The morning turned out to be foggy. For his outing, Alex chose a simple traveling suit without any family crests, throwing a cloak with a deep hood over his shoulders. He didn't want to attract unnecessary attention—an aristocrat in the artisans' quarter would look like a white crow in a burnt field.
Leaving the castle grounds, he delved into the labyrinthine streets of the capital of the Duchy of Morin. The city was bustling. It lacked the sterility of his former world; instead, it was dominated by the smells of fresh bread, horse manure, soot from forges, and the sea salt carried by the wind from the river.
Alex walked slowly, capturing every detail. His engineering eye instinctively performed an inspection: "The cobblestones were laid by hand, which is no surprise; drainage is planned but clogged with debris. The block and winch at the construction site are wooden, with a massive coefficient of friction—this is probably one of the peaks of engineering thought right now."
He stopped at an armory shop, examining a sword on display. The steel wasn't bad, but the uneven tempering was visible even to the naked eye. For this world, it was likely a masterpiece; for Alex, it was a reminder of how far he was from the era of precision machinery.
"Real steel doesn't like being stared at, lad," a low, raspy voice grunted. Alex looked around. Standing by the entrance of a smoky forge, leaning against the doorframe, was a burly man with burned forearms and an eyepatch. His skin was covered in a layer of soot, and he held a heavy hammer as if it weighed nothing.
"I'm looking at the carbon spots, not the beauty of the form," Alex replied calmly, forgetting that the term "carbon" might be unknown here.
The blacksmith narrowed his one eye. "Carbo-what? You talk like you know metal better than old Hans. Most young lordlings only look at how the hilt shines."
"Shine won't save you if the blade snaps upon the first collision with a cuirass due to internal stress in the metal," Alex stepped closer, curiously examining the forge's bellows. "Your furnace doesn't provide a uniform temperature. If you add a ceramic insert and change the air intake angle, you'll get a much cleaner alloy."
Hans wanted to curse at the arrogant youth, but something in Alex's cold, calculating gaze made him pause. The boy wasn't boasting—he was stating facts as confidently as the fact that there were currently two moons in the sky.
"Ceramics will shatter from the heat," the smith grunted, but now with a hint of curiosity.
"It won't shatter if you know the right clay composition and the firing method," Alex gave a faint smile.
"And do you know how, kid?" Hans spat on the ground.
"Perhaps," Alex replied with a mysterious smile. "If you want to know more—come to Corvus in about forty days."
Alex wanted to say "months," but remembered that the term didn't exist here. Without further explanation, he turned and left the forge.
He didn't intend to hire Hans right then and there. It was important for him just to sow the seed. If this master was truly worth his salt, his curiosity would lead him to Corvus on its own. Now, Alex needed to feel the true pulse of this world—the market.
Alex entered the main market square, where the roar of the crowd could deafen an unprepared person. Passing by rows of spices and fabrics, he kept his hands in his pockets. His attention was caught by a small stall at the very end of the metal row. There lay only a few small ingots of a matte shade, resembling dark titanium.
Alex stopped. His engineering intuition practically screamed: "This isn't iron." He stepped closer and ran a finger over the surface. The metal was surprisingly cold.
"Don't dawdle, boy," the trader rasped. "This isn't something you buy to shoe a mare."
"What is this alloy?" Alex asked quietly. The metal was heavier than he expected. The specific gravity was incredible.
"Oh, you've got an eye! This is metal from Karandur itself. Direct supply from the dwarves. They call it 'deep silver,' though there's not a broken groat's worth of silver in there."
"Is it non-magnetic?" slipped from Alex's lips, and he immediately bit his tongue.
"Mag-ne... what?" the trader asked. "Look, it doesn't rust, doesn't bend, and holds an edge so sharp you could shave with an axe for ten years. But one such ingot costs as much as three good horses."
Alex silently put the metal back. Formulas were already spinning in his head. Dwarven technology clearly surpassed local human tech by centuries. But right now, he lacked the resources. Alex was deep in thought when something else suddenly caught his attention.
