Solo Strategy

During my nighttime run to the world's trade capital, I gave my new artifact shoes a real test drive. I pushed my speed to the physical limit possible at Sapphire, jumped as high as I could, and slid along the stone pavement of the road. All these trials my shoes withstood with honor and, despite such rough treatment, looked as good as new. I didn't even have to activate the Strengthening rune once.

I got so carried away with this process that I covered the two hundred kilometers to Deytran in just nine hours. So, I had to wait for dawn, settling on the top of a small hill until the guards opened the gates. In the meantime, I practiced some magic.

The outskirts of the trade capital began about two kilometers from the city wall. But these suburbs in no way resembled the slums of Feyst or many other cities of Ain, and not many people lived in them. Almost all the space outside the walls was occupied by numerous trading warehouses. Real estate prices within the city walls were steep, so many merchants set up their operations outside. A sensible strategy, especially considering that security here was at a very decent level. Several mercenary squads constantly patrolled the warehouse rows, so petty thieves had no chance here.

The entry system here was organized much better than in other cities of Ain. For example, the northern gate, which was the closest, had three separate checkpoints. The first and largest was for trade caravans—most of the guards were concentrated there, along with the city customs office. The second was for common citizens, those who lived outside the walls but worked in the city daily. The third and smallest was for people like me, that is, for guests. And that was precisely where I headed as soon as the first rays of the sun illuminated the horizon.

The former me had loved this city in his own way. But the current me still had to get to know it better and form his opinion anew.

Deytran—the trade capital of Ain, a city of profit, labor, and perpetual motion. There was no room for idleness here. Everything was governed by the logic of gain, all aimed at extracting benefit. A half-million-strong port giant, sprawled between the sea and stone-clad hills, it reminded me of Rome in its prime—just as orderly, businesslike, fundamentally solid. Only without the triumphal arches and coliseums. Instead of them—administrative buildings, warehouses, merchant courtyards, and temples built not for grandeur but for reliability and functionality. The streets were paved with meticulously fitted stones. No trash, no stray dogs—the cleanliness here was guarded as carefully as reputation. The buildings were low, at most three stories high, except for rare giants like the Municipality, the Temple of All Gods, the Gate Complex, and the world's most famous Arena.

Deytran—a city of craftsmen, shopkeepers, merchants, and contracts. Here, people didn't shout—they negotiated. They didn't bide their time—they worked. Everyone knew their trade and the value of their time. Everything around, even the very atmosphere, was infused with a sense of orderly bustle, businesslike demeanor, and money. Here, they did not hurry, but neither did they stop.

One of Deytran's features was that way before the Fall, ancient masters divided the river, which flowed into the Starry Bay and through the city, into numerous canals and lined them with marble. Thanks to this, river navigation in the city was well-developed. Numerous barges controlled by Water mages sometimes even created real jams, vaguely reminiscent of traffic congestion.

The conversation with the guards was brief. Upon learning that my visit was for training and descending the Floors of the Inverted Tower, they entered my name into the guest book without asking any additional questions. Then, they issued me a guest Sign, corresponding to the Sapphire rank—of course, for a fee. After that, they sealed the blade of the Striking Whisper and formally read out the main rules for staying within the city limits. None of them recognized me as the Sheriff of the Book; they simply recorded me as a sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild. Which was for the best—I was tired of attracting attention for no reason.

Stepping through the gates, I was immediately swept into the city's hustle and bustle. The dense flow of people, the chatter of voices, the clatter of wheels on stone, and the rhythmic shouts of cart drivers—all resembled a well-coordinated mechanism where everyone knew their place. For a few minutes, I followed the crowd, then turned onto another street where there were significantly fewer people.

I walked calmly, trying not to gawk like a country bumpkin in a big city, and at the same time tried distancing myself from the memory of the future to form my own first impression of Deytran.

In some ways—albeit distantly—the city reminded me of the already familiar Tries. Only, in terms of scale, it surpassed it in every way: wider streets, more impressive buildings, more people. Still, at a glance, it was the same cobblestone pavements, the same mostly two-story houses where the ground floor usually housed shops or workshops. Here, though, everything looked richer. Almost every building was adorned with something unique: a sculptural group, a carved frieze, faux columns with intricate patterns, or bas-reliefs. The city didn't flaunt its wealth; it displayed it casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But as soon as I stepped out to the very first canal, I understood why my "past self" had fallen in love with this city. All it took was stopping on a marble-lined embankment for a wave of nostalgia to hit me. For a moment, I became that young self again, like when I first arrived in Saint Petersburg and wandered along the Fontanka embankment. The humped bridges, the squat barges lazily floating underneath, loaded to the brim, reminded me of the river trams packed with tourists[1]. And for a second, Deytran became not just a city, but something personal to me, almost like home.

