37 – Low Moon

We saw Low Moon from afar, on a risen hill. It was ringed by a large snaking wall, marked with equidistant watchtowers, and even at a distance I could see archers patrolling them. The city beyond was dominated by a fleet of squat buildings, some of the streets narrow and choked, as if chunks of the city had been hastily built on top of the older parts. A few many-tiered pagodas loomed tall, undoubtedly the seats of power in the city.

Back home it would have been considered average in size.

Still, from our vantage, I was able to see throngs of people entering and exiting through the cities main gates. People on foot, mostly, along with a few folks on horseback or riding cassowarys. And, to be expected, there were merchant wagons making their pilgrimage through Low Moon.

We pressed on and joined the line through the southern gate. And got a fleet of spears aimed our way by the local guards once we were close enough. Smoke dropped low to the ground, growling and glowering up at the soldiers.

These weren’t the bumpkins in hand-me-down gear the Iudex had, I could tell that as much. These were hard built men, adorned in armour and carrying blades that had been forged by skilled craftsmen. And from the look in their eye, I knew some of them were no strangers to killing.

“What is that beast doing here?!” one soldier barked, aiming the gleaming tip of his spear at Smoke.

“This beast,” Smoke growled, and the sound of his voice made the people around us jump in shock, “does not appreciate having weapons pointed at him!”

“He’s a spirit beast,” I said, trying my best to keep a level tone. I didn’t much like having weapons pointed at me either, especially after this morning. “He means no harm, not like the wild hellcats. You can trust him.”

One soldier strode forth from the others, distinguished by the three silver bars sewn to the shoulders of his uniform. From how the men regarded him, he seemed some kind of commander. Or, at least, he had more clout than the other troops.

In his hand he held a small piece of jade, the green material having been painstakingly sculpted into the shape of an eyeball. It pulsed, faintly, as he held it up, and then those pulses grew far stronger as he aimed the eye at me. “A cultivator comes to Low Moon,” the man said, stroking his shaggy beard with is other hand. “We sensed the approach of one through the sense stone, but… usually they go around the city entirely.”

They had devices that could sense magicka? That was interesting. Back home it was usually other wizards who handed that sort of thing, and their crystal balls would not work for normal humans.

“I just have business in the city. I don’t mean any harm.”

When was the last time I’d gone to the city without violence in mind?

The other man watched me with sharp, flinty eyes. “But of course, Master Cultivator. I am sure you will be a calm and reasonable visitor to our city. We shall do what we can to keep you safe while you are here, as we do for… everyone within these walls. Safety is a large concern of ours, after all.”

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I followed his gaze to the walls, where a litany of men had gathered to watch our conversation. Dozens and dozens of men with spears and those strange repeating crossbows I had seen from Inumi’s bandits. I suppose their numbers would have been a challenge to a low level ‘cultivator.’ And perhaps there were even men armed with magicka in their ranks.

The unspoken threat was hardly subtle, but who could blame him? If the Snake Flower were any indication, cultivators probably caused shit all the time.

“Naturally, sir. And thank you for your consideration. Come on Smoke.”