As it happened, they didn’t travel that far from Lodgerod. Jace remembered reading about it; the town was described as the last highly populated location before a long strip of uninhabited lands. The plains they traveled through were barren; the mountain range housing those wonderful Stonerose Caves was a natural barrier preventing trade and limiting movement.

No wonder Liut decided to bed a beauty while passing through Lodgerod—no chance of action further down the line.

Miserably, Jace also lamented the fact that a long stretch of travel through empty lands would’ve allowed him so many opportunities to jump the protagonist.

Washing up in a crystal-clear mountain stream? Bam! Here came Jace!

Warming up in a dark cavern by a cozy fire? Bam! Here came Jace!

Against a tree, in that rose quartz tunnel, on top of a cliff—opportunities were endless.

Instead, he obediently and dejectedly watched the heavy gates of Lodgerod ascend, chains clinking as some poor guard turned the wheels to work the mechanism. Even the fact that it was a real fantasy town, encircled by tall, wide walls, all medieval and imposing, did little to lift his spirits.

Supposedly, it was his hometown. Or not, but he had already played that card, so he should stick to it. That meant that he was to know the streets, the people, be able to find his way. What a nuisance.

In hindsight, Liut sneaking him away was a blessing in disguise. Jace had every reason to be clueless and ask Liut whatever. Now he needed to navigate a plot. Ugh.

With a loud screech, the gate halted. Behind it was a cobbled street, not too narrow and not too wide. On each side, rows of houses closed in, each two- or three-stories high, with stone foundations and wooden balconies above. They arched forward under the pressure of time, dwellings curving and shaping the road ahead into a gaping mouth of a grimdark medieval slum. It smelled of horse shit, piss, and smoke.

The stench was so harsh Jace felt his eyes watering. The buildings were ragged, some bolted with jagged planks in place of windows, all dilapidated and crooked, much like the people walking past them—dirty-faced, in patched clothes, with distrustful gazes and scowling lips, disdainfully making way for the horses. Jace was sure that if they could, they would spit on the ground and eat them alive.

Absolutely not the flowery fantasy world of princes and princesses.

The tattered curtains swished as a gust of wind passed through the open gates, and Jace could finally catch a breath of semi-fresh air.

He wanted to go back to those endless plains of greenery, where each inhale filled his lungs with crisp freshness and freedom. He didn’t want to be stared at by those sickly eyes, didn’t want to physically feel their scorn pouring over him.

The worst was that he couldn’t even blame them. They were poor and hungry, and their houses were about to collapse while rivers of piss and shit streamed through the canals by their doorsteps. Were they supposed to greet the town guards with smiles and flowers? Bow to a random guy on a horse? One look at Liut with his handsome face, healthy physique, and shiny sword would be enough for Jace to start a revolt if he were in their place.

“Liut,” Jace called, sleeve covering his nose. The stench was terrible.

“Mh?”

Breathing as carefully as possible, Jace pleaded, “Don’t leave me here, okay?”

Jace wasn’t in their place. He was with Liut. Understanding poverty didn’t mean he wanted to go back to it. Quite the opposite—he’d rather flee. He couldn’t possibly live two lifetimes dirt-poor and in slums.

Hugging him closer, Liut nuzzled the top of Jace’s head.

“I promised, did I not? Where I go, you follow,” Liut murmured. A warm and steady presence for Jace to lean on.

Eventually, one narrow alley after another, up the hill on which the town was built, they reached a brightly lit avenue. Here, a tasty scent of baked bread teased the nostrils and neat windowsills bloomed with bright red flowers. The people smiled, their faces plush and pinkish, women in nicely styled dresses and men with big bellies by their side.

The maidens giggled, flustered and excited, when Liut’s horse trotted past them. They blushed and waved at him, the hero of their favorite ballads. It was so cliché but also—Jace couldn’t stop looking around.

The shops, the taverns, the hum of life and the laughter of kids splashing in the fountains, all were straight out of a high-budget fairy-tale adaptation.

The wide avenue led them to a vast market square. Farmers smiled at them as they proudly showed off carts overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits. Silk merchants yelled about the rarity of their goods. Smiths hammered away, promising to fix armor so it was as good as new.

In the middle of all this lively chaos, pristine and grand, towered the Magistrate's Palace, its bell tower casting a long shadow over countless citizens fussing through the square.

Now that looked like a proper fantasy setting.

Who needed gritty realism when it smelled like literal piss?

Daydreaming, Jace almost tumbled down from the horse when a carriage raced past them. Those strong protagonist hands caught him, sure and steady, and the curse died on Jace’s tongue. He could get used to it.

He shouldn’t, though.

It was a temporary coincidence; Jace didn’t matter enough to expect the protagonist himself to always be there to catch him.

“You’re not a good rider, are you?” Liut chuckled into his ear.

“I can ride you just fine,” Jace retorted, vexed and annoyed for no good reason.