I felt an urge to forget all my immediate plans and just walk around, soaking in the first impressions. But strolling in full armor, with a backpack and a spear in hand, wasn't the best idea. Having waited out the wave of nostalgia while watching the leisurely flowing water in the canal, I headed to the northwestern part of the city. I needed an insula—that was what residential quarters were called in Deytran—by the name of Kindhearted Profit.

This insula wasn't the wealthiest, but it wasn't the poorest either. It was mainly inhabited by shopkeepers and mid-level traders, with about a fifth of it designated for warehouses. The quarter was bordered by the city wall on one side and surrounded by canals on the other three, so it could almost be called an island.

Shamelessly using my memories of the future, I easily found my way to the quarter and headed straight to the marshal—that is, the district guardhouse. I introduced myself to the on-duty corporal of Wootz rank as a sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild and showered praise on his insula. I claimed to have heard many good things about this part of Deytran: how peaceful it was, how order always prevailed, and how its residents were known for their politeness and mutual support. Then, I smoothly moved on to the main point, hinting that I wouldn't mind settling here for six months or a year. I assured the slightly concerned corporal that my stay in the world's trade capital had nothing to do with my duties as a sheriff of the Guild. And when I mentioned that I was ready to pay a year's rent upfront if a house was available, the corporal noticeably perked up. He left the marshal in the care of his assistant and, asking me to follow him, led me to the insula's headman's house, where he introduced us.

The headman, upon learning that I was ready to pay a year's rent and that I was a sheriff of the Great Guild—and thus, by definition, a law-abiding figure—at once began to fawn over me, praising in every way the quarter of Kindhearted Profit. And such courtesy had quite an objective reason.

For more than a year and a half, one of the houses in the quarter had been vacant. Its owner had moved to his son's place somewhere in the Rur region, but didn't want to sell his house in Deytran. However, the conditions he set for tenants were not the most convenient, leading those who wanted to rent in the capital to look for other options. The main hurdle was a prepayment for at least a year, as well as the requirement that the house be rented only to the "undoubtedly trustworthy."

Moreover, the house's location was considered less than ideal by the locals—it was flanked on two sides by commercial warehouses. Still, the owner stubbornly refused to lower the rent, even though he was losing considerable money on the empty property.

I, on the other hand, was satisfied by the location—fewer neighbors meant fewer prying eyes and ears—and was ready to pay the full rent upfront. But, of course, I didn't show my interest to either the corporal or the headman. I allowed myself to be "persuaded," and soon we were on our way to inspect the place.

The building reminded me of Aun's house, except the courtyard was about twice as large and surrounded by the windowless walls of nearby warehouses, which was only to my advantage. In the center of the courtyard was a small drinking fountain. The ground floor was a small storage area where, according to the headman, various tools once sold by the homeowner were kept. The second floor had four rooms: three bedrooms and something like an office, which housed a massive steel weapons cabinet covering almost the entire eastern wall—it looked capable of holding the gear of an entire squad of tunnellers. Now, of course, it was empty.

I pretended the house didn't impress me: the furniture wasn't right, the linens were old, and it could use a thorough cleaning. Falling for this, the headman began persuading me with redoubled vigor. His interest, beyond his commission, was also due to the vacant house tarnishing the quarter's reputation.

I haggled for over an hour, though I knew the stubborn owner wouldn't budge on the price. However, I managed to get the headman to send cleaners who would "scrub the place spotless," and he offered to sell me all the linens at cost. After some thought, he even promised to purchase everything necessary himself, following my preferences.

In the end, of course, we came to an agreement. Then, the three of us headed to the marshal, where we completed the paperwork, and my guest sign was replaced with that of a temporary resident. Before paying, I arranged with the headman about the cleaning and changing the bedding in all bedrooms to fresh sets, specifying the color scheme I wanted. So, moving in was postponed until the evening.

After the money was counted and the papers signed, I left my armor, backpack, and Striking Whisper in the marshal, changed into civilian clothes, and, as I told the headman, went for a walk around the city.

