The carriage swayed with every rut and stone on the road, each jolt traveling up through the wooden frame and into Alphonse's spine like a dull reminder that this world's infrastructure left much to be desired.
Two days. That was the estimate Helmut's replacement had given them before departure.
"We're almost at the Emperor's Way," Sophie said from the opposite bench, her chin propped on her fist, watching the landscape through the window. "Once we hit the imperial road, it should smooth out."
She was right. The Emperor's Way was the empire's crown jewel of civil engineering. A paved highway of fitted stone that ran from the capital to the southern frontier, maintained by imperial decree and funded by the transit taxes of every territory it crossed. Smooth enough for a wine glass to survive the journey without spilling.
But they weren't on it yet.
Alphonse shifted on the bench, trying to find a position that didn't make his tailbone feel like it was being driven into the wood by a mallet. He failed.
"How much longer until we reach the junction?" he asked.
Sophie consulted the small map she'd unfolded across her lap. Her finger traced the road from Hohenberg, through the mountain pass, down into the central valley.
The first few hours of the journey had been bearable. Entertaining, even.
He'd started with Sophie.
Nothing overt. Nothing that would draw the attention of the soldiers flanking the carriage. Just his boot, sliding across the gap between the benches, finding the hem of her dress, nudging upward.
Sophie had frozen. Her eyes snapped to his face, wide and startled.
He'd given her a look. The one that said don't move, don't make a sound, and let me work.
His toes had traced the inside of her calf. Up, slowly, to the curve of her knee. The soft, warm skin of her inner thigh.
Sophie's breath had quickened. Her fingers had tightened on the map she'd been pretending to read.
He'd kept her there. On the edge. His foot maintaining a constant, maddening pressure against her inner thigh, occasionally brushing higher, before retreating.
Twenty minutes. Thirty. Her face had flushed crimson. Her thighs had parted by fractions, her body begging for release.
Through the brand, he'd felt her arousal building. The desperate, aching need. The frustration that bordered on physical pain.
He'd withdrawn his foot.
Sophie had let out a breath that was almost a whimper. She'd stared at him with an expression that mixed betrayal and desire.
"Later," he'd mouthed.
She'd thrown the map at his head.
After that, he'd tried to read. But most of the books were packed in the supply carriage behind them.
So he'd turned to the window. To the landscape.
"Impressive," he murmured, watching it unfold beneath them as the road descended a steep grade.
The downside was obvious. Roads built through terrain like this deteriorated fast. Every spring thaw, every autumn storm carved new ruts and collapsed new embankments.
Another item for the list, Alphonse thought. When I take control of the barony, road maintenance becomes a priority. Every gold piece spent on infrastructure returns tenfold in trade revenue.
He pulled up his spell list with a thought.
[ Magics Known ]
Fire Spark — Mana Cost: 10
Mind Connection — Mana Cost: 100
Mind Influence (Lv. 2) — Mana Cost: 100
Demon Skin — Mana Cost: 300 + 10/sec
Branding — Mana Cost: 200
Shadow Cloak — Mana Cost: 300
Disguise — Mana Cost: 100
Lock & Unlock — Mana Cost: 50
The bottom three were new. Acquired not through his [Profession] but through dedicated training. The grinding process of learning to manipulate mana into specific patterns.
Any person with sufficient mana reserves could learn spells outside their [Profession]. A [Mage] who trained hard enough could pick up basic enchantment. A [Swordsman] with latent mana sensitivity could learn a simple reinforcement spell. The [Profession] determined your ceiling, not your floor.
But the effort required varied enormously depending on the spell's nature and the caster's affinity.
Shadow Cloak had come easily. Almost too easily. The spell wrapped ambient shadows around the caster's body like a second skin, bending light and suppressing sound until the user became functionally invisible.n
Three days of practice, Alphonse recalled. Most assassins spend months learning a basic concealment spell. I had it in three days.
Disguise was similar. The spell manipulated the visual cortex of anyone observing the caster, projecting a false image over the user's actual appearance. Height, hair color, facial features, even clothing could be altered within limits.
