The silence that followed Roland's roar wasn't peaceful; it was a sonic vacuum, a ragged hole torn in the fabric of the crowd's bloodlust. For a moment, thousands of people held their breath, torn between the habit of obedience and the sudden, painful disappointment of a stolen spectacle. Arthur observed Roland — or rather, Cheng Yan's soul now inhabiting that royal vessel — with an almost microscopic intensity. The prince was deathly pale, his hand still trembling in the air, while Barov, the administrative director, looked on the verge of a heart attack, his face a frantic crimson.
— "Your Highness... what is the meaning of this? The Church... the decree... Longsong Stronghold will find out, and what will we do then??" Barov's words tumbled out in a whirlwind of panic, his breath catching as he gripped Roland's silk sleeve.
— "Take her to the dungeon. Now," ordered Roland. He completely ignored his advisor, his voice acquiring a sudden, metallic firmness. It was the pragmatism of a man used to dealing with blueprints and stress loads, finally beginning to override the shock of a transmigrated soul.
As the guards moved in, under the watchful, predatory gaze of Chief Knight Carter Lannis, the blue screen in Arthur's peripheral vision flickered with a triumphant resonance.
[QUEST COMPLETED: THE TURNING POINT]
Reward: Magic Power Unlocked.
Status: Synchronizing energy... 100%.
It didn't feel like a simple notification. A sudden, invigorating wave of energy erupted from the base of Arthur's spine, coursing through his nervous system like liquid lightning. It wasn't the agonizing, scorching heat that witches described during their "Awakening"; it was something else — designed, fluid, and perfectly contained. It was as if a new sensory organ had opened up, allowing him to feel the subtle vibrations of the world around him.
He looked at William. His friend was opening and closing his hands, a look of pure, adrenaline-fueled surprise on his face. The air around William's knuckles seemed to shimmer for a fraction of a second, a testament that his high Strength and Speed attributes had finally found an energy source.
— "Did you feel that, Art?" whispered William, his voice low and vibrating with excitement. He adjusted his stance, his eyes now fixed on Carter Lannis, who was guarding the rear of the escort with the lethal grace of a hunting dog. — "The game just went from 2D to 4D."
— "Yeah," Arthur replied, his mind already calculating the next ten minutes. — "But we can't stand around in the mud. Carter has already marked us. Our clothes, our posture, the fact that we aren't cowering like the rest of these peasants — it's an anomaly. If we don't take the initiative and present ourselves now, we'll be branded as spies for the other Wimbledon siblings and arrested before sunset, follow me."
They began to follow the royal escort from a distance, moving with a synchronized confidence that clashed violently with the atmosphere of Border Town. Arthur knew the script: Roland would soon lock himself in his office to deal with his fragmented memories before visiting the dungeons to see if magic was a physical reality. It was the perfect opportunity for a controlled intervention — a "first contact" between 21st-century survivors.
When they reached the castle gates — a gray, rustic structure that looked more like a prison than a palace — they were blocked by two guards with rusted halberds. Carter Lannis slowly turned around, his hand resting with practiced ease on the pommel of his longsword. His sharp, relentless eyes swept over Arthur and William with the suspicion of a professional killer.
— "Who are you? There is no one on the guest list to see the Prince. Speak, or the dungeon will have more than one guest today," Carter said in a cold, threatening voice.
— "Travelers, Commander," Arthur said, stepping forward into the light. He kept his hands visible and relaxed, his voice projecting a calm, erudite authority. — "We are scholars from distant lands who heard some rumors — a whisper that the Fourth Prince of Graycastle needs capable minds to turn clay into gold... or, more practically, to turn limestone and clay into cement."
The word "cement" echoed in the air like a thunderbolt. Roland, who was walking a few meters ahead, stopped abruptly. He turned slowly, his wide eyes fixed on the two "strangers." William, seizing the silence, added with a teasing, mischievous smile:
— "And we also heard that the 'prince' has a peculiar and highly questionable taste for interrupting executions. We like his style. Now step aside, we need to speak with the prince."
