Chapter 58: Gwanitz

The outer district wasn’t much to look at.

Orlando followed Zijiang out of the airship port, his boots scraping against the dusty stone pavement.

He glanced down the street and confirmed one thing—

It was the same as the outer district of Eldron.

The same gray brick houses, the same narrow alleys, the same clothes hanging on window ledges, billowing in the wind.

The only difference was the text on the signs.

In Eldron, most signs were written in the Empire’s common tongue.

Here, the Wolf Clan’s claw-mark script, the Canine Clan’s circle-dot script, and the Equine Clan’s straight-line script were all crammed onto iron signs, fighting for space.

The street wasn’t crowded.

A canine merchant pushed a cart through the alley entrance, the wheels grinding over weeds sprouting from the cracks in the stone.

Two wolf youths crouched by a wall, sharing a baked flatbread.

Their ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps, both turning to look at the same time, then turning back.

A gust of wind blew a piece of paper to Orlando’s feet.

He looked down.

It wasn’t trash.

It was a flyer.

He took two more steps forward.

A larger one was plastered on the wall, with too much paste smeared on, the paper wrinkled, but the printing ink still fresh.

In the center of the flyer was a portrait of an equine girl—

Brown hair spilling from under a knight’s helmet, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed on something outside the frame.

She wore a suit of silver-white plate armor, with a galloping horse crest engraved on the breastplate.

One hand held a cavalry lance, the tip pointing straight up beside her.

Above the portrait, a line of large, bold, gold-embossed text read:

“The Popular Knight Masvilo — Six Consecutive Championships!”

Below the portrait, there were several smaller lines.

Orlando scanned them.

“Grand Tournament Singles Defending Champion”

“Three-Peat Team Championship Main General”

“72 Consecutive Undefeated Bouts Record Holder”

At the bottom was the tournament committee’s emblem and a string of ticket purchase URLs.

The wind blew another flyer over, landing face-down on the stone.

He flipped it over.

It was still Masvilo, but this one was a full-body shot, her horse hoof stepping on a fallen flag.

He wondered which designer came up with that composition.

“Hey—”

Zijiang’s voice came from ahead.

She stood about ten feet away, phone raised above her head, arm stretched straight, slowly turning left, then right, like she was an antenna searching for a signal.

Her pink ponytail blew sideways in the wind, and a small piece of crumpled paper was stuck to the edge of her cat-ear headphones.

“The magic terminal signal here in the outer district is so weak.”

She lowered her phone, glanced at the screen, frowned, then raised it again.

“Isn’t Wolfgang supposed to have the highest magic terminal coverage in the whole continent? And this is how the outer district is?”

Orlando walked up next to her.

“Got it yet?”

“No. Wait, wait, wait—”

She turned a little more to the left, standing on her tiptoes, arm stretched as high as possible.

The hem of her pink hoodie lifted, revealing a sliver of her waist.

The wind blew, and she shivered.

“Oh! Got it, got it!”

On her phone screen, the signal bar finally jumped from gray to a pale blue.

Two bars.

She held the phone to her chest, swiped with her thumb, and a navigation map loaded, showing a winding route from their current position toward the inner district.

She stared at the map for a few seconds, then shoved the phone into her pocket.

“Come this way.”

The streets of the outer district grew wider.

The gray brick houses gradually turned into red brick houses, and the red brick houses gradually turned into two-story whitewashed buildings.

Flowerpots began to appear on windowsills.

Then wrought-iron railings.

Then carved wooden window frames.

Zijiang stopped in front of an arched gate.

The arch was built of white stone, with a line of text carved into the lintel.

The words were in Canine Clan’s circle-dot script.

Orlando couldn’t read it.

Flanking the arch were two uniformed guards, each with a knight tournament badge pinned to their chest and a sheathed longsword in hand, the scabbard wrapped in copper.

Orlando looked up.

The inner district.

The street suddenly became twice as wide.

The pavement was laid with smooth grayish-white stone blocks, with light-colored mortar filling the cracks.

It was swept clean.

The buildings jumped from two stories to four or five, their outer walls covered in massive advertising canvas that hung from the rooftop down to the second-floor windowsills.

