With Lyra walking gracefully at his right and the coachman at his left, Asher descended the stairs at a measured pace.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the coachman, noting with faint amusement the man's surprisingly improved hygiene and the unmissable smoothness of his skin, an overnight transformation that did not go unnoticed.
Upon reaching the front counter, the attendant straightened with practiced poise and greeted them at once, "Good morning, Young Master, Madam, Sirs. How may I be of service?"
The attendant's tone was exceptionally courteous, as expected. After all, anyone capable of affording a hundred gold coins per night was either nobility, closely tied to one, or simply wealthy enough to stand among them.
"Let us see the food menu," Asher said calmly.
With a respectful nod, the attendant lowered his hand beneath the counter, retrieved a neatly folded menu, and presented it to Asher with both hands.
Asher studied it for a moment, his gaze skimming over the elegantly listed options. Then, with a tone of quiet decisiveness, he began to order.
"For the main course, I'll have the Lamb Cutlets with Minted Pea Puree. As for the sides, bring the Rosemary and Sea Salt Flatbread. And for the wine… Aged Blackberry Mead should suffice."
Truth be told, he hadn't heard of any of these dishes before. But the countless memories embedded within him, filled with knowledge of exotic cuisines and refined palates, made the act of ordering appear effortless.
Asher passed the menu to the coachman at his side, who accepted it with a smile that bordered on familiarity. Normally, someone of his station would never stand so close, let alone behave so casually, around a Sun or a Moon.
But after three days in Asher's company, he had drawn his own quiet conclusion: this young master was unlike the others. Even the guards had come to recognize the subtle but undeniable difference in him.
Lyra, too, had noticed the shift. Ever since Asher emerged from his year-long lock up, there was something altered in his demeanor, calmer, perhaps, but also very different.
She chalked it up to his self-imposed isolation, to the scars solitude often leaves behind. Besides, what right did she have to question the change in him? She was, after all, merely his maid.
The coachman wasted no time, ordering a veritable feast without the slightest hesitation. Even Asher raised an eyebrow, mildly concerned whether the man would be able to walk after consuming so much.
As for himself, Asher had intentionally chosen something lighter, he intended to explore the city's streets later, sampling whatever local delicacies happened to catch his eye.
"How much?" Asher asked, his tone casual but measured.
"Breakfasts are included with your stay, Young Master," the attendant replied courteously.
With a slight nod, Asher turned without another word and made his way to a nearby table, taking a seat with the quiet assurance of someone used to being served. The others followed suit.
Within minutes, a procession of dishes began to arrive, each plated with meticulous care and aromatic finesse.
Everyone dug in.
The coachman, overwhelmed by the flavors, ate with such enthusiasm that he teared up at one point, a moment both comical and oddly touching. The guards, however, remained composed and unaffected.
It was clear they were accustomed to cuisine of this standard, likely a regular indulgence during their time stationed at the Wargrave estate.
Once the meal concluded, Asher rose from his seat, prompting the others to follow. His gaze drifted to the coachman, whose bloated stomach made each step a struggle. With a faint hint of amusement, Asher offered a simple directive: Return to your room and rest. You've earned it.
Although Asher had initially considered slipping the man a gold coin and letting him explore the city on his own later, he thought better of it. Who knew what kind of trouble the coachman might stumble into? He might very well go courting death before sundown. It was far safer to have him remain behind, tucked away in his room for the rest of the day.
The coachman didn't object. With a contented sigh and a hand resting on his swollen belly, he turned on his heel and trudged back upstairs without protest.
Shaking his head in quiet amusement, Asher stepped out of the inn with a composed yet eager stride. Though calm on the surface, there was a spark of anticipation in his eyes, he was finally ready to see the capital for himself.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the world seemed to erupt around him.
The capital overwhelmed his senses. A cacophony of sound washed over him, animated chatter, the creak of wheels, the clatter of hooves, and the occasional bark of a vendor hawking goods. Voices mingled from every direction, a living symphony of life and motion.
People of all shapes, heights, and social standing wove through the crowded streets, merchants negotiating prices, nobles flanked by guards, children darting between legs with laughter.
