"Thief!" Konrad cried out, but the guards wouldn't react in time.
The scammer had a head start, dashing across the marketplace.
His vinegar-scented cloak fluttered so close in the wind that the boy could almost grab it. Still, he kept slipping away, leaving nothing but that irritating smell behind.
The distance between them was growing.
"Stop, you bastard!" Konrad shouted, but all it earned was an out-of-breath laugh.
"Make me," the trader flipped him off, disappearing in a narrow alley. He had the home turf advantage, navigating the crowd like he was born on these streets.
It didn't help that Konrad had to drag his gear around, too.
The boy considered throwing them away, but all he had was the stuff he carried.
A waterskin, some dry rations, a bedroll he bought, and the sword reforged by the tribesman. It wasn't much, but enough to slow him down. What if he left them in the alley?
Would he even find his way back here once it was over?
Better yet, would his gear still be here if he did?
The thief had no such considerations. It spoke volumes that the man abandoned his 'expensive' wares and his cart in a heartbeat.
What was the real value of that crystal?
Konrad didn't want to lose it. With clenched teeth, he dragged his legs as fast as they moved.
The guards might have had long spears and fancy armor, but that was to scare away bandits.
None of them seemed interested in chasing after a runner smelling of vinegar.
They stood by and watched as the man took another turn and disappeared yet again.
Konrad dashed to reach the next fork down the alley, finding nothing but the discarded cloak.
"Damn it," he was out of breath, sweat dripping from his forehead.
He grabbed the rag, checking each pocket, but all that remained was the terrible smell.
Konrad stomped on the cloth and smashed his fist into the nearest wall. He bruised his knuckles, blood dripping down the back of his hand. It painted his triangle of birthmarks red.
That noble heritage still didn't help him, ever.
"I made three gold in three years," he cursed himself. "And lost four in a single day."
Unless, of course, if it was worth even more.
Taking the cloak as the only lead he had, he dragged himself back towards the market. One wrong turn, and it took him five extra minutes to find the main street again.
The cart was still there, and nobody even touched those 'magical items'.
Nothing seemed worth stealing.
The only sign of the arcane was the glowing runes all over the useless tools. What they did was anyone's guess, but he didn't feel the same warmth from them as the crystal radiated before.
"Now you've done it, Zoltan," an angry voice cut through the market's noises.
A strong hand grabbed his shoulder, and Konrad's heart almost stopped.
"Who?" he turned to find himself surrounded by the town's guard. They were the same spearmen who wouldn't even flinch when he shouted for them a few minutes earlier.
"We told you to clear out of our streets," one of them warned.
"Aset had had enough of your scams with the glowing ink."
So that was the trick. Glowing ink. Paint it on the random junk others threw away, and sell them as magic items. Simple, yet it could—
"Hold on, why are you arresting me?"
Konrad tried to shake the hand off his shoulder, but it was too strong.
"We have a warrant against you, Zoltan Sudberg," they laughed, a voice dripping with malice.
Sudberg? That had to be a bastard's name like the one he got, but from these lands.
"Are you out of your minds?" he thrashed. "My name is Konrad. I shouted 'thief', chasing that—"
SMACK — a slap across his face silenced him.
"Then why do you have this cloak?" A guard pried it from his hand as he spat out blood.
"We know your smell and dirty tricks, Zoltan," the other sneered. "This face-changing illusion won't work on us anymore."
An illusion? So the scammer knew magic, and now they thought it was him.
There was no way Konrad could clear his name. A spearman knocked the remaining air out of his lungs with the shaft of his spear, and he found himself in the dirt.
Face down, unable to breathe. The guard's laughter sounded distant, muffled.
"Oh, no. You thought you were so smart," they kicked him even on the ground. "But don't worry, the guard captain will dispel your mask in no time."
They might've cracked a rib, searing pain flashing through his body.
Nobody cared what he had to say. Bullies here were no different from those in his previous life.
"Stop," one kick after the other, a heavy boot pressing down on his spine. "Help!"
People averted their eyes. The guards kicking a kid around in broad daylight must have been the norm. And he thought a world stuck in the medieval ages would be better.
He was so stupid. Laws here were a mere suggestion; only power mattered.
Someone stomped on his hand, right on the triad. If he could at least draw his sword — even if winning was hopeless, he could've gone down fighting. But he couldn't move at all.
He deluded himself — freedom didn't mean he was in control of anything.
Starting over meant nothing since he wasn't prepared. Konrad was still helpless, shaking with anger, and had no power to fight injustice.
He needed to become stronger.
To gain authority. The magic, he came chasing to this town, he had to seize it. To show the people who they were messing with.
But he had none of that. Not yet.
Only his hatred shimmered inside him, but it was not enough to stop anything bad from happening. Soon, he didn't have enough strength left to bite or thrash around.
They dragged him around as they pleased, like a common criminal in front of the crowd.
The barracks were at the northern gate, where they had entered the city earlier. His only hope now was that the guard captain could indeed dispel any illusion magic.
Then they would realize the mistake.
Which, well, didn't go the way he expected.
"You idiots," the captain yelled at his men, wiping away the blood and grime from Konrad's face. "You dragged a noble across the entire town?! My deepest apologies, Lord Halberg."
Holding up his hand, the captain shoved the birthmark triangle in their faces.
"W-we thought—"
"Captain, you know that this bastard can mask his face—"
"I don't care about your excuses," the man was raging, calling for a healer. "You could've taken him in without injuries, too."
Which was a fair point. But that wasn't the important part.
Him? Nobility? And did he call him Lord Halberg?!
The second time they misidentified him caught even Konrad off guard. Didn't these idiots know that his house ceased to exist more than a decade ago?
Well, not that he would complain about that now.
He spat blood on the floor, watching the groveling guards. Yes, they all deserved it. Even if it was a lie, it only took him a moment to embrace it.