According to Jorgen, it would take two more hours to reach Shafendorf.
Keldric rode alongside Jorgen and his mercenaries, keeping pace with their steps.
“You’re quite a big fellow, aren’t you?” one mercenary remarked.
“But why are you traveling alone? Don’t nobles usually have attendants with them?”
“Shut up and watch your mouth, kid. Maybe worry about your own life instead.”
A few mercenaries gave Keldric sideways glances and muttered under their breath, but they quickly looked away before meeting his gaze.
Keldric, mounted and clad in an intimidating helmet that obscured his face, exuded a chilling aura.
The nightmare of the recent large-scale battle in Rovernst, where numerous mercenaries had been slaughtered by knights who struck with the swiftness of lightning, still haunted them.
The knights had penetrated their formation, slaughtering mercenaries indiscriminately.
Those who tried to resist barely lasted a minute before throwing down their weapons and fleeing in terror.
Keldric’s armor was strikingly similar to those knights’, making him even more intimidating.
The mercenaries feared that he might suddenly draw his sword and cut them down.
“Did that really happen?” Keldric asked.
“Yes. The battlefield was so chaotic that even our enemies got confused and stumbled into our lines,” Jorgen replied.
“Must have been quite shocking.”
Unaware of the mercenaries’ fearful memories, Keldric was conversing casually with Jorgen about the Rovernst skirmish.
“The Baron of Rovernst may have won, but his expenses must have been significant. There were hundreds of mercenaries gathered there,” Jorgen continued.
“The Duke of Rovernst must have been quite upset.”
“Though I wouldn’t know for sure, hunting a deer from another domain’s land is a serious offense, isn’t it?”
“Hmm… yes. It’s certainly not an honorable act.”
Jorgen’s mouth ran like a river after receiving a few silver coins from Keldric, eagerly sharing news and details, even without being asked.
He spoke about his experiences and the events of the domain skirmishes, with Keldric nodding and mentally storing away the information.
According to Jorgen, a dispute had broken out recently between Baron Rovernst and Baron Leibach over poached deer, sparking the skirmish.
Keldric was struck by how even minor disputes could lead to such wars.
“What’s Belam like as a city?” Keldric asked.
“Is this your first time heading to Belam?”
“Indeed. I’ve always wanted to go, but circumstances prevented me,” Keldric replied, tactfully omitting the fact that this was his first time even leaving his rural village.
He didn’t want to be labeled a “country knight” among the mercenaries.
“You must have come from afar then!”
Jorgen assumed Keldric was a northern noble due to his distinct northern accent, attire, and manner.
“Belam is a prosperous city. Baron Volpen actively encourages trade, so it attracts many merchants.”
Listening attentively, Keldric learned from Jorgen that Belam was governed by two main powers: the noble Sir Herman of the Kassel family, appointed by Baron Volpen, and the city council, composed of influential figures.
“Sir Herman is wise, maintaining public order without causing friction with the council.”
“And the council?”
“Well…”
Keldric sensed Jorgen’s hesitation.
His instincts, often accurate, told him something was off.
“The council comprises influential and wealthy citizens who have a strong voice in city affairs.”
“Influential citizens?”
“Yes, mostly guild merchants and artisans.”
“So they’re a powerful group. Are they a problem?”
“Not exactly a problem… but…”
With Baron Volpen’s encouragement of trade, wealth flowed through Belam, strengthening the influence of the rich, who coordinated among themselves and cautiously avoided clashing with Sir Herman.
Essentially, the council was a gathering of wealthy elites.
“They’re probably corrupt,” Keldric remarked.
Keldric knew that the more money flowed, the more likely it was to be tainted.
Jorgen couldn’t openly agree, as he was temporarily under the council’s employ.
“My apologies for putting you on the spot,” Keldric said.
“Oh, not at all. I was just considering if it was appropriate for me to agree with you,” Jorgen replied.
“There’s no need to agree with everything I say. I don’t know everything.”
Jorgen was secretly impressed by Keldric’s attitude, particularly his openness to conversation with a lowly mercenary and his respect for others’ opinions.
“What a kind person he is!”
The knights Jorgen had previously encountered were usually flawed in character—heavy drinkers or merciless brutes who would kill at the slightest hint of retreat.
Keldric, however, was calm and articulate, and despite appearing barely twenty, he displayed maturity beyond his years.
Mercenaries, no matter their rank, understood the need to act humbly in certain situations, whereas knights bowed only to noble landowners.
Keldric, however, respected Jorgen’s experience throughout their conversation.
“The bandits we’re dealing with are remnants from the Rovernst skirmish.”
“Is that so? If they’re all mounted, they must be skilled mercenaries.”
“They’re mercenaries from the Duchy of Lis, and they’re unique for wearing metal armor.”
“Their armor must be sturdy. Is it dangerous to face them?”
“Dangerous, yes, but the council is offering a high reward, and my men are experienced at fighting cavalry.”
Jorgen found himself sharing more with Keldric than usual, grateful for the attention he received from a noble.
“By the way, is that mage usually so silent?” Keldric asked, gesturing ahead.
Jorgen glanced at the mage walking ahead and responded, “We don’t know much about her.”
The mage’s aloofness wasn’t well-received, especially since she hadn’t even shared her name with the mercenaries.
They only knew she wielded fire magic.
“Fire?”
“Yes. Just two days ago, she roasted some bandits.”
Keldric had never seen magic in action, only hearing about it indirectly from Duke Volpen and Lord Hilmor.