Carriages rumbled past, some drawn by fine-bred horses bearing elegantly dressed passengers, others tugged by sturdy beasts of burden laden with crates, barrels, and sacks of wares.
The architecture was no less varied, houses and shops stretched outward and upward, crafted in an array of styles. Some were simple stone dwellings with timber frames, others boasted ornate facades with carved detailing and painted glass. The capital pulsed with vibrant diversity, each corner holding its own flavor.
Asher strode forward with quiet eagerness, Lyra walking in step beside him. The guards had already melted into the surroundings, dispersed among the crowd, their watchful eyes tracking his every move, poised to respond at a moment's notice.
His gaze swept over each building and stall, a flicker of curiosity dancing in his eyes and expression like a commoner who had just left the village for the first time and entered the capital by seemingly sheer luck.
"Come, Lyra. There's a world of flavors waiting," Asher said, his pace quickening with sudden enthusiasm.
'Since when did the Young Master become a connoisseur of cuisine?' Lyra mused silently, yet fell into step without protest.
Asher approached a roadside stall where the aroma of grilled meat lingered thick in the air. Skewers of various kinds sizzled enticingly over open flames.
Behind the stall stood a middle-aged man, clad in a well-worn apron, who beamed the moment he caught sight of Asher.
"Young man, what'll it be?" the vendor asked with practiced cheer. "I've got it all, Spiced Mutton Skewers, Chicken Liver with Onion, Pork Belly Bites. Two coppers apiece."
Asher's eyes danced across the offerings, each one more tempting than the last. Without hesitation, he replied, "I'll have two of each."
Wealth had its privileges, why limit himself with choices?
The vendor nodded eagerly, his morning already made. Twelve copper coins before noon, fortune was smiling today. He wrapped the skewers in parchment with swift efficiency and handed them over.
Fortunately, by some stroke of grace, Lyra had small change on her. Asher was spared the awkwardness of tossing a gold coin at a street vendor and waiting for change that likely didn't exist.
Skewers in hand, Asher and Lyra strolled onward, sampling as they walked. A smile bloomed on Asher's face, bright, boyish, unrestrained, as he moved from stall to stall, indulging in every delicacy that caught his eye.
At one point, Asher wandered into an adventurers' guild, more out of curiosity than purpose. He wanted to see the famed mission board and observe the so-called adventurers who seemed to spend more time drowning themselves in ale than accepting actual missions.
Naturally, a few among them tried to assert dominance, throwing hostile glances and muttering threats under their breath. Asher, however, remained utterly unfazed.
He gave a slight nod to Lyra, who responded with casual brutality, putting a few of them in their place by smashing chairs and splintering tables over their heads. The guild hall rang with the clatter of collapsing furniture and groans of regret.
Wasn't fighting in the hall of the adventurer guild the hallmark of every reincarnated beginner adventurer. He was just placing his mark.
After a moment of studying the mission board, more to amuse himself than anything else, Asher stepped back out, satisfied. His next destination: the shopping and clothing district, a sector typically reserved for nobles.
Though his wardrobe was already well stocked, that minor detail didn't deter him. Today, Asher intended to burn through two platinum coins.
After all, tomorrow would be spent enduring the company of those pompous, jewel-draped peacocks called nobles. He would depart the day after, and saw no point in conserving the generous funds gifted to him.
Naturally, word of Asher's lavish spending didn't go unnoticed. Along the way, a few desperate souls, street thugs hoping for an easy payday, attempted to strike it rich at his expense.
Unfortunately for them, they never made it within striking distance. The guards, ever watchful though unseen, dealt with them swiftly and silently, leaving not even a ripple in Asher's peaceful excursion.
By the time he returned to the inn, night had already settled over the capital, its streets bathed in the soft glow of lanternlight.
He paid once more for his room, without hesitation or concern, before dragging himself upstairs, stomach bloated from a day of unrestrained indulgence, not unlike the coachman's earlier feast.
He collapsed onto his bed with the unbothered ease of a man who had conquered a kingdom of food and frivolity. A contented smile curved his lips as sleep claimed him, the day's memories still warm in his mind.