Just as everyone was preparing to continue their inspection, Matthew's gaze suddenly locked onto something.
He noticed a minute scratch on the bone of the Bellkeeper's left index finger.
It didn't look like it had been caused by combat, but rather resembled the wear left behind by wearing a ring for a long time.
Yet now, that finger was completely bare. The ring was gone.
Matthew didn't speak up immediately, instead continuing to observe the rest of the skeleton.
Soon, he discovered a second anomaly. The coin pouch at the Bellkeeper's waist was still there, and there were even a few ancient gold coins inside.
His sword was still there, as was his bronze plaque.
Only the ring was missing.
...
Alvin noticed the shift in Matthew's expression. "Did you find something?"
Matthew pointed at the finger bone. "If it were grave robbers, they wouldn't have taken only a single ring. If it wasn't grave robbers, then that means..."
He paused, then slowly continued, "Someone came here solely to take that ring."
The hall fell silent once more.
This implied that someone had indeed entered this place before them.
Moreover, that person knew exactly what they were looking for.
They hadn't carried away the bronze artifacts, taken the gold coins, or damaged the ruins. They had only precisely taken one thing—a ring belonging to the Bellkeeper.
Just then, the bronze plaque that had been quietly hanging at the Bellkeeper's waist suddenly swayed slightly.
There was no wind, and no one had touched it, yet it seemed as if it had been lightly nudged by some unseen force.
The next moment, the plaque flipped over, revealing a line of tiny text on the back that no one had noticed before.
Peering closer by the lantern light, Matthew's pupils shrank slightly.
There was no name on it, only a sequence number: Seventh Bellkeeper: Sequence 112.
Alvin slowly exhaled.
If the Bellkeepers of the Seventh Bell Hall were all numbered by sequence, it meant there were at least a hundred and eleven Bellkeepers before Leon.
And all of them had once stood duty here.
Matthew didn't immediately walk in. Instead, he stopped at the entrance of the plaza, his gaze slowly sweeping over the entire area.
It was in places like this that one could truly see the true depth of a city's heritage.
The county seat also had a Class Holder Plaza, but compared to the one before him, it was practically like a countryside market. Neither the scale nor the crowd was on the same level.
The ground of the plaza was paved entirely with whole slabs of blue-grey granite. Each slab was nearly half a person's height in width, and the joints fit together seamlessly. Even after enduring countless years of foot traffic, they only showed slight wear at the edges.
A ring of fountains was built around the central knight statue.
A few white doves perched on the edge of the fountain, occasionally fluttering their wings and taking flight.
The crystal-clear spring water constantly jetted upward, refracting a faint rainbow under the sunlight.
Many children chased each other around the fountain, laughing and playing.
Nearby, several elderly folk sat on benches, basking in the sun and leisurely playing chess.
Class holders, commoners, merchants, travelers, and noble servants—everyone gathered in the same plaza, yet without interfering with one another.
The entire plaza seemed chaotic, but was actually in perfect order.
Matthew watched quietly for a moment, then suddenly spoke. "Aidan."
"Yes."
"Are there always this many people here every day?"
Aidan nodded. "According to the innkeeper, today is actually considered a slow day. If it coincides with the end of the month, or when large-scale missions are posted, there wouldn't even be room to stand."
Matthew nodded gently and said nothing more.
Then, the two slowly walked into the plaza.
...
The further inside they went, the noisier it became.
"Hunting greystone lizards, still need two more! High Black Iron Rank and above preferred!"
...
"Escorting a merchant caravan to White Pine Town! Need two Shield Warriors!"
...
"Selling demon wolf hides! Skinned just yesterday!"
...
All kinds of shouts rose and fell.
The air was even filled with the faint smell of alcohol.
Several taverns had moved their tables and chairs directly to their doorways, where many mercenaries drank while waiting for others.
Some who won money laughed loudly and slapped the tables, while others who lost their bets swore and got up to leave.
Matthew's gaze slowly swept across them.
These mercenaries were dressed in various ways—some wore animal hides, some wore chainmail, and some even wore simple leather armor.
But without exception, they all carried an air of ease that border Class holders did not possess.
It wasn't that they were stronger, but that they had seen more.
The Royal Capital had new missions and new opportunities every day.
The people here didn't need to fight tooth and nail for a single commission because there were plenty of opportunities to go around.
Just then, a burst of laughter suddenly erupted from a nearby drinking table.
