Chương 12: 05-2: North, the Pass, and the Mountain

Lucas spent the better part of half an hour wrestling with the pile of mana stones we'd acquired. He crouched, stood, crouched again, arranged several differently colored raw stones into configurations that looked disturbingly like sacrificial rituals, and muttered continuously while tracing dark violet arcs in the air with his fingertips. The arcs started steady. Then they began to tremble and distort—like something about to detonate. I stood nearby, hand resting on my sword hilt. Not for enemies.

For dragging one deranged mage out of the blast radius if necessary.

"Lucas." I watched the increasingly unstable light.

"This isn't the warning sign for blowing the whole carriage into splinters, is it?"

"Theoretically, no."

"Did you just say theoretically?"

"Practically speaking, I'm ninety percent confident!"

"And the other ten percent?"

"The other ten percent probably means sleeping outside tonight."

"Your definition of ten percent is dangerously optimistic." Jessi had settled into a crouch nearby, watching with the focused enthusiasm of someone at an excellent show.

"It's fine, little lordling. If it does blow up, I'll be the first to laugh. That should help with stress relief."

"Your silence would help considerably more." The next second, a sound tore through the air—like heavy fabric being violently ripped apart. Shhhrrk— The luxury expedition carriage, large enough to seat six, began to warp. Not simply shrinking—it was as if an invisible hand had seized the entire structure and started kneading it, compressing it, folding it without ceremony. The deep blue paneling, wheels, windows, and interior framework all collapsed inward through a spatial contraction the eye couldn't quite follow.

Then— Thunk. Not loud. Entirely decisive. It was over. I stared at the ground for two full seconds. Then raised my hand and pointed at the plain wooden crate sitting quietly where the carriage had been—slightly scuffed at the corners, smelling faintly of cheap timber.

"It's a crate of apples now, Lucas." Jessi froze for a moment, then her eyes lit up and she launched herself at it.

"No way—" She crouched down, wrapped both arms around the crate, and heaved—only to nearly send it flying over her head. The thing weighed almost nothing.

"This is insane!" She clutched it, eyes shining like she'd found religion.

"This isn't moving house—this is the divine art of theft!"

"I knew your reaction would end up exactly there," I said flatly. Lucas had sagged against his knees, forehead drenched in cold sweat, looking like a man who'd just strolled past the gates of death and barely made it back.

"That's because I added a disguise overlay." He explained in fragments between ragged breaths.

"If it just shrank into a scale model, any guard would know it was something valuable. Now it looks exactly like a crate of second-rate produce—the kind you'd find rotting in any market stall." I walked over and nudged the crate with my boot. It was astoundingly ordinary. Borderline shabby. Compared to the carriage that had looked like it might start glowing on its own, these two objects seemed to belong to entirely different worlds. Good. This was what survival looked like.

I crouched down, lifted the crate, and tested the weight. Once I confirmed it was genuinely light enough for one person to carry without effort, I finally let myself breathe.

"Good work, Lucas." Lucas blinked—like he hadn't expected such direct praise—and his expression went slightly blank. Jessi immediately grinned beside him.

"Aww, the sickly mage got praised by little lordling. Are you going to cry from happiness?"

"I'm not... that fragile..."

"You were nearly coughing up blood ten minutes ago. That tells a different story."

"That was mana recoil, not fragility!"

"Right. Coughs up blood, but not fragile." Looking at these two, I suddenly realized that bringing them along was probably the loudest decision I'd made in my entire exile. But also—undeniably—the most useful. With the carriage problem temporarily resolved, the next issue became clear: How do we avoid looking like people who just finished committing several crimes? I started distributing the remaining mounts.

"Erina rides Bruce." She blinked and immediately shook her head.

"No, I couldn't—""You can." I cut her off.

"You have the worst stamina here. If you break a leg before we even reach the mountain, prayer will be all we have left." She pressed her lips together, then finally lowered her head.

"... Yes, milord." I led Bruce over and helped her up. She sat somewhat stiffly, but her posture remained so perfectly straight she looked less like someone mounting a horse and more like someone preparing for coronation. I turned to the second horse, then to Lucas.

