The cold, stale air of the Border Town dungeons seemed to cling to their clothes like a second skin, carrying with it the metallic scent of ancient blood, chronic dampness, and the despair of countless prisoners who had perished there. The heavy, rhythmic sound of boots echoed off the rustic stone walls, creating a lugubrious symphony as the small group began to ascend the long spiral staircase that would lead them back to the surface. The darkness was punctuated only by the faint flickering of torches held in rusted iron sconces, casting monstrous, dancing shadows that seemed to want to swallow the visitors whole.
For Arthur, however, that oppressive environment did not inspire terror; it inspired absolute, almost devout fascination. He walked with his senses sharpened to the limit, his eyes sweeping over every inch of the scenery, completely immersed in the details. His mind, once confined to the pages of a webnovel through a computer or cell phone screen, now processed a reality in three dimensions, tactile and breathable. He was there. This was the world of Release That Witch.
Arthur's gaze fixed on Roland's back, the Prince walking ahead of them. He observed the drape of the heavy cloak over the royal shoulders, the posture that still struggled to find a balance between the arrogance of a useless noble and the calculating precision of a modern engineer. Then, his eyes moved to Chief Knight Carter Lannis, who guarded Roland's rear. Carter was the personification of lethal discipline; the way the torchlight reflected off his meticulously polished plate armor, the firm, calloused hand resting on the pommel of his longsword, always ready for a quick draw... Seeing these "characters" in person, breathing, existing mere centimeters away, left Arthur completely spellbound.
However, what had truly made Arthur's heart beat wildly in his chest and his eyes shine with a feverish intensity was not the presence of the nobles, but what had just transpired in that dark cell. Witnessing Anna's magic in person was a watershed moment. The moment the young witch, even weak and cornered, summoned those flames... Arthur could still feel the phantom heat of that impossible fire. The flame burned in the empty air, without consuming firewood, oxygen, or fabric, fed only by pure Magic Power. He had seen the yellowish-orange glow reflect off the wet walls of the cell, illuminating the girl's dirty but resilient face. It was a visual epiphany. Magic wasn't just a fantasy concept to read about on forums; it was a tangible force, a marvelous physical anomaly that distorted the reality around it. The system in his own mind had reacted to it, but seeing Anna materialize the impossible with such ease made Arthur's blood boil with excitement for the days to come.
Right behind Arthur, William climbed the stone steps with a slightly more relaxed posture, although his eyes, always attentive, never stopped scanning the environment. While Arthur was lost in reveries about magic systems and the grandeur of the unfolding plot, William's mind operated on a much more primal and pragmatic frequency, typical of a 21st-century young man suddenly thrown into a fantasy setting.
William looked over his shoulder toward the depths from which they had come, picturing the red-haired girl they had left behind, now protected by the prince's cloak. The image of Anna was engraved in his mind. Despite the dirt covering her cheeks, the filthy rags that barely covered her, and the evident malnutrition after days in a medieval dungeon, the girl's natural beauty was undeniable.
— "Man, what a woman..." William thought, letting out a heavy breath through his nose, feeling his own muscles tense due to his high attributes. — "For someone who went through a completely unjust betrayal by her own father and these ignorant peasants, she has an absurd presence. Only seventeen years old... Anna is absurdly beautiful for her age."
He laughed internally, shaking his head in disbelief. In his original world, a seventeen-year-old girl would be worried about high school exams, social media, and parties. Here, Anna was one step away from being hanged in a public square, branded as a demon, and yet, her crystalline blue eyes possessed a depth and determination that made any modern supermodel look dull in comparison. William wasn't made of iron. He recognized Roland's protagonist status in the original story, but being there, in the same room as one of the most powerful and iconic witches — and realizing she was even more fascinating and attractive than the texts described —, made him realize that this new world would bring visual rewards and experiences that went far beyond mere survival. The game, as he himself had said, had moved into 4D.
While the two "strangers" lost themselves in their respective reflections, a few steps away, a psychological whirlwind of cataclysmic proportions consumed the man leading the march. Roland — or rather, Cheng Yan's soul now inhabiting that royal body — felt that his mind was on the verge of collapse due to the overload of conflicting information. Every heavy step he took on the stone stairs seemed to echo a new unanswered question inside his head.
