
Even from a distance, Punk could sense the powerful fluctuations of magic emanating from within.
The entire building had been painted a vibrant green for some reason, but there was no mistaking it—
this was the local Mage's Guild branch.