The looming walls of Gehenna stretched high into the sky, their dark, battle-worn stone giving off a sense of unyielding permanence. Jagged spikes lined the top, not only as a deterrent against invaders but also to impale the carcasses of particularly dangerous abyssal creatures. The acrid scent of smoke and molten metal filled the air, seeping from the forges beyond the walls. Even from this distance, Kalem could hear the rhythmic clang of hammers striking steel.
"So, this is Gehenna," he muttered, tightening his grip on Onyx's reins. His stallion snorted, nostrils flaring as if sensing the city's hostile nature.
The road leading up to the gates was bustling with activity. Armored warriors, merchants, mercenaries, and desperate-looking refugees moved in streams, each heading toward one of several entrance lanes. Some were seasoned veterans, their armor dented and stained with the blood of abyssal horrors. Others were fresh recruits, looking around in awe or unease.
Kalem urged Onyx forward, the cart rattling slightly as it rolled over uneven stone. He had spent enough time on the road to know that hesitation marked an easy target.
"Halt! State your identity," a guard barked.
"Kalem," he answered simply.
The guard eyed him, taking in his appearance—a well-built figure clad in durable travel leathers, with weapons strapped to his back and a cart that bore the mark of a smith rather than a common warrior. The guard gestured toward a separate lane.
"Take your cart to the left, for checking."
Kalem nodded, steering Onyx in the indicated direction. A row of carts stretched ahead of him, each being meticulously inspected by a mix of heavily armed guards and mages. Supplies of all kinds—crates of weapons, barrels of preserved rations, sacks of medicinal herbs, and casks of alchemical components—were examined before being allowed entry.
He patiently waited his turn, watching the process unfold. Some carts were waved through quickly, while others were seized for further investigation. One merchant was dragged off in chains after contraband was found among his goods.
Finally, it was his turn.
A burly guard approached, eyeing the sturdy metal crate resting at the center of Kalem's cart. He placed both hands on the lid and attempted to lift it—only for his face to twist in frustration as it refused to budge.
"What the hell is this?" the guard grunted, straining.
Kalem remained silent, watching with mild amusement as two more warriors joined the effort, each failing to open the crate. A few of the newly arrived fighters gathered around, whispering among themselves.
"Stand aside," an authoritative voice interrupted. A man in dark robes stepped forward—one of the mage inspectors. With a flick of his fingers, he traced glowing runes in the air, his eyes narrowing as he studied the crate.
"It's enchanted," the mage declared. "A personal security seal, reinforced with a layered binding spell. He's the only one who can open it."
The guards exchanged glances before turning to Kalem.
"You could've just said that," one of them muttered.
Kalem finally spoke, keeping his tone neutral. "That has all my weapons in it, so it's enchanted."
"Fair enough," the guard conceded, "but we still need to see what's inside."
"I heard that weapons don't get checked," Kalem pointed out.
"That's because most people carry theirs in sheaths or strapped to their belts—not locked in a damn vault."
Kalem had to admit that was a fair point. Without further argument, he placed a hand on the crate, muttering a short incantation. The runes pulsed, then faded as the lock disengaged with a soft click. He lifted the lid, revealing the arsenal within.
A collective hush fell over the nearby onlookers.
Inside, an array of masterfully crafted weapons gleamed under the pale light—swords, daggers, axes, each carefully arranged with precision. Some bore intricate runic engravings, marking them as enchanted. Others, though seemingly unassuming, radiated an unmistakable air of lethal craftsmanship.
But it was Kalem's personal weapons that drew the most attention.
A sheathed curved blade, its hilt wrapped in dark leather, rested alongside a pair of twin swords with faint traces of latent energy flickering along their edges. A set of chains, their links infused with a strange metallic sheen, lay coiled in one corner.
"Some of these are for sale," Kalem remarked casually, "but I'm guessing what everyone's staring at are my personal weapons."
The guard exhaled sharply. "You're not wrong." He took a step back, glancing at the mage inspector, who merely gave a slow nod of approval.
"Everything checks out," the mage confirmed. "Close it up."
Kalem sealed the crate again, allowing the magic to rebind itself.
"Alright," the guard said, his tone shifting slightly. "I'll contact you later."
Kalem arched an eyebrow. "For what?"
"People are always looking for quality weapons in Gehenna," the guard replied. "If you're as good as your wares suggest, you'll have plenty of business soon enough."
Kalem merely shrugged. "Fine by me."
The guard nodded, but just as Kalem prepared to leave, the man added one last remark.
"Also, you'll be going into the field in three days."
Kalem frowned. "Wasn't it supposed to be a week for new arrivals?"
The guard smirked. "Do you think I'm blind? You're no green recruit. You've got the look of someone who's seen battle—and survived it. That means you get less time to settle in."
Kalem sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He supposed it was inevitable. Gehenna didn't waste capable fighters.
"Three days, then," he murmured. "Guess I better get ready."
With that, he climbed back onto the cart, flicking the reins. Onyx snorted before pulling forward, carrying him past the gates of Gehenna—into the heart of war itself.