Everywhere he looked, tall and low stone and wooden houses piled densely upon each other, built along the mountainside. Narrow streets wound like a labyrinth, twisting and turning, with specks of light flickering in the twilight.

The massive castle main tower stood like a crown at the highest point, overlooking the entire city.

The clamor of voices, the bray of beasts of burden, the clanging of the blacksmith shop, and the faint uproar from the taverns, all mingled with the smell of baking bread, poor-quality ale, spices, animal dung, and the complex odors produced by countless people living together. It was like a surging tide, instantly overwhelming the caravan that had just emerged from the austere pass.

Hawke exhaled a long breath, and the tension on his face eased considerably.

He skillfully guided the caravan along a relatively wide main road, heading purposefully toward a certain area of the city.

The streets gradually became lively, with pedestrians, vendors, mercenaries, adventurers, and merchants wearing clothing in various styles jostling shoulder to shoulder.

Curious, scrutinizing, greedy, and indifferent gazes were cast from all directions onto this dusty caravan, but most people only glanced briefly before moving their eyes elsewhere.

Duke sat in the carriage like a quiet observer.

His Shadow Perception, like invisible tentacles, cautiously observed everything around him.

The feeble energy fluctuations drifting in the air, the malicious glances lurking in corners, the drunken brawling at the tavern entrance, the orderly footsteps of patrolling soldiers—all this vast amount of information flooded into his perception.

Under Hawke's leadership, the caravan twisted and turned, eventually stopping at the end of a relatively secluded alley filled with the smell of cheap booze and the sounds of revelry.

A three-story stone and wooden building that looked somewhat aged stood there, with a wooden sign blackened by smoke hanging at the door, bearing the rough carving of a raven spreading its wings to fly.

"My lord, we have arrived." Hawke jumped off the horse, walked quickly to Duke's carriage, and said respectfully, "This is the Raven Tavern. The conditions are somewhat crude, but the location is good. We usually lodge our caravan here."

Duke nodded slightly and gracefully descended from the carriage.

His appearance made the few figures at the tavern entrance or leaning against the wall for idle talk or drunken daze instantly quiet down considerably.

It was an instinctive reaction of creatures to danger. Even though Duke had restrained most of his aura, it still gave these adventurers and mercenaries, who mingled at the lower levels, an inexplicable sense of oppression and wariness.

Duke keenly noticed this and felt somewhat troubled.

He could restrain his aura quite well but still couldn't completely eliminate the instinctual pressure his Life Energy exerted on others.

Duke could not yet rely solely on his ability to do this; he would either have to wait until his strength improved or use some special Witchcraft Artifacts to completely disguise himself as an ordinary person.

As his strength increased, the oppressive feeling from his Life Level would grow stronger.

If he couldn't restrain this aura later, even the naturally emitted Life Energy waves would be enough to crush ordinary people.

Duke deeply understood this, as it was the case when he faced the Three-headed Dog in the Nightmare Plane. It took all his strength just to defend against the naturally emitted energy waves of the Three-headed Dog.

Duke recalled the times spent with Morgan and Grace, these Level 3 and Level 4 Mages. He didn't feel any pressure from them; they seemed just like ordinary people.

This also indicated that once one's Life Level reached a certain height, they could completely hide their aura without imposing too much pressure on those with lower Life Levels.

The caravan had many people, and Hawke made arrangements for each of them, with everyone in the caravan skillfully unloading cargo and tending to the beasts.

After settling the caravan, Hawke turned to Duke, his face alight with a smile, "My lord, please come inside. I'll arrange the best room for you."

Duke didn't immediately move. His gaze calmly swept over the slightly tense Hawke and the caravan members who instinctively avoided his eyes, finally returning to Hawke.

"I might stay in Goose Peak Castle for some time; there are things I need your help with," Duke said in his usual flat tone.

"My lord, just tell me what you need! I've been running in Goose Peak Castle for more than a decade; I'm very familiar with this place. Gathering information, running errands, finding connections—no problem at all," Hawke hurriedly replied.

"Let's talk inside," Duke said, glancing at the people coming and going at the inn entrance.

Hawke understood immediately and stepped aside to lead the way: "Yes, my lord, this way please."

He was the first to push open the creaky, stained wooden door. A wave of more intense, mixed smells of sweat, low-grade ale, charred meat, and some sort of old mustiness hit them, accompanied by a deafening roar.

The inside of the Raven Tavern was more cramped and noisy than it appeared from the outside. Dim oil lamps and the flickering flames in the fireplace were the main sources of light, casting wavering shadows in the smoky air.

Rough wooden tables and benches were packed with all sorts of guests, boisterously playing finger games, spraying saliva—the mercenaries looking about warily, adventurers engaging in low conversations, and destitute travelers downing ale alone.

There were also several heavily made-up waitresses weaving through the crowd. The air was filled with coarse laughter, tipsy singing, and the clatter of dishes and cups.

Duke's entry was like a drop of cold water falling into boiling oil.

The voices at the tables near the entrance subconsciously lowered.

The mercenaries and adventurers, used to licking blood from the blade, instinctively sensed an unseen threat.

They paused, their eyes, bright or dim, casting glances at the doorway where the young man in a robe stood.

He stood there at odds with the rough, chaotic environment around, like a piece of cold jade sunk in sewage, exuding a disquieting tranquility and chill.

Noticing the atmosphere turning delicate, Hawke quickly led Duke into the depths of the inn, where the reserved rooms awaited. He had especially assigned Duke the best room that he had kept for himself.

Following Hawke inside, Duke pondered, "Perhaps it's been some time since I've mingled with a large group of ordinary people. I hadn't realized I've changed so much…"

He once again truly felt the transformation brought by the elevation of his Life Level, a change he hadn't noticed while living among the Wizard community.

It was only now, fully immersed in the world of ordinary people, that Duke realized all of this.

They passed through a door covered with a greasy curtain, where a few narrow staircases led to the upstairs rooms, alongside several private rooms with closed doors.

Hawke led Duke up to the second floor, down a long corridor, and to the end, where he opened the door to a spacious room.

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