The cart rattled along Solva's cobblestone veins, and then it loomed into view—a fountain so massive it could've swallowed every puny water feature I'd ever seen back home.
The Fountain dominated the plaza like a liquid titan, its basin a sprawling circle of polished white marble veined with silver streaks, easily fifty paces wide. Water erupted from its heart in a crystalline geyser, arcing high before cascading down in shimmering sheets, each droplet catching the sunlight like a prism and spraying a faint mist that hung in the air, cool and faintly sweet. The water churned with a low, rhythmic hum, almost alive, and I swore I glimpsed faint runes pulsing along the basin's edge, glowing a soft indigo before fading into the stone. Okay, that's some next-level fantasy flex, I thought, my inner anime nerd practically drooling.
"I'm guessing you don't know what that is," Masamato said beside me, his voice cutting through my reverie as he jabbed a finger toward the spectacle.
"Of course I don't," I shot back, trying to play it cool despite my brain screaming 'Worldbuilding lore drop incoming!
'He smirked, leaning back against the cart's side. "That's the Súká Fountain—one of Solva's crown jewels. Famous across the kingdom."
"No wonder," I muttered, eyes still glued to the gushing water. If this were an anime, there'd be a secret dungeon underneath it, no question.
We rolled on, the cart weaving through the city's pulsing arteries, and Solva unfolded around me like a living tapestry ripped from a JRPG overworld. The streets buzzed with energy—vendors hawk their wares from wooden stalls draped in bright silks, their voices a chaotic symphony shouting about "fresh wyvern eggs" and "blessed talismans from the eastern wastes."
A juggler twirled flaming batons near a corner, drawing a crowd of gapers who cheered as the fire licked the air, while a pair of kids darted past, chasing a scruffy dog with a pilfered bread roll in its jaws. The air thrummed with scents—spiced meat roasting on open grills, the tang of iron from a nearby smithy, and a whiff of something floral drifting from a cart piled high with violet blooms. Overhead, banners of crimson and gold fluttered between rooftops, snapping in the breeze, and the clatter of hooves mingled with the laughter of a trio of adventurers staggering out of a tavern, their armor dented and their mugs sloshing. It was chaos, vibrant and raw, like stepping into a frame of Hunter x Hunter meets Spirited Away.
My gaze snagged on a silhouette piercing the skyline—a castle perched on a distant hill, its jagged spires clawing at the clouds. Even from here, it oozed ancient menace, its walls a weathered gray streaked with moss, towers crumbling at their peaks like broken teeth. Windows gaped dark and hollow, staring down at Solva like the eyes of a long-dead giant, and a faint haze clung to its base, lending it an eerie, almost spectral glow. That's got 'final boss lair' written all over it, I thought, my otaku senses tingling.
"What's that castle?" I asked, nudging Masamato and pointing toward the ominous structure. He followed my gaze, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.
"That's the old royal keep—used by the first king and his court two thousand years ago. Now it's just a museum, gathering dust and ghost stories."
"So where are the royals now?" I pressed, curiosity gnawing at me like a plot thread I couldn't leave dangling.
"They've moved to the capital, Xyrus," he said, his tone casual but with a faint edge—like he knew more than he was letting on.
"I see," I replied, filing that nugget away for later. Xyrus, huh? Sounds like a hub for OP characters and political intrigue.
After a while, the cart jolted to a stop, snapping me out of my musings, and I blinked at the sight before us—a restaurant that screamed "new hotspot" with all the flair of a freshly unlocked fast-travel point. Masamato hopped down and offered me a hand, which I took with a grunt, my boots hitting the cobblestones as Lance's voice rang out.
"Welcome to Bromùēt!" he declared, puffing out his chest like he'd built the place himself, his green eyes gleaming with pride.
"I hear this joint's got rave reviews," he added, gesturing grandly at the building. Suzuki's jaw dropped, her light blue eyes wide with awe.
"Wow, it's far more stunning than I imagined."
"Agreed," Masamato chimed in, his grin mirroring hers. Gild, predictably, just nodded—his silent stamp of approval as reliable as the sunrise.
