The magical journey of a countryside boy

After about half an hour of chaotic preparation, the caravan finally began to move, the noble’s grand carriage and the long line of merchant wagons rolling out onto the high road. Whether it was deliberate or simply a matter of status, John’s wagon was placed at the very back, trailing at the dangerous, dusty edge of the entire procession.

​When William inquired about their poor position, John grunted, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Kid, their main job is to keep the noble master and the wealthy merchants safe. To them, we village folks are just a nuisance they’re being paid to tolerate. If bandits hit us, those guards will never actively try to help us.” John paused for a long moment, his expression hardening. “But it’s better this way. Out here at the back, we stay out of their sight, and they stay out of our business.”

​William went silent for a while, digesting the harsh truth of John’s words. Soon, though, the initial sting faded, and his mood gradually lifted as he took in the wondrous scenery passing by. To make the journey sweeter, he pulled out a strip of the savory, dried jerky his aunt had packed for him, chewing contentedly as he watched the world go by.

​The sheer scale of the caravan was breathtaking. There were massive wagons loaded with heavy rolls of vibrant, colorful cloth, crates overflowing with exotic spices from the South, and large wooden barrels of rum that smelled sharp and sweet in the air—at least, judging by the loud gossip of the caravan crew walking nearby. But what fascinated William most were the items he had never even heard of. At one point, the sun caught a strange, flawless object in a nearby merchant’s crate, reflecting a blinding, crystal-clear light. When he asked John about it, the blacksmith told him it was called glass—a substance so rare and delicate that only the impossibly wealthy could ever hope to afford it.

After some time, the rugged path finally gave way to the main highway leading directly to the city. The stone-packed road was so meticulously maintained that the wagon glided forward with exceptional smoothness, a stark contrast to the grueling, bone-jarring start of their journey. Every so often, William spotted lone wagons or smaller merchant convoys heading in the opposite direction, their empty beds suggesting they were returning home after concluding their business in the capital.

​The wheels rolled on with a quiet, hypnotic hum, and before long, the steady rhythm lulled William into a deep, peaceful half-sleep.

​He was suddenly jolted awake by John’s booming voice shouting down at him. “Kid, wake up! You don’t wanna miss this!”

​William scrambled to his feet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he peered over John’s broad shoulder. Ahead, a majestic, towering stone wall loomed against the horizon, dwarfing any structure he had ever seen in his village. As they drew nearer, he could differentiate two distinct entryways cutting through the massive stone. The smaller gate was packed with a dense crowd of travelers on foot, while the larger, reinforced gate was strictly reserved for the heavy flow of carriages and merchant wagons.

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​The distance shrank until the armored soldiers manning the battlements came into sharp focus. Without a moment’s hesitation, the sea of common wagons parted like a wave, pulling to the sides of the road to clear a wide, undisputed path for the noble’s grand carriage as it swept majestically through the gates ahead of everyone else.

Up ahead, the lead merchant could be seen discussing terms with the captain of the guard, gesturing toward the long line of cargo. After a brief exchange of paperwork and coin, the massive caravan finally began rolling through the dark archway of the city gates. The local village wagons followed close behind them, moving up one by one in a slow, agonizing crawl.

​When it was finally their turn, John pulled the mules to a halt and calmly passed two copper coins to the armored guard waiting at the checkpoint.

​As the guard waved them through, William leaned over and inquired about the payment. John patiently explained, his voice echoing slightly against the stone walls of the gatehouse. “That’s the city toll, kid. There’s no charge for travelers entering on foot, but anyone bringing a wagon has to pay two copper coins for the privilege. The wealthy merchants have it much worse—they have to fork over half a silver piece per wagon. Think of it as the cost to maintain those smooth roads we just enjoyed.”

​Their conversation was suddenly cut short as the shadow of the massive stone archway receded. The wagon rolled out of the dark tunnel, and they officially reached the bustling expanse of the main street.

​Finally, the grand city William had been imagining all his life exploded into view.

​It was too much. It was way too loud.

​The avenue was impossibly wide—big enough for a dozen of their village roads to sit side-by-side. William’s heart hammered against his ribs, a wild mix of intense excitement and sudden panic. Everywhere he looked, the world was moving. Thousands of legs swarmed the cobblestones. Hundreds of people were laughing, arguing, and shouting over one another, their voices melting into a deafening roar that made his ears ring. Merchants waved bright, colorful clothes and strange trinkets right at their cart, while the rich, greasy smell of sizzling meat from a nearby metal pan hit him so fast his mouth watered before he could even process what it was.

​His eyes couldn’t find a single place to rest. He was completely overwhelmed, but he couldn’t look away.

​Tearing his gaze from the crowd, William looked straight up past John’s broad shoulder. High above the chaotic sea of heads stood the tallest building he had ever seen—the City Hall. Built of pale, towering stone, its spires cut so high into the sky it made his head spin just to look at them. A breathless, goofy grin spread across his face. He was actually here. The dream was real.

​He took a deep, excited breath to fill his lungs—and immediately regretted it.

​William choked, coughing hard into his sleeve as a foul, heavy stench hit him right in the face. He wrinkled his nose in absolute disgust, looking blankly up at the blacksmith. His beautiful image of the city shattered in a single second.

​John was right, after all. The city really did smell like shit.