Mirelle's callused hands gripped the leather reins. The black carriage rattled over the dirt road. She stared at the empty path ahead, her mind completely numb.
Just an hour ago, she had sprinted through the tall grass. She had abandoned the safety of the Sterling knights. She had willingly jumped back onto the driver's bench of a carriage owned by a terrifying, sleepy underworld boss.
She remembered the exact moment they left the Sterling territory.
Lexi and Gareth had been pulling the heavy carriage like draft horses. The two black horses were still unconscious in the grass miles behind them. The big Level 7 Swordsman and the dead-eyed maid actually ran in perfect, terrifying synchronization. Their boots pounded the road so fast the heavy wooden box practically flew over the bumps.
Then, they saw it.
A fancy wooden carriage was speeding down the road ahead of them. The horses pulling it were foaming at the mouth. Sitting inside were three men wearing the exact same crimson robes as the people from the ravine. The dark Mages who had summoned the giant bone monster. They had fled the camp early and were trying to escape the territory.
Mirelle recognized the red robes instantly. The bad men.
Without slowing down, the pink-haired girl and the big swordsman completely overtook the speeding carriage on foot.
The three dark Mages looked out. They saw two humans pulling a heavy black carriage faster than galloping horses. They saw the silver crest of the Feeble Soul on the door.
The Mages screamed. They did not try to fight. They kicked their own carriage door open, tumbled out onto the ground at full speed, and scrambled toward the tree line in absolute, blinding panic.
Lexi and Gareth slowed down, but they didn't stop abruptly as they decelerated with careful, measured steps.
"Don't wake him up," Lexi had whispered to Gareth as she glanced at the closed wooden door of their carriage. "The sudden brake will shift his pillows. Ease into it."
They rolled to a completely smooth, gentle halt.
Lexi dropped the leather pulling straps. She vanished.
Mirelle did not even see her move. She just heard three loud thuds in the distant bushes.
A minute later, Lexi dragged the three dark Mages out of the trees by their collars. They were bruised and groaning.
Lexi dragged them to a big tree by the side of the road and pulled a coil of thin rope. Her hands moved in a blur as she tied the three men to the thick trunk. The knots were incredibly complex, pulled brutally tight against the bar. It was a top-notch restraining technique.
Lexi pulled her plain steel dagger and pressed the cold, dull metal against the cheek of the nearest Mage.
"If you try to escape, we will hunt you down," Lexi stated flatly. Her dead eyes bore into the man's soul. "And I will not use the dull edge next time."
The three grown men sobbed and nodded frantically, completely terrified of the pink-haired monster. They seemed entirely willing to stay tied to the tree until the Sterling knights found them.
Gareth walked over to the abandoned carriage and casually unhitched the two fresh horses. He led them back to the black carriage and strapped them into the leather harness.
With the horses secured, Lexi and Gareth climbed up onto the reinforced alloy roof. They lay back on the hard metal to rest.
And that left Mirelle alone on the driving bench.
She snapped the reins. The fresh horses pulled the carriage forward, leaving the crying mages tied to the tree.
Now, the sun was beginning to set. The sky turned a bruised purple.
Mirelle let out a long, heavy sigh as she looked down at her scratchy brown peasant dress and the red blisters on her palms.
I ran back to the carriage. I actually grabbed the handle and climbed up here.
Her twelve-year-old brain frantically tried to process her own actions. She had the Earl right there. He would have recognized her. He would have knelt in the grass and called her Princess Mirelle. She could be sitting in a warm castle right now, drinking hot cocoa prepared by five different servants. She could be sleeping in a feather bed.
But she did not stay. She ran.
Why did I do that? Mirelle agonized, her shoulders slumping. I am currently driving a carriage for a sleepy, lazy jerk of an underworld boss. I am sitting outside in the cold wind. I have to wake up tomorrow and scrub his stupid leather boots again. I am driving to a place who knows where.
