The road resumed its quiet rhythm after the brief stop. Wheels rolled over uneven stone. The subtle enchantments carved beneath the carriage frame hummed with low and disciplined vibration. Outside, another town
gradually shrank behind them. Its wooden roofs were dissolving into fields brushed by afternoon wind.
Inside the carriage, silence happened once again. It was not because everyone was awkward but people needed rest. There was no need to initiate many conversations along the road. That would be very exhausting. When everyone appeared distracted, Baston had acted immediately. He opened the old
book only for a breath.
The last page shimmered faintly. The performance rating had come toward excellent. Without hesitation, he closed it again. He did not even wait to see the reward. The old book closed with a soft thud against his palm. That was the correct decision since his secret could only be known to him. He would confirm the reward once it was safe around.
Back then, he wanted to continue the conversation. At the beginning, it was hovering from bad into good. He was pushing more until it turned into excellent. At this time, he could do the last performance just for perfection. Since the highest performance was perfect, he felt there would be a possibility to rush ahead. Unfortunately, it almost ruined him. The joke he created eventually only worked for some people. Not everyone could appreciate it.
Joking about being fat was natural for him. It disarmed people, lowered their guard, and made them underestimate him. But words did not carry equal weight for everyone. When he replayed the conversation in his mind, Baston felt a faint chill.
When talking about appearance and age, he had to see the other counterpart. Saying such things before a high-ranking noble girl like Alicia could be interpreted differently. He indeed could not call her as a friend. Their connection was fragile since it was born from shared investigation about the cult and nothing more. It was an alliance of necessity
and not warmth. At least she was not his enemy which was valuable.
But what about the noble boy? The performance did not revolve around a single person. It never did. The old book judged about outcomes, perceptions, and influence. It was about the unseen web connecting
actions to consequences. If the boy interpreted the joke as disrespect toward
Alicia, the performance might have shifted downward without warning. That was why Baston ended the quest immediately. There was a possibility to push it higher but chasing perfection blindly was greed. And greed often ended badly.
Yet, the temptation had lingered. Perfect was such valuable judgment. The word itself was intoxicating. Every time he had touched that
threshold before, the reward had been extraordinary. Ice affinity had reshaped his foundation. The puppet had altered the way he navigated danger. Even the so-called bad performance once had granted him knowledge that later became crucial. So, he wondered what would perfect evaluation grant this time?
Would it be refined version of ice? Would it be a new puppet? Or would it be a knowledge regarding the secret of this world? For a fleeting second, Baston had imagined pushing just a little further. One more clever remark and one more subtle shift in tone. Perhaps even playing along
with Alicia's tease instead of withdrawing. But imagination was safer than execution because perfection demanded risk. And risk, in front of nobles, was not calculated in points. It was calculated in reputation, suspicion, and political consequence.
He could afford to gamble with commoners. He could afford to mislead merchants. But for nobles, their pride was fragile glass hidden beneath silk gloves. One wrong word could shatter more than performance. So, he closed the book since chose safety over ambition.
*****
The opportunity to examine the reward came when the carriage stopped at a small town. Alicia left first and two knights followed her which were the same silent guardians who had trailed her since departure. Another
carriage had been traveling behind them from the beginning. Its purpose was obvious. It was for her protection. As for the boy, no one guarded him. That alone spoke volumes about hierarchy.
Baston remained inside the carriage. He had no money to waste on refreshments. And honestly, he preferred it that way. Isolation was comfort. From the small window, he watched Alicia in the distance. Even in travel attire, she carried the quiet authority of someone accustomed to obedience. People made space for her without realizing they were doing it.
Power did not always need to shout. Sometimes it simply existed. When the area around the carriage grew empty, Baston reopened the old book. The page pulsed faintly and the reward appeared. He froze about what he obtained. Ice had been his first element. But now, the flare element affinity was also granted toward him.
He frowned before he turned the page. Information soon flooded into his mind. Fire and flare were almost the same but they had different authority. The difference was subtle yet absolute. Just like water and ice which
shared a relationship. Ice was condensed from water. It was structured, compressed,
and refined. Those who possessed ice affinity could study water. But water users could not automatically command ice because it was superior in form.
Fire and flare mirrored that pattern. Fire spread while flare compressed. Fire burned outward while flare detonated inward. The knowledge unfolded inside his consciousness like a technical manual written by something far older than the academy. A fireball struck and scattered heat but flare orb struck and exploded. Flare had unstable density. It was ignited under pressure. It was, quite literally, magic shaped like a bomb.
The more he absorbed the knowledge, the more uneasy he became. Flare did not encourage restraint because it encouraged explosion. A miscalculated fireball might scorch walls but a miscalculated flare orb might collapse them. That distinction mattered.
His mind instinctively began running scenarios. In a duel, flare would be overwhelming. A quick compression, a condensed ignition, and the battlefield would fracture before the opponent fully reacted. But such destructive force would attract attention and he believed the wrong kind.
Teachers would notice, nobles would question, and Angus might investigate. The sudden investigation was something Baston could not afford. Ice was subtle and it froze joints, restricted movement, and altered
terrain quietly. Flare was different entirely. It was not an assassin's blade. It was a signal flare in the night sky. He wondered was the old book pushing him toward escalation?
Ice controlled and flare destroyed. One stabilized the stage while the other ended it. Almost as if the old book was preparing him for confrontation. Almost as if it knew something awaited him at next occasion. Baston exhaled slowly, pondering about magic shaped like a bomb. He had wanted a low profile instead, the old book handed him explosives.