Brown hair caught mid-billow by the painter’s brush, silver-white plate armor gleaming with metallic luster on the canvas, the cavalry lance’s tip pointing to the right side of the frame—

Toward a line of gold-embossed text at the edge.

“Grand Tournament Tickets Pre-Sale Now! VIP Seats Limited!”

In the lower right corner of the canvas, a QR code was printed, with words beside it: “Scan to buy tickets and enjoy early bird discounts.”

He shifted his gaze away from Masvilo’s face.

…

Zijiang stopped at the entrance of a café.

The café’s exterior wall was painted cream yellow, with a red canvas awning fringed with tassels.

A small blackboard stood at the door, with a chalk inscription:

“Grand Tournament Limited Drinks · Knight Platter · Match Day Combo.”

“Right here.”

She set her equipment case down on the café’s steps, then crouched to unzip it.

Camera, ring light, fill light, spare microphone.

She took them out one by one, arranging them on the ground like a vendor setting up a stall.

Then she looked up, and her pale purple eyes met Orlando’s.

“Mr. Orlando.”

“Mm.”

“Hold this for me.”

She handed him the camera.

Orlando took it.

Then she folded the ring light and shoved it into his other hand, clipped the fill light to the top of the ring light, plugged one end of a data cable into the camera and the other into her phone.

“Hold it here.”

She gestured at a height.

“Point it at me.”

Orlando raised the camera to chin level.

“A little higher.”

He lifted it about an inch.

“Yeah, right there. Don’t shake.”

Zijiang stepped back until she stood under the café’s red awning.

The cream yellow wall and red canvas formed a clean background composition.

She adjusted her cat-ear headphones, brushed her bangs aside, and checked the framing on her phone screen.

Then she tapped the screen.

The livestream began.

“Hi, everyone—I’ve made it to the inner district!”

Comments scrolled in.

“First!”

“Zijiang finally started streaming!”

“The background is so pretty!”

“Where is this?”

“Wolfgang’s inner district! Look—”

She raised her phone and swept the camera across the street.

Masvilo’s giant advertisement slid through the frame.

She turned the camera back.

“There are tournament ads everywhere! Did you see that equine knight just now? Masvilo! Six-time champion!”

Comments poured in.

“Masvilo is my wife.”

“Your wife’s 72-match undefeated streak almost got broken last month.”

“I watched that Bonecrusher match live. Went to overtime.”

“Can Zijiang go to the competitor area and film Masvilo?”

“You need a certain media pass level for the competitor area—I got an inner-field media pass this time, so I should be able to enter the competitor lounge. If I can get a shot, I definitely will!”

She smiled at the camera, her two canine teeth showing.

“Oh, oh—look at this—”

She held the phone up, focusing on the small blackboard at the café door.

The lens zoomed in on the words “Knight Platter.”

“This place has a match-day combo! The Knight Platter! I’ll try it after the stream, and show you then—”

Comments rolled in.

“What’s the Knight Platter?”

“Bets on a sausage platter.”

“Wolfgang’s sausages are really good.”

“Zijiang, don’t get fat.”

“Don’t worry about that! I exercise every day—I even did some stretching on the airship—”

She lowered her phone to the stand, took half a step back, put her hands on her hips, and struck a pose to show off her figure.

With her fingers, she pinched the hem of her pink hoodie and pulled it to the sides.

The comments exploded.

“Screenshot taken.”

“Already screenshot.”

“Thanks for the treat.”

“Director, switch camera angles.”

“The hands of the guy holding the camera behind you are shaking.”

Orlando was holding the ring light plus the camera plus the fill light—

Three things stacked together—

His arm hanging in the air for almost two minutes.

His bicep trembled slightly under his sleeve.

He lifted his arm, switched hands, and kept holding it up.

Zijiang glanced back at him.

“Mr. Orlando, just a bit longer—almost done—”

She turned back and kept talking to the camera.

Her voice was still that bright, upbeat note, every word round and full.

“This afternoon I’ll pick up my media pass, and tonight there’s a contestant meet-and-greet. Yes, the one Masvilo will attend too. I’ll try to get some close-ups—”

Comments kept scrolling.

“Looking forward to it!”

“Zijiang, go for it!”

“Thanks for your hard work, camera guy.”

“Is that camera guy really not a boyfriend?”

“No, he’s not a boyfriend! I already said he’s not! You guys! Enough!”