The evening air was thick with the mingling scents of street vendors and the hum of people bustling through the streets. The sky was a dusky shade of red, the last remnants of sunlight casting long shadows across the cobblestone roads.

  Lian had left the training center, his body still humming with the energy of the day’s intense exercises. The serenity of the training ground behind him faded as he stepped into the heart of the city, where the pace of life quickened.

  The streets were alive with activity, carriages clattering by and the rhythmic thud of carts being pushed along the crowded pathways. Men and women, weary from a day of labor, moved in clusters, some chatting, others hurrying home, their faces bathed in the orange glow of lanterns being lit as twilight descended.

  It was the kind of evening where the city seemed to breathe, the hum of conversation mixing with the clatter of hooves, the occasional shout of a merchant trying to sell the last of their goods before the night set in fully. Lian moved through the crowd, his thoughts drifting between the events of the day and the quiet satisfaction of his progress. However, a sharp pang brought his focus inward.

  His stomach tightened, and the sudden grumble caught him off guard. The hunger gnawed at him unexpectedly, and for a moment, Lian furrowed his brow. This sensation felt strange—far stronger than usual. He had eaten that morning before heading to the training center, yet now, the need for food was pressing, almost insistent. It wasn’t the usual hunger he had known, but something more intense, as if the Body refinement technique had stirred a deeper, more primal appetite within him.

  He rubbed his stomach absently, realizing that he couldn’t afford to make it home without a means to ease this hunger. With a quiet sigh, Lian changed course, heading toward the vendors that lined the street, their stalls filled with the rich scents of fresh bush meats, spiced stews, and baked bread. The scene only sharpened his hunger, and his gaze shifted through the various stalls until he found what he was looking for—one of the stops, a vendor who specialized in wild game, a delicacy in this part of the city.

  The vendor’s stand was simple, shaded by a faded awning, with slabs of bush pig meat hanging on display. Lian made his way over, noticing the crowd had thinned somewhat around this particular stall. The vendor, a burly man with a thick beard and weathered face, looked up as Lian approached. His eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and appraisal as he took in Lian’s plump yet slightly toned figure, perhaps assuming he would pay handsomely for the food.

  “Evening, young sir,” the vendor said with a broad smile, gesturing to the cuts of meat on display. “These beauties are seven silvers each—fine cuts of wild bush pig. Freshly caught.”

  Lian’s stomach grumbled again, but he remained composed, masking any urgency he felt. Though he might have looked like someone easy to take advantage of, he wasn’t naive. His life had taught him how to handle himself in negotiations, and he wasn’t one to be swayed by flattery or high prices, no matter how much he craved the food.

  Without missing a beat, he replied, “Three silvers. That’s all I’ve got.”

  The vendor’s smile faltered for a moment, surprise flashing in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Lian to negotiate so firmly. He scratched his beard, casting a thoughtful glance at Lian. The silence hung between them, thick with unspoken calculation. Finally, the vendor leaned forward slightly, his expression more serious now.

  “Five silvers. It’s a good deal for you, lad. This is quality meat,” he said, trying to meet Lian halfway.

  Lian didn’t waver. He met the vendor’s gaze with quiet confidence, his expression unchanged. “Three,” he repeated, his tone firm but polite. Then, as if to signal his readiness to walk away, he took a small step back.

  The vendor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before finally relenting. “Alright, alright, three it is. You drive a hard bargain,” he muttered, a faint smile returning to his face as he reached for a paper bag and carefully wrapped the bush meat inside.

  Lian handed over the silvers, nodding as the vendor passed him the package. He knew his way around the market well enough to understand value and price, and though it may have seemed like a small victory, moments like these were part of the life he’d grown accustomed to—self-reliance, even in the simplest tasks.

  With the meat in hand, Lian moved through the market again, stopping at a few other stalls to gather the ingredients he needed for the meal ahead. He picked up fresh herbs, spices, and leafy greens, the familiar rhythm of bartering and choosing his goods giving him a sense of comfort amidst the bustling energy of the city. The weight of his purchases balanced in his arms as he made his way out of the market, his hunger momentarily pacified by the thought of the meal he would prepare when he reached home.

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  As the evening deepened into night, Lian walked through the now quieter streets, the distant sounds of laughter and the clink of tavern mugs fading into the background.

  The night had fully settled by the time Lian arrived at his house. The sky was dark, thick clouds partially veiling the moon, leaving the world around him wrapped in near-complete shadow. No shadows could be seen on the ground, only the faintest slivers of moonlight breaking through the clouds, barely enough to outline the contours of the path to his door.

  As he approached his house, his fingers brushed the wooden handle of the door, ready to push it open when a sharp sensation pricked his leg, stopping him in his tracks. His instincts kicked in before his mind had time to register, and his eyes snapped to the side. Something about the atmosphere had shifted—a subtle, almost imperceptible change that made him alert.