"Come on, sweetheart..." a man, clearly drunk, staggered and tried to grab her by the shoulder. "We just... hic... we just want to treat you."
"Stay back!" the girl's voice trembled.
She tried to retreat, but three men blocked her path. There, in a narrow alley, a lone girl was surrounded. She tightly clutched some local pastries in her hands. The trio reeked of cheap ale from a mile away.
Alex sighed; he detested such men. "If you've over-drank—go home. You could bring trouble not just on yourself, but on others." He approached from behind quietly, almost soundlessly, and simply placed his hands on the shoulders of two of the men.
Focusing on the "spark," he released a discharge.
Zap. An electrical impulse surged through their bodies, causing spasms. Both men made a strange sound, their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed onto the cobblestones like heavy sacks. The leader froze.
"What... what kind of devilry is this?" he rasped.
"It's called cardiac arrest, want to try it?" Alex lied drily. "Run while your legs still obey you."
The drunkard bolted.
Alex exhaled heavily. His hands tingled unpleasantly, and a familiar pressure appeared in his head. He approached the girl.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "Thank you... How did you do that? You didn't even hit them."
"Let's just say I overloaded their nervous systems," Alex nodded toward her pastries, which now lay in the mud. "You were out shopping."
"Yes, um... I was told a shop opened here, the goods were cheap and the prices affordable," her voice trembled. "That was our last money for the final days."
The girl's eyes began to water. She looked at the pastries as if they were treasure. Alex gave a weary sigh—this was a real hassle, but he couldn't just leave her like this.
"Alright, come on," he said.
"What? Where?" she exclaimed in surprise, taking a step back.
"To the shop, where else? I'll buy you new pastries."
"No, no, I can't..."
"What do you mean 'can't'?" Alex interrupted. "What will you eat for the next few days?"
Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the hand and led her along.
"Um, sir," she said timidly.
"What!" his voice came out sharper than he intended.
The girl flinched slightly but said, "The shop is in the other direction."
Alex stopped and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "My fault, sorry." He turned around and headed in the indicated direction, still holding her hand.
"Sir, won't you tell me who you are?"
Alex thought for a moment. He didn't intend to give his name to a random girl, so he remembered his favorite comic book hero.
"Wayne," he immediately regretted the choice, but continued, "Bruce Wayne."
"Bruce Wayne..." she repeated, "what a strange name."
"I'm just the son of a merchant from the central lands," he lied.
"Here," Alex said, handing the girl a package. "This should last for a few days."
"Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome. Take care of yourself..." he paused, as he hadn't asked her name.
"Anna," she said, smiling.
"Alright, take care, Anna."
Having said that, Alex moved on to continue inspecting the market. He didn't notice the mysterious smile of the girl who watched him go.
Anataris, Capital of Etheras, a few days later.
In the royal palace, a beautiful girl with golden hair lay on a bed. In her hands, she held a book titled "The Hero Knight and the Princess," smiling widely. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," the girl said, sitting up.
A knight entered the room and knelt.
"What news of my task, Carlos?" she asked, closing the book.
Carlos flinched for a moment but then replied, "Your Highness, forgive me, but no merchants by the name of Wayne have arrived in the capital or the Duchy of Morin recently."
"So, he lied," she said, her gaze becoming thoughtful.
"Perhaps we should look for merchants named Wayne in other cities?" the knight suggested.
"No, that's not necessary. You may go, Carlos."
Carlos hesitated, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to ask something.
"What is it, Carlos? Ask. You look like a fish out of water right now."
"Your Highness... may I please stop playing the part of a drunken thug who harrasses girls? Especially if that girl is the Princess of the country."
Yes, this knight was one of those three "drunks" at the market.
"Don't worry, Carlos, you won't have to play a part anymore," the princess said in a mysterious tone. "I've already found my 'hero'."
"Hero?"
"It's nothing. Go now."
Carlos bowed and left. The princess remained in the room, a predatory smile appearing on her face. She whispered, tasting the name,
"Bruce Wayne... I will find you, my 'hero'."