El Sion 2
They passed through Britten's south gate. There was no real inspection. The guard, who had eyed Licht suspiciously, widened his eyes at the sight of Aila's robe and immediately stepped aside. Her presence alone served as identification. It felt almost anticlimactic.
Doesn't really matter.
The reason for passing through Britten was simple. There was no rush. No need to guzzle water and run nonstop just to shave off a day. He could manage it if he had to, but he didn't want to drain his stamina like that. With half of Lena's packed food still left, it made more sense to buy supplies and take a carriage.
Aila trailed after the silently plodding Licht, her steps quick and light. She seemed endlessly fascinated by Britten's sights, glancing around curiously. Or maybe she was just savoring the freedom of wandering without her family's chains.
A rebellion, huh.
For Aila, it was a fun escapade. For Aren, it was probably a full-blown soul rebellion. Thinking of the friendly Barte's mage made Licht feel a pang of pity. He was no doubt getting an earful from the Pavria family head right about now.
Wrong master.
Come to think of it, Licht wasn't one to talk.
"We're heading to the Sage's Tower, right?"
They were passing through the shopping district. After the silence from the south gate to the city center, this was her first words.
Licht had just finished buying necessities. The prices differed slightly from ten years in the future, leaving him a bit confused. He didn't eat much anyway, so he hadn't needed many items. But for two people, the bulk was larger than expected. Spatial artifacts were rarer than the Miracle of the Skies.
For a fleeting moment, doubt about what he was doing welled up alongside a flicker of irritation, but he suppressed it, recalling the gate inspection.
Whether she sensed his mood or not, Aila spoke again.
"Want me to carry some?"
"No."
"Not heavy?"
"Nah."
He'd been a mercenary for over five years. To Licht, who'd seen it all, a bit more baggage was nothing tiring.
"Your staff?"
"Staff? Oh."
A staff embedded with high-purity magic stones and various runes smoothed mana flow and amplified spell power. The typical image of a mage was someone in a long robe leaning on a staff as tall as themselves.
But Aila pulled a silver wand from her bosom. It was finely crafted, matching her silver hair.
"I don't use a staff."
"...Figures, with that artifact."
"You remembered."
A small ring glinted between her fingers gripping the wand. Oath of Wisdom. She'd said it was a 15th birthday gift worth 30 million silver—300,000 gold. With an artifact like that, a wand would outperform most staffs.
She gave it a small swing before tucking it away.
"Any plans next?"
"Plans?"
"Going to El Sion for the Sage's Tower is fine. But have you thought about how to get in? Or join our faction?"
"No, why would I."
Licht frowned. Her reasoning was sound. He could easily become a Barte's faction member. But even then, not all could access every floor of the Sage's Tower.
Lower floors, maybe.
But anything short of the top floor was pointless.
Seeing his troubled expression, she explained.
"The Sage's Tower's top floor is elders only."
"Barte's, Brave, Burneck."
"You know it. Precisely, the three factions' elders."
"People gunning for elder just for that?"
A question he'd long wondered.
"Why ask the obvious?"
Mages really were a few screws loose.
"I've never been in, so I can't say... but they all gained enlightenment there. My teacher was teetering at 6th Circle's edge and jumped straight to 7th."
"Shult Markersy. Eccentric mage."
"Yeah. But don't say that to his face. He might actually kill you."
No joke. Her expression was dead serious.
Licht let out a hollow chuckle. He had no intention of meeting the guy, yet she spoke as if it were inevitable.
"Gonna help me or something?"
"Yeah. But direct intervention's tough. To access the top floor, you'd need majority elder approval plus overseers from Brave and Burneck factions. And that's if you're a faction member—you're a total outsider."
In short, no dice.
"There is one other way..."
"...?"
"Ah, found it."
She trailed off just as he thought she'd continue. They were heading from the center toward the north gate when she suddenly pointed to a shop.
"I want that."
"......"
Unlike the tidy central district, the north gate area had shorter, shabbier buildings. The sudden surge in mercenaries was proof.
She was pointing to a street vendor catering to those mercenaries.
The smell of grilling meat. Some mercenaries held skewers of meat.
"......"
Not just any noble house—the daughter of Pavria, wandering without a single escort. And now craving mercenary grub.
Not bad, but.
Licht ate it often. Proof he wasn't picky.
But that was survival for him; she had no such need.
"One, please."
"Y-yes. One skewer...?"
Aila, already past Licht, extended her index finger. The vendor's face, who was grilling meat behind a recent customer, froze solid.
No one around El Sion ignorant of Barte's faction. Her outfit screamed it: white robe with Barte's golden emblem. Distinctive enough to pinpoint her.
