The Invincible Young Master

The old man's words lingered in the air, and he found himself wondering if he had the strength to resist the whispers in his heart, the hunger that never seemed to subside.

As he stood, lost in thought, a sudden burst of laughter jolted him back to the present.

He turned to see the old man grinning widely, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Look at this," the old man said, holding a coin between his fingers, its polished surface gleaming even in the dim light.

Zarak squinted at the coin. "What about it?"

The old man snorted, waving the coin in front of him with a smug expression. "Can't you tell? It's a gold coin! Don't tell me you've forgotten what gold looks like."

Zarak leaned in, finally noticing the unmistakable golden hue. Unlike the worn copper and silver coins he had seen before, this one sparkled with a rare luster.

"Seems someone enjoyed my story quite a bit," the old man chuckled, his grin widening. He admired the coin with obvious satisfaction, then carefully stowed it in his pouch. With a quick shake, he added, "And that's not all! One hundred and nineteen silver, plus this shiny gold."

Zarak raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed.

In a single evening of storytelling, the old man had earned a small fortune.

Even the silver coins alone were worth a significant amount, and now a gold coin to top it off? By common standards, this man had made a fortune in mere hours.

"One hundred and nineteen silver, and a gold," the old man repeated, clearly relishing his success.

Zarak couldn't help but smirk. Just moments ago, this wise storyteller had been spouting mysterious insights about life and ambition.

Now, he looked like a child with brand new treasure, practically beaming with pride. The change was amusing.

Zarak shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. This more human side of the old man, less sage, more humble street performer, was oddly endearing.

He felt drawn to it, like he was glimpsing a part of life that had always been hidden from him up on the mountain.

"Seems wisdom pays well," Zarak said with a grin.

The old man clapped his hands and grinned.

"Let's go," he said, turning on his heel.

Zarak glanced around, puzzled. "Where?"

"Somewhere good," the old man replied, not offering any more explanation as he strolled ahead.

Zarak, intrigued and a little hesitant, followed silently.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

A short while later, they stopped in front of a bustling street stall. Aromatic steam wafted from a collection of covered trays, and a line of people waited eagerly.

Whatever was being served here was clearly popular, and Zarak's curiosity grew as he observed the crowd.

When the old man's turn came, he raised two fingers.

"Two," he said to the vendor, dropping twenty silver coins onto the counter without hesitation.

In exchange, he received a small paper bag, steam still rising from it. Zarak trailed after him, eyeing the bag with a mix of interest and skepticism.

Spending twenty silvers on food seemed extravagant, especially when his own savings of a hundred silvers suddenly felt meager in comparison.

"What is it?" Zarak asked as they moved to the side.

The old man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into the bag, pulled out a soft, round, white bun, and handed it to Zarak on a small paper square.

Zarak stared at the unfamiliar object.

"Food?" he muttered, examining it curiously.

"It's called a steamed meat bun," the old man replied. "Now eat it."

Zarak hesitated.

"But… I don't need food," he said.

It had been years since he relied on food. He could sustain himself just by absorbing energy from his surroundings.

The old man scoffed, shaking his head. "I wasted ten silvers on that bun for you. Just eat it."

Not wanting to let the old man's coins go to waste, Zarak nodded and brought the bun to his mouth.

As he took a large bite, his teeth sank through the soft dough into the juicy filling within.

Rich, savory juices flooded his mouth, and he caught the taste of tender, flavorful chunks nestled in the center of the bun. The sensation was foreign, almost startling, yet undeniably delicious.

"What… what are these pieces?" Zarak asked, glancing at the filling in amazement.

The old man chuckled, crossing his arms.

"Seriously?" he said, feigning disbelief. "That's meat. Don't tell me you don't know the taste of meat!"

Zarak blinked, caught off guard by the question. It had been so long since he'd even thought about food, let alone meat, that the taste was almost unfamiliar.

He took another bite, savoring the flavors. There was something deeply satisfying about it, as if he'd discovered a pleasure he had long forgotten.

As he ate, the old man looked on, a quiet satisfaction on his face.

"Lad, sometime, even those who don't need food should eat," he said softly. "Not everything in life is about what we need. Some things are simply… worth tasting."

Zarak chewed thoughtfully, feeling a strange warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the energy he was so accustomed to absorbing.

It was different, almost grounding, a reminder of his humanity, of a simpler existence he had left behind.