Before Carter could give the order to arrest them, Roland's voice echoed through the courtyard. — "Let them in, Carter. If they know the word for that mixture, I want to know how they learned it."
Roland walked toward them, his boots clinking on the uneven stone. He ignored Barov's whispered protests about safety and the strangers' lack of manners. His eyes, previously clouded by the fog of a thousand-year-old history, suddenly sharpened as they locked onto Arthur and William's black t-shirts. To Barov or Carter, it was just strange, impeccably tailored fabric. But to Cheng Yan, the mechanical engineer from a world of factories and mass production, it was a reality check that almost made his legs give out.
— "Those clothes..." Roland muttered, his voice breaking for a fraction of a second. He stared at the watch on Arthur's wrist — the brushed steel, the sapphire crystal, an object of industrial precision that was fundamentally impossible in this era of manual gears and hourglasses. — "Where did you say you came from?"
— "From a place where logic and science are the foundations of civilization, we are nobles from the Kingdom of Dawn, Your Highness," Arthur replied, his 14 Intelligence allowing him to read every micro-expression of shock and longing on the Prince's face. — "We have come to assist in the development of Border Town, if we are useless to Your Highness, then feel free to send us away. But I guarantee that with our knowledge, we will not disappoint you."
Roland took a deep breath, his knuckles turning white as he pressed his temples. The mental strain of merging the old Roland's memories with Cheng Yan's engineering mind was visibly taking its toll.
— "Carter, take them to the guest quarters on the upper floor. Do not let them out of your sight, but treat them as... honored scholars from a friendly kingdom," Roland ordered. He turned his back abruptly, walking hastily toward his private chambers. He needed silence. He needed to assimilate the fact that maybe he wasn't the only ghost from Earth in this muddy medieval hell.
Arthur and William were escorted through the castle by a visibly tense Carter Lannis. The interior was cold, the bare stone walls damp — a perfect reflection of Border Town's decay. As soon as the heavy oak door to their room was locked, William let out a long sigh and slumped into a rustic wooden chair.
— "He saw the shirt, Art. The look on his face was hilarious, it was like he had seen a ghost," William whispered, his eyes gleaming. — "But so, what's the next step? Are we going to wait for him to knock on the door?"
— "We wait," Arthur said, standing by the narrow window, watching the moon rise over the North Slope. — "From what I remember of the original timeline, he's going to spend the whole night reviewing the real Roland Wimbledon's memories. Tomorrow, he faces the town's economic collapse and visits the dungeons. We can take advantage of that and act as a bridge between Anna and him, to gain his trust, even if his intention isn't to kill her."
— "Indeed, now I'm really looking forward to tomorrow," William said, convinced of the glories he would achieve from here on out.
***
The next morning, the castle echoed with the rhythmic sound of hurried footsteps. Arthur and William were led to the drawing room, where Roland was already sitting at a long table, buried under a mountain of dusty scrolls and rudimentary maps. Barov sat across from him, his face imbued with an air of bureaucratic misery.
The air was heavy with the smell of stale bread and the weight of the superstitions Barov was pouring onto the table. Roland held a small ceramic coin — the emblem of the Witch Cooperation Association, featuring the mountain and the eye. He looked up when the door creaked open.
The morning light streamed through the narrow windows, illuminating the sharp, modern lines of the two young men. Roland, who had been trying to reconcile Barov's tales of "demonic corruption" with his own scientific background, froze with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. His engineer's eyes fixed with predatory intensity on their clothing. To Barov, it was just exotic fabric; to Cheng Yan, a relic of a lost world.
— "You've arrived..." Roland began, his voice hoarse. He quickly composed himself. — "Barov, these are the scholars from the Kingdom of Dawn I told you about."
Barov wiped the sweat from his upper lip, shooting a look of pure venom at the newcomers. — "Your Highness, we are discussing the security of Border Town and the threat of the Church. I do not believe foreigners in such... suspicious... attire should have access to these matters. Especially regarding the Witch Cooperation Association."