He leaned out the carriage window now, extending his right hand into the rushing air. A thought. A push of mana.
A mustache appeared on his upper lip. Thick, dark, curling at the ends. The kind of mustache worn by cavalry officers in portraits. He examined it in the window's reflection.
"Distinguished," he murmured.
Another push. The mustache lengthened. Extended past his jaw. Grew to absurd proportions, the tips drooping below his collar.
"Ridiculous."
Another push. The mustache vanished. His face returned to its natural state.
Sophie glanced over. "Are you playing with [Disguise] again?"
"Testing parameters."
"You've been 'testing parameters' for two hours. At this point, you've had more mustaches than a barber shop."
He ignored her. Pushed the spell further. His hair lightened from dark to sandy blond. His jaw broadened by a fraction. His nose shortened.
The face in the reflection was still recognizably him, but altered. Different enough to pass a checkpoint.
Useful.
He released the spell. His features snapped back to normal.
Shadow Cloak and Disguise were easy to learn, he noted, pulling the mental thread of analysis taut. Both involve manipulating perception. Both target the mind, even if indirectly. Shadow Cloak doesn't actually bend light, it suppresses the observer's awareness of the caster's presence. Disguise doesn't alter the physical form, it alters what other people see.
They're both illusion spells. Subsets of mind magic. It must be why I learned them so fast. My alignment isn't just [Mind Control]. It's the entire cognitive domain.
I seem to have a genuine knack for anything that involves manipulating someone's mind, even through indirect means like illusions.
Lock & Unlock, on the other hand, had been a struggle.
The spell was pure arcane manipulation. Just raw mana, shaped into a specific pattern, pushed into the mechanism of a lock to trigger or suppress its internal state. A simple spell by any standard, first-year curriculum at the Academy, barely above cantrip level.
It had taken Alphonse twelve days to learn it.
Twelve days of sitting in the library with a practice lock purchased from the town blacksmith, pushing mana into the keyhole, feeling for the tumblers, trying to replicate the mechanical action of a key using nothing but focused willpower.
To anyone watching, learning Lock & Unlock in twelve days would seem impressive, he reflected. Most non-[Mage] professions require months to master even basic arcane spells. But compared to how fast I picked up Shadow Cloak and Disguise, it felt like pulling teeth.
Spells outside my domain require the same grinding effort as everyone else.
I need to keep that in mind when choosing what to learn next. Every hour spent on a non-aligned spell is an hour not spent on something I could master in a fraction of the time.
He dismissed the spell list.
The carriage rocked over a particularly vicious rut, bouncing both siblings off their seats for an instant. Sophie yelped. Alphonse caught the window frame.
He gazed out the window. The road had descended into a narrow valley, winding between steep, forested slopes.
Alphonse's eyes narrowed.
"Sophie."
She looked up from the map.
"Do you hear that?"
She cocked her head. Listened.
Nothing. Just the creak of the carriage, the clatter of hooves, the rustle of wind through pine needles.
"I don't hear anything," she said.
"Exactly."
The birds had stopped singing.
BOOM.
The detonation came from ahead. A deep, percussive blast that shook the ground beneath the carriage.
BOOM.
A second impact. Closer
Sophie was already on the floor. Her hands were up, water condensing from the ambient humidity, forming into a spinning disc before her face.
Alphonse didn't go to the floor. He went to the window.
Ahead of them, perhaps a hundred meters up the road, another carriage sat motionless. Larger than theirs. Reinforced. Iron bands across the body, steel plates bolted to the sides.
And around it riders.
Twenty of them. At least. Mounted on fast, lean horses, armed with swords and bows, circling the armored carriage in a tightening spiral. They wore no uniform. Dark cloaks, hoods pulled low, faces hidden behind scarves and leather masks. Bandits. Or mercenaries dressed as bandits.
The armored carriage wasn't defenseless. A shimmering field of translucent blue light surrounded it.
The barrier held. Arrows bounced off its surface. Sword strikes slid away.
However, it was weakening.
One of the riders wasn't using a sword.
