Chapter 15: Weilincheng Through Kuek

Walking with Hoke along the road to the moat, Sakavi stared in awe at the brown cobblestone path wide enough for five carts to side by side, teeming with crowds and animals hauling both familiar and unfamiliar goods or food—the scale of Weilincheng’s trade was staggering.

Perhaps sensing Sakavi’s shock, Kuek spoke up: “Don’t be fooled by the sheer volume—most of these goods are low-value raw materials. The Duke’s domain produces only limited quantities; most grain, iron ingots, and silk thread must be imported, even herbs and timber fall short of demand.”

After walking with the crowd for about ten minutes, they reached a square packed with cargo. Kuek said all merchants’ goods must be inspected here to prevent evil artifacts from entering, though swords and spears were permitted.

Crossing the tall bridge linking both banks of the moat, they finally saw Weilincheng’s walls. Before the gate stood two massive stone statues—rough-hewn, features blurred—hard to believe these were the guardians of a Duke’s seat.

“My lord, you see those two giant statues? The one on the left, wielding a flail and riding a hyena, is Lokka Riverclaw—the founder of our Peacekeeping Corps and one of Weilincheng’s builders.”

“The one on the right, holding a great hammer, is the minotaur Maya Shatterhoof—first Justice Officer of the Duke’s domain and the author of this land’s laws. They say she was mercilessly fair, judged with divine insight, and possessed encyclopedic knowledge—fluent not only in Common, but also in ancient Elvish and Dwarvish.”

“Half the books in the Grand Library were placed there by her; even the textbooks for all racial schools were compiled by her. Because of her, minotaurs, harpies, and gnolls were called the Three Horses of Peacekeeping. Sadly, she was not an Exalted one—she passed away 120 years ago at the age of 215.”

Looking at the towering walls and watchtowers every twenty paces, Sakavi finally understood why the Outer District could never infiltrate inward. Following the road beside the wall leftward for about half an hour, they reached the gate of the Industrial District—noticeably quieter than the Trade District.

Before this gate were carved images of harpies and dwarves—no doubt also among the Duke’s original followers. Inside, orderly streets stretched before them, shops aligned in perfect rows—clearly planned.

Passing through the street, they followed Hoke into a narrow alley nearby, where the bustle intensified. Dog-man vendors lined the path, selling everything: old armor, N-style staves, rusted steel swords with chipped edges—clearly an antique market.

Perhaps because of their numbers, or perhaps out of fear of Kuek, shoppers hurriedly cleared a path for them—even the dog-men who normally hawked their wares at every passerby pretended not to see them.

Leaving that alley, under Kuek’s guidance, they wound through twisting paths until arriving at another market—this one selling old furniture. Sakavi was truly astonished: broken-legged stools, cracked pottery jars, even iron pots used for who-knew-how-long.

“My lord must wonder why anyone sells such trash. In truth, most people can only afford these broken things—not because they’re used, but because new ones are simply unaffordable.”

“Rusted steel blades, tattered armor—these are what ordinary adventurers or mercenaries can afford. The expensive gear in big shops, costing hundreds of gold coins, only nobles’ sons can play with.”

“Indeed, I’ve seen the world now—ordinary life is surprisingly interesting.”

“If my lord doesn’t mind, I know a small tavern where we could have a drink.”

Looking at the murky fruit wine before him, Sakavi regretted entering the bar called “Beauty and Strong Wine.” It wasn’t the dirtiness—he was used to that—but Verna was here. The air reeked of sweat and alcohol, thick with spittle, the tables coated in grime, and the room filled with vulgar curses.

And the stares—unrelenting, leering. For a noble, it was torture. Perhaps because of their numbers, the drunken men only groped the bar’s prostitutes—none dared approach Verna.

But Sakavi clearly underestimated the drow. She calmly ate the inedible beefsteak, gulped down unknown fruit wine, seemingly indifferent to it all.

As a local, Kuek had no aversion to the food—he ordered a thick stew and a black barley loaf and devoured them. After finishing the loaf that could kill a man, Sakavi said he wanted to visit a blacksmith’s workshop.

Normally, common folk weren’t allowed into blacksmith shops—but Kuek was no common man. The workshop differed from Sakavi’s expectations: everywhere were gnome-made steam pipes and exposed gears. The notoriously stubborn dwarves had adopted semi-automated machinery—Sakavi was deeply surprised.