He was pondering about his next step. This new element was dangerous. It was not flashy and not decorative but devastating if applied correctly. If it was mishandled, it would end disastrously. He closed his eyes
and visualized it. The ice controlled the battlefield and the flare destroyed it. Such curious combination that was almost contradictory yet balanced.
The carriage door suddenly opened. The noble boy just returned from outside. Apparently, he looked bored. The town seemingly could not satisfy him. Baston quickly closed the old book. The quest was over and there was no further performance benefit tied to the noble boy. He could just ignore him, yet doing that would feel unnatural. His warmth suddenly turned old and coldness created suspicion.
"Noble boy," Baston began casually, "The town life doesn't impress you?"
"It is acceptable," the boy replied, "But it lacks prosperity."
He paused, "And I do have a name."
"Anderson," Baston said.
"That is my family name."
"I prefer that."
The temperature shifted, "You…"
Before the boy could flare up ironically, Baston lifted a hand, "Do not misunderstand. You once told me you wish to prove yourself. If so, one day you will introduce your name again. Not as a family extension but as yourself."
The words were spoken lightly but they landed heavily. Anderson's fist tightened. He lived under a shadow as everyone did. But, noble shadows were carved from expectations. He had trained, studied, and performed. And yet, whenever praised, it was always the Anderson family's son. It was simply never him. Meanwhile, Baston's tone was indifferent. It was not comforting and not mocking but just stating the fact. It was almost cruel in its neutrality and yet, it
was honest.
"I understand," Anderson finally said, "For now, call me Anderson. When I become strong enough, I will tell you my name personally."
Baston nodded. Inside, he calculated. This was not friendship. Friendship between poor and noble was unstable, fragile, and politically inconvenient. But as a shared understanding, that could exist quietly. And
quietly was safer.
*****
Alicia reentered the carriage soon after. Her gaze swept across the two boys. They were not arguing and speaking much either. Something had shifted and she felt it but she did not ask. Nobles were trained not to
intrude into silent tensions unless necessary. The carriage resumed its journey with silence returned. The atmosphere was not awkward but just observant. Anderson
occasionally glanced at Baston as if waiting for him to speak first. Alicia remained poised with her fingers resting lightly on her lap. Baston decided to break this silence.
"Is there anything I should pay attention to at the meeting?"
Anderson responded immediately, "We should remain low-key. Having someone from the poor class among our delegation will draw attention."
Baston raised an eyebrow, "I see."
"If others notice…" Anderson continued, "Complaints may be filed to the academy."
Alicia added, "Power solves many complaints."
Baston almost smiled. Her opinion was honest.
"Some nobles may challenge you," Anderson said. "Duels to test your legitimacy."
"And the safest wager?" Baston asked.
"Money," Anderson answered, "Not status."
Alicia nodded while Baston twitched slightly. They were helping him actively. He had tried to create distance yet here they were, closer
than before. Was this beneficial or dangerous?
"There is one more issue," Anderson said carefully, "You should avoid staying too close to Lady Alicia at the meeting."
"Why?" Baston asked.
Alicia sighed faintly, "There is someone who considers himself my rightful suitor."
"Declared by whom?" Baston asked dryly.
"By himself…" Alicia replied.
Anderson's expression darkened, "He has pursued her persistently. His family once approached hers. They were told to seek Lady Alicia's consent first."
"From what I see, she should refuse already," Baston concluded.
"Yes," Alicia said simply.
"But, he has not accepted it," Anderson added.
A noble of high-ranking which was ambitious and persistent. That would be another trouble to cope. They had different academy and different territory but now, the meeting would gather representatives from multiple
academies including him. Alicia remained calm but Baston noticed something subtle. Her fingers tightened slightly. It was not fear but annoyance. Persistence, in noble society, could become political pressure.
"He will likely provoke anyone seen near her," Anderson warned.
Baston blinked, "I see."
Internally, he groaned. Why did his path constantly intersect with complicated people? He just wanted simple survival, free meals daily, and low profile in his life. That was all he could wish, yet somehow, his life began to take a complete turn once it involved the old book. He was lost inside his mind, intersecting his direction toward Alicia. She soon tilted her head slightly once she noticed it.
"What is it?" she asked, "You are staring me."
"Just contemplating the nature of trouble," Baston said honestly.
"Am I the trouble?" she asked lightly.
"Women are often catalysts," he muttered.
Her lips curved, "Do you wish to be my fake boyfriend, then?"
Anderson stiffened. The carriage seemed smaller. Baston turned his head away immediately. His answer was absolutely not. His heart thudded harder than when reading about flare detonations. Even as a joke, the
implications were lethal. The impact would consist political and social. The news would be very explosive and far more dangerous than magic. He wiped faint sweat from his forehead.
"No…" he said firmly, "I prefer survival."
Alicia laughed softly but her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than necessary. And Baston, for the first time since gaining flare,
wondered which element was more volatile. Would it be the magic or human interest?
Outside, the horizon darkened slowly. Clouds gathered in thin layers. The carriage pressed forward toward a meeting, toward different academies, and toward a noble suitor who might not accept rejection. The
conclusion was heading toward challenges, toward duels, and toward performance.
Inside Baston's old book, though closed, something faintly pulsed. It was not a quest but anticipation. As if it sensed that the next stage would not be judged by words alone, but also, with something different.