He sat apart from the others, mounted on a heavy warhorse, both hands raised toward the sky. The earth beneath his hands rippled and churned. A boulder the size of a cart wheel tore itself free from the hillside, rising into the air, hovering for an instant at the apex of its ascent.
Then it dropped.
BOOM.
The boulder slammed into the barrier with a force that made the entire carriage jump.
"Again! Use it again!" one of the riders shouted at the earth mage.
Alphonse pushed the carriage door open and stepped out onto the road.
"Hey! Al! Where are you going?!" Sophie's voice from inside the carriage.
"To handle this mess," Alphonse said over his shoulder.
He assessed the scene in three seconds.
They haven't noticed us yet. The road curves between them and our position, and the trees provide partial concealment. We have maybe sixty seconds before someone looks over their shoulder.
One of the Hohenberg soldiers materialized at his elbow. His hand was on his sword, but he hadn't drawn it.
"Sir, that carriage bears the symbol of the Merchant Guild." He pointed to the emblem painted on the armored vehicle's door. "Looks like some kind of organized robbery."
"I can see that."
"Should we do something, sir?"
The question wasn't rhetorical. The soldier was genuinely asking whether a minor baronial escort of ten men should intervene in a fight involving twenty mounted combatants and a mage.
Alphonse understood the calculus. His soldiers were competent but not elite. Ten against twenty was unfavorable.
The smart play was to hold position, let the bandits finish their business, and slip past once the road was clear.
But I'm not making the smart play.
He ran the variables.
Twenty riders. All mounted.
But what if they weren't mounted?
Alphonse looked at the horses.
Let's try something new.
He closed his eyes. Visualized the mana flow required for [Mind Influence].
This time, he didn't target a person.
He altered the flow.
The modification was delicate. [Mind Influence] was designed for sapient minds. An animal's mind was different. Simpler. More reactive.
The architecture of the spell needs to change, he thought, his brow furrowing with concentration.
He rebuilt the spell. Stripped it of nuance, of subtlety, of the carefully calibrated linguistic packaging that made [Mind Influence] so effective on human targets. What remained was raw emotional force.
Almost there.
The spell clicked into place.
But one target wouldn't be enough. He needed all twenty horses hit simultaneously. A single panicked horse might be controlled by its rider. Twenty panicked horses would create chaos.
Done.
The spell hung in his consciousness like a loaded weapon. Aimed. Ready.
He opened his eyes.
BOOM.
Another boulder hit the barrier. This time, the blue light didn't just flicker. It cracked. A visible fissure ran across the shimmering surface.
No more time.
Alphonse reached for the soldier beside him. Gripped his arm.
"Wait for my signal," he said, his voice low and tight. "When it happens, you'll know. Advance immediately. Hit them while they're on the ground."
The soldier's face was uncertain. His eyes moved from Alphonse to the twenty riders and back.
"Tell the others," Alphonse added.
The soldier nodded.
Alphonse watched their faces as the order was relayed. The expressions were not encouraging.
The particular wariness of soldiers who'd heard stories about the young lord's incompetence for years.
'He should train more.'
'How will he become the heir to the house?'
'It's absurd that we're taking orders from this boy.'
He didn't care. He preferred to be underestimated. That was how he'd managed to slip into the garrison, kill five men including the Captain of the Guard, and walk out without anyone suspecting the sickly young lord who couldn't lift a training sword.
Let them doubt. Their swords still cut the same.
He raised his right hand.
[MIND INFLUENCE] — FEAR.
His mana reserves plummeted. The subsystem activated, splitting the single blast of primal terror into twenty parallel threads that shot across the distance like invisible lightning bolts. Each one found its target.
A raw, overwhelming flood of existential terror. The sensation of a predator's breath on the neck. The smell of blood and fire. The certainty, absolute and unquestionable, that death was standing directly behind them.
The effect was instantaneous.
Twenty horses reared simultaneously.
The coordinated assault disintegrated in a heartbeat. Riders who'd been circling the merchant carriage were suddenly fighting for their lives as their mounts exploded beneath them. Horses screamed. Hooves slashed the air. Bodies tumbled.