"Hahaha! What does that count as? The year before last, I went to the Frost Mountains. The snow there was taller than the city walls!"
Another bearded mercenary immediately refused to back down. "Bullshit! You're just bragging. I've also been to the Frost Mountains, and it's nowhere near as exaggerated as you say."
The others around them instantly burst into laughter.
One of the young mercenaries raised his wooden cup. "Come, come, come. Bragging is bragging. Drink first."
Several wooden cups clinked together, spilling alcohol all over the table.
Matthew only spared a glance and was about to leave.
However, the next moment, another slightly older mercenary nearby lowered his voice. "It's still better not to blindly take on night missions lately."
The laughter paused slightly.
"Why?" someone asked.
The mercenary looked left and right, lowering his voice even further. "My brother is in the Iron Shield Mercenary Group. A few days ago, they took an escort mission. Passing through the Theater District at night, they came back down two people."
The others beside him froze for a moment. "Dead?"
The mercenary shook his head. "I don't know. They just didn't come back, and no one in the group has mentioned it either."
Another person frowned. "Could they have run off?"
"Run?" The mercenary sneered. "Since when has anyone ever dared to run from the Iron Shield Mercenary Group? Besides, two running together? Without even taking their equipment?"
The table suddenly fell silent.
The few people looked at each other and didn't continue the topic. Instead, someone took the initiative to raise their cup.
"Drink, drink. Let's not talk about this. It's bad luck."
The topic was abruptly ended just like that.
Matthew's steps didn't stop, and his face showed no change either, as if he had heard nothing.
But in his heart, he silently noted down several terms: Theater District, Iron Shield Mercenary Group, night escort, two missing.
He didn't turn back, much less go over to ask, because there was no need.
When mercenaries drank and chatted, they naturally said whatever came to mind. Whether it was true or false, no one knew. Rashly going over to inquire would only arouse suspicion.
What was truly important was not this single piece of news, but that it overlapped once again with the rumors he had heard yesterday.
The Theater District had appeared again.
This was already not the first time.
Once could be a coincidence, and twice could also be a coincidence. But if he kept hearing about it in the future, then it wouldn't be a coincidence.
Matthew's eyes narrowed slightly.
He suddenly felt that he was a bit closer to the secret behind the Blood-Veined Rapier than he had imagined.
Matthew didn't linger, leading Aidan as they continued toward the depths of the plaza.
The further in they went, the more people there were.
Aside from mercenaries, there were also many small vendors here who specifically did business with Class holders.
Some pushed wooden carts, selling freshly roasted meat. Grease dripped onto the charcoal, making a sizzling sound, and the aroma quickly drifted around.
Several young Class holders who had just finished training gathered in front of the stall, eating large mouthfuls of meat while discussing what missions they planned to take today.
Beside them, an old man squatted on the ground, a piece of coarse cloth spread out in front of him.
On the cloth lay all kinds of things—heavily worn daggers, broken arrowheads, teeth of some unknown magical beast, and several ores of different colors.
There were many items, and none of the prices were expensive, but not many people actually stopped to buy.
Aidan took a look and said in a low voice, "Most of these people are scavengers."
"Scavengers?"
"Yeah," Aidan nodded. "They specialize in buying things that mercenaries don't want. Sometimes, if they're lucky, they can also pick up some valuable materials."
Matthew nodded gently.
This profession was somewhat similar to the second-hand dealers of his previous life. Except what they picked up here wasn't scrap iron, but spoils left behind by Class holders.
Just as the two continued forward, a burst of muffled cheers suddenly rang out.
"Good!"
"Beautiful!"
"Again!"
Many people began to gather in one direction.
Aidan stood on his tiptoes and took a look. "Someone's sparring."
Matthew also grew interested, and the two followed the crowd over.
In a corner of the plaza, a circular space about a dozen meters wide had been cleared out, its perimeter packed with onlookers.
In the center, two young men were facing off with wooden swords. Looking at their attire, they were both just ordinary mercenaries, and neither wore armor. Clearly, it was just a daily spar.
As a middle-aged referee nearby waved his hand, "Start!"
One of them immediately took the initiative to attack. Taking a step, his wooden sword lunged straight toward the opponent's chest.
The other person's movements were also extremely fast. Sidestepping, they swung their sword to parry.
"Clack!"
The wooden swords collided, producing a crisp sound.
Immediately after, the two quickly pulled back and clashed again.
