Eastern shore of Liurnia, dead of night.
The moon was absent, leaving only the dim, amber radiance of the Erdtree to guide the way. A small skiff glided silently through the waves, eventually veering into the dense reeds lining the shore.
A blurred silhouette leapt onto the bank, scanning the surroundings before emerging from the tall grass.
"We have arrived." The tall Wolf gestured toward the road ahead—the wide, straight expanse of the Bellum Highway that hugged the lake's eastern edge.
The two had descended the cliffs of the Carian Manor at dusk, boarded a prepared boat, and slipped through several blockade lines to reach the eastern side of the lake. Not a person—nor a beast—had been alerted to their passage.
Don leapt ashore behind him. This was unfamiliar territory. To the northwest lay the Academy; to the southeast, the land narrowed into a high plateau where the formidable fortress of Stormveil Castle sat—the gateway to the rich lands of Limgrave.
"Nervous?" Blaidd asked, noticing Don's focused expression.
"No. I just feel that Liurnia is far too small. The Lands Between are vast; one should see it all. Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, I'll even become Elden Lord."
"Dream on!" Blaidd snorted, not bothering with a rebuttal. He set his pack on the ground and unrolled it. Inside were sorcerer's robes, a Glintstone Crown, and a stack of letters. The crown's eyes were bound in red cloth—the Olivinus Glintstone Crown, specifically issued by the Academy to its wandering scholars.
He thrust the items into Don's hands. "This belongs to a sorcerer I dealt with while on mission. His name was Roland Heinberl. I've vetted him; he was an introvert with mediocre talent who applied to leave the Academy years ago. He is a perfect match for your disguise. These are his identification papers. Do not slip up."
Don rolled his eyes at the Wolf's attempt to assert dominance, but for the sake of the mission, he asked, "Did he have any friends?"
"Two. I slaughtered them as well."
"And a mentor, surely?"
The Wolf split his lips into a savage grin. "Also dead."
Efficient. Brutal.
Don had no choice but to admit it was a perfect cover. Small, unremarkable scholars were the easiest to impersonate; few would suspect a mole, and the counter-intelligence capabilities of the Lands Between were non-existent.
He stripped off his Ronin armor, donned the lightweight robes, and pulled the stone crown over his head. He immediately felt a slight buzz in his mind—a boost to his Intelligence. These crowns weren't for fashion; they were ritual focus items, though they restricted vision and felt top-heavy. For a swordsman, it was a poor trade.
"Thou dost look the part," Blaidd grunted. Don was barely over five-foot-seven and had a refined air; had the Wolf tried this, he'd have to pretend to be a bruiser from the Haima Conspectus.
"Don't start with me." Don began unstrapping his gear—the katana at his waist, the curved sword on his back, his bandolier of daggers and crossbow. "Take these back for me. And listen—if you lose them, you're paying for them."
"Dost thou truly think I would toss them in the lake?"
"The thought crossed my mind."
The Wolf's eye twitched. He looked ready to smash Don's stone head, but instead, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a simple gold ring.
"What's this?"
"A Spirit-Linked Ring. A gift from Her Highness Ranni. It can transform inorganic matter into spirit form. Its capacity is roughly that of a storage chest."
Don't's eyes lit up. He reached for it, but Blaidd pulled his hand back, throwing Don't's own words back at him:
"This was Ranni's personal possession. If thou dost lose it, thou shalt pay!"
"Fine, fine." Don accepted the ring. It reminded him of a certain spectral steed. He slipped it onto his left index finger and tapped Starfrost with it. The three-foot blade dissolved into azure particles and vanished.
"How do I get it back?"
"Touch the ring and pull," Blaidd answered, noting Don had placed it on the correct finger.
Don followed the instruction, gripping the air above the ring and pulling outward. The particles remanifested, reforming into the silver-white katana.
A divine tool. For a spy, this was better than a Spirit Calling Bell. Using a staff as a sword was a temporary fix; he couldn't walk around the Academy with a katana strapped to his back.
He spirit-linked the rest of his gear, filling most of the ring's capacity, then stood up and extended his right hand.
"I'm off, then."
"Go."
The two men shared a firm, brief handshake. Don turned and walked away into the night without a backward glance.
"One more thing."
Don paused and looked back. In the shadows, he could only see the glint of fangs.
"Ranni awaits thy good news. Do not die. I also... expect thy return."