The earth mage, mid-cast, lost control of his boulder as his warhorse bucked violently. The massive stone tumbled sideways, crashing into the hillside instead of the barrier.
Of the twenty riders, only two managed to keep their seats. Experienced horsemen with the reflexes and the grip strength to hold on through the initial explosion of panic.
"NOW!" Alphonse shouted.
The Hohenberg soldiers hesitated for exactly one second.
The scene before them was a battlefield that had been won before a single sword was drawn. Eighteen riders dismounted, disoriented, scattered across fifty meters of road. Half of them were still picking themselves up off the ground. Some were clutching broken wrists and dislocated shoulders. Others were crawling toward weapons that had been knocked from their hands.
"ADVANCE!" the senior soldier ordered. He drew his sword and kicked his horse forward.
The line surged.
Ten mounted soldiers hit the disorganized bandits. The first three went down before they could raise their weapons. The next four tried to form a defensive cluster and were ridden through by the momentum of the charge.
It was over before the bandits could recover.
Alphonse leaned against the Hohenberg carriage. His shoulder blades pressed into the wooden panel. His hands hung at his sides.
He was exhausted.
The subsystem, splitting the spell into twenty simultaneous threads, had been effective. But brutally expensive. His arms felt like they were filled with sand. His legs trembled. A dull, persistent ache throbbed behind his eyes.
The soldiers milled about the scene, binding prisoners, collecting weapons, checking the wounded. A few glanced in Alphonse's direction as they worked.
Through shallow [Mind Connection] — just surface thoughts, barely a sip of mana — he caught fragments.
'He didn't even draw a weapon.'
'Just stood there while we did the fighting.'
'He should train more. How will he become the heir of the house?'
'It's absurd that he didn't even participate in the fight.'
Alphonse let the thoughts wash over him. They were predictable.
None of these men knew what happened. None of them understood why twenty horses had simultaneously lost their minds. From their perspective, the young lord had given an order, and then luck had delivered a miracle.
The merchant carriage's barrier flickered once more, then dissolved entirely. The enchantment was spent, the mana crystals powering it drained to empty husks.
The door opened.
Two women stepped out.
Both wore long, layered robes in rich colors. Silk, or something close to it, cut in a style Alphonse hadn't seen in the empire. The cuts were looser, flowing, designed for a warmer climate. Over the lower halves of their faces, each woman wore a wrapped scarf that concealed everything below the bridge of the nose.
From across the sea, Alphonse noted immediately. The same fashion as the kingdoms to the south and east.
The first woman was older. Taller. Her eyes, visible above the veil, were dark and watchful.
The second woman was younger. Close to Alphonse's age, perhaps a year or two older. She was shorter than her companion, with a compact frame that the flowing robes couldn't entirely disguise. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, bright with an intelligence that assessed everything and everyone in the clearing with rapid, precise movements.
The younger woman approached Sophie and Alphonse with quick, confident strides.
"Thank you. Truly. Thank you so much for what you did," she said. Her voice was clear, slightly accented. "My name is Lina. I represent the Merchant Guild."
Up close, Alphonse noticed more. Her skin was warm bronze, a shade darker than the southern empire's sun-tanned nobility but lighter than the deep brown of the kingdoms across the sea. Her hair, visible beneath the hood of her robe, was jet black.
Her eyes were her most striking feature. Large, almond-shaped, fringed with dark lashes.
"A pleasure to meet you," Alphonse said. "I'm Alphonse, and this is my sister Sophie. We're the heirs of Hohenberg."
"Hohenberg." Lina's eyes moved between them. Recognition flickered. "The barony on the western trade route. Your mother is the Baroness Isabelle, yes? Her name carries weight in the guild."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Are you alright?" Sophie asked, stepping forward. "Were either of you hurt? I have basic healing training if—"
"We're unharmed," Lina said. "The barrier held."
"Do you know who they were?" Alphonse asked, nodding toward the bound prisoners.
"Unfortunately, no. But this isn't unusual. It's not uncommon for guild carriages to be targeted on these roads. We carry things that certain people want badly."
