Iron Hearth Castle Main Gate. The Morning of Departure.
A biting morning chill shrouded the castle courtyard, carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering dew. A heavy sense of longing hung in the air, punctuated only by the rhythmic huffing of horses already cinched in their saddles.
Two carriages stood grandly in the yard. The first, carrying the Duke and Duchess, gleamed after a rapid renovation; its oak frame had been polished to a mirror shine, and the wolf crest on the doors had been repainted with sharp silver accents. The second, larger but no less elegant, belonged to Rianor, Roland, and Rhea—a logistics carriage whose interior had been completely gutted and overhauled by Rumina to be as comfortable as a high-end hotel suite.
Sir Riven stood beside Rianor's mount. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, but he fought to maintain a stoic mask before his line of new recruits. He repeatedly adjusted his gloves—a micro-gesture that betrayed the anxiety gnawing at his gut.
"Take care of yourselves out there," Riven said, clapping Rianor on the shoulder with a heavy thud. "If any of those nobles give you trouble, just write their names down. I'll pay their estates a personal visit once I take some leave."
"Of course, Riven," Rianor replied with a thin smile, pushing up his spectacles. "You too. Don't let Martha feed you those instant noodles too often. Look after Raphael and Raveena."
Raveena suddenly lunged forward, clutching Aurelia's skirts and burying her face in the fabric. "Don't stay away too long, Mother... who will I sleep with if you're gone?"
Aurelia knelt, pulling her youngest daughter into a tender embrace. She smoothed the girl's hair with a gentle touch. "I'm going to find you so many beautiful things in the Capital, sweetheart. You must listen to Riven, alright? If he starts getting grumpy, report him to Grimm immediately."
Riven scowled, though he couldn't quite hide his grin. "Hey, why am I the one being threatened?"
"Move out!" Duke Lucian commanded from within his carriage, his voice heavy with authority.
The small caravan began to roll. The wheels creaked over the cobblestones, leaving behind the cold shadows of the ancient castle as they headed toward the southern highway—a road promising both peril and unprecedented opportunity.
Southern Highway – Day 3 of the Journey. Stopover City: Oakhaven.
After three days of being violently jarred within the carriage—which had left Roland deathly pale and clutching his stomach in a severe bout of motion sickness—they finally sighted true civilization. Oakhaven. A bustling mid-sized trading hub that served as the primary transit point for merchants bound for Sol-Regis.
"We'll rest here for the night," Lucian said as the carriages slowed. "We need hot baths and a decent meal. Besides, Rianor wants to conduct a bit of 'market testing.'"
They secured the best lodgings in the city: The Golden Stag Inn. The price was steep—fifty gold coins a night—but for the sake of maintaining their dignity and prestige, Aurelia didn't offer a single word of protest.
Night – The Inn's Dining Room.
The moment the Sudrath family descended for dinner, they became an instant magnet for every pair of eyes in the room. It wasn't because of their family name, which was still largely dismissed, but because of their appearance—it was utterly alien to the locals.
Aurelia looked regal in a minimalist silk gown of emerald green. Rhea wore an oversized white shirt cinched by a black leather corset—a tomboyish style that nonetheless radiated a chic, dangerous aura. Meanwhile, Roland and Rianor wore casual suits with razor-sharp tailoring.
"Look at them," Roland whispered to Rianor, feigning a sip of water. "People are staring. Look at their clothes—all those puffy, unnecessary ruffles. They look like birthday clowns."
"Focus, Roland," Rianor whispered back without looking. "Go work your charm on the crowd. I'm heading to the bar; there's market data I need to sniff out."
Rianor slipped away and took a high stool at the bar. He ordered a glass of fresh apple juice, wincing slightly as he caught the scent of the local spirits, which smelled more like gasoline than a beverage.
Seated next to him was a girl of similar age, draped in a loose grey wizard's robe that obscured most of her face. She was deeply engrossed in a thick tome, occasionally sipping from a cup of steaming black coffee.
Rianor's eyes drifted toward the book's title. Mana Flow Theory and its Application in Ancient Steam Engines.
His eyes widened slightly. A technical manual? In this world, it was rare to find women interested in technical literature; they usually gravitated toward romance novels about knights and princesses.
"The equation on page forty-two is wrong," Rianor remarked casually. His old habits as a perfectionist academic had flared up instinctively.
The girl stopped turning the page. She looked over slowly, her hood shifting back. Beneath it lay a pair of stunning but cold violet eyes, framed by round spectacles. She was beautiful, though the dark circles under her eyes suggested a chronic lack of sleep.