In reality, after leaving the insula area, I immediately headed to the canal's embankment and made my way toward the port.

The first task—securing a place to live—was accomplished quite easily. I had been a bit worried that another earthling might have beaten me to it and rented the building I remembered from my memory of the future. Of course, I understood it was still too early for most earthlings to have the means to rent an entire house in the trade capital for a whole year. But nevertheless, I was a bit nervous until the very last moment.

Now that the housing issue was resolved, I wanted to stroll through the famous markets of Deytran. Especially since two of them were on my way to the port.

The closest to the Insula of Kindhearted Profit was the Jewelry Market. On a fairly large square, traders of precious stones, jewelry, and other rarities gathered. It was probably the quietest and most peaceful of all Deytran's markets—if such words could even be applied to the markets of the trade capital.

Wandering through the stalls for almost an hour and tuning into my "sense of the unusual," I found nothing useful that wasn't prohibitively expensive. One artifact did catch my interest: a silver chain with a pendant featuring a two-carat emerald. An "embedded" spell of Major Restoration could heal even the most grievous wounds. However, after some bargaining for show, I decided not to buy it. Firstly, the price was quite steep, though not as high as it could have been. Secondly, the spell, with a daily cooldown, only worked on wounds inflicted by weapons and didn't help with monsters' bites, claws, or blows.

After roaming a bit more, instead of buying something, I decided to sell the pearls found in the underwater cave. Notably, I managed to get quite a good deal—five hundred full-weight gold coins for the whole batch, which significantly improved my financial situation.

Then, I reached the Weapon Market, disappearing there for another hour, yet barely seeing a tenth of it. But I did confirm one thing: if I wanted anything better than Striking Whisper or the Lightning Dagger at my belt, I would have to say goodbye to a small fortune. Even replacing my throwing balls with valirium darts, reminiscent of the plumbata of Roman legionaries, was prohibitively expensive.

At least I learned the current price for pure valirium, so I knew how much I needed to save to bring Skyros's glider design to life.

Just a couple of blocks from the Weapon Market was the famous Arena of Deytran, and of course, I couldn't pass by without stopping. If it fell short of the Roman Colosseum in any way, it was only slightly. An impressive building, capable of holding up to fifty thousand spectators.

As I walked past a small group of rich kids, I inadvertently caught the gist of their conversation. They were talking about last night's concert and a mysterious bard who gathered nearly a full Arena. No one had seen the performer's face—the bard performed shrouded in darkness, and all that was known was that it was a woman. The event had caused quite a stir. One of the listeners even called it a "breakthrough" and "a new direction in the art of music."

It wasn't hard for me to guess: most likely, one of the earthling women performed before them. What surprised me, though, was that the city authorities allowed a little-known bard to take the city's main arena. Such things did happen in the Last Cycle, but not this early. The first performance by an earthling bard at a major arena took place in Feyst only at the end of winter, and now it was mid-autumn. Moreover, the newcomer had nearly sold out the venue on her first performance—not somewhere in the provinces, but at the most famous Arena in the world! And judging by the enthusiasm of these young people, if there were a second concert, it would definitely be a full house.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Apparently, one of ours had found an influential patron, whom she impressed so much that he decided to invest in promoting a new "star." I couldn't explain it any other way.

Interesting, what achievement did this performer receive for appearing on Ain's main Arena? After all, she was the first of the sortudo to do so. And why had she chosen Deytran instead of Feyst, where musicians were treated much more warmly?

Lingering near the Arena, I listened in on other conversations. They generally repeated what I'd heard earlier. Then I questioned a free steward—unfortunately, he couldn't tell me anything concrete either. I was about to leave the square when I heard the same group of young people start tapping out the rhythm of a song. As they began, several others joined in. In the rhythm they beat, I easily recognized a composition adapted into the common language:

"Boom, boom, clap!" the youth tapped out the all-too-familiar rhythm. "Boom, boom, clap! I will rock you! Boom, boom, clap! I will rock you!"

Surprisingly, the adaptation of "We Will Rock You" into another language hadn't lost its energy. I even caught myself quietly humming the chorus, only, of course, in English.

This performer was definitely worth finding. Judging by the crowd's reaction, she clearly had talent. And the translation, even if only heard in a street rendition, sounded quite decent.