If Liut had something to say to that, he missed his chance—red beard caught up to them, his horse blocking the way forward.

“Wait here! I shall announce your presence to the Magistrate.”

***

“A Remnant of the Celestial Blood,” Jace repeated, voice bereft.

He slowly blinked, staring at the pretentiously dressed member of the Golden Guard smiling at him. Like a pervert. Not the fun kind, the type that lured children into white vans. The guard’s nose was crooked, his smile sleazy, too wide, showing yellowish teeth behind narrow lips. His pale grey eyes scrutinized Jace as if he were lower than a homeless mutt that had swallowed his golden coins.

And now the renowned Golden Guard was deciding—whether he should wait for the mutt to shit out the gold or carving the dog’s stomach open would be less troublesome.

Swatting aside his golden cloak, he presented Jace with a scroll, a bright red wax seal in the middle, a crown pressed onto it. Candlelight danced over the parchment, because, of course, they needed to be in a windowless room somewhere down in the dungeons. With Jace sitting behind the table and the guard looming over him. Of course.

Jace took the scroll and studied the seal. The wax had hardened into a flawless imprint of a five-point crown. Something must’ve been mixed into it—under the bleak glow of a few tapers, the surface sparkled with golden flecks.

“It is authentic, you can be sure.” The guard snorted, his pompous gilded armor clinking.

Not like Jace could be the judge of that; he had literally never seen a real wax seal before.

“Can I open it?”

“Go ahead.”

Yay! Jace’s first royal scroll and broken seal. Small treasures.

The text inside was written in elaborate cursive, so complex with all the extra strokes and curves that Jace’s vision blurred by the third word.

In general, it said pretty much the same thing that could’ve been deduced from the whole ordeal—the body Jace transmigrated into belonged to a lineage that royal archives linked to the Celestial Blood Remnants. His Royal Majesty ruled that every and all Remnants be tested and, in case of success, brought to the Royal Capital for further education.

“Thou shalt not want for gold, food, or dwelling, as I, the King of all under the sky and rightful ruler of the human realm, shall protect and nurture the rarest of talents.”

How fucking generous. Sounded like an invitation to a slaughterhouse. Or shady clinical trials.

Jace knew his tropes, okay?

The king in The Venerable One Has Found His Way was a notorious tyrant who got his throne by fratricide, rumored to have murdered four of his elder brothers through schemes, poisons, and unlucky hunting trips. In a matter of a few years, the crown was passed down so often they stopped minting coins with the king’s image altogether.

Paranoid, the new king established the Golden Guards as his personal loyal army and surrounded himself with sycophants and idiots.

Thus, Jace had no business with the royals. In a few years, Liut would surely slay the tyrant and bring peace to the realm, as expected of a protagonist. None of it was Jace’s business.

“The scroll says there is a way to verify if suspected Remnants are indeed of Celestial Blood,” Jace drawled, placing the parchment on the table. “Verify how?”

That nasty yellow smile stretched wider.

“Tell me, how old are you?”

Good question. Unfortunately, Jace was the wrong person to ask.

“You tracked me down through my lineage only and you don’t know how old I am?”

The guard narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. You should be in your twenty-second change of seasons.”

Nice! Four years younger than he was in the real world. Ah, youth. Ample skin, no hangovers, and the stupid confidence carrying you through life on blind expectation of full recognition.

“Kind sir, I’m afraid you will find me lacking should you try to use me for your amusement.” Jace smiled earnestly. “I am a nobody, and not even smart enough to be a good conversationalist. Help me out, please, just tell me plainly what is expected of me.”

Arching his eyebrow, the guard flicked a glance up and down Jace’s frame. With a huff, he shook his head in soundless laughter.

“Very well.” The guard took a seat facing Jace and put his clasped hands on the table. “Do you know that no records hold your name?”

Jace didn’t reply.

“Truly. We managed to find you because the House of Merciful Moon kept an archive of rare illnesses, and your mother had been treated there before her demise. She was the one I was sent to acquire.”

Okay, a tragic past with a sick mother. Pretty solid backstory for a nobody, Jace could admit.

Pursing his lips into a straight line, Jace kept silent.

“You are but a nameless entry in the history of her malady. Does it bother you?” The guard tilted his head, those pale grey eyes studying each of Jace’s little shifts and tweaks.

Evenly, Jace replied, “No.”

The guard bared his yellow teeth in a grin. “Liar.” He leaned back in his seat and relaxed, letting his hands drop to his sides. “The tavern keeper said you frequented her rooms. But you have a dwelling of your own down in Woodskums. Shitty place.” The guard grimaced. “Smelled like piss all the time I was searching for you there. With a stench like that, I, too, would rather sleep in a nice tavern up on the hill.” He smiled. Jace did not like that smile. “But!” The guard clapped his palms against his thighs. “You didn’t sleep all alone, did you, pretty little thing?”

Oh.

Jace swallowed.