The Bromùēt stood like a jewel amid Solva's gritty charm, its façade a blend of elegance and rustic swagger. The building rose two stories, its walls clad in smooth, honey-colored wood polished to a sheen, accented with dark iron beams that crisscrossed like a blacksmith's pride. A sign swung above the entrance, the name "Bromùēt" etched in flowing silver script that caught the light, dangling from a wrought-iron frame shaped like a coiled serpent—subtle, but badass. The door was pure isekai tavern vibes—sturdy oak planks bound with iron straps, weathered just enough to hint at stories, with a heavy brass ring for a handle that begged to be yanked open. Windows flanked it, tall and narrow, their glass tinted a faint amber that glowed warmly from the lanterns within, spilling pools of light onto the street. A faint aroma wafted out—roasted meat, herbs, and something sweet, maybe honeyed bread—tickling my nose and making my stomach growl like a summoned beast. This place looks like it's got a side quest waiting inside, I thought, my excitement bubbling beneath my carefully neutral expression. Maybe a shady NPC with a cryptic warning—or a brawl over the last drumstick.
Lance swaggered ahead, shoving open the Bromùēt's oak door with the flair of a shonen hero kicking off an arc, and I followed the Midnight Vanguard inside, the faint aroma from the street hitting me like a full-on sensory crit.
The air inside was thick with the scent of sizzling meat—probably some fantasy beast like a griffin haunch—mingled with the sharp tang of herbs and a sweet undercurrent of honey-glazed bread that practically danced on my tongue. My mouth watered, and my stomach let out a growl loud enough to rival a low-level dungeon mob.
Suzuki glanced my way, her light blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Look who's hungry," she teased, her voice soft but playful.
No kidding, I thought, stifling a grimace. I hadn't eaten a damn thing since getting isekai'd into this world—unless you count that lone marshmallow Masamato tossed me yesterday while we camped, which barely qualified as a snack.
"Ha ha," I managed, forcing a weak laugh to cover the rumble in my gut. Masamato grinned, his golden eyes glinting with unexpected enthusiasm.
"Don't worry, Kozuki—we're going all out with a buffet today!" His tone was so lively it caught me off guard. Four days with this guy, and I'd pegged him as the cool-headed leader type—guess even he had a wild streak buried under that obsidian armor.
We slid into an empty table set for five, its surface a slab of dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, tucked into a corner of the bustling dining hall. Lance waved a hand like he was summoning a summoner's pact, bellowing,
"Waiter! We'll take everything on the menu, please!" His energy was pure protagonist vibes, loud and unstoppable. I blinked, my practical side kicking in. "Uh, won't that cost a fortune?"
Lance smirked, leaning back in his chair with a cocky tilt.
"Relax, Kozuki—money's the cheapest thing we've got." The line hit me like a sucker punch—my dad used to say that exact phrase, back before… well, before he was gone. A pang twisted in my chest, but I shoved it down as Suzuki and Masamato erupted into giggles, even Gild cracking a rare smirk, his stoic face softening for once.
"What—what're you all laughing at?" Lance sputtered, his bravado faltering. "Didn't I speak the truth?"
Masamato wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Oh, it's true—for now."
"Well…" Lance trailed off, speechless for once, his green eyes darting between us like a cornered beast. The waiter—a lanky guy with a mop of chestnut hair and a crisp blue apron—had been hovering nearby, watching this circus unfold with the patience of a saint. He finally stepped in, pen poised over a notepad.
"So, that'll be all, sir?"
"Yep," Masamato answered, cutting off Lance's floundering with a decisive nod. The waiter flashed a bright smile, jotting down the order. "One full menu, coming right up." He gave a quick bow, sharp and practiced, then darted off toward the kitchen, leaving us in the warm chaos of the Bromùēt.