In the Last Cycle, I knew several earthling bards. Most were men. Among the women, I remembered Laeizel, whose death was attributed to Rahu, resulting in the crowd eventually tearing him apart for it. But she, as far as I recalled, was so enamored with her own beauty that she would never have hidden her face. Besides, she covered pop songs, not rock. So, the current mysterious performer was likely one of those who perished too early in the Last Cycle to realize her talent.

Bards... On the battlefield, even the priests of Ishid and Elai weren't always as effective as songs imbued with talent and magic. If, in this Cycle, a gifted bard had appeared among the earthlings, it was worth helping them find their footing. I knew these creative types: they could come up with a song capable of winning the hearts of millions, but couldn't manage to tie their own shoelaces properly.

Seeing one of the senior stewards heading towards the Arena, I intercepted him halfway and, slipping a small bribe into his hand, tried to find out more details. Alas, even after receiving a generous offering, he said almost nothing of value. According to the steward, the mysterious bard stubbornly concealed their identity, and considering who was backing this female performer, even the Arena's owners didn't ask unnecessary questions.

However, I did manage to find out the bard's patron's name. It turned out to be Mavrein, the Master of the Scales of Profit, one of the richest people in Deytran and possibly all of Ain. For over thirty years, he had been a member of the Trading League Council, the most powerful trading organization in the world, which in many ways could compete with the Great Guilds.

Even with the memory of the future, I didn't know how to approach this person until I myself reached Mithril. So, finding a way to the talented earthling through her patron wasn't an option—at least until the beginning of the Invasion.

I also managed to learn the alias of the mysterious performer—Spring Storm. The name didn't ring a bell, which only strengthened my suspicion: this girl was one of those who perished too early in the Last Cycle, before her talent could fully bloom.

Paying the steward a bit more, I got a promise from him that, if a second concert by this performer took place, he would send a note to the address I gave.

I got so lost in thought about the mysterious performer that I didn't notice how I ended up at the Inverted Tower. In the square surrounding it, the usual business bustle prevailed. Unlike in Sun City, there was no pass system here—anyone could approach and touch the Tower's radiance, beginning their descent through the Floors.

I stood at the edge of the square for a while, listening to myself and getting used to the mental pressure exerted by the Tower. Then, I turned sharply and walked away. It was perfectly clear to me: it was still too early. Before starting the descent, I needed to prepare. Train. Master my still-modest magical arsenal to a level acceptable for the Sapphire rank.

Then I walked across the central square, my gaze involuntarily lingering on the majestic Temple dedicated to Dyled, the god of trade, contracts, and scales. This building didn't aim to impress with pomp, like the temple of Antares in Sun City, nor did it dazzle with gilding, like the shrine of Sino in Feyst. But its monumentality exuded such internal strength, such architectural coherence, that it was impossible not to stop and look.

The temple stood on a broad platform paved with gray and white stone, with a marble staircase leading to triple bronze gates. Engraved on them were scales, a parchment, and a clenched hand—the symbol of a deal. The building itself, clad in light limestone, combined strict forms with a powerful architectural rhythm. Smooth columns—neither Doric nor Corinthian, but something in between, carved with trade seals and grapevines—supported a massive cornice adorned with mosaics depicting scenes from the lives of Ain's most ancient merchants.

The temple's roof consisted of numerous perfect hemispherical domes, inlaid with black obsidian and gold. Their heavy symmetry vaguely resembled Hagia Sophia, but without decorative excess—here, might and solidity reigned. A portico with a pediment, supported by statues of wise elders in long robes, evoked the Erechtheion. Only instead of gods of war and victory, traders were immortalized here. They held account books and contracts, and their features bore not pride but calculation, confidence, and businesslike restraint.

Inside, as I remembered, the Temple was even more austere. Minimal gold, no ornate inlays, just polished wood, stone, and silence. A place not for prayers but for agreements. Here, deals were made, oaths on contracts were sworn, and plans that could change the economy of all Ain were devised.

The enormous—by the standards of other cities of Ain—five-story Municipality building, located on the same square, was dwarfed by the Temple, like a minnow in the shadow of a pike. Built from warm light-gray stone with stern arches crowned with the crests of trading houses, it certainly commanded respect, but only until one's gaze shifted to the Temple of Dyled. In its presence, even such a sizable building seemed merely an annexed pavilion—functional, necessary, but devoid of true power. Perhaps, of all the structures in Deytran, only the Arena could rival the Temple in grandeur, and even then, only in terms of size.

