Exhaustion tore at his senses. His body screamed for rest, but he couldn't stop now. He needed to get out.
Roan considered using the main road. It would be easier—but too risky. Not many people knew him, but if the few that did learn he had fled to the outer city, word would reach the Thieves' Guild in no time.
He couldn't really blame them, either. He'd probably do the same if it meant gaining favor with the Guild.
Ultimately, he decided to take the sewer route up to the back of the main gate. Beyond that, the sewers belonged to various gangs.
But first, he needed a cloth. The smell he could endure, but he'd heard that inhaling too much of the sewer air could be deadly.
He was about to head to the cloth vendors but stopped himself. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Will my wound get worse if I go through the sewers?"
The voice inside his head seemed to roll its nonexistent eyes. "I can hear your thoughts. Stop saying things out loud—you look crazy. And yes, your hand will definitely get infected if you go through the sewers like that."
Roan already knew that, but it felt unnatural to talk only in his head. Still, Naor was right.
He took a deep breath and thought, What did people of that world do in my situation?
A clicking sound echoed in his mind, followed by Naor's voice. "There's no perfect solution—only damage control. First, get a clean piece of cloth. Then remove that disaster of a bandage and wash the wound with water. After that, rewrap it with the new cloth. And while walking through the sewers, make sure your hand doesn't touch the filth."
So I just need to ask the question the right way, Roan mused. But the thought didn't last. He needed two clean clothes.
He'd never stolen from cloth vendors before—it made no sense to be seen wearing stolen goods in the same streets—but now, he had no such reservations.
Fighting down his fatigue, he made his way to the bustling clothing market. Good—it was busy. The crowd would make stealing easier.
Of course, the shopkeepers knew this too. They were more alert. But they'd get distracted eventually. He just had to wait.
Tunics and braies of all colors and designs filled the stalls. He needed small pieces of cloth.
After scanning the market, he finally found a pile of towels at one of the stalls.
Roan slipped into the crowd, pretending to browse other stalls. But after a while, he realized it made him look even more suspicious. He was a beggar, after all.
So, he began doing what beggars did—he asked for money. And he wasn't faking it. He really did need money.
He gradually worked his way toward the towel vendor, collecting a few copper coins by earning pity—especially after showing his wounded hand.
He stored the coins in the ragged pockets of his tunic and stayed nearby, begging other customers so as not to raise suspicion.
Then came his chance. The shopkeeper bent down to lift a bag. Roan's hand shot forward. In one swift motion, he snatched two towels and tucked them under his tunic.
He didn't flee immediately. He continued begging like before, keeping the shopkeeper in the corner of his eye.
Luckily, the vendor hadn't noticed.
Roan exhaled in relief and began to drift toward the edge of the market. Almost free. Almost—
Someone grabbed him from behind.
He froze. Did I get caught?
"Nice thieving skills. Why don't you join the Guild?" a smooth voice whispered in his ear.
Roan turned slowly. It wasn't the shopkeeper—it was another beggar. He glanced back. The shopkeeper still hadn't noticed.
"What do you want?" Roan whispered.
"You know what I want," the beggar replied with a sly grin.
Roan clenched his jaw. "I'll say you were my accomplice. That you sold me out."
The scrawny beggar snorted. "And who do you think they'll believe? The thief or the one who caught him?"
Roan hadn't expected it to work, but at least the warning was given. The beggar wouldn't push too far now.
"I'll give you half my coin. The towels aren't on sale," Roan muttered.
The other beggar considered, then smirked. "All your coins, and I'll let you walk."
Roan gritted his teeth and turned around fully. The beggar, still smiling, reached into Roan's pockets and took every copper.
Great, Roan thought bitterly, though outwardly he glared.
The beggar patted him on the shoulder. "Pleasure doing business."
Roan said nothing. He turned and quickly exited through a side alley.
As he emerged, realization hit him—he'd been played. The other beggar never wanted the towels. He was likely a regular around here and couldn't be seen with stolen goods. But he made it seem like he wanted them, and Roan—desperate and distracted—had fallen for it.
He thought he'd played the beggar, but he was the one who'd been played.
Cursing under his breath, he decided to let it go. Bigger problems awaited.
After some consideration, he chose the western sewer entrance. It was a detour, but shorter exposure to the sewer was worth the extra distance.
Before entering, he ducked into a shadowy corner and began rewrapping his wound.
Biting his lip to endure the pain, he slowly peeled away the makeshift bandage. Blood immediately oozed out again.
He pocketed the rag and poured water from his waterskin over the wound.
Roan hissed through clenched teeth as pain lanced up his arm.
After pouring about half the water, he thought pointedly, Tell me the steps to wrap the cloth.
Naor replied dryly. "Cut the towel into two parts. Use one to make a pad and press it against the wound until the bleeding stops."
Roan hesitated—ripping such a clean towel was painful in its own way. He could have sold it for twelve coppers.
With a sigh, he brought one corner of the towel to his mouth, bit down, and used his right hand to tear it in half. The pieces were uneven.
He placed one half on his knee, fashioned a crude pad, and pressed it to his wound. The pain was sharp, but he held firm until the bleeding finally slowed.
Now what?
"Wrap the other half around the wound. Don't wrap it too tightly," Naor instructed.
That's it? Roan thought, surprised.
"That's it. Just keep your hand away from the sewer water and elevated above your chest."
Not so different from what the physician did, Roan mused. Except the hand elevation—that's new.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he quickly wrapped the remaining towel around his hand.
With that done, he pulled out the second towel and tied it over his nose and mouth, securing it with a press of his head to his arm.
It took a few tries, but he finally managed to bind it
in place.
He stood still for a few moments, catching his breath.
Then, steeling himself, Roan headed for the sewers.