While Kael was absorbed in thought, a sudden shout cut through the quiet street like a whip.
"Useless bastard! Don't you dare crawl back here again!"
Another voice snarled, sharp and mocking. "Go cry to your fancy books, traitor. Maybe they'll give you a spine!"
Then came the thud of flesh hitting cobblestone—followed by laughter.
Kael turned instinctively toward the commotion.
A man was being hurled out of a small workshop, his body hitting the ground hard. Dust flew up from the impact.
"Get out, you bastard! You hear me? You're done! You're lucky I don't smash your damn face in!"
The speaker was a heavyset man with arms like barrels and an oily apron. Three others stood behind him, laughing.
One kicked a discarded bucket at the fallen man, making him flinch. Another spat at his boots.
"Fucking snake," one muttered. "Thinks he's better than us 'cause he can read. Go run back to your scrolls, scholar-boy!"
