The town of Lontara stirred fully awake as Ascalon walked its winding streets, boots thudding softly against worn cobblestones. Morning had evolved into a warm forenoon—market vendors barked prices, children chased each other past carts, and the scent of grilled meat mingled with the smoke of roasting chestnuts.
Ascalon moved with quiet curiosity, hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning every building, alleyway, and person with subtle interest.
"Hey, Volkrayn," he muttered mentally. "Is there a way I can actually see my stats? Like... some menu or magic screen or something?"
"I'll project the image into your mind," Volkrayn's voice rumbled inside his skull. "Think of it, and it shall appear."
"Okay... stats." Ascalon focused.
A transparent screen flickered into his vision, like sunlight reflected off a polished blade.
---
Level: 2
Name: ASCALON
Strength: 15 +2
Stamina: 26 +4
Speed: 18 +2
Mana: 20 +4
Recovery: 21
Intellect: Unknown
Cards: 0
---
"Whoa…" he murmured. "Those are real stats? Intellect unknown and Cards at zero. Hmm… If I'm reading this right, by Level 10, I might end up with double these numbers."
"Correct," Volkrayn confirmed, his tone calm but impressed. "But don't obsess over numbers alone. Synergy, decision-making, instinct—those aren't bound by stats."
"Still nice to see myself glow up on paper," Ascalon chuckled. "Alright, next question. Where can I earn some coins around here?"
But before Volkrayn could reply, his voice cut in, distracted—sharper.
"Ascalon… head to the city gate. The one we entered from."
Ascalon blinked. "Huh? Alright..."
He casually turned and began walking toward the outskirts of the city. Townsfolk bustled past him, carts rattled on stone, and the spire of Lontara's clocktower loomed in the distance. The city gate soon came into view—tall, wrought iron, and flanked by two decorative obelisks. Oddly, no guards stood watch.
"Do I go out of the city?" Ascalon asked aloud, already nearing the threshold.
"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" Volkrayn's voice roared, loud enough inside Ascalon's head to cause him to flinch physically. The dragon's usually regal timbre was now urgent, borderline panicked.
"What the hell?! Why not?!" the prince yelped mentally.
"Yesterday," Volkrayn began, regaining his composure, "when we entered the city… remember the crack sound? Like glass shattering?"
"Yeah," Ascalon and the prince answered in unison.
"That was no ordinary sound. That… was the city's barrier fracturing."
"…Barrier?" Ascalon asked slowly.
Volkrayn's voice deepened, taking on the tone of a sage teacher—if that teacher also happened to breathe fire. "A ward. A powerful magical seal that covers the city's boundaries. It keeps monsters, curses, hostile entities—and yes, dragons—out. The reason you saw no guards? That's the reason. Anything forbidden is stopped automatically at the threshold."
"And you broke it?" the prince asked.
"My soul's presence is... not exactly subtle," Volkrayn said. "I suppressed my aura. I masked my flame. I even curled my essence like a sleeping cat. But that barrier didn't just check mana—it checked souls. And mine is a cosmic firestorm that doesn't like being probed. So, it snapped. When we crossed, the barrier cracked, and the mages who cast it—who monitor it—now know something dangerous entered their precious city."
"Oh," Ascalon said, scratching his head. "That's a… pretty big oversight."
The three paused in thought.
Then Ascalon spoke again, half-joking. "Okay, but what about when we leave for quests or whatever? How do we get back in without shattering a magical tripwire every time?"
"No," Volkrayn corrected grimly. "That's not the question."
There was a beat of silence.
"The real question," he said with almost theatrical weight, "is: How the hell do we EXIT the city at all?"
Both Ascalon and the prince froze.
"…What the hell did you just say?" Ascalon blurted.
"Wait," the prince said cautiously, "are you saying we're… trapped?"
"I mean," Volkrayn said a little too casually, "unless you want to, y'know, shatter the rest of the barrier and alert every mage within fifty miles, then yeah. Pretty much."
A long pause.
"So… what? We kill the mage who made the barrier?" Ascalon whispered, half-joking, half-serious.
"WHAT?!" the prince shouted, aghast. "Absolutely not!"
"I don't care either way," Volkrayn said, deadpan. "But I like the idea."
"NO!" the prince snapped. "Gods, you're both monsters!"
"Correction," Volkrayn replied smugly. "I am a monster. He's just a slightly cursed idiot."
Ascalon held up a hand. "Okay, okay! Let's not start assigning labels we can't take back. Focus! We need a plan. Something that doesn't involve, you know… murder, explosions, or being banished from the continent."
"Bah," Volkrayn growled. "You humans ruin all the fun."
