“It wasn’t always like that,” the man continued, lowering his voice as if afraid the walls might listen. “Once, raw talent and a clean fight earned you a robe. Then the back-door favors started. Bit by bit, the elders demanded gems, and every promising recruit arrived pre-approved.”
He sighed. “These days, anyone who walks straight into the Sword Guards’ ranks has already purchased the privilege.”
He studied Jared’s travel-stained cloak. “You’re new here, aren’t you? No network yet. Don’t waste your strength forcing doors that won’t open.”
Jared let disappointment cloud his features. “Seems I’ll have to hunt down connections before I swing a blade.”
The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. You’re already in Swordmaster City. Even if you never sign their roster, you can still enter the public trials, trade blows, steal a few techniques, learning happens wherever steel meets steel.”
Jared nodded. “Fair point. By the way, sir, what name do you go by?”
“Noah Farrow,” he replied, offering his hand.
Jared hesitated, almost speaking his true name. “Oh… I’m Jared… Jerry Strong.”
Noah laughed, shaking his head. “With a name like Strong, your cultivation can’t be too fearsome.”
Just then, a stocky middle-aged man in a faded short-sleeved tunic drifted over, eyes narrowed to cautious slits.
“Heard you two talking,” the newcomer murmured. “Looking to join Sword Sect, are we?”
Noah tipped his chin. “That’s right, but without a sponsor, we’re stranded outside those walls.”
“I can secure you a sponsor, if you’re willing to part with a few celestial gems,” the man whispered, glancing left and right as though the cobblestones might echo his scheme.
Noah’s curiosity kindled. “How many gems are we talking about?”
The man swept the plaza with one more furtive look, then crooked a finger. “Not here… Follow me. Better to discuss prices where shadows keep secrets.”
The man beckoned, slipping off the crowded avenue and into a weather-beaten house tucked between shuttered storefronts.
Jared followed at his shoulder, Noah a step behind.
A single cracked window let in dull light, and the room smelled of damp wood and something that had long ago begun to rot.
“Finding a sponsor, hard if you’re clueless, easy if you grease the wheels.” The man’s grin widened as he lowered his voice. “But you need thirty thousand celestial gems. Not one less, not one more.”
Jared’s eyes flicked toward the smile, and he understood at once.
A scalper—hustling hopefuls for a percentage…
The revelation tasted of stale smoke and street dust.
Noah’s face drained of color. “Thirty thousand? Scraping every corner I’ve got might get me just over ten. The gap’s bigger than a canyon.”
He sank onto a crooked stool, shoulders folding inward, the weight of defeat settling around him like wet wool.
Jared rested a steady hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Whatever he’s short, I’ll cover it.”
The words left no room for argument.
Noah’s head snapped up. His lips parted, but gratitude drowned the sound. His gaze clung to Jared, shining with a stunned, wordless thanks.
Greed flashed in the scalper’s eyes. “Now that is the spirit! Let’s get you boys sorted right away.”
He hurried them back outside, twisting through alleys until they reached a lonely courtyard boxed in by moss-stained walls.
At its center lounged a Sword Sect disciple, uniform crisp, boots on the stone bench, legs crossed like a petty king with no throne.
The scalper nearly folded in half with flattery. “Sir, these two wish to join the Sword Sect. Their tribute is ready. Your guidance, please.”
The disciple rose, arms folding across his chest, gaze sliding over Jared and Noah as though they were market produce. “Entrance rests on my word alone. Examinations begin tomorrow. Whether you pass depends on how well you honor me today.”