In that moment, under the moonlit street filled with strangers and laughter, he felt a connection to this world that went beyond strength or power. It was a simple, unexpected joy, wrapped in a soft, steaming bun.

After they had eaten their fill, the old man stretched his arms wide and let out a big yawn.

"Ah, I'm ready for some rest. Let's find a spot to settle down," he said.

Zarak, following a few steps behind, looked around at the bustling city streets.

"Where are we staying tonight?" he asked. He did not need sleep like regular people, but he knew the old man did.

Back in the forest, they had slept under the trees, but here in the city, he figured they would find an inn or at least a bench.

The old man stopped, turned around, and gave him a grin, pointing to a spot on the side of the street near a wall.

"Right here," he said with a shrug, as if it were perfectly normal.

Zarak blinked, looking from the old man to the cobbled ground, then back at him.

"On the street?" he repeated, a bit surprised. All around them, shops were closing, and well-dressed townsfolk hurried past, heading to the warmth of their homes or inns.

The old man chuckled, settling himself down and leaning his back against the wall with a sigh of contentment.

"The best bed is wherever you lay your head," he said with a smile. "Whether it's a forest or a city, it's all the same to me."

Zarak stared at him for a moment, then gave a small, amused shake of his head.

Relenting, he lowered himself to the ground beside the old man, crossing his legs and getting comfortable.

There was something refreshing about the old man's outlook. He reminded Zarak that not everything in life needed to be planned out or comfortable.

The night air was cool, and the sounds of the city softened as the streets emptied. The faint glow of lanterns lit the cobblestone streets, and the smell of the day's market still lingered in the air, fresh bread, roasted meat, the faint hint of spices.

As they sat in silence, Zarak felt a calmness settling over him, a kind of peace he hadn't felt in a long time.

For so many years, his life had been about chasing strength and power, about reaching the next goal, the next challenge.

Yet, sitting here on the hard ground with nothing but the stars above, he felt something he had not expected, contentment.

The old man, his eyes half-lidded, murmured, "See? Nothing like a free night under the stars."

Zarak looked up at the sky, the moon casting a soft, silvery glow over the quiet city. He could just make out a few stars twinkling between the clouds.

Maybe the old man was right. There was a beauty in simplicity, in just being, without striving or pushing forward.

He leaned back, letting himself relax fully against the wall, and closed his eyes. For tonight, the world could wait.

…

The next morning, Zarak and the old man headed toward the heart of the capital.

Their path wound through narrow lanes and open squares, and Zarak took in how the buildings changed as they moved closer to the city's core.

At first, they walked past modest stone structures, simple and unadorned. But with each step, the surroundings grew more elaborate.

Soon, they passed elegant houses decorated with fine carvings, their walls painted in bright colors and windows tall and gleaming in the morning light.

In each district, the buildings seemed grander than the last, as if the city itself was showing off its wealth and power.

Statues of mythical beasts guarded doorways, fountains bubbled in green gardens, and columns lined the busy streets, where well-dressed citizens moved around.

Zarak watched all of this with a strange mix of awe and detachment.

Life in the mountains had always been simple, stripped of this display of riches. Yet, despite himself, he found the beauty of this world of riches intriguing.

They walked for hours, and by midday, they finally reached the massive gates of the central district.

Soldiers in shining armor stood at attention, eyes sharp as they watched everyone entering.

Officials moved in and out of the gate, carrying scrolls and papers, the air buzzing with a sense of order and importance.

As they approached, a guard stepped forward, asking for identification.

The old man held out a small token, a metal coin with a strange emblem etched into it.

Zarak observed as the guard inspected it, nodding with a hint of respect, as if the old man's coin held some authority.

When the guard turned to Zarak, he gave him a quick look and nodded, allowing him through without any questions.

Once past the gate, they stepped into the central city, and Zarak immediately felt a change.

The air was different here, cleaner, almost sweet, filled with the scents of blooming flowers from gardens and faint incense drifting from grand temples.

Every building was immaculate, with wide, stone-paved streets stretching out like veins, leading to towering structures that only seemed to grow more magnificent.

Even the streets felt like a work of art. Every stone was in place, with not a crack or chip in sight.

Carriages rolled by, drawn by horses with glossy coats that gleamed in the sunlight, their hooves striking the cobblestones in perfect rhythm.

The old man chuckled as he admired the towering spires and polished streets of the central city. "Quite the sight, isn't it?"