Jared and Flaxseed flowed with the crowd into Swordmaster City. What met them stole breath from every lung.

Streets broad enough for caravans were paved with dark, iron-flecked stone. On either side, buildings rose like serrated blades, each storefront bearing a sign that whispered of steel, “Forging Hall”, “Sword Scripture Vault”, and dozens more.

Eight of every ten passersby wore a weapon at hip or across back. Even those in plain linen gave off a razor-keen aura that pricked the skin.

“Mercy,” Flaxseed muttered, shoulders hunched as fingered the charm pouch at his belt. “A walk down this avenue is enough to make a man sweat steel.”

Jared scanned the endless avenues, eyes dark and steady.

“First we find lodging,” said. “Then we start digging for answers.”

They wandered the crowded arteries of Swordmaster City for the span of a slow-burning incense stick before a building finally commanded their halt.