The restaurant's interior was a feast for the senses, a perfect blend of isekai tavern grit and upscale fantasy flair. The dining hall sprawled wide, its high ceiling supported by thick wooden beams stained a deep mahogany, crisscrossed with iron braces that gleamed faintly in the amber glow of hanging lanterns. Those lanterns swung gently, their tinted glass casting a golden haze over the room, painting everything in a cozy, almost magical light. The walls were clad in the same honey-colored wood as the exterior, but here they were studded with mounted trophies—curved horns, a jagged wyvern claw, and what looked like a feathered serpent's skull, each whispering tales of epic hunts. A massive stone fireplace roared at the far end, its flames licking at a spit where a haunch of something enormous turned slowly, dripping fat that hissed into the coals below. Tables dotted the floor, some round and rough-hewn for rowdy adventurer crews, others long and elegant for merchants flaunting their coin. The air buzzed with chatter—raucous laughter from a group of armored bruisers clinking mugs, the clatter of dice from a shadowy corner, and the lilting tune of a bard strumming a lute near the hearth, his melody weaving through the din like a thread of silk. Waiters darted between tables, trays laden with steaming platters and frothy tankards, their blue aprons flashing like banners of order amid the chaos. The floor was slate tile, worn smooth by countless boots, and a faint haze of smoke and spice hung overhead, tickling my nose and making my stomach growl again. It was like stepping into a Sword Art Online guild hall with a dash of Delicious in Dungeon vibes—every corner screamed adventure, and I half-expected a quest NPC to pop up with a cryptic riddle. This is it, I thought, keeping my face neutral despite the otaku fireworks in my brain.
The classic 'party bonds over food' episode—except I'm starving enough to eat the table.
The warm chaos of the Bromùēt swirled around us as we settled into our seats, the bard's lute strumming a jaunty tune in the background. Masamato leaned forward, resting an elbow on the polished table, his golden eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.
"Do you remember me saying I'd have a friend teach you swordsmanship?"
"Yeah," I said, perking up instantly. My mind raced straight to anime tropes—Please say he's a sword saint, please say he's a sword saint.
"So, who is he?" I pressed, barely containing my excitement, visions of a grizzled master with a flowing cape and a legendary blade flashing in my head. Masamato grinned, clearly enjoying the buildup. "He's the guild master of this city."
I blinked, my jaw dropping an inch.
"Wait—so he's the guild master of that extravagant guild we were at earlier?" Not a sword saint, but damn—a guild master? That's still S-tier cred in any isekai worth its salt. I could already picture the prestige rolling in.
"Yep," Masamato said, leaning back with a satisfied nod.
"Does he have any other pupils right now?" I asked, trying to sound casual but secretly praying for a solo apprenticeship. Imagine it—me, the lone disciple of the guild master, whispers trailing me like, 'That's Kozuki, the only one he deemed worthy!' 'He's gotta be OP as hell!'
Masamato's grin faded into a chuckle. "Oh, he's got plenty. Runs a whole school just for swordsmanship, actually."
"Oh," I muttered, deflation hitting me like a critical hit to the ego. A school? So much for being the chosen one. My dreams of exclusive mentorship dissolved into a classroom full of sweaty sword nerds.
"And you know how much he charges for tuition?" Lance cut in, bouncing back from his earlier floundering with renewed gusto, his green eyes wide with dramatic flair.
Suzuki tilted her head, her golden hair catching the lantern light. "Ten gold coins," she said matter-of-factly.
"Per year?" I asked, clinging to a shred of hope that it wasn't as insane as it sounded.
"Nope," she replied, her tone light but merciless. "Per month."
What the actual hell? My brain short-circuited. I didn't have a firm grip on this world's currency yet—gold coins could buy a loaf of bread or a freaking dragon for all I knew—but every anime I'd binged screamed that ten gold a month was bonkers. I couldn't ask outright without raising eyebrows ("Hey, quick question, how much is a gold coin worth? Totally not a clueless isekai guy here!"), so I opted for Plan B: play the shocked newbie. Brilliant, Kozuki, you genius.
"What! That's insane!" I exclaimed, throwing in a dramatic gasp for good measure.
"Yep," Masamato said, smirking at my reaction. "Which is why I'm recommending you. He'll take you on for free."
I paused, letting that sink in. Free lessons at an elite sword school? Okay, maybe not the sword-saint-solo-pupil fantasy, but snagging a spot in a pricey academy without dropping a single coin was a solid consolation prize. Take that, tuition fees! Still, I couldn't help but mourn the lost cool factor just a little.
"Well, I guess that's not too shabby," I said, keeping my tone neutral despite the otaku fireworks fizzing in my head. Free training under a guild master—eat your heart out, Kirito.