Early in the morning, John headed into work.
The air was still cold, carrying the damp smell of stone and old wood. The shop was quiet except for the faint creak of beams settling as the city woke.
Arthur barely looked up from the orders in his hand.
“We’ve got a job. An odd one,” he said. “Official orders from the castle. We’re fixing the dam in the slums.”
He stopped speaking.
The silence stretched.
“No builder’s been sent there in ten years,” Arthur added. “There’s a reason for that.”
Metal scraped softly as he reached behind the counter and pulled free a sword, setting it down with a dull thud.
“How are you with weapons?”
John swallowed. “I’ve got a dagger… but I haven’t had to use it.”
Arthur nodded once.
“Then we’re stepping out back. You don’t enter the slums without a plan B.”
---
They stepped outside behind the shop.
The alley smelled of damp earth and rust. Morning light spilled unevenly between buildings, catching dust in the air.
John shifted his weight. “I never really signed up for this kind of work.”
Arthur rested the sword against his shoulder.
“I get where you’re coming from. I’m not a fan either,” he said. “But sometimes you do what you have to do.”
He glanced down the alley.
“And when you do, it helps to know enough to walk away alive.”
Arthur rolled his shoulders.
“Alright. Take out your dagger and come at me.”
John hesitated as he drew the blade. “Are you serious?”
Arthur tapped the dull sheen of scales along his arm.
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“Don’t worry about me. A little dagger isn’t piercing this.”
He raised his sword—but kept the tip low.
“Just show me what you’ve got.”
John rushed forward and lunged—
—and completely missed.
Arthur stepped aside casually.
John slipped and hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him.
Arthur sighed.
“Alright. No talent,” he said. Then added, “but I can work with you.”
John pushed himself back to his feet.
Arthur nudged his boots into place.
“Feet first. Better. Your movement was awkward—too stiff. Everything starts from here.”
He adjusted John’s grip on the dagger.
“There. Much better.”
John frowned. “Is this really necessary? Can’t we just bring guards or something?”
Arthur snorted.
“Sure. If you don’t mind working for free. Guards take their cut first—all of it.”
John hesitated. “If there’s a way to avoid doing this, then—”
Arthur cut him off.
“We’re not avoiding it.” He met John’s eyes. “And what do you do if you get in trouble when no one’s around?”
John didn’t answer.
---
John spent the rest of the evening training.
By the end of it, his arms trembled. His legs burned. Sweat soaked through his clothes.
Exhausted, he slumped onto a bench.
His ID card pulsed softly.
Combat — Lv. 1 achieved
Arthur nodded.
“Good. We’ll call it here. Take the rest of the day off.”
He pressed ten gold coins into John’s hand.
“Your pay for today.”
John blinked. “But we didn’t build or fix anything.”
Arthur shrugged.
“Training for a job is still job-related. So it counts.”
---
The next day, bright and early, Arthur had the carriage waiting outside the shop.
Morning light washed over the street as the horse shifted impatiently.
“I hope you’re ready,” Arthur said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
John adjusted his pack.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
---
The carriage ride was slower this time.
Arthur kept his eyes on the road.
“Honestly, I’m sorry this is only your second job,” he said. “Most people don’t see danger this early.”
The wheels creaked as they rolled on.
“But maybe facing it now will spare you the shock later,” Arthur continued. “Builders work in all kinds of situations—wars, sieges, places no one else wants to touch.”
He glanced back.
“And knowing the area you’re working in is sometimes just as important as knowing how to do the job.”
John took a slow breath.
“How bad can it really be?” he asked. “It’s still part of Blackstone… right?”
Arthur didn’t answer right away.
“It is,” he said finally. “But it’s different. The place stinks. Crime’s high.”
He lowered his voice.
“And I’ve got my suspicions this repair isn’t just about the dam. Fixing it might help people—or it might make us the enemy.”
---
The carriage rolled to a stop.
“We’re close enough,” Arthur said. “There’s a stable here. Guarded.”
He climbed down.
John frowned. “Why stop here?”
Arthur snorted.
“If we take a carriage into the slums, we’ll be walking home by the end of the day.”
---
A few guards approached and inspected the carriage.
“Hey, Arthur. Long time no see,” one said. “We’ll watch over it.”
Arthur nodded.
“Thanks. I’d stay and chat, but we’ve got work.”
The guard hesitated.
“Good luck. The slums have had a lot of movement recently.”
Arthur didn’t ask questions.
“Figures.”
---
After walking a while, the stone roads gave way to dirt.
The main gate was worn and splintered. No guards stood watch.
Instead, men lingered nearby—dirty clothes, grim faces, makeshift weapons clutched loosely in their hands.
Smoke hung in the air. Something stale and sour clung to every breath.
Arthur slowed beside John.
“Eyes forward,” he muttered. “Don’t stare.”
---
The men closed in.
A large man stepped forward, a crude spear resting in his grip. He spat on the ground.
“Name’s Jake,” he said. “Last name’s none of your business.”
He tilted the spear.
“You want into my district, you pay. Five gold.”
Arthur straightened and produced an official document bearing the king’s seal.
“I suggest you don’t,” Arthur said calmly. “This isn’t typical business.”
Jake ripped the paper in half and let it fall.
“You think I give two craps about the king?” he sneered. “I’m the king of this district. What I say goes.”
He gestured sharply.
Weapons came up around them.
---
John’s fingers tightened around his concealed knife. The handle felt slick in his palm.
His hands trembled.
Overhead, clouds rolled in, dulling the light as the air grew heavy.
Arthur shifted slightly in front of him.
And no one spoke.