"You're up."

"Me?" He pointed at himself.

"Who else? In your current state, you'd collapse on the roadside within three kilometers and get mistaken for plague carrion."

"... Was it necessary to be that specific with the comparison?"

"Extremely necessary. Get on." The final formation of our party was, to put it mildly, distinctive. Me—looking like a bodyguard but reduced to leading horses on foot—walking at the front like some down-on-his-luck knight. Erina on Bruce's back, wrapped in a cloak that completely failed to hide her innate nobility, looking exactly like a holy maiden who'd smuggled herself out of a temple.

On the other horse sat Lucas: pale-faced, draped in worn academy robes, perfectly embodying a scholar who'd nearly read himself to death. As for Jessi— In her studded leather armor, she'd shed most of the ragged street-vagrant look. But the wildness seeping from her bones, combined with that permanently insolent energy, made her look less like a common traveler and more like a dangerous urban legend taking a stroll.

I looked at her and offered my honest assessment:"Right now you look like a high-class prostitute who just embezzled the brothel's funds and is running to meet her lover." Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Jessi froze for half a second, then burst into delighted laughter.

"Wow, little lordling. That was vicious. I love it."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

"But you looked closely." She planted her hands on her hips and deliberately leaned forward, smile wicked and triumphant.

"Well? Do I look good?" I turned my gaze away without expression.

"Average."

"When you say that, it usually means the opposite."

"Jessi, if you don't stop talking, I'm strapping that apple crate to your back."

"Eh—but isn't that our most precious treasure? How could you bear to?"

"Because you're louder than it is." Our party—which looked nothing like legitimate travelers by any measure—set off toward the Flint Town gates with two horses, one crate of "apples," and a collection of secrets that very much preferred to stay hidden. Dusk had settled. The torches near the checkpoint were already lit. The flames flickered wildly in the wind, throwing the guards' shadows into jagged, unstable shapes—like a pack of drunk dogs looking for something to bite.

Before I even got close, the smell hit me: stale alcohol, cheap tobacco, and that particular brand of military-thug sweat that triggered instinctive wariness. The thought Here comes trouble had barely formed when— A guard with his collar hanging open and the heavy reek of last night still on him stepped sharply from the checkpoint. His halberd slammed down across Bruce's path with a heavy thunk. The horse tossed his head uneasily. Erina's shoulders went visibly rigid.

The guard let his gaze crawl over Erina on horseback with undisguised interest, then slide to Jessi—whose expression clearly read look again and I'll remove your eyes—before finally settling on the wooden crate strapped to my back. He spat out his tobacco and grinned in a way that made my skin crawl.

"You lot. Stop. Inspection." He tapped his halberd against the ground, eyes sweeping over our faces, suspicion thickening with every pass.

"A knight who doesn't ride. A pretty girl who does. A scholar who looks half-dead." His gaze slid over Jessi again, smile turning crooked.

"Plus a woman with a bad temper and a very good figure."

"Do you want to die?" Jessi asked pleasantly.

"Ooh, she bites." Instead of backing down, he looked more entertained.

"What kind of traveling circus did you freaks escape from? Or maybe—" He tapped the tip of his halberd against the crate on my back.

"—that box isn't apples at all. Maybe it's fortress munitions you stole." The moment he said it, several more guards drifted over from behind, tightening the circle. Flint Town soldiers weren't the kind you could talk down with a few polite words. Especially not when there were attractive women to stare at, an obvious target in Lucas, and a suspicious crate that practically begged to be searched. I let out a slow breath, fingers settling silently on my sword hilt. Right.

Before we could even think about Slaughter Peak—we needed to get out of Flint Town in one piece.

"Why so quiet?" The lead guard raised his halberd slightly, tip drifting toward Bruce's nose.

"Guilty conscience?" Bruce snorted with considerable displeasure and stepped back. I stepped forward to block, keeping my voice as steady as possible.

"Just thinking that if you move that halberd another half-inch, my horse bites you first." The guard blinked, then grinned wider.

"Tough, aren't you."