Back and forth, offense and defense constantly shifted. Though the movements couldn't be called flashy, they were highly practical, with every strike going for vital points.
Many mercenaries around watched and commented.
"Good speed."
"Footwork is a bit lacking."
"If that strike were with a real sword, his hand would already be gone."
"Center of gravity is too high."
"Sword retraction is slow."
All kinds of voices kept coming.
Matthew also watched seriously.
His attention was not on who won or lost, but on their movements.
After obtaining the Blood-Veined Rapier yesterday, his Sword Comprehension had already improved quite a bit.
Now looking at others strike, the feeling was somewhat different again.
Many things he couldn't understand before could now be identified with just a little observation.
For example, that young man just now.
When thrusting his third strike, his shoulder was clearly raised by an inch.
This inch seemed inconspicuous, but it caused a slight opening in his center of gravity.
If he encountered a truly experienced enemy, he would likely lose his life because of this single point.
At this thought, Matthew felt a stir in his mind.
After his talent improved, the changes it brought were far more than just him practicing swordsmanship faster.
Even his observation of others had become sharper.
This kind of improvement was even more comprehensive than he had anticipated.
Just then, the victor in the field was decided.
One of them was slightly slower with his steps, and the other's wooden sword had already steadily stopped in front of his throat.
The entire arena instantly erupted in applause.
The loser wasn't angry either, instead laughing readily. "I'll buy the drinks tonight."
The winner laughed. "Then I won't be polite."
The two patted each other's shoulders and walked off the field together, without any hostility.
The surrounding onlookers also quickly dispersed, as if this kind of thing happened every day.
Watching this scene, a look of thoughtfulness appeared in Matthew's eyes.
The biggest difference between here and the county seat wasn't just that there were more Class holders, but the competition.
The Class holders of the Royal Capital were improving themselves almost every single moment.
Some sparred, some exchanged ideas, some shared experiences, and some looked for teammates.
The entire Class Holder Plaza was like a giant melting pot, where people kept entering, growing, and constantly being weeded out.
Just as Matthew was about to leave, a rough voice suddenly came from behind.
"Hey! Kid! First time in the Royal Capital, right?"
Matthew's steps paused slightly as he slowly turned around.
A burly man with a full beard was leaning against a tavern doorway, holding a wooden cup in his hand and smiling as he looked at him.
Though those eyes carried a bit of drunkenness, they were exceptionally sharp. Clearly, he was not as simple as he looked on the surface.
Matthew turned around fully.
The speaker was a burly man in his thirties, with a sturdy build, a full beard, and an old scar running diagonally across his left cheek.
He was leaning against the tavern doorway, one foot resting on a wooden barrel, and the other hand holding half a cup of ale.
Hanging on his chest was a High Black Iron Rank mercenary badge, indicating he had been scraping by in the Royal Capital for many years.
Seeing Matthew turn back, the burly man grinned. "Don't be nervous. I just saw you standing there for a long time, constantly watching others. You look like someone who's here in the Royal Capital for the first time."
Matthew didn't deny it either, nodding. "Just arrived yesterday."
"Haha," the burly man laughed even more heartily. "No wonder. People who come for the first time are all like that. Standing here, staring for half a day."
Saying so, he pointed to the entire Class Holder Plaza. "Don't just look at how lively it is here. The ones who truly make a living might not all be here."
Matthew showed a trace of interest. "Oh?"
The burly man took a sip of alcohol and slowly said, "Here, most are Black Iron Rank, and there are also quite a few Bronze Rank. The ones with real skill are either executing missions or staying in their own mercenary groups. Those who stay in the plaza every day, on the other hand, don't have many experts among them."
Matthew nodded. This was easy to understand; people who were truly powerful wouldn't wander around all day.
The burly man continued, "Also, if you take on missions in the future, remember one phrase: don't be greedy for easy gains. The higher the reward, the faster you die."
Several mercenaries nearby immediately burst out laughing. "Hahaha, Old Bear is starting to teach the newcomer again."
The burly man rolled his eyes. "Get lost. I'm saving lives here."
Then he looked at Matthew again. "Especially night missions. Look closely before you take them. Many young people die from a single word: greed."
Matthew felt a slight stir in his mind.
Night again. It seemed this was already the third time he had heard similar words today.
However, his face still showed no change as he calmly asked, "Why?"
The burly man shrugged. "Why? Who knows. Some run into magical beasts, some meet bandits, and others..."
Speaking up to here,
Rate on N.U.
