"Right... let's find a place to stay," Madara decided, his gaze sweeping over the five small, dusty figures huddled behind him. He couldn't just let them keep following him like lost puppies. "Sleeping in alleys isn't an option."
He moved through the town's jammed streets. It was loud. People shouted, vendors yelled about prices for everything from cheap trinkets to questionable meat. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and something vaguely rotten hidden beneath the scent of cooking food. It was a town clinging to life, but it felt like a desperate, dirty kind of life.
He saw it everywhere – the casual cruelty. People pushing past each other, arguing over scraps. And the slaves. He saw a young boy, no older than ten, stumble under the weight of a heavy crate, earning a sharp kick from his owner. Further down, a man whipped two thin figures pulling a overloaded cart.
"Get moving, you lazy dogs!" a thick-necked man bellowed, his face red with effort or maybe just anger. He spat on the ground. "Think I pay good coin for you to stand around? Be worth the food I give you!"
His whip snapped against the back of a young woman. She looked maybe nineteen, twenty at most. Thin lines, old scars, marked her face and the backs of her hands. Her clothes were little more than rags, torn in several places where the whip had likely landed before. She winced but kept hauling, her eyes fixed on the muddy ground, showing nothing.
Men were used for rougher work, their muscles visible even under layers of dirt and sweat. Madara glanced at them. He had power far beyond simple muscle, his own frame lean and built for speed and deadly grace, not brute bulk.
He looked back at the kids. Their small faces were turned towards a stall where meat sizzled over a fire. Their eyes were huge, filled with a longing so raw it was almost painful to see. But they stayed silent, not a peep, not even a hopeful glance his way. They knew better than to ask.
"There has to be an inn here," Madara muttered, scanning the grimy storefronts again. The bandits he'd... relieved of their burdens... had mentioned one. It was also the first step. Get a room, maybe find out about getting an adventurer card. It could serve as an ID, make things easier. Maybe even help find a small, cheap house later. A safe place to leave these children.
After winding through a few more narrow, refuse-strewn streets, he finally saw it. The sign, faded and barely readable, just said 'Inn'. The building itself looked like it might fall down in a strong wind. Wood warped, paint gone, windows grimy. "Probably the best this dump has to offer," Madara thought, his face impassive.
He pushed the heavy, groaning wooden door open and stepped inside. The five children pressed close behind him, their eyes wide with fresh fear. The noise and smell hit them like a wall.
Inside, it was dim, lit by a few smoky lamps. The air stank of cheap ale, stale sweat, and smoke. Rough-looking men and a few equally rough women sat at scarred wooden tables. Most wore worn leather or patched tunics, weapons casually strapped on. They were loud, laughing coarsely, arguing, clinking mugs. These were the town's adventurers, bottom feeders mostly.
Madara's arrival cut through the noise. His dark, clean clothes stood out starkly. Then eyes fell on the children clinging to his legs, and the looks turned suspicious, curious, or calculating.
He ignored them all, walking straight to the counter at the back. A big man with a shiny bald head and arms like tree trunks was wiping down the stained wood with a rag that looked like it needed washing more than the counter did.
"Biggest room," Madara said, his voice flat, carrying easily over the low hum of conversation. It wasn't a question.
Before the big man could react, Madara pulled out the hefty pouch of coins he'd taken off the bandits. He dropped it onto the counter with a solid, heavy thud that made the nearby mugs rattle. The sound drew more eyes. "Food for the children. Warm clothes."
"Huh?" The innkeeper squinted, taking in Madara's clothes, then the pouch. "Another one? Think you're tough stuff, eh? This ain't a charity, kid. It's an inn. We got rooms, we got drink, we don't sell..." His words died in his throat as he properly met Madara's gaze. There was something ancient and utterly cold in those eyes that made the hairs on his thick arms stand up. He suddenly looked less like a tough innkeeper and more like a man who'd just remembered something important, like breathing.
He quickly grabbed the pouch, its weight surprising him. He didn't even bother looking inside. "R-Right," he stammered, his tone suddenly businesslike. "Second floor. Last room, end of the hall. Corner room, biggest one. Food... yeah, I'll send food up. And clothes... I'll see what I can find. Might cost extra." He added the last part weakly, but Madara had already turned away.
"Heh, look at that," sneered a voice from a nearby table. A lanky man with greasy hair and a noticeable gap in his front teeth grinned crookedly, nodding towards the children. "Fancy boy playing hero. Or maybe he just bought himself some new little slaves? Gonna use 'em for bait, maybe?" He chuckled, elbowing his companions.
Madara paid him no mind, already moving towards the stairs, the children scrambling to keep up.
The gap-toothed man flushed, anger rising. Being ignored by some newcomer? He didn't like that. As Madara walked past his table, he stuck his foot out quickly, hoping to send the stranger sprawling. A cheap, common trick.
Madara didn't slow down, didn't even seem to notice. His booted foot simply came down squarely on the outstretched one.
There was a sharp, wet crack.
"Aaaaaaagh! Fuck! My foot! You broke it! You fucking broke my foot!" the man screamed, grabbing his foot, his face contorting in agony.
The men at his table surged to their feet. Their easy-going manner vanished, replaced by hard stares. It was clear this was part of their usual act – provoke someone, claim injury, demand money.
A truly large man, muscles bulging under his stained leather vest, stepped deliberately in front of Madara, blocking the path to the stairs completely. He was easily a head taller than Madara and twice as wide. He slowly cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the now mostly silent room.
"Whoa there, buddy," the big man rumbled, his voice trying for menacing calm. "Can't just go around breaking people's bones and walk off. Healing potions ain't cheap, you know? Fixing a foot like that? Costs a fair bit."
While the big man postured, his buddies subtly shifted, spreading out. They weren't exactly surrounding him yet, but they were cutting off easy escape routes, their hands moving towards the hilts of knives or clubs at their belts. The air grew heavy with threat. The children whimpered, pressing themselves tighter against Madara's legs.