The rendezvous hummed with the charged energy between House Sorelle—wealthy and brilliant behind Micah—and House Ziglar, whose quiet thunder matched Charles's calculating poise. As the entourages performed their checks, amusement flickered on Charles's lips while Micah's eyes narrowed with competitive delight beneath the gilded archways.
Then came the mounting.
Twenty-seven Tempest Striders thundered into view, drawing all eyes to Micah, whose presence atop the lead Strider announced dominance. Charles's gaze lingered on the Striders' silver-white fur, his thoughts racing as he admired the living storms bred for spectacle and power.
"They brought Striders?" Kael muttered, one brow arching in genuine admiration. "Show-offs."
"Mm," Korel replied, resting his hand on his rapier while adjusting his saddle. "Takes two years to secure a full team of those beasts. Assuming you don't lose your fingers during training."
Charles's eyes narrowed slightly. He admired them—and calculated. Procuring more Thunderhoof Stallions had been hard enough. But these? Tempest Striders were temperamental, bred only by the Highlander Beastmasters of the Gale Cradle Range. A single steed could cost more than a small estate. Orders often took years to fulfill.
Still, he made a note in his mental ledger: Acquire. Soon.
"Now I want ten," Charles said dryly from atop his lead Thunderhoof Stallion, which gave an electric snort in protest.
Wendy leaned in and whispered, "You think they're faster than ours?"
"They're flashier," Charles replied, his eyes glittering with unspoken calculation. "But faster? We'll see."
The Tempest Striders were bred for speed, evasion, and spectacle. With elongated limbs and aerodynamic frames, they shimmered and turned ghostlike when sprinting with their Wind shroud Dash ability.
Micah Sorelle, radiant in her silver riding coat and fur-lined cloak, mounted her Strider with practiced grace as her captains and officers followed, each climbing onto their own mounts in unison behind her. Their crests glittered in the sunlight—openly noble, openly brilliant.
The contrast was deliberate.
Micah's Sorelle entourage gleamed like a polished crown, each rider accentuating her authority. In contrast, Charles's group clustered in shadowed formation, his Thunderhoof Stallion pulsing with power, their obsidian carriage exuding the silent promise of his strategic dominion.
A single flick from Coachman Rob's reins sent a ripple of lightning across the lead Thunderhoof's back, but the Core Realm Rank 3 wind mage didn't look fazed. His long trench coat flared behind him as he leaned sideways from his perch and shouted back:
"Milord, your shadow wolves are ready. Shall I release the storm?"
"Keep it leashed, Rob," Charles called. "For now."
Micah approached her mount. "We'll be taking the east trade road to Rubai. I assume you'll... not be joining us?"
Charles's smirk tilted just slightly, enough to make Karel nudge Korel.
"There's that face again," Karel murmured.
"Nope," Charles said, all warmth and mischief. "We're taking a scenic route. Shortcut. Little sightseeing. Maybe a magibeast hunt if we get bored."
Micah raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous lands? Through the highlands of Throm Vale?"
He shrugged. "That's where all the fun happens."
"You're insane."
"I've been told that. Often."
Karel leaned sideways on his Strider and whispered to Danica, Micah's bookkeeper, "Please send flowers to our families if we don't come back."
"You'll be fine," she replied sweetly. "Just don't let Lord Charlemagne lead the strategy. Or do. I forget which one causes fewer deaths."
Charles turned to his party. "Alright, you know the plan. We travel light, move fast, and keep low. I want formation shift drills on the way. Wendy—prepare yourself. You'll get your hunting trial before sundown."
Wendy nodded sharply, her eyes sparking with wind chi and quiet determination.
Borris gave her a gruff pat on the shoulder. "First kill earns dinner rights. Loser does dishes."
"You're on," she said, already cracking her knuckles.
Andy, the berserker with metal affinity, bellowed from the rear, "Let's stop talking and start riding. I haven't had a reason to sweat in three days."
"Careful what you wish for," Donald muttered beside him, his swords already strapped tight. "With this crew, you might end up sweating blood."
Kael and Korel exchanged one final glance, then together tapped their heels into the flanks of their Thunderhoofs. Both surged forward to take point positions ahead of the group, flanking Charles like twin storm-forged sentinels. Wendy and Borris rode close at the rear, while Andy and Donald widened their formation to cover each side. Each member responded to their assigned placement, ready for the journey.
Charles turned back to Micah. "See you in Rubai."
"You better," she replied. "If you die out there, I'm claiming half your business shares."
He grinned. "Noted."
Then came the release.
As the combined convoy organized into two serpentine formations—Sorelle's radiant column, Charles's shadowed line—both entourages began to move toward their chosen routes. Sorelle's team took the main road as a single procession, while Charles's group split off toward the wildlands in formation.
The sky cracked faintly as thirty-one magical steeds surged forward—twelve Tempest Striders for Sorelle's golden carriages, fifteen for their knights, and ten Thunderhoof Stallions centered around Charles.
And among the crowd of early merchants and vendors, whispers bloomed:
"Whose house is that? The black one—no crest?"
"Is it an assassin guild?"
"No banners, but did you see those beasts? That's no low noble…"
"House Sorelle must be escorting someone important."
"Yes—but who escorts House Sorelle?"
