Chapter 93 – The Walking Shop Arrives
The next morning, just as the first light of dawn spilled across the horizon, Reyn started up the walking forge-shop. Its six massive legs creaked to life with metallic groans, the enchanted gears rumbling like a slumbering beast stirred awake. With a lurch, the entire building stepped forward.
Early risers heading to work stopped dead in their tracks, rubbing their eyes. Surely, this was a dream—or perhaps last night's ale still lingered? But no. A house, complete with chimney and bolted tools, was striding casually toward the city gates.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd:
"By the gods, am I