In the center of the square, as dictated by local architectural tradition, stood a fountain—not just an ornament, but also a symbol. Its sculptural group depicted enormous—taller than a person—scales. The pans were tilted and unequal. Under the scales stood two merchants: one, smiling greedily, rubbing his hands in anticipation of profit; the other, his face contorted, clutching his head as if he had just realized he had lost not merely a deal, but his entire life. The stone they were carved from differed in color: the "winner" was made of light marble, the "loser" of dark granite. The composition was clear and merciless, like the market itself. No hints. No allusions. Only the result.

I strolled leisurely along the edge of the square, observing the passersby and trying to catch the city's rhythm. It was different, unlike any other city in Ain. Here, no one rushed or jostled, shouted or argued on the go. Everything seemed coordinated and measured, yet not slow. People walked briskly but unhurriedly. Precisely. Efficiently. Every movement was deliberate, every word purposeful. Even the street vendors spoke restrainedly, not rambling in their pitches: "This product. This price. Buying? Great. Not? Move along."

Even those who clearly belonged to the upper echelons of society—in expensive cloaks, with signet rings on their fingers and silk inserts in their sleeves—didn't seek to show off. Their clothing was impeccable yet restrained. No excesses, no gold, no flashy details. Everything seemed to say: "I can afford anything. But I don't need it." Not out of modesty—out of sound calculation. In this city, where the main virtue was profit and the noblest act was closing a deal, flaunting luxury was considered foolish. After all, one of Dyled's first precepts stated: "Money loves silence. And big money—muteness."

And this sense of unspoken strictness hung above the entire square. A city where rules were not just inscribed but followed. A city where everyone knew the value not only of a copper coin but also of a word, which especially captivated the former me.

After wandering around the central square, I headed to the southwestern quarters. The closer I got to the trade port, the livelier and louder the bustling city life became.

The port of Deytran was rightly considered the largest in all of Ain. In its semi-enclosed bay, safely protected from any storm, hundreds of ships were docked at once—from very small ones, only slightly larger than fishing boats, to real giants a hundred meters long. There, I also spotted vessels very similar to the familiar "Defector"—mostly belonging to the Trade League.

Already a few blocks from the port, taverns, eateries, and relatively cheap—by Deytran standards—inns began to appear more frequently, catering to sailors resting in the city during the loading or unloading of ships.

Not reaching the port itself, I turned east. Despite the large number of people, the streets remained surprisingly clean even here—unlike, for instance, those in the port districts of Feyst.

Arriving at a familiar insula, I asked the local kids, as usual, where the person I needed lived and also whether he was at home. He turned out to be there. Wasting no time, I approached a fairly ordinary two-story house, distinguished from the others only by its long-unpainted, shabby walls. Coming closer, I lifted the wooden mallet hanging on a chain and knocked. It took about three minutes before the door finally opened.

"What do you want?" asked a wiry, already elderly, gray-haired man, clearly unshaven for at least a couple of weeks and dressed inappropriately for the weather—in nothing but a light blue toga with grease stains on the stomach and sides.

He looked slightly over sixty. His appearance suggested he had been drinking nonstop for the last three days: bloodshot eyes, dark bags beneath them, and a strong smell of alcohol. Yet, there was no hint of a tremor in his hands, and he stood confidently, leaning against the doorframe.

"Master Eddart, also called Foggy Storm?" I inquired, just to be sure, though I remembered him from the Last Cycle.

"Eddart..." he grimaced. "Yes. But no one's called me Foggy Storm for many years." Then, with a scowl, he added, "And 'master' even less so."

"Om Raven Alexandrite," I introduced myself, bowing formally. "Could you spare me a few minutes?"

"Tunneller..." the former captain shook his head, giving me an appraising look. "I don't like your kind."

But despite these words, he stepped back and gestured for me to enter. Following him, I crossed the entire first floor and stepped into the inner courtyard. Eddart sat down on a plain stool with exaggerated, almost theatrical weariness, poured himself some cheap wine, and nodded toward a log three meters away. I shrugged and sat down, clasping my hands on my knees.

"Not offering you any wine," he grumbled, taking a greedy sip. "Say what you want and be on your way."

Despite his rudeness, I could tell he drank out of boredom. The memory of the future suggested he was lonely. He probably had children—in various ports along the coast—but he hadn't acknowledged any of them. So, he lived in solitude. Age hadn't diminished his physical strength, but a major scandal a few years ago had left him blacklisted by the Trade League. No one would hire him as a captain anymore.