Their voices were lost beneath the thunderous rhythm of enchanted hooves and the quiet crackle of charged air.
With a crack of reins and a shimmer of chi, the two entourages set off—Sorelle's blazing down the merchant road in regal procession, and Ziglar's vanishing into the wilderlands, cloaked in thunder and shadow.
Where one moved like royalty, the other moved like a tempest poised to rewrite the map.
And the earth would soon remember both.
Into the Highlands of Throm Vale
The wind changed first.
A dry howl swept over the ridges, carrying the scent of ozone and cold iron. Road gave way to fractured shale beneath Thunderhoof hooves, while low clouds swirled above the peaks.
Wendy edged closer to Charles's carriage, her resolve visible as she surveyed the cliffs, silver mist outlining her profile. A warning shimmer traced her spine; she tightened her grip, eyes fixed on Charles for reassurance.
"My lord," she called softly, almost hesitantly.
The window curtain rustled. Charles leaned slightly out, his silver-blue eyes half-lidded from his earlier nap but sharp with awareness. His black travel cloak fluttered gently in the growing wind.
"Yes, Wendy?" he asked, voice smooth and unbothered—too unbothered for someone riding toward a cursed mountain range known for chewing up mercenary bands like tavern snacks.
She hesitated. "I don't like this place. The energy in the air feels… volatile. Twisted."
Charles smiled faintly. "That's because it is. Welcome to the Highlands of Throm Vale. Scenic, in a haunted-demon-battleground kind of way."
"It's not funny."
"It is a little funny," he replied. Then added, "Don't worry. I have my ways." SIGMA's scanning range is already at maximum—100 miles in all directions, detailed mapping, and another 200 miles with less detailed scanning."
Inside the carriage, an ethereal interface flickered to life before him. Blue holographic terrain models unfolded like a map woven from starlight, with pulsing red and amber points blinking across various ravines and peaks.
After three hours of travel…
[Terrain Scan Complete. Mana Beast Activity: Moderate. Two high-tier concentrations are 32 miles northwest. Recommend avoiding Ravine-47.]
[Mineral Signatures Detected: High-density Mana Crystal Nodes — Grade A+ to S Potential. Probability of excavation viability: 73%.]
Charles's grin widened.
"See?" he called back to Wendy. "Nothing we can't dance around. Worst case is that we detoured. Best case, I find a mana crystal node worth a kingdom's ransom."
Wendy didn't look convinced. "And if one of those mana-saturated beasts decides to jump us?"
"Then we test your new daggers," Charles said dryly. "That's what this trip is for, remember?"
Wendy pursed her lips, a mix of concern and annoyance warring in her expression. "You promised we'd be cautious."
"I also promised you'd get a chance to stretch those cute little assassination skills of yours," he said, smirking. "Come on, Wendy. A shortcut through death-infested mountains is practically a rite of passage."
Ahead of them, the highlands revealed themselves fully.
The Highlands of Throm Vale were jagged granite outcroppings, rivers of mist, and frequent silent lightning cutting the sky overhead.
A sudden gust blew across the trail, bringing with it a low hum—no, a growl.
Kael turned his head slightly. "Something's watching us."
Karel let out a low whistle. "Good. I was getting bored. Nothing like paranoia to spice up a slow morning."
Andy grinned and cracked his neck, his armored bulk practically vibrating with anticipation. "Just say the word and I'll split whatever it is down the middle."
"Try not to split the mountain," Donald muttered, scanning the trail with a subtle hand on his blade hilt. "Or your pants again."
"They were tight!"
"Because you stuffed a boar rib in your back pocket."
"I regret nothing."
Charles waved them off with a sigh. "Boys, focus. We're not here to fight unless absolutely necessary. SIGMA says we're clear for the next five miles. After that, we'll stop for a hunting stretch."
Borris rode up beside him; his brow furrowed under his cloak. "Do you really think there are mana crystal veins here, Lord Charlemagne?"
Charles's eyes flicked back to the floating interface. "I'd bet a gold vault on it. Look at these readings—concentrations this high can only mean one thing. The magibeasts are territorial because they're nesting near something valuable."
He leaned back, thoughtful. "That means we don't just have monsters. We have guardians. And where there are guardians…"
"There are treasures worth killing for," Wendy finished grimly.
Charles chuckled. "Or negotiating for. But sure, killing works too."
Another gust of wind swept through, and the ground ahead split slightly—just a fracture, but it pulsed faintly with violet light. A hint of the distortion field that riddled these highlands.
SIGMA's voice buzzed again inside Charles's mind:
[Caution: Mana Density Fluctuation in Path. Recommend temporary dismount. Scan indicates the possibility of spontaneous elemental instability in the soil. Wind / Fire fusion trace detected.]
Charles rubbed his temples. "And here I thought we'd get an easy walk."
"Doesn't exist in this world," Borris said.
"Certainly not for me," Charles muttered. Then louder, "Dismount for now! Coachman Rob—rein in the carriage, set it to follow mode."
Rob called back cheerfully, "Aye aye, your moody excellence!"
As they climbed off their mounts and began walking the narrow ridgeway, Charles glanced skyward. Above them, storm clouds churned silently—but beneath his feet, the future hummed with hidden promise.
They were walking through death's garden, yes.
But if Charles was right… It would soon bloom with riches.
And he intended to harvest every last petal.