Now that the belly was full and the wind no longer bit with hunger, the next matter was survival—namely, finding shelter.
"It's already night," Ascalon muttered, his gaze drifting to the deepening hues of dusk above Lontara.
The cobblestone streets shimmered with the soft glow of lanterns. People bustled about—lovers strolling, merchants closing stalls, children dragging their weary parents home. The trio wandered in silence, absorbing the living pulse of the city.
Then, nestled between stone buildings, they stumbled upon a quaint circular garden. Benches curled around the perimeter like petals of a flower. In the center, a fountain bubbled quietly under the moonlight, its waters catching the starlight like scattered silver.
"Is there a rule about not sleeping in public places?" Ascalon asked, eyeing the benches with obvious intent.
"Is there even someone enforcing rules like that?" the prince replied dryly.
"So, no. Great." Ascalon gave a satisfied nod and dropped himself onto a bench, arms stretched, legs out. Then he lay back fully, hands behind his head, letting the fatigue of the day melt into the wood beneath him.
Above, the stars glimmered in the dark canvas sky. A hush fell between them, not out of discomfort, but something softer. Like a rare kind of peace.
Time passed. His eyelids grew heavy.
But just as sleep began to settle in, a faint cry pierced the quiet.
A strangled scream—young, desperate, afraid.
Ascalon sat up instantly. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah. It's close," the prince replied, tension rising in his voice.
Ascalon was already on his feet, boots hitting the cobble in rapid succession as he sprinted toward the sound, cutting through alleys and narrow paths between buildings. The noise grew sharper, clearer. A small alley opened before him, bathed in shadows.
At the far end, three figures loomed over someone cornered—small, hunched, clutching a sack to her chest.
"Give us your supplies without resistance," one thug growled, "and we'll let you walk away unharmed."
"This is the fruit of my hard work!" the girl snapped, pulling the sack tighter to her chest. "Go away! Get away from me!"
Ascalon stepped forward, lips parting to intervene—but then paused.
"How about I give you ten percent of my supplies?" the girl offered suddenly, defiantly.
Is she… bargaining? Now? Ascalon blinked.
The thugs just laughed. One reached forward with a thick hand to snatch the sack.
"Ascalon. Now," the prince's voice echoed sharply in his mind.
"Hey!" Ascalon bellowed, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The thugs turned, startled.
Before any of them could process his arrival, Ascalon was already moving.
He sprinted in, leading with a shoulder and ramming into the first thug like a battering ram. The man stumbled back with a grunt, crashing into the alley wall. The second lunged forward, swinging a fist, but Ascalon ducked low, then rose with a punch to the gut—fast, untrained but fueled by instinct. The thug reeled.
The third came in quick, trying to grab him. Ascalon twisted, elbowed the man hard in the ribs, then drove his knee into the thug's thigh. Unbalanced, the thug fell with a thud.
The first recovered and charged again, but Ascalon met him with a low kick to the shin, followed by a palm strike to the jaw. The man staggered, then spat blood onto the stone.
"You picked the wrong alley," Ascalon growled.
The thugs glanced at one another—bruised, panting, shaken.
"Tch. Ain't worth it," the leader spat. "Crazy bastard…"
And just like that, they turned tail and ran, vanishing into the night.
Ascalon exhaled, shoulders relaxing. The girl, still clutching her sack, stared at him—wide-eyed, breathing hard.
"You alright?" he asked, brushing dirt off his sleeves.
She didn't answer right away. Then—
"I could've handled it," she mumbled, eyes darting away. But the way her hands trembled told a different story.
Ascalon gave a crooked smile. "Sure. But next time, maybe offer five percent instead of ten."
The girl blinked. Then, to his surprise, a small smirk formed on her lips.
The night air felt lighter.
But deep in the alleys of Lontara, not everything had gone unnoticed.
The girl clutched her sack with firm hands, dirt still smudged across her cheeks, but her voice rang with clarity.
"I have a shop in the city," she said, squaring her shoulders. "For saving me… I'll give you ten percent off on your first three purchases—one discount for each thug."
Ascalon raised a brow. "What do you sell?"
"Cards," she replied simply.
His eyes widened—sparkling, practically glowing in the moonlight. "Wait… you sell cards?" His voice trembled with held-in excitement. "Can you… show me some?"
"Of course!" she said with a proud smile, merchant's instinct already at work. She knelt and unfastened her sack's mouth, pulling it open to reveal stacks of bundled card packets tied with thin leather strings. She spread them carefully on the ground like laying out treasure.
"Whoa," Ascalon breathed. "They're all different colors…"
"Go ahead," she nodded. "You can take one out and check. How else would you know what you're buying?"
With zero hesitation, Ascalon snatched a packet, untied the string with all the grace of a squirrel on fire, and started flipping through the cards like a child let loose in a candy shop.
"Fire spell! Passive skill! Equipment card—oh, it's a sword!" he gasped, inspecting each card as if it were a sacred artifact. "Oh my stars—this one has flavor text! Look, prince! Look!"
"I'm seeing it through your eyes, idiot," the prince groaned.
"These are all just basic cards," he added with a sigh, unimpressed.
"And you don't have any," the Crimson Dragon quipped flatly.
That shut him up real quick.
Ascalon snorted, quickly tying the string back and returning the packet into the sack with a rare reverence.
"Like any?" the girl asked, her merchant instincts flaring as she leaned in with a hopeful glint in her eyes.
"I wish," Ascalon exhaled. "Later, maybe."
The girl didn't press—just smiled knowingly. "Most people run for freebies in moments like these. Don't you want any?"
The prince blinked. Why did she say that…? Suspicion trickled into his voice.
"Are you checking your buyer value," Ascalon answered. His tone was calm, but his gaze didn't waver from her. "Don't worry. I won't ask. Nothing's ever free in this world. Even a free gift could hide a conspiracy."
"Is he…" the prince mumbled, eyes narrowing, "referring to my suicide card as a free gift…?"
"Yes," the dragon deadpanned.
The prince slumped.
"Well then!" the girl chirped, brushing off her skirt and slinging the sack over her shoulder again. "Bye, my good buyer!"
With a skip in her step and her pride unshaken, she turned and disappeared into the lantern-lit alleys.
A moment passed. Then—
"What was that?" the prince asked, still nursing his pride.
"A good merchant's skill," Ascalon replied. "Small-scale sellers sometimes test a buyer's potential value. They'll offer small items for free—not out of generosity, but to see if you're worth keeping as a repeat customer."
"Really?" the prince said, clearly intrigued.
"Yeah. Let me give you a bit more merchant lore," Ascalon added, starting to walk back toward the fountain. "Small-scale merchants use their own goods in tiny amounts—cheap but personal. Large-scale merchants though… they'll toss in a little something extra. Maybe a silver coin or a trinket that's not theirs. Just to sweeten the pot."
"And if they really like you?"
"They'll give you something actually valuable. A gesture. It says, 'Stick with me, and you'll always be treated well.'"
"You have some real intellect," the Crimson Dragon said, impressed.
Ascalon glanced at the night sky once more. "As I told you before… it's just survival instinct. Nothing more."
And with that, he lay back down on the bench beneath the stars, the city quieting once again.