If he had been willing to accept a demotion—to bosun or ship's mage—he might have been taken on. But Eddart, used to being a captain, refused to sacrifice his pride. As a result, he had been out of work for several years, occasionally teaching future ship's mages the basics of the profession. A man who loved the sea but was too stubborn to bend for it.

"I'd like to better understand Wind Sense," I got straight to the point. "You were recommended to me as the best specialist, someone who finely tunes into this aura."

He grimaced, but not seriously. I noticed his squinted eyes softened.

"Wind Sense?" he repeated with a hint of irritation. "What do you need that for? It's not much use in caves. They're cramped. Even in the Inverted Towers, the air currents are so strange and changeable that this aura won't help much."

"I want it not for the Tower," I replied calmly.

"Thinking of changing professions?" he chuckled deeply. "Have you fallen in love with the sea?"

"I do love the sea. But not that much," I shrugged. "I need Wind Sense for something else."

He tilted his head questioningly.

"I want to fly," I admitted, not intending to make a secret of it.

"Fly?" he laughed even louder. "Then you need to go to the Summoners or the monster tamers!"

"Not that kind of flying," I smiled. "I want to do it myself. Make something like big wings…"

Then the former captain burst out laughing so hard he started coughing. And when he, wiping his eyes, finally finished, he looked at me as if I were insane, though a barely noticeable, yet discernible interest flickered in his gaze.

"How many like you have there been?" He shook his head. "Dozens? Hundreds? Some even managed it. Though, really low and not for long. But fall they did, those conquerors of the sky, and if the legends are to be believed, quite painfully."

"I'll succeed," I replied in a calm, almost lazy tone.

"I'm sure everyone who tried thought the same," Eddart sneered, but there was no mockery in his voice, only weary disbelief.

Instead of extra words, I simply stretched out my palms and visualized the Signs of Perseverance and Determination above them. His smile instantly faded, and the former captain's gaze cleared up, becoming focused and almost sober.

"Impressive..." He shook his head. "I've never seen such values. But..."

"Four Talent Stars in Air," I continued, not letting him finish. "And the same in Lightning. I think the sky will like me."

"Oh! So you're so young and already a Sapphire." Taking a long swig directly from the amphora, the former captain of the Trading League remarked, "Although your Guild Sign is kind of odd—never seen one like that."

"I'm a guild sheriff," I shrugged.

"A sheriff too." The Air mage laughed deeply, as if remembering something personal. "So, you want to fly like Jegur on Elai's carpet?"

"No, not like that. More like a bird. Like an albatross, spreading its wings, gliding on air currents," I corrected.

"If you break your neck, don't blame me."

Tilting his head back, the former captain looked up at the clouds drifting in the unreachable heights. My gamble on his boredom paid off perfectly.

"Let's discuss the price." Pushing the amphora aside, Eddart rubbed his hands together.

"Two weeks of training. A hundred gold for your time and fifty for each new spell you teach me."

"What spells?" the former captain asked irritably.

"Sound Barrier and Wind Blade."

I could try to learn Air Arrows too, but for medium range, Mitrailleuse would suffice for now.

"I know those," the Air mage nodded. "But no formal apprenticeship. Just training under my supervision, without all those obligations between a teacher and a student."

"Agreed."

I accepted the condition with ease.

"When are you ready to start?"

"Today," I smiled broadly.

"No!" the former captain shot me down at once. "I'm not up for it today."

"Tomorrow?"

"Fine. At dawn. But first, the deposit!"

Counting out ten gold coins under the greedy gaze of the Air mage, I placed them on the table.

"At dawn, come to the fifth pier of the fishing harbor," he said, licking his lips and not taking his eyes off the gold.

Once we had struck our deal, Eddart, it seemed to me, hurried me out of his house a little too eagerly.

The memory of the future only held a general description of this man, and now, seeing him in person, I couldn't say he left a good impression. But all the earthlings who studied under him in the Last Cycle spoke positively of the experience, and I hoped my first impression this time would be wrong and that I wouldn't be tossing my money to the wind.

Then again… the situation was such that, in any case, it would go straight to the wind.

A funny tautology.

[1] Translator's note: you can google images with this request "фонтанка набережная мост," but most likely it's something like https://media-1.gorbilet.com/bd/ed/ba/93/08/4d/shutterstock_1140967190_hCYNQbC.jpg. The issue with finding a fitting image is that people tend to take pictures of an empty channel/river, whereas the author described the opposite.