The Prince was deep in thought. The mask of control and authority he was trying to project for Minister Barov, who was already waiting for him on the upper floors, required a monumental effort not to crumble. The discovery of Anna's magic should have been the peak of his day. The empirical realization that energy could be created out of nothing defied the First Law of Thermodynamics and opened an infinite range of possibilities for him, a mechanical engineer. He finally had a controllable and inexhaustible heat source to kickstart his industrial revolution. That, by itself, would be enough to keep him awake for weeks.
But there was a bigger problem. A walking anomaly right behind him.
Roland's mental eyes kept returning to Arthur and William's clothes. Dark cotton fabric, with a perfect fit. Uniform, microscopic stitching, impossible to replicate on the primitive looms of King's City, let alone in the miserable Border Town. He had noticed the way the fabric stretched and adapted to William's muscles, indicating the presence of elastic materials like spandex or polyester. And then... there was the wristwatch on Arthur's arm. Brushed steel. The reflection of sapphire glass or mineral crystal. Precise dials. An object that represented centuries of advancement in microengineering, machinery precision, and industrial standardization.
— "Who the hell are these two?" Roland screamed internally, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down his temple. The engineer was panicked and amazed at the same time. The excuse that they were scholars from the 'Kingdom of Dawn' didn't fool him. Neither their clothes, their artifacts, nor their attitude belonged to this world. They didn't bow, they didn't show the reverential terror the plebs had for royalty, and they carried themselves with an incredibly... familiar and modern body language.
Roland blinked slowly, the darkness of the staircase offering brief visual relief, but no mental relief. They knew the word "cement". They knew the composition and knew about the limestone from the North Slope. How?
It was then that a fundamental gear clicked into place in Cheng Yan's mind, and the thought that formed hit him with the force of a lightning bolt:
— "Could it be that they also...?"
The Prince stopped breathing for two full seconds. The hypothesis was terrifying, yet perfectly logical given the irrational evidence. If he, an ordinary engineer who died of overwork at his office desk, could have his soul ripped from Earth and inserted into the body of the Fourth Prince of Graycastle, why would he be the only one? The universe, or whatever cosmic entity operated these transfers, could very well have brought other souls.
— "They might be from Earth. They must have died there too. Maybe an accident, maybe natural causes, and they reincarnated here, or were physically transported, considering their bodies and clothes," Roland speculated, his mind spinning frantically. The concept of the "ancient books" that Arthur had mentioned enigmatically in the dungeon seemed more and more like a smokescreen, a subtle code. If they were from Earth, that would explain everything. The thermal shock of meeting 21st-century compatriots in a medieval hellscape was comforting, but also terrifying. Were they allies? Or competitors? Could they ruin all the plans he hadn't even started to draw up yet?
When the group finally reached the final landing, the heavy wrought-iron door was pushed open by two guards waiting for them. The contrast was immediate. The morning light, pale but sharp, flooded the stone corridor on the ground floor of the castle. The air became considerably lighter, free from the smell of centuries-old mold.
Roland crossed the threshold first. His shoes struck the polished stone floor firmly. He was supposed to keep walking toward his office, where the desperate Minister Barov awaited them with his reports, but instead, the Prince stopped abruptly. The royal cloak swirled around him as he pivoted on his heels, turning to face the two visitors.
Carter Lannis, who was right behind, braked sharply, his hand instinctively going to his sword, his eyes darting from Roland to the foreigners, waiting for any sign of a threat.
The corridor was silent, except for the distant sound of the wind battering the old windows of the castle. Roland fixed his gaze intently on Arthur and William. There was a storm of calculation in those eyes accustomed to floor plans and differential equations.
— "Don't you find it strange?" Roland's voice cut through the silence. It was a firm, authoritative voice, but it carried a dangerous subtlety, a skillfully cast bait. — "I am the Fourth Prince of Graycastle. The representative of the Wimbledon family in this territory. The Church preaches that witches are messengers of the Devil, fallen creatures corrupted by demonic power. My own father's law demands the immediate and public execution of any such woman. And yet... I have just postponed the execution of one, given her my own cloak, and accepted the advice of outsiders to cover up her existence. Any citizen in their right mind would be trembling, or screaming heresies, questioning my sanity. But the two of you... didn't blink. You didn't take a single step back. You didn't show a single ounce of surprise. Why?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and thick with tension. William tensed his shoulders slightly, sensing the trap in the Prince's question. If they answered too casually, they would give away their "Earthly" and skeptical origins. If they feigned terror now, it would be a fake and obvious act. He glanced sideways at Arthur, waiting for his friend's high intelligence and reasoning to kick in.
