The city of Yijian was like a jewel suspended in the sky, with starlight flowing over it like threads of sacred silk.
Baran said admiringly as he walked beside Narvik:
"It's truly beautiful... I've never seen a city shine like this before."
The streets were adorned with star-shaped lamps, and the shops and houses glowed with a soft light akin to moonlight.
As Baran gazed at the scene with awe, Narvik walked calmly as if strolling through a place he had known for a long time.
Narvik said in a quiet voice:
"Baran, do you know that this city is famous for making swords and weapons? Maybe we can find you a spear at the balance level here."
Baran's voice trembled with surprise:
"What?! The balance level?! That's... impossible!"
Narvik smiled faintly and said:
"The strongest person in this city has reached the existence level. Three great clans rule the city, and all of them are unparalleled weapon makers.
And all this is thanks to the Kingdom of Darkness, which provides them with rare materials. Even if someone at the hidden level is found, the Kingdom takes them directly."
Baran looked at Narvik's sword hanging at his waist, on which two words were engraved in ancient script: Snow and Light.
He wondered to himself:
"Is this sword... at the balance level?"
But he didn't dwell on it for long and continued walking behind Narvik until they suddenly stopped.
A strange man grabbed Baran's hand with enough force to lift his body off the ground. His hair was long and disheveled, and his clothes were torn, but his eyes glowed with indescribable power.
He said in a gruff voice:
"Boy, you look strong... what do you say to joining me?"
Narvik placed his hand on his sword and said in a serious tone:
"This person... is very strong!"
But before he could take a step, their eyes met for just one moment—it was enough to freeze Narvik in place, as if time had stopped.
The man said with a mysterious smile:
"Hmm... Sky-Haired one, you are strong too. But this white and red-haired boy... is more suitable.
Do you want to be one of the chosen?"
Baran felt pain sweeping through his body, he tried to speak but only a weak whisper escaped:
"No... I don't want to..."
The man laughed softly and said:
"An honest boy... I am Shinluk, and perhaps we will meet often."
Then he turned and disappeared into the shadows as if he had never been there.
Both froze in place.
Narvik said after a few moments of silence:
"The hidden level... no doubt about it.
But what do the chosen ones mean?"
Baran found no answer, only continued to stare at the spot where the mysterious man had disappeared.
After an hour of silent wandering, they arrived at a luxurious hotel.
Baran asked hesitantly:
"Do... do you have enough money to enter this place?"
Narvik smiled with silent confidence, then said to the hotel owner:
"A room on the fifth floor."
The man replied coldly:
"Three gold coins for one night."
Baran muttered angrily:
"Three coins?! This is blatant robbery!"
Narvik laughed and said:
"Don't worry, the festival will start in a few days, and tomorrow we will meet the master of the Green Sword clan."
Baran froze in his place:
"What? Clan master?! We are not qualified to meet someone like him!"
But before Narvik could answer, the door of the room suddenly opened, and a large man with a thick beard entered, carrying a green sword emanating a terrifying aura.
Narvik quickly said, placing his hand on his chest respectfully:
"Clan Master! I did not expect your arrival, I intended to visit you tomorrow."
Baran felt a shiver run through his body as he whispered in a low voice:
"This man... is in the realm of existence!"
....
A day later, Baran and Narvik were weaving through the bustling city – its markets damp with the aroma of spices, its lights hanging in the shape of small stars as if the sky had descended to settle over the alleys.
Children ran like stray butterflies, shrieking with laughter, and vendors called out in smooth voices like the rustle of silk. Some whispered that this was the "City of Stars," and faint smiles echoed between the sidewalks as if they were an ancient secret.
Baran paused for a moment, observing Narvik, and found his friend engrossed in a deep silence, as if listening to a melody only he could hear.
Before Baran could open his mouth, words spilled from Narvik's lips like an arrow shot from afar:
"In a few days, the festival will begin... and a battle will erupt between the clans."
His voice was calm, but deep within his words vibrated an undeniable tone:
"The Green Sword Clan is the strongest here. But there are two at the existence level... and they want us to face one of them."
There was a moment of pause; it was as if the city held its breath.
Then Baran composed himself, responding with a mix of realistic arrows and recklessness:
"And if we fight and don't win? We flee, a flight for life. And don't forget—our opponent is injured."
Narvik turned to him with eyes that carried the weight of experience, then smiled a smile that did not yield to doubt:
"Even if he is injured, the level shows no mercy. We will face him to test the limits of our strength. No retreating before we know our true power."
The two shook hands as if sealing an ancient pact; their palms exchanged the warmth of resolution.
And in the corners of the illuminated streets, planning began like a map drawn with a quill:
Who will wait? Where will the arena be? How will attention be diverted?
Their eyes were filled with quiet determination, as if the city itself whispered to them:
"Go forth, for destiny does not wait."