Arthur took a step forward, his voice calm but firm. — "We have heard enough about the Witch Cooperation Association and the 'Holy Mountain' to know it is a distraction, Minister. What you, Barov Mons, call the cradle of evil, we call a misinterpretation of human nature. And what the Church calls 'servants of the devil,' we call the power of nature."
Roland dropped the ceramic coin onto the table. The metallic clink echoed in the stone room. — "You speak as if you have met and studied witches personally. Barov tells me they degenerate into servants of the devil."
— "With all due respect to the old man," William interjected, his hands in his pockets — a gesture that made the modern cotton fabric of his clothes tighten around his muscles, causing Roland's eyes to twitch — "this 'degeneration' is just their bodies trying to empty the absurd amount of Magic Power they possess. But due to the 'witch hunts,' they cannot use it openly, as they would be discovered and subsequently killed."
Roland stood up abruptly, his confusion finally dissipating into a precise, scientific determination. He needed proof. He needed to verify if the laws of physics he knew still applied to this world. — "Barov, stay here and finish the ore reports. Carter, bring your steel. We are going down to the dungeons."
***
The path to the dungeons was cold, the air growing heavier and damper with each step. Arthur felt the Magic Power Flow in his chest begin to vibrate, a subtle thrumming that intensified as they approached the heavy iron bars of the last cell. There, sitting in the shadows, was the young woman with orange-red hair. She looked smaller here, more fragile, but her eyes remained steady.
— "What is your name?" asked Roland.
The girl stood up slowly, her eyes meeting Roland's, then Arthur's, then William's. She didn't see hatred in them — only an analytical, terrifying curiosity. — "Anna."
Perfect. The dialogue is playing out exactly like the plot of the original story, Arthur thought, his mind racing.
After Anna demonstrated her magic at Roland's command — a bright, emerald fire that burned without consuming anything —, the prince muttered mentally: — "It's not hellfire... it's just her own power." He stepped forward and draped his heavy fur cloak over her shoulders, a gesture of humanity that, in itself, would be enough to make her fall in love with him in the future.
— "Do you see, Your Highness?" Arthur said, stepping closer to the bars while Carter kept his hand on his sword. — "With this localized heat source and the limestone from the North Slope, we can produce cement with extreme ease. Border Town will not only survive this harsh winter; it will also become a prosperous and self-sufficient city."
Roland turned to Arthur, finally dropping the royal facade of the Fourth Prince and speaking as one engineer to another. — "Right, but how do you know the chemical composition of cement? And how do you have knowledge about the Mines?"
— "Let's just say that in our county we read the 'ancient books', which hold a high value of knowledge, Your Highness," Arthur replied with a complicit half-smile. — "At any rate, if you want to save her from the eyes of the Church and the nobles, you will need more than knowledge. A distraction is necessary. A fake execution. Find a prisoner on death row whose crimes are real and let the mob have their 'witch' in the square. That will be enough to fool them, so Anna can work for Your Highness in the shadows until public opinion changes regarding witches."
Roland nodded slowly, the logic of the proposal resonating perfectly with his newfound pragmatism. He looked at the girl with orange-red hair, and then at the two strangers from the Kingdom of Dawn who seemed to read his thoughts.
— "Carter, arrange for what they suggested. We need a body for the gallows," ordered Roland. Then, he turned his full attention back to Arthur and William, narrowing his eyes. — "And as soon as we guarantee her safety... you are going to explain more about these 'ancient books', and how you possess those prints without a single stitch of manual embroidery."
William let out a short, sharp laugh, feeling the "protagonist" energy coursing through his body. — "It's a long story, Roland. But when we're done, the embroidery will be the least of your surprises. We're counting on you from here on out. And you can count on us too."
Arthur watched the scene with excitement, for he knew that the Witches' Union and the entire revolution was only just beginning!