Morning hit the village with the smell of woodsmoke, fresh bread, and rendering bacon grease from the local tavern.
Inside, William Wins practically glowed. His golden armor was infuriatingly spotless, his blonde hair caught the light just right, and he wore the bright, easy smile of a man who hadn't stood watch. He was halfway through a towering stack of pancakes.
Across the table, Kars looked like a reanimated corpse.
The gravity mage had spent the entire night maintaining the agonizingly precise ward-threads around the stable perimeter. He gripped a chipped mug of black coffee like it was his only tether to the mortal plane. Dark circles bruised the skin under his furious eyes.
"Glorious morning!" William beamed around a mouthful of bacon. "Nothing beats a solid night's rest on fresh hay, right, Kars?"
Kars didn't blink. "I am going to throw you into the sun."
William's booming laugh rattled the tables. He reached enthusiastically for the milk pitcher, but a bulky armored elbow clipped his plate. The ceramic flipped. A sticky, syrup-drenched mass of pancakes hurtled directly toward Kars's clean leather coat.
William gasped.
Kars didn't even set his coffee down. He just raised a finger.
The Feather. Plate, pancakes, and every individual drop of syrup froze mid-air, stripped of their mass. With a lazy flick of his wrist—The Tether—Kars shifted their gravitational vector. The mess shot sideways, splattering neatly into a slop bucket by the wall.
"Incredible reflexes!" William cheered, clapping his gauntlets together. "Well, suppose we should pay the innkeeper and head to the teleporter array!"
He dug into his pouch, pulled out a solid rectangular ingot of Paladin gold, and slammed it onto the table. The innkeeper, a balding man sweeping nearby, dropped his broom. That single ingot was worth more than the village itself.
"Keep the change, my good man!"
Kars let out a soul-crushing sigh. He snatched the gold bar, shoved it back into William's pouch, and flicked three silver coins to the innkeeper. "We are not ruining the local economy today, William. Let's go."
Calling on his threads, Kars hoisted their heavy leather luggage—and William's shiny spear—floating them behind him as he marched out the door.
"Hey! Wait for me!" William jogged happily toward the glowing magical array in the village square. "Next stop, the Capital!"
Miles away in the western foothills, the cheerful morning sun felt like a cruel joke. Here, the stench of copper and butchery hung heavy in the air.
Lord Kent stood in the ruins of the slaver camp, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the shattered iron cages. The fifty mercenaries were dead. His ten Paladin cavalrymen, the white mana already fading from their blades, moved quietly to secure the perimeter.
Inside the broken cages huddled nearly two hundred Demi-humans. Men, women, and children with the ears and tails of foxes, wolves, and felines pressed together. Bruised and chained, they stared in absolute terror at the blood-drenched warlord who had just dismantled their captors in minutes.
Kent sheathed his broadsword and stepped back, raising empty hands.
"You are safe," his deep voice rumbled across the camp. "You are under the protection of the Phoenix Knight Order."
An elderly Demi-human with grayed wolf ears slowly stepped from the largest cage. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, his cautious eyes locked on the giant man. "You... you are Commander Percival Kent. The Shield of the North."
"I am." Kent nodded. "Where were these scum taking you?"
"West, My Lord," the elder rasped, a tremor in his voice. "We heard the captain boasting. They were smuggling us to the Capital. A wealthy noble paid a fortune for an illegal deep-earth mining operation."
Kent's jaw locked. A wealthy noble in the Capital. The exact profile of the traitor who funded the Greenskin ambush at Oakhaven.
"My cavalry will escort you back to my stronghold," Kent ordered, softening his tone. "You will be fed, healed, and granted sanctuary. But before I send you north... tell me. Have you heard rumors of an ancient wizard in these parts? A man in purple?"
The elder's ears twitched. A murmur rippled through the freed slaves.
"The Purple Beggar," the elder whispered. "My Lord, the slavers... they deliberately took a brutal route through these woods just to avoid the path near the Tower of Books."
Kent stepped forward. "Why?"
"Because last month, another caravan tried to cross near the Tower. They said an old beggar in tattered purple robes was blocking the bridge. When they tried to kill him... the beggar didn't even flinch. The sky turned purple, and the slavers were reduced to ash. He vanished right after."
A fierce, predatory grin spread across Kent's face. The raving woman at Oakhaven wasn't crazy. Mugai the Purple was real, and he was close.
Kent turned to his men. "Cavalry! Escort these people safely to the castle! I ride for the Tower of Books alone."