"Excuse me?" her voice was flat and slightly raspy.
"That magical thermodynamics equation," Rianor pointed politely. "The author assumes Mana behaves like a gas. In reality, Mana possesses characteristics closer to a liquid fluid. If you use that formula to calculate steam pressure, the engine will explode before it ever reaches boiling point."
The girl shut her book with a soft thwack. She scrutinized Rianor from head to toe.
"Who are you? Your clothes are strange. Your haircut is foreign. And you dare correct the work of a Grand Maester?"
"I'm Rianor. And yes, the author is wrong. If you don't believe me, try channeling a sliver of your mana into that coffee cup at a three-to-one ratio. Observe the flow."
The girl looked challenged. She placed a slender index finger on the rim of her cup.
Zwing...
The coffee within the glass suddenly swirled, heating up instantly without any violent, bubbling boil. It was perfectly stable.
Her violet eyes widened in shock. "It worked... the heat efficiency jumped by nearly forty percent."
She looked at Rianor now with a spark of genuine academic interest. "My name is Elara. I've never heard of the 'Mana as Fluid' theory before. Which academy did you graduate from?"
"The Academy of... Life," Rianor answered vaguely. "I just have a bit of an obsessive reading habit."
"Liar," Elara shot back instantly. "Someone with just a reading habit doesn't wear a suit with a cut that sharp."
Elara pulled a small notebook from her robes. "Sit. Tell me more about this fluid theory. The coffee is on me."
Rianor smiled. Finally, he had found someone on his intellectual frequency.
In another corner of the room, Roland was already surrounded by the wives of wealthy merchants. "Oh, goodness, Young Lord, how is your skin so flawless?" gushed a stout lady with heavy makeup.
"Ah, Madam, you flatter me," Roland flashed his lethal smile, pulling a small box of lavender soap from his pocket. "My secret is actually quite simple—just a bit of this Northreach Glow bar. Care to try? Stocks are quite limited, I'm afraid."
"I WANT IT! I'LL BUY THEM ALL!"
Meanwhile, at the main table, Lucian and Aurelia watched their children from a distance.
"Look at that," Aurelia pointed toward the bar. "The bookworm is actually talking to a girl. That's a first."
"She's wearing a mage's robe," Lucian noted warily. "Let's hope she isn't a royal spy."
"Oh, you're always so suspicious," Rhea said, casually snagging a fry. "Let Rianor have his fun. Up until now, the only girlfriend he's ever had was a calculator."
Suddenly, the inn's door was slammed open. A group of soldiers in Silver Eagle uniforms marched in with arrogant strides. They were loud, reeking of booze.
"Out of the way!" the lead soldier barked, kicking an old merchant's chair out from under him. "This table belongs to us now!"
The inn fell into a suffocating silence. The Silver Eagle Guard were known as the personal retinue of the Second Prince. One of the soldiers spotted Elara deep in discussion with Rianor.
"Well, look at this little hidden gem," the soldier stumbled toward their table, his breath foul with beer. "Hey, pretty lady," his dirty hand reached out to tug at Elara's hood. "Take that off. I want to see what you're hiding."
Rianor let out a long sigh, disappointed that his fascinating discussion had been interrupted. "Sir, please have some manners. We are in the middle of something important," Rianor said, his tone measured and calm.
"Shut up, you preened little sissy!" the soldier raised his hand, intending to backhand Rianor.
WHACK!
Before the palm could land, a silver dinner fork was driven deep into the wooden table, vibrating inches away from the soldier's trembling fingers.
"My brother just said 'have some manners'," Rhea's voice rang out, cold as ice.
Rhea was already standing there, casually chewing a slice of apple. One hand held the fruit, while the other had just thrown the fork with terrifying precision.
"Aaa!" the soldier recoiled, his face turning ashen. "Who do you think you are?! You dare defy the Prince's Guard?!"
Elara, the mage girl, simply took a sip of her coffee as if nothing had happened. She glanced at Rhea, then back to Rianor. "Your family is... fascinating," she murmured. "Usually, backwater nobles would be on their knees the moment they heard the Prince's name."
"We come from a different species," Rianor replied, straightening his lapels.
The commotion grew. The soldier's comrades drew their swords with a harsh rasp. "Get them!"
Duke Lucian sat calmly, taking a slow sip of his tea. He gave Rhea a brief, silent nod: Don't kill them. Just leave a mark.
Rhea let out a feral grin. "With pleasure, Father."