A cold gust of wind blew across the road, cutting through her thin clothes. She shivered.
"I'm such an idiot," Mirelle whispered to the empty air.
She clicked her tongue, keeping the horses moving steadily into the dark.
---
Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers to the East.
The air was entirely different here. It did not smell like the dry dust of the Capital, but instead smelled heavily of damp earth and crushed pine needles.
The raid team finally arrived.
The Sovereign Principality of Voragale.
It was not a sprawling kingdom or a massive empire. Voragale was a small, fiercely independent nation nestled between two big mountain ranges. It was a quiet place, completely isolated from the chaotic politics of the central continent.
Twenty-five Adventurers walked down the paved stone road toward the main city gates.
Twenty of them were heavily scarred veterans from the Imperial Capital. They wore thick, dented armor and carried weapons that had tasted the blood of a hundred dungeons.
The raid team were all Level 6 and Level 7.
Walking near the middle of the pack were two girls. Celia Oakheart wore her pristine white healer robes. Lumina Frost wore a dark traveling cloak, clutching a wooden staff.
Kaelen, a big Level 7 Tanker with a thick black beard, adjusted the heavy iron shield strapped to his back. He was the unofficial leader of this joint coalition. He looked at the massive stone walls of the Voragale Capital approaching in the distance.
"Stand tall," Kaelen called out to the men behind him. "We represent the Imperial Capital Branch of the Adventurer's Association. Act like professionals."
Thorne, a senior Mage wrapped in gray robes, walked beside Kaelen. He leaned heavily on his staff. "I just want a hot bath. Weeks of travel in a carriage ruins the knees."
As they approached the massive iron gates, the heavy metal doors slowly ground open.
A line of fifty local knights stood waiting for them. Their armor was not the incredibly expensive, enchanted silver of the imperial guard. It was simple, polished iron but it was meticulously clean.
The moment Kaelen stepped through the gates, the fifty knights drew their swords in perfect unison. They did not point them at the sky. They flipped the blades downward, planting the tips directly onto the ground, and bowed their heads.
It was the traditional Voragale salute. A gesture of absolute, undeniable respect.
A middle-aged man in a neat merchant's tunic rushed forward. He had dark circles under his eyes. He stopped in front of Kaelen and bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched his knees.
"Welcome! Welcome to Voragale!" the man practically sobbed. "I am the Branch Manager of the Adventurer's Association here in Voragale. We... we thought the Imperial Capital ignored our plea. We thought we were abandoned. To see so many high-level heroes standing in our city... words cannot express our gratitude."
Kaelen blinked. He looked at Thorne.
In the Imperial Capital, the imperial knights openly mocked Adventurers. They spat at their feet and called them uneducated thugs. They treated them like necessary garbage.
But here? The local knights were bowing to them. The branch manager of the Association was crying tears of joy.
"They are polite," Kaelen muttered under his breath, completely caught off guard.
"It feels weird," Thorne whispered back as he scratched his chin. "I keep waiting for someone to insult my robes."
Kaelen cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We are here to answer the subjugation request. Lead the way, sire."
"Yes, of course!" the branch manager said, quickly wiping his eyes. "We have prepared the entire second floor of The Golden Boar for your team. It is the finest high-end inn in the city. Hot water, roasted meats, and soft beds. Please, you must rest. But first, we will brief you on the target immediately."
The twenty-five Adventurers followed the branch manager through the bustling city streets.
The citizens of Voragale stopped what they were doing. Blacksmiths lowered their hammers. Merchants stepped out of their stalls. Children pressed their faces against the wooden fences.
They stared at the heavily armed veterans with wide-eyed awe. The highest-level Adventurer currently registered in the entire Principality of Voragale was a Level 4 Swordsman. He did not even have an alias. He was just a guy named Greg who occasionally killed large bears.
To these people, seeing twenty-five Level 6s and 7s walking down their street was like watching legendary gods descend from the clouds.