The next day, the caravan arrived at Albion’s capital.

Since they carried many weapons, inspection was required to enter. Albion’s law barred outsiders from bringing arms into the city. So some stayed at the campsite to guard the goods.

Selling inside meant paying taxes based on cargo value—a tedious process taking all day. After bidding Albert farewell, Boka and Aisha entered first. Inside, Boka was utterly awestruck. They’d passed towns over the past weeks, but nothing compared to this.

A magnificent castle loomed in the distance. Bustling streets teemed with crowds. Elegantly dressed women sold vibrant clothing. Stone slabs paved the roads, not mud. Drainage grates hinted at underground sewers to prevent floods—only royal designers achieved such planning. Everything felt novel.

“Aisha, look! That’s beautiful!” Boka pulled her to a fancy shop and picked up a feather accessory.

“You have excellent taste,” the shopkeeper said, stepping out. “East District artisans made it. Perfect for your sister.”

“I think so too.” Boka pinned it on Aisha’s head. “Perfect.”

“Yes, and only ten nir.”

“So cheap!” Boka handed copper coins to the shopkeeper.

“Thank you for your patronage.”

“Listen,” Aisha said coldly, staring at Boka. “Even as a gift, you just spent a third of our wealth.”

“Huh?! Really?” Boka had no money sense. That coin came from working for merchant Albert and his sister.

“Forget it.” Aisha adjusted the accessory. “Find an inn before evening.”

Nearby, cheers erupted. Boka’s attention snapped to soldiers marching down the road, led by two knights. Their dented armor and broken spears marked them as front-line returnees.

“What’s happening?” Boka wondered. Were soldiers truly this beloved?

“They’re expedition veterans,” the shopkeeper explained. “Nellos’s imperial capital fell four months ago. King and princess died. The war’s finally over.”

No war meant no deaths. That’s why people rejoiced.

“The century-long slaughter between Albion and Nellos ended,” the shopkeeper said, voice thick with emotion. “The Black Knight led our troops to crush Nellos’s army. No one knows his face, but thank the gods—my son’s coming home.”

“The Black Knight?”

“Sir, you’ve never heard of him?” The shopkeeper’s eyes held complexity.

“We’re from the countryside. Arrived today,” Aisha interjected.

“Ah, that explains it. Lord Black Knight is a hero. Clad in pitch-black armor, unseen face. His swordsmanship breached impregnable Nellos, sparing soldiers’ lives. Our children survived because of him.” Admiration filled his words.

“Yes, a hero…” Aisha murmured, watching the troops, face blank. Boka didn’t notice her.

This era knew endless war and death. In empires, soldiers brought only hatred. Yet now, a knight ended the slaughter. Naturally, people hailed them as heroes.

“By the way, where’s 16 Cle Street in the South District?” Boka checked a slip of paper.

“Cle Street? You mean the East District—it was reassigned ten years ago.” He pointed. “Straight down here, then right. Should help.”

“R-Really! Thanks. Hurry, or it’ll get dark.”

Boka grabbed Aisha’s hand, too excited to watch ahead. His shoulder bumped something. Refocusing, he saw he’d knocked over a woman.

Everyone froze, staring. Bumping a lady was deeply rude.

“Miss, are you alright?” Boka pulled her up.

Standing, she was tall—just shorter than him. Her age matched Boka’s. An exquisite silver outfit draped her frame. But her face was icy, a proud coldness like arctic frost, unlike Aisha’s. Dust smudged her cheek from the fall. Afraid of scolding, Boka fumbled out his handkerchief and wiped it.

“There, clean.”

Nearby gasps echoed in horror.

She said nothing, just stared at Boka, confusing him. The crowd’s panic deepened his bewilderment.

Boka’s balance vanished. He slammed to the ground. Two cold spears crossed his neck.

“How dare you touch Duke Agnes’s daughter with filthy hands!” the pinning soldier roared.

Boka struggled to rise but couldn’t move. He had no idea what he’d done wrong.

“Huh? Why this?” His face was pure confusion.

The soldiers yanked him up. “By Albion’s law, you’ll rot in prison!”

Boka, clueless as a lamb to slaughter, was dragged away.

Then the soldiers halted. Aisha blocked their path. No words—just a stare at the men holding Boka. In that instant, her gaze turned fiercely sharp, startling even Boka. He couldn’t name that aura.

“Release him.” The icy woman spoke. “I’m unharmed. Leave.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Aria.”

At her command, the soldiers snapped to and fled.

Aria briefly glanced at Boka and Aisha. Then she walked off, silent.

“So unreasonable,” Boka rubbed his shoulder. “I was wrong to bump her, but this is absurd.”

Aisha gave him a regretful, meaningful stare.

“You’re incredibly stupid.”

“G-Good heavens,” the shopkeeper stammered. “You… you touched House Agnes’s daughter and lived…”

Boka ignored him, pulling Aisha away.

“Aisha, was that truly rude?”

“Very. But first, understand nobility exists.”

“Is Aria a noble?”

“Obvious just by looking.”

Distracted by unfamiliar sights, they delayed further. Albion’s stone buildings stood sturdy and ancient. Capital construction was agency-funded, wood banned to prevent wartime fires. Moss crept through century-old cracks. The National Library’s grand, old-world facade showcased deep history.

By the time they reached their destination, dusk fell. Before them stood a derelict mansion. Broken windows, cracked tiles—it looked abandoned for years.

Boka’s father’s letter mentioned his merchant grandfather owned this mansion and over ten shops in Albion. His father inherited one. The doorplate still read “Bloomer family.” The address was correct. Something must have happened in twenty years to ruin it.

“Shall we go in?” Aisha suggested.

“Hmm.”

They pushed open the rusted gate. Inside, emptiness reigned. Furniture gone. Upstairs, some doors were ripped off. Stray dogs lurked, growling to claim territory. Boka grabbed a stone and hurled it. Emotions flaring, he nearly drew his bow. Aisha kicked him, calming him down.

“What next?”

“I don’t know.” Boka sulked.

Hungry since noon, Aisha led him to an inn. They bought fried rice and apple cider. Asking about the Bloomers, they learned only that Severus Bloomer failed in business a decade ago, selling all assets.

Boka sat at a door-side table. He chewed the rice without tasting it, sighing deeply.

“Down?” Aisha had cleared her plate. “Your rich-grandfather dream’s dead. You’re just a poor boy.”

“No… I just…”

“Not eating?” She snatched his plate. “Mine then.”

“You’re so mean…”

“No big deal. We’ll return to the mountains. Hunting’s fine.”

“Aisha, do you like mountain life?”

“Do you hate me?”

“No.”

“I don’t hate you either.”

Silence hung.

“I just want my family,” Boka said. “I feel abandoned. I need to know my past, my father’s.”

“Boka is Boka. No one else, right?”

“Hmm…”

“Your flaw is indecisiveness.”

Unlike peers, when Boka faltered, it was young Aisha Laseter who mocked and guided him like an elder. Their roles often swapped.

Aisha devoured his food at lightning speed, wiped her mouth roughly. “Let’s go.”

“Huh?”

“To your father’s shop. It’s nearby, right?”