Most things are operated with magic.
It isn't as Heron hasn't thought about it, but the difference is that now it was staring him straight in his face. For as far as he can remember, he'd hear stories about how using crystals was wrong. He remembered Adel's stories, Agnus' health situation, and how the villagers looked down on him. He remembered the murmurs in the streets when Haran left after his visit. Even in Draksvik, they didn't look kindly on crystal magic, but were more open to receiving help from citizens as long as they weren't the ones using the tools.
"Yes, I know." Heron finally said. "It goes against the principles on which I grew up. But in order to reach my goal, I'll adapt. Use them only when I must."
"Oh, and what goal is that?" Emilia asked with curiosity in her eyes.
"I need to reach Tiwaz. I saw it on the map. It is one of the northern cities of the Scallia Republic. I need to find someone there." Heron said, but his voice was cold.
"Judging by your tone, somehow it doesn't sound like a happy occasion."
"The person I need to find there holds the answers to all my questions."
"Ouh, interesting. An all-knowing man." Emilia joked, but Heron wasn't in the mood to entertain her.
There was an awkward pause between them.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you." Emilia finally said.
"Ohh, no, no. Don't apologize. Just too many thoughts are now racing through my head. You've been a great help. Please let me repay you." He went for the pouch to pick up coins, but she grabbed his hand to stop him.
"There is no need, truly. Think of it as part of our service." Emilia was brimming with a smile.
Heron's face was almost beet red. "Alright, thank you," he managed to say quietly.
"Well, I need to go down. Others are probably up, but no one is managing the bar."
"Right, right. Sorry for taking up your time. Thank you once again!" Heron bowed his head.
As Emilia left, Heron jumped back on his bed, taking a heavy sigh. Oh, creators, she was so cute, I barely held my breath. But those youthful thoughts were soon replaced by darker ones.
Father or not, I will make him answer for all that was done. And he had better hope Mama is still alive, or his neck will face my sword. These were Heron's thoughts on Haran.
Once he went down for breakfast, Heron was once again greeted by Emilia, now joined by Marcus, with whom he had a small talk. Generally, there were a lot of things Heron needed to figure out before any trials at the guild. He barely had clothes, so he definitely should get some. And also, he wanted to know about moving around the city, are there any dangers he might face as a villager?
Philip only told him that, whatever he does, he should avoid confrontations, because depending on a citizen's rank, an accidental encounter may cost him his life. So best to know which areas may end up problematic.
"Don't worry too much about people here. Citizens are pretty decent in Jamtara. There are some exceptions, of course, but Jamtara relies on villages a lot, and since the destruction of a few of them a couple of cycles back, they are trying to be more friendly with the remaining villages to ensure better trades. So, avoid any brawls, and you'll be fine. City guards are pretty good at keeping order." Marcus said.
Then it was time for breakfast. And tavern food was much better than anything he had in either of the villages. There were cooked eggs, dried wolf meat, and even some mushy green stuff he said was great for stamina, and it all tasted good.
He praised the food, which caused Emilia to blush a bit.
"Food in the village must have been terrible if this tastes that good. And Creators may only know how you will react when you try some pastry sweets."
Heron's eyes were glittering. "And what is the best place to try these sweets? And are they expensive?"
He wasn't proud of the last question, but at the moment, he just had savings from Haran and some from Philip, which should hold out until he joins the party, but if he goes around just lavishing himself, he may find himself out on the street with no money.
"Oh, don't worry. There is a good bakery, which is quite inexpensive. They have the best cream rolls." Emilia recalled, her face drooling.
Well, that settles it, then. I will have to go there and buy her some as a thank-you gift. Heron thought to himself, pleased that he considered it.
"Makes you all smiley, thinking about sweets? I know, me too," Emilia said.
Heron blushed again as he realized his face was giving away his thoughts. No, stop it, you dumb-wit.
Once he finished breakfast, he decided to head out. Jamtara wasn't a small city, so Marcus gave him a map. He advised him, on the first day, not to venture far and to check out the neighborhood. He circled the spot on the map where Emilia mentioned the pastry. And he also added a small heart symbol next to it. Unfortunately for Marcus, Heron didn't know what the symbol was. He thought it was a symbol for the bakery.
The bakery was two blocks away, but the journey there felt like forever. Heron was stopping almost every so often to observe the environment around him. The people, the vehicles, even the air itself felt heavy to ingest. Yesterday, as he entered Jamtara, though he was surprised by how the city actually looked, he was so focused on getting to a guild and finding a place to sleep for the night that everything else seemed to blur. And now he had the glasses to see it all clearly.
After learning what semaphores were after almost getting hit by the car, he managed to reach the bakery. He ordered the cream rolls Emilia praised, and he had to wipe the saliva trying to escape his mouth. These are so delicious.
In front of the bakery, there was a small garden with chairs, where he could sit and eat. It also served as a good point to look around without drawing suspicion.
As he ate, Heron watched the steady stream of people passing by: merchants in fine clothes, guards in polished armor, and the occasional adventurer marked by their well-worn gear and purposeful stride.
Then a figure caught his attention. It was a young man with striking white-silver hair who moved with careful precision through the crowd. White rags were wrapped around his eyes, and Heron could make out faint traces of old bloodstains on the fabric. Despite his condition, there was nothing hesitant in his bearing; he carried himself with quiet confidence.
Then three well-dressed young men deliberately veered into the white-haired man's path. The collision was clearly intentional, but they immediately began shouting.