‘I wonder how she wields fire. Does she throw fireballs?’
Intrigued, Keldric urged his horse forward, aligning himself beside the mage.
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
“Greetings.”
“…Yes. Hello.”
Keldric politely greeted, but the mage only nodded with a reluctant expression.
And that was it.
With the conversation cut short, Keldric, who had initiated it, felt awkward.
He refrained from asking about the mage’s family or origins but thought it appropriate to introduce himself.
“By the grace of the deity, I am Keldric of the Bellaf House.”
“You can speak more casually. My family fell from nobility long ago.”
When the mage responded in such an unexpected way, Keldric found himself at a loss for words.
“Oh, um…”
A fallen noble family, huh.
Not asking about her family had been the right choice, but now it felt odd even to ask her name.
Seeing Keldric struggling for words, the mage let out a small laugh and said, “It would be rude if I didn’t introduce myself.
I’m Alyssa of the Purifying Flame School, educated at the Academia of Firenza.”
Though Keldric didn’t show it, he did notice an unusual accent in Alyssa’s Imperial tongue.
Firenza was a nation far to the south, in the peninsula, distant from the snowy northern Empire.
Keldric refrained from asking unnecessary questions, assuming she must have her reasons.
“Anyway, as I mentioned, my family has fallen, so you don’t have to speak formally to me.”
“If that makes you comfortable.”
“Good.”
Though Keldric’s demeanor shifted so quickly, Alyssa didn’t mind.
“What’s with him?”
Usually, revealing oneself as a fallen noble led knights to look down on them.
Fallen noble families rarely fell honorably, something that knights often found contemptible or laughable.
But Keldric was different; he didn’t seem bothered by Alyssa’s words.
Expecting a rude, rough knight, Alyssa found herself more at ease continuing the conversation.
“Ah, the Purifying Flame School, you say.”
“I’ve never seen that kind of magic before, but I’ve always been curious.”
To Alyssa, Keldric was a rare type.
Knights usually sought only strength and honor in battle, seldom taking a personal interest in magic or its power.
Most didn’t acknowledge magic’s strength, let alone show curiosity.
“The Purifying Flame School focuses on ‘controlled purification fire,’ to put it simply.”
“Controlled purification?”
“Yes. Fire has the power to consume everything. Our school studies how to control that fire entirely, believing the pinnacle of control to be the Purifying Flame.”
“That’s… not easy, I assume?”
“Indeed, fire is an unpredictable force.”
Alyssa realized she was explaining passionately, perhaps due to Keldric’s shining curiosity or the fact that he wasn’t dismissive of her.
“What exactly is magic?”
“A difficult question.”
“Just answer as best you can.”
“At the Academia, we describe it as a power originating from the world’s three fundamental elements. It varies slightly between academies, but the basics are similar.”
Alyssa’s explanation flowed smoothly, though Keldric needed time to process it.
“What are these three elements?”
“Environment, catalyst, and imagination. These are the sources of magic.”
The environment comes from nature, the catalyst from divine gifts, and imagination from human insight.
When these three harmonize, one steps closer to the world’s source.
The ultimate goal of mages was the pursuit of this truth.
“Wow…”
Keldric was genuinely impressed.
Magic was deeper and clearer in its purpose than he had imagined.
Giving up his brief thought of learning magic, Keldric decided he was better off mastering his own strength.
“I’d like to see it.”
“My magic? Hmm… You may see it if the situation calls for it. But we haven’t seen any sign of those marauders we’re looking for.”
Just as Alyssa mentioned, the marauders from the Principality of Liss, whom she and the mercenaries sought, were nowhere to be found.
Keldric hoped to avoid danger, yet was also curious to see Alyssa’s magic.
About two hours after traveling with the Mountain Goat Mercenaries, Keldric spotted smoke rising in the distance.
“It seems we’re almost at Shapendorf.”
“Yes, almost there.”
Jorgen, who had been spared camping out thanks to Keldric, looked pleased.
Understandably, as Jorgen and the mercenaries hadn’t bathed in days.
Though Keldric understood their circumstances, the smell was still difficult to endure.
“I hear Shapendorf is quite a large village. Does it have a decent inn?”
“There’s an inn called ‘The Flock Keeper.’ It may be humble for someone like you, but it’s not bad.”
They approached Shapendorf village.
Keldric removed his helmet and looked toward the village entrance.
Billowing black smoke, scattered barricades at the entrance, and villagers facing off against mounted soldiers…
“Huh?”
Something felt off.
A faint scream echoed in the distance.
“Hmm? Something’s…”
Keldric wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Jorgen and the seasoned mercenary Anton also stared at the village entrance, faces pale.
Distant mounted soldiers were armed with long spears, around a dozen in number.
Their metallic armor gleamed in the sunlight, appearing to be a unique style of interlinked metal plates.
“There they are!”
Jorgen shouted in alarm.
Alyssa, who had been trudging along, widened her eyes at the sight of the mounted soldiers.
The marauders they had been chasing were right there.
“What are you waiting for? There are the ones you were after!”
Keldric yelled, urging them on as he mounted Boreas and galloped forward.
The mercenaries and Alyssa hurried after him.
They couldn’t just walk past.
The purpose of the Mountain Goat Mercenaries and Alyssa was to eliminate them, and Keldric himself was running low on supplies.
One way or another, they had to make it safely into the village.
“Damn it!”
Keldric cursed, facing mounted soldiers again after only a few days.
Just when he thought he could finally rest and bathe, chaos ensued once more.
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