"Better than soft in the head."

"You little—" His face darkened. Before he could explode, a tall, scrawny guard leaned in from the side, eyes making a slow circuit of Erina's face before sliding across Jessi with even filthier interest.

"Easy, brother. Don't get worked up." He rubbed his hands together.

"This group is interesting. Invalid, pretty girls, mean woman, and a broke knight trying to look important—so what exactly are you people?" Jessi opened her mouth to fire back immediately. I raised a hand, stopping her just in time. She shot me a glare that said very clearly: You'd better have a good answer, or I'm pulling a knife. I ignored the look, shifted the wooden crate slightly higher on my back, and used the tone of a man who couldn't be bothered to explain himself:"Family business."

"Family business?" The hungover guard let out a contemptuous laugh.

"What kind of family business ends up looking like this freak show?"

"Mine," I said flatly. Not entirely a lie. In some meaningful sense, my life had always been exactly this kind of mess. The guards exchanged glances—clearly not expecting such a dry response. But men who backed down easily didn't last long in places like this. The lead guard swung his halberd horizontal, pointing it directly at the crate on my back.

"Open it." I clicked my tongue internally. Of course it comes to this.

"It's just apples," I said.

"Then you won't mind opening it." His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Fortress has been missing supplies. For all I know, you've got munitions packed under rotten fruit."

"Have you ever encountered munitions that smell like moldy timber?"

"My nose isn't a dog's."

"Pity. I was just starting to think you were remarkably close." Jessi couldn't help but laugh behind me. The hungover guard's face darkened by half.

"Stop running your mouth!" He stepped forward, alcohol fumes hitting me hard enough to make me wince.

"Put the crate down. Open it. Now." I was calculating whether to kick him flat or knock the halberd aside first when Lucas—who'd been silent until now—suddenly gave two weak coughs and slowly raised his head from horseback. His face was already pale. Drained by mana depletion, he looked like a man who might expire at any moment. He spoke in a voice that suggested his next words might be his last:"... You really shouldn't touch that crate." The guards froze, turning toward him in unison. The hungover guard frowned.

"And who the hell are you?" Lucas coughed twice more, then slowly reached into his robes and produced that apprentice mage identification plaque I'd seen many times—the one thing about him I trusted more than the man himself. The metal caught torchlight with a faint gleam.

"Imperial Royal Academy of Magic... Apprentice Mage, Lucas Ponti." He recited his credentials with threadbare exhaustion, then lifted his eyes and deployed that uniquely irritating academic deadpan: "The crate contains a folding carrier contaminated by spell-decay resonance. Forced breach without proper decompression buffering may trigger sub-spatial lattice collapse, releasing high-concentration nitrous vapor and residual mana pressure." Every guard went silent.

I nearly asked how much of that was real versus complete fabrication. Jessi quietly turned her face away—probably to keep from laughing out loud. The tall guard swallowed nervously.

"... In terms normal people understand?" Lucas's expression remained perfectly blank.

"Touch it and you might explode. Or go blind." The hungover guard's hand went visibly, unmistakably rigid. I almost praised the man on the spot. Almost. Instead, I stepped smoothly into the opening, dropping my voice.

"We're commissioned to transport it out of Flint Town to a northern disposal facility. If you're determined to crack it open..." I paused, watching his face darken.

"Just be prepared for your colleagues to scrape your eyes off the ground tomorrow." A younger guard instinctively stepped back half a pace. Good. Stupid, but they still knew fear. Then Jessi chose that exact moment to step forward. My right eyelid twitched immediately. Every time she smiled like that, either someone was about to suffer, or I was going to want to strangle her. She slipped past me and planted herself directly in front of the hungover guard, arms folded, head tilted with that predatory almost-smile.

"That said, if you really need to inspect it, big brother... there might be room to negotiate." Every alarm bell in my head went off.

"Jessi—" She ignored me completely, even stepping closer, voice dropping to something soft and sweet as poisoned syrup.

"It's just that you were being so scary before. It made me nervous." The guard clearly hadn't expected the sudden attitude shift. He blinked, then his expression melted into pleased smugness.