"Uh, uh?"
"One, please."
"Ah, yes. One skewer..."
His earlier casual tone vanished. He grilled silently and handed a skewer to the approaching Licht.
"Want some?"
"No."
"Th-the payment..."
The vendor sweated profusely. Fire heat or her? Who knew.
"No change. Can you make it?"
Aila pulled out a gold coin.
His soaked face turned ashen.
Licht sighed instinctively and handed over two silver coins.
"Two silvers. Y-yes... received."
"Let's go."
Grabbing Aila's wrist, he resumed walking. Half-dragged, she mumbled around her bite.
"Licht. This is surprisingly good. Want a bite?"
"......"
Licht ignored her. The north gate loomed nearby, bustling with people: fresh arrivals from El Sion, departures, swarming mercenaries, haggling coachmen.
"How much?"
"To El Sion? One silver per person. No haggling."
"Bullshit. Last month it was 70 coppers."
"Prices rose. Go elsewhere if you don't like."
Aila watched with intrigued eyes—specifically, the rickety carriages in the corner.
"Hauling fodder or something? Neat."
We're riding it.
He barely swallowed the retort. Compared to Pavria's fancy carriages, it looked like a mere cart.
"Licht?"
He didn't answer.
Definitely earlier.
There had been a procession.
No need to pay for that junk.
After a moment's thought, Licht grabbed Aila's arm again and pulled.
"Eh, hey?"
Opposite the north gate. As she yelped in confusion, he said curtly.
"Follow."
***
A long line of carriages. Clearly a merchant caravan, interiors mostly empty, heading back after business via the north gate.
Caravan leader Rex wiped the sweat from Imi's brow.
"All done?"
"Yes. Just need to head back now."
"Hmm..."
The caravan from El Sion had taken two days to reach Britten. True to its fame as the south's premier magic city, demand for magic tools and such was high. Even without going to Alpen, profits were juicy—why Rex led personally.
"Mercenaries. Any good?"
"A few decent ones, but their prices were insane, so I spat and left."
"Others?"
"The rest are all riffraff. Useless."
The man before him answered politely, then asked curiously.
"But do we really need more mercenaries?"
"......"
Current escorts: 15 mercenaries. Excluding two veteran Sword Runners, they were just street swordsmen. Useless against real knights without aura.
Yet sufficient—because the Norn Mountains between El Sion and Britten had long been one bandit gang's turf. Crossing meant one unspoken rule: show "sincerity."
Mutual aid. Laughable, but reality. They ensured safe passage for a "gift," keeping rivals out. Fewer mercenaries meant more for the "gift," which they used to maintain the mountains.
That's why 15 sufficed. The veterans were for show; to Alpen, it'd need double.
"Sigh..."
"Well, they have their own issues. Won't hit us on the way back?"
Normally, they'd demand "sincerity" outbound too. But they hadn't appeared. Bad omen for Rex. He hoped for no trouble, but unease lingered—hence seeking more guards. His instincts were sharp.
"Mages. Any mages?"
"None at the guild. Or north gate."
"No luck."
Mages were rare. Mercenary mages rarer. Yet demand was endless—magic was another class. Most trained in factions from youth; commoners couldn't afford it. Hence the price.
But Rex was willing to pay top coin.
One 3rd Circle beats a mob of scrubs.
Problem: none available.
"Leader. Time to depart."
"......"
"What could go wrong?"
"Yeah... overthinking it."
Sweeping back his hair, he turned to his carriage.
"Hey! What the hell are you kids!"
"Grab 'em!"
Commotion erupted. Turning, a voice called.
"Hiring escorts?"
A boy in a black cloak, face hooded but youth obvious. Rex scanned him: cheap street clothes and cloak. Black hair and eyes peeked from the hood. A white-wrapped sword at his waist—not fancy, to merchant eyes.
Too young for mercenary, garb unfit for noble scion.
Some damn brat...
Rex rubbed his throbbing brow. His companion looked baffled too.
Silence, then Rex spoke.
"Kid, this ain't a playground. If you're playing knight, look elsewhere...?"
Trailing off. He finally noticed the figure beside the boy.
Pure white robe. Golden emblems everywhere.
And.
Hexagram?
Rex's mind reeled. Pristine robe, Barte's emblem, hexagram. Only an idiot wouldn't know.
Elder's direct disciple!
4th Circle. Vague familiarity, but irrelevant. Three factions' pre-elders were 4th Circle or higher.
Rex recalled the boy's words.
What was it? Hiring escorts...
Thought instant, action swift.
"Perfect timing."
Bowing politely, he beamed the friendliest smile.
"I'm Rex, leader of the Caris Caravan. Please, step into the carriage."