  He squatted down, his eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed something unusual near the corner of his house. By the side of the door, partially hidden behind a wooden barricade, was a small package, slightly weathered but unmistakably left there for him.

  Lian pushed aside the blockade, revealing the package more clearly. His brow furrowed slightly as he crouched to pick it up. Resting on top of the parcel was a folded note. The dim glow of the moonlight barely illuminated the scrawled handwriting, but it was familiar. He squinted, holding the paper closer to his face as he tried to make out the words.

  “Lian,” the note began, “I came earlier today and knocked, but since you were out, I left this for you. I noticed your… robe was torn during your fight with Alaric, so I had Miss Faylen from the Weaver’s store make something special for you. It’s crafted to your size, along with the other things I had commissioned for myself. I hope it fits well. —Elysia.”

  A faint smile crept onto Lian’s face as he recognized the delicate, flowing script. Elysia. It was her familiar touch, always thoughtful, always considerate. She often left him small gifts or packages when he wasn’t home, always making sure to help him in ways that felt more like a sister’s care than anything else.

  He appreciated her gesture, but there was a part of him that always felt hesitant about accepting her generosity. He didn’t want to rely on her or her family, no matter how much they treated him like one of their own.

  Still, the smile lingered on his lips as he peeked inside the package. The outline of a fine blue robe was visible, neatly folded beneath a few silver coins, twenty in total.

  The robe looked expensive, carefully tailored to fit his larger frame, and the coins were likely meant to help him with whatever he needed. Lian’s smile widened for a moment, amused by Elysia’s insistence on always slipping coins into her packages for him. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to break, no matter how often he told her he didn’t need them.

  But instead of tearing into the package right away, Lian decided to head inside first. He pushed open the door to his small home, the creak of the wood echoing softly in the stillness of the night. The familiar scent of the house greeted him as he stepped into the dimly lit interior. He crossed the small living room and placed the package carefully on the kitchen counter before turning his attention to the meal he had planned.

  With practiced ease, Lian unpacked the wild bush pig he had purchased earlier, setting it on the counter alongside the herbs and spices he had picked up from the market. His stomach growled loudly now, the sharp hunger pangs returning with full force. It had been gnawing at him ever since he left the market, and now, as he prepared to cook, the urgency to eat was almost overwhelming.

  He moved quickly, chopping the meat and seasoning it with a generous amount of spices and herbs, letting the aroma fill the air as he prepared a stew. The scent of the simmering meat mixed with the spices, wafting through the small house, filling the kitchen with a warm, inviting fragrance. Cooking was something Lian was quite adept at. He’d picked up the skill while working with an old farmer, Thomir, whose farm he often helped tend. Thomir and his workers would cook large meals after a hard day’s labor, and Lian had learned how to prepare hearty, flavorful dishes during those times.

  Before long, the stew was ready, accompanied by a simple side of rice. The smell alone was enough to drive him mad with hunger, and as soon as the food was plated, Lian wasted no time. He sat down and wolfed the meal down like a man starved, each bite easing the burning sensation in his stomach. But it wasn’t just hunger—something about the body refinement technique seemed to heighten his need for sustenance, like his body was demanding more energy to compensate for the intense training.

  He ate quickly, savoring the rich, savory flavors, but noticing how much more food it took to finally subside the gnawing hunger. His mind briefly wandered as he chewed, wondering if this was something he’d have to deal with each time after practicing those techniques. The thought made him pause for a moment, but the immediate need to fill his stomach overrode any deeper concerns.

  When he finally finished, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, his body suddenly heavy with the weight of the day’s training. It hadn’t hit him until now, but the toll of the exercises, the refining techniques, and the long walk home had caught up to him. His muscles ached, and his eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. He cleaned up quickly, washing the dishes and tidying the kitchen, before turning his attention back to the package Elysia had left.

  Sitting on his bed, Lian carefully opened the package and pulled out the robe. The fabric was smooth under his fingertips, the deep blue shimmering faintly in the low light of the room. It was expertly made, tailored to fit his frame perfectly, just as Elysia had promised in her note. Beneath the robe, the silver coins gleamed in a small pouch, a quiet reminder of her kindness. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. No matter how many times he told her he didn’t need money, Elysia always found a way to slip some into his life.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her help; he did, deeply. But Lian had always strived for independence, wanting to stand on his own feet without relying too much on others. He even took on side work whenever he could—like helping Thomir on his farm, where he earned some extra coin. He had enough to get by, and though the Count’s family treated him with the utmost care, Lian felt a deep desire to prove himself, to become strong enough to repay their kindness and protect them, just as they had protected him.

  With the package safely put away, Lian finally collapsed onto his bed, the weight of exhaustion pulling him into its depths. Tomorrow would bring another day of training, another chance to grow stronger, but for now, he allowed himself the luxury of rest. As he drifted into sleep, his mind flickered with fleeting thoughts of Elysia, the Count’s family, and the quiet resolve that burned within him—he would striv

  e to become a Warrior, although most believed he couldn’t.