The Wolf vanished into the reeds like a gust of wind. Don stood still for a few seconds before his lips curled into a smile.
Like master, like shadow. Both are nothing but prickly pride.
The sun rose again, illuminating a weary magic apprentice carrying a travel trunk. The Bellum Highway was bustling, though the caravans and commoners gave the sorcerer a wide berth. Sorcerers were powerful and mysterious—the de facto lords of Liurnia. No commoner dared provoke them.
"Quite lively," Don remarked, watching wagons laden with Limgrave grain pass by, likely headed for the capital. Villagers in coarse hemp clothing hawked their wares along the roadside.
"Pickled goat meat! A hundred runes for a full belly!"
"Giant Bat tear ducts! Men who eat them never tire!"
"My lord, a cloak? I sewed it myself!"
Caria was underpopulated; only a thousand souls lived in that massive territory, and commoners were rare. Here, Don saw a vibrant, growing world. It was a far cry from the desolate, hollowed-out Lands Between of his memories. War alone couldn't have created that wasteland; as long as people remained, ruins would be rebuilt. The apocalypse only came when the people themselves were broken.
Don followed the crowd onto the Greatbridge. It was wide enough for four wagons abreast. To the right lay a stone-built town that looked prosperous, with Cuckoo soldiers patrolling the streets, eyes wary of the water.
The Royals' allies—the Albinaurics and Demi-humans—occasionally harassed the town, but they rarely achieved anything beyond a nuisance. A ramp led from the bridge down into the town for the commoners and merchants.
The bridge continued toward the north, leading directly to the Academy, but ordinary people were forbidden from that path. Those wishing to reach the Altus Plateau had to take a ferry from the town to the northern shore, where the Cuckoos would surely fleece them—a major source of income for the mercenary legion.
The aloof sorcerers didn't care about such things, so long as the Cuckoos paid their cut.
As Don passed the ramp, the crowds thinned. Only a few sorcerers on leave passed by, eyeing him with curiosity. At the end of the bridge stood a massive gatehouse guarded by a squad of mages. A sorcerer in a pointed black hat stepped forward.
"Halt. State your name, your mentor, and your credentials."
Recalling wandering sorcerers had become a daily routine for him.
"Roland Heinberl. My mentor was Joseph Slayling of the Olivinus Conspectus. I come from Castle Morne on the Weeping Peninsula. My family holds a barony granted by Lord Godfrey." Don had the cover story memorized perfectly.
The sorcerer glanced back at his companions, who were flipping through ledgers on a table. They found the entry for Roland and nodded.
"Use at least two spells to shatter those targets," the guard commanded, pointing to wooden marks on the bridge.
Don complied, blasting them into splinters with Glintstone Pebble and Glintstone Arc. As the magical light faded, the tension at the gate dissipated.
Identity could be faked, but magic was a hard requirement. Don prepared to pick up his trunk and move through, but he was stopped again.
"Tell me what you know of the Academy."
Are all these guys this paranoid? Don thought. Fortunately, the mask hid his expression. He thought for a moment and spoke.
"I have been away for many years. But if it remains unchanged, the Academy consists of five Conspectuses: Karolos, who study comets; Olivinus, who study meteors; Twinage, who study both; Haima, the adjudicators of war; and Lazuli, who study the arts of Caria."
"Every apprentice is assigned to a Conspectus through the Drawing Ceremony and granted a Glintstone Crown. Above them are lecturers and preceptors. Each Conspectus has only one true Professor—the Head. These five, along with the Chancellor, decide all Academy affairs."
His logic was sound, his details accurate. Others might know magic, but few outsiders understood the internal bureaucracy of Raya Lucaria.
"Remove your mask."
Don complied. He had used a bit of makeup to darken his hair and age his face. There were no photographs in the Lands Between, and anyone who had known the young Roland Heinberl was long dead. As for Don Wright—he had been a mere initiate, far too insignificant to be remembered.
No one cared about a mediocre wandering scholar. The guards confirmed he wasn't one of the "traitorous" Lazuli members and stepped forward.
"Forgive us. In times of war, we must be cautious." The guard extended a hand. "Welcome back, Senior Roland."
Don smoothed his hair and replaced the mask. He shook the hand, looking up at the gargantuan structure ahead. The grey-white cluster of buildings wound up the mountain like a serpent, its bell tower seemingly piercing the firmament. It was a miracle of architecture.
"Yes. It's good to be back. I look forward to seeing what comes next."