Arthur did not disappoint. He had been expecting this confrontation. Keeping a relaxed posture, hands clasped behind his back in an attitude of polite academic reverence, he looked directly into Roland's eyes. The duo's "spokesman" did not waver.
— "We do not find it strange, Your Highness, because shock belongs only to those who are ignorant of the world's future," Arthur replied with calm, impeccable eloquence, his voice projecting a serenity that contrasted drastically with the typical paranoia of that era. — "As we told you earlier, Your Highness, the 'ancient books' we found guided us. Those texts possessed a high value of prophetic knowledge. They already said, between the lines, that a leader of royal blood would rise in the frozen lands of the west and see past the veil of lies woven by the Church. They said this would happen. Your Highness acted exactly as the texts predicted a true king would act: with wisdom, not blind fear."
Roland narrowed his eyes fractionally, trying to find a flaw in Arthur's mystical logic. But Arthur didn't stop there. He took a step forward, his voice dropping to an almost confidential tone, yet firm enough for Carter to hear and witness their "erudition."
— "Furthermore, Prince Roland, our scholarly order requires us to observe the world through the lenses of logic and direct observation. We know what the Church preaches. But we also know, through our travels and acquired knowledge, that witches are not horned demons crawling from the abyss." Arthur took a calculated pause, letting his next words sink in. — "We are aware that witches are like ordinary people. Women of flesh, bone, and blood, born to ordinary parents, who by some whim of nature — or the gods — awakened a gift. To fear fire simply because it burns is to ignore the fact that fire also forges steel and warms homes. Your Highness simply chose to use the forge instead of throwing water on it. Why would we be surprised by such a masterfully pragmatic attitude?"
The silence that followed Arthur's response was absolute. Carter Lannis seemed to process the blasphemous yet logical words, his forehead furrowed in a conflict between chivalric duty and the stranger's impressive argumentation.
Roland, for his part, remained static for long seconds. The answer had been perfect. It was mystical enough with the mention of the "ancient books" to fit the setting of a world with magic, but the analogy of the forge and fire... That sounded exactly like something a scientist, or a modern engineer, would say. Arthur had masterfully walked the fine line between prophecy and scientific logic.
The Prince's face relaxed subtly, the tension in his shoulders disappearing, replaced by an almost imperceptible smile.
— "A fascinating view on fire, scholar," said Roland, his tone of voice returning to diplomatic neutrality. — "I am pleased that the Kingdom of Dawn possesses men with such... open minds. Follow me. Barov must already be biting his nails with anxiety, imagining I've been cursed underground."
Roland pivoted on his heels once more and resumed walking down the illuminated corridor, the sound of his boots once again dictating the rhythm of the march. Carter made a stiff gesture for Arthur and William to move forward, closing the formation behind them.
As he walked toward his office, eyes fixed on the corridor ahead, Roland's friendly and thoughtful demeanor vanished completely, giving way to a sharp and predatory expression. The former engineer's mind was now operating at maximum capacity for deduction and strategic planning. The answer about the ancient books was good, intelligent, but it wasn't enough to erase the sapphire gleam of that watch, nor the exact mention of the chemical process of cement. There was much more there. A skillful disguise covering a truth he needed to extract.
— "Ancient books that predict the future and speak of ordinary people..." Roland thought, his lips pressing into a thin, determined line. The gears in his mind wouldn't stop turning. The presence of those two was a monstrous variable in his survival equation. They were dangerous, intelligent, and carried secrets from the world he had left behind.
— "No matter how good your rehearsed answers are, and no matter how calm you try to appear," Roland promised himself, clenching his fists under the wide sleeves of the royal cloak, feeling urgency dominate his chest. — "I will unmask who these two are, where they really came from, and what the hell they want in my territory. And I'm going to do it today."