And so began what would become a long, ridiculous, and utterly unproductive brainstorming session between a soul-bound swordsman, a noble prince with actual morals, and a 5,000-year-old dragon with the subtlety of a bonfire in a powder keg.
Option one: Bribe the city mages.
"Nope. We're broke."
"Also, most mages don't take kindly to bribes."
"Then we kill them—"
"NO."
Option two: Smuggle out hidden in a merchant wagon.
"You're carrying a soul-bound greatsword, Ascalon."
"And a war criminal dragon soul."
"And I snore, apparently."
Option three: Dig a tunnel.
"This city's built on stone!"
"I can melt it?"
"NO!"
As the sun climbed higher and Lontara bustled around them in blissful ignorance, the trio continued their absolutely useless planning.
They might not have had a solution.
But one thing was clear—
This town wasn't ready for them.
And honestly… Neither were they.
------
From across the cobblestone street, beneath the shade of a timbered awning, a pair of curious eyes narrowed.
The merchant girl—whose voice had once trembled in fear under torchlight—was now comfortably bartering for rare incense at a spice stall. But her attention had suddenly drifted from her haggling to the far edge of the street. She squinted through the morning light.
There he was.
That same mysterious boy from last night. The one who had broken a thug's arm like it was dry wood and then helped her pick cards like a clueless puppy.
Now, he was standing near the city gate… staring at it. Hard. As if it had insulted his ancestors.
"...Suspicious," she muttered.
---
Meanwhile, about thirty paces away, the situation was rapidly spiraling into chaos.
"I'm telling you—my plan is best," Ascalon muttered under his breath, voice low like a conspirator in the middle of a heist.
"No! Absolutely not! No killing!" the prince snapped back, loud enough that a passing couple flinched and gave him a wide berth.
"I'm on Ascalon's side," Volkrayn said smoothly, voice echoing within their shared mind. "A swift death is just a shortcut through bureaucracy."
"You dare not, lizard!" the prince shouted.
To any bystanders, it must've looked like Ascalon was suffering some sort of very passionate breakdown. His blank stare toward the gate, the way his lips moved like he was arguing with invisible friends, the subtle twitch of his eye...
He finally sighed and turned back toward the heart of the city.
By the time he reached the same wooden bench from the night before, his expression had gone slack with exhaustion.
"Looks like we'll have to stay another night," he muttered, letting himself drop onto the bench with the grace of a sack of potatoes. "And this time… without food."
The silence afterward was heavy. Even Volkrayn didn't speak, which was rare. The hunger hadn't really set in yet—but the weight of uncertainty had. Trapped in a city protected by magical wards, with no coin, no allies, and no idea how long they had before someone came looking…
It was a recipe for tension.
But then—like a drop of sunlight cutting through a storm cloud—came a voice. Cheerful, familiar, and unreasonably enthusiastic.
"Hellooo~ my loyal customer!"
Ascalon blinked and looked up.
Standing beside the bench was the merchant girl from the night before. Her hair was tied back this time, and she held a small paper bag filled with something aromatic and warm. Her smile beamed like she hadn't spent the previous night nearly getting mugged by street thugs.
"Oh," Ascalon said, blinking up at her. "It's you."
She grinned wider and dramatically flung a hand onto her hip. "Don't sound too excited. I might cry."
Ascalon gave a soft, rare chuckle. "You saw me at the gate?"
"Sure did. Looked like you were planning to either storm the walls or seduce the stonework," she said, her tone sharp but playful. "So, which was it?"
He shrugged. "Bit of both."
"Well, since you're obviously out of options—and possibly out of your mind—I thought I'd drop by."
She sat beside him, uninvited but clearly comfortable, and extended the paper bag.
"Here. Sweet potato dumplings. Still warm."
He stared at the bag, then back at her. "You're just giving them to me?"
She raised an eyebrow. "It's called a business strategy. Give a little, earn loyalty, build a customer base, and in the future—bam—you're broke and I'm rich."
"…Smart."
"I know," she said proudly. "Name's Reika, by the way."
"Ascalon," he replied, taking one dumpling and biting in. His eyes widened slightly. It was… delicious.
As he chewed in silence, the prince and Volkrayn said nothing—both equally stunned by this turn of events.
Reika looked at him sideways and smiled again, softer this time.
"Don't look so surprised. You looked like you could use a little luck."
Ascalon stared ahead, dumpling in hand, the sun warming his tired body, the city noise washing past like a stream. For the first time all day, the pressure eased.
He didn't know if they'd escape this city. He didn't know what dangers lay ahead.
But right now?
He wasn't alone.