After touring the Industrial District, Sakavi’s party reached the Artisan District. The atmosphere here was clearly hostile: multiple shops, upon seeing Sakavi was a dragonkin, outright refused service—even Kuek’s rank as captain couldn’t sway them. Only when Verna intervened did they reluctantly sell a few items.

Beyond the Artisan District lay the Residential Quarter, where streets on both sides were lined with household goods shops and brokers. To Sakavi’s surprise, there were even a few bookstores.

Inside, he was disappointed: the books sold were either pornographic or tales of knights and adventurers. It seemed people’s tastes were the same across all worlds.

“My lord, do you know why the blacksmiths travel so far to and from work?”

“I truly don’t know.”

“They say someone advised the Duke that blacksmiths carry weapons and are numerous. Dwarves are famously hot-tempered—if one day they rebelled, it would be hard to control. So they were forced to live here.”

Finally, they reached the Trade District—noticeably livelier. Goods here were bizarre and varied. What most intrigued Sakavi was someone selling dragonkin eggs. Dragonkin are hybrid creatures born from dragons mating with other beings.

According to the merchant, what hatches is pure luck—you get what you get, and he takes no responsibility. Well, dragonkin come in many types, with wildly varying strengths—some as tall as dragonkin, others as small as tortoise-like ground drakes.

After touring the district, the drunk Kuek began recounting his youthful glories.

“I’m not boasting, my lord—when I was three, a foreign troll merchant beat up one of my best friends. My temper couldn’t take it—I gathered over a dozen buddies and beat that bastard so badly his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Right here, in this district, anyone named Kuek used to be called ‘Master.’”

“Are you sure you weren’t the one calling him ‘Master’?”

“Hahaha! I’d dare call him that—if he dared answer!”

After chatting, Sakavi returned to his inn in the Upper District. That gnoll Kuek felt strangely off—he couldn’t say why.

“My lord, Kuek has been corrupted by demons. You must be cautious.”

“Verna, how can you be so certain?”

“His every action shows he comes from the Outer District. In the elven jewelry shop, he never entered. Only one kind of Outer District person behaves this way: cultists. The corrupted dare not touch blessed elven jewelry.”

“You seem to know the Outer District well.”

“I lived there for a time.”

“What did you do for a living in Weilincheng?”

“Silk, my lord. Don’t forget—the followers of the Spider Queen spin silk no worse than the favored of Corellon.”

“And my lord, this place radiates unrest—that’s why I left. The cultists have infiltrated too deeply, and Duke Rast is oblivious. Danger is near. If you plan to act, you must prepare quickly.”

“How much do you know about Rast?”

“He’s like a goblin dressed in formal attire—distantly impressive, but up close, crude and short-sighted. Compared to other monsters, he’s unusually worldly, yet his thinking can’t match that of normal intelligent races.”

“How did he become Duke?”

“They say that when he first came of age, orcs captured him and made him a mount. Later, his rider became Emperor, and Rast’s status rose with him. Perhaps during a powerful magical disturbance on the battlefield, while fighting in the Abyss, he broke through to Legend.”

“After the Emperor fell in battle, and Rast was no longer favored, he was forced to retire. Returning home, he gathered various subhuman and monster factions, building his own domain. The Emperor, impressed by his battlefield exploits, granted him the title of Duke and sent the War Church to help him govern.”

“So this invitation clearly came from the high ranks of the Luo Sen Empire. Tomorrow, I’ll meet this mouthpiece Duke and see what he has to say.”

Sakavi realized he’d underestimated the woman before him. After failing in the competition of You’an City, she still led her family out unscathed. She’d lived in Weilincheng’s Outer District, knew Rast personally, ran a silk workshop in an elven enclave, and had transitioned from priestess to assassin.

Each of these feats was beyond ordinary capability. No wonder she spotted Hoke’s problem at a glance—such a person would be coveted by every faction. That she ended up as a mercenary under him? The reasons behind it were surely not simple.

He’d always heard others say that once you reach a certain height, you can’t choose to stop moving forward—now he finally understood. With power, people with all kinds of agendas come to you, and you can’t escape them. One misstep, and you’re trapped.

“Go back. Be careful tonight—this night won’t be peaceful.”

If he was right, Verna had angered the high ranks of the Luo Sen Empire—or the Church of the War God. Which one? He’d know by tonight.

At midnight, a maid indeed knocked on Verna’s door. They spoke for about half an hour before the maid slipped away quietly.

But the conversation clearly hadn’t gone well—Verna had punched the wall. As for what they discussed, Sakavi had no idea.