"Oh? Why didn't you just say so earlier, sweetheart?" I stood there, the vein at my temple beginning to throb. Nervous. If this woman had ever been nervous in her life, the sun would rise in the north. Jessi reached out and straightened his already-crooked collar—a gesture loaded with implication, though her smile stayed thin as a blade.

"It's just that my man here—" She suddenly leaned back, pressing her shoulder against my arm, settling against me like she had no bones. I nearly locked up completely.

"—has a terrible temper. Gets jealous so easily." She glanced up at me, eyes bright with malicious delight.

"If you provoke him tonight, things might actually get bloody."

"... What do you mean I get jealous?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Quiet, fiancé," she smiled back between her teeth. Those three syllables nearly choked me. The guard looked from her to me, then broke into a slow, vulgar grin of comprehension.

"Ah, I see. Lovers having a spat?"

"Engaged couple," Jessi corrected instantly, pinching my arm for emphasis.

"Right, darling?" I drew a very slow breath. I couldn't throw her to the wolves here. At least not yet.

"... Right," I forced out through my jaw. The amusement in Jessi's eyes immediately brightened threefold. In that moment I was certain: if she didn't die by someone's blade someday, she'd die laughing at her own twisted jokes first. The guards were clearly buying it—because honestly, this chaotic, bitter, mutually-exasperated dynamic looked exactly like an engaged couple ground down by life to the point of wanting to throttle each other. Then, at precisely the worst possible moment, Erina spoke. Very quietly.

"... May the Lord bear witness." I froze completely. Even Jessi blinked. Erina sat perfectly upright on Bruce's back, hands folded in her lap, expression carrying the solemn dignity of a priest officiating an actual betrothal. She raised those calm, clear blue eyes to the guards.

"These two quarrel along the road, yet support one another at every turn." She inclined her head slightly, voice so serene it bordered on sacred.

"If they reach the northern border safely, it will surely be by the Lord's guidance." I nearly swallowed my tongue. Wait. You're joining the act too?! And making it sound completely convincing?! Jessi stared for one beat, then buried her face against my arm, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. At this point my whole face wasn't just hot—you could probably fry an egg on it. The hungover guard looked from Erina back to us, finally settling into an expression that said: Ah.

That explains why this entire group is such a complete mess. He clicked his tongue and, finally, shifted his halberd aside half an inch.

"... Fine. Take your exploding, blinding crate of junk and get out. North gate toll: two large copper." I let half a breath go. Couldn't release it all—this was exactly when someone's mouth usually ruined everything. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten we traveled with someone whose talent for ill-timed comments was maxed out.

"Two?" Jessi's head snapped up, eyebrow arching.

"Isn't it usually one? Hiking the price on the spot?"

"Night inspection surcharge," the guard said without shame.

"You were just about to harass decent women in the street, and now you're charging us for inspection?"

"Who was harassing—" I yanked Jessi back, dug out two coppers, and flicked them at him.

"Buy hangover soup," I said coldly.

"And wash your eyes while you're at it." His face darkened again, but he caught the coins and, crucially, didn't move to stop us. I led Bruce forward, guiding everyone through the checkpoint. Only when the footsteps behind us faded did I finally exhale completely. Then I immediately turned to Jessi.

"Fiancé?" She blinked up at me with perfect, infuriating innocence.

"What else was I supposed to say? That you're the blushing bodyguard I hired?"

"You haven't paid me anything."

"Affection is a form of compensation."

"I'd rather have silver."

"How heartless." She pressed a hand to her chest in mock injury, then leaned close, dropping her voice to a whisper by my ear.

"Though that 'right' you forced out back there—it sounded pretty convincing." My stride nearly faltered.

"Shut up."

"Look, you're going red again."

"Say one more word and I'm strapping the apple crate to your back."

"Little lordling, your threats are getting boring lately."

"Against someone like you, complex threats are wasted effort." She laughed even brighter. I understood it completely now. Talking to Jessi was like reaching into a thornbush looking for gold coins. You might actually find treasure—but the bleeding hands were absolutely guaranteed.