Alphonse let his gaze drift to the armored carriage. No visible cargo. No crates. No barrels. The interior, glimpsed through the open door, was furnished for passengers, not freight.
"You don't seem to be carrying cargo," he observed. "What were they after?"
Lina tilted her head. The movement shifted the veil, revealing for an instant the curve of a jaw and the corner of a mouth before the fabric resettled.
"You must not know much about our guild," she said.
"Unfortunately, no," Alphonse admitted.
"The Merchant Guild doesn't transport goods the way a caravan does. We're not wagoneers. We're contract brokers. The guild sends representatives to negotiate, formalize, and execute trade agreements between parties. We're intermediaries."
She gestured toward the document cases visible through the carriage door.
"So, although we don't carry coins or spices, we transport the contracts themselves. Written on specialized parchment, sealed with guild enchantments that verify authenticity and prevent forgery. The contract artifact is extraordinarily valuable on its own. A master-sealed guild contract can be used to authorize the transfer of goods worth thousands of gold pieces. In the wrong hands, it's essentially a license to steal."
"That explains the armored carriage," Sophie said.
"You mentioned another reason they might target you," Alphonse said.
Lina's gaze returned to him.
"The other valuable asset is me," she said simply. "A guild representative knows routes, prices, supplier networks, client lists. The information in my head is worth more than anything written on parchment."
A walking intelligence asset, Alphonse thought.
"I see," he said.
Lina's expression shifted. The eyes above the veil warmed slightly.
"Young lord, if it's not too presumptuous. I'd like to request your escort. At least until we reach the Emperor's Way. Beyond that, the imperial patrols should be sufficient."
She paused. Straightened her posture..
"In return, I can offer the guild's services. We maintain offices in every major city in the empire. Access to our network — information, introductions, favorable contract terms — is not something we extend lightly."
Alphonse considered the offer.
The guild's network. Information, introductions, favorable terms. In the capital, surrounded by noble houses with generations of established connections, that kind of access would be invaluable for a minor barony's heirs trying to build influence from scratch.
"We're headed the same way," he said, his tone measured and easy. "We can accompany you all the way to the capital. I won't need the guild's services immediately, but I'll remember your offer. When the time comes, I'll call on it."
Lina nodded. The transaction was understood. A debt, acknowledged.
She turned toward her carriage, then paused. Looked back over her shoulder.
"I notice your carriage doesn't offer much in the way of comfort," she said, her eyes moving to the Hohenberg vehicle with its plain wooden frame and simple padded benches. "Mine is better equipped for long journeys. I imagine you're already tired of staring at the same walls."
Her gaze shifted between the siblings.
"Why don't you ride with us? There's more than enough room." She tilted her head, the movement shifting the veil again. "And I would very much like to learn more about Hohenberg and the empire's borders."
Alphonse and Sophie exchanged a glance.
"We'd be happy to," Alphonse said.
Sophie sank into the bench with a groan of relief.
"I'm never going back to our carriage," she declared. "Ever."
Lina settled across from the siblings. She folded her hands in her lap.
"So," she said, her dark eyes bright above the veil. "Where were you traveling from?"
"Hohenberg," Sophie answered. "We're headed to the capital. Alphonse and I are taking the entrance examination for the Imperial Academy."
"The Academy." A note of genuine interest entered Lina's voice. "Both of you? That's ambitious. What courses?"
"Arcane for me," Sophie said. "Healing Magic specialization."
"Strategy and Management," Alphonse said. "Artificer specialization."
Lina's eyebrows rose. "Artificer. An unusual choice for a noble's heir. Most lords' sons aim for Swordmastery or Arcane Combat."
"I'm not most lords' sons."
"Clearly." Her eyes studied him. "The guild has dealings with several Artificer firms in the capital. If you find yourself in need of resources during your studies, the guild's supply network might be of use."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"And what about you?" Sophie asked, leaning forward with the open curiosity that was her natural state. "Where were you coming from?"
"From Clairmont," Lina said.
Sophie's brow furrowed. "Clairmont?"
Lina nodded. "The heir of Clairmont decided, rather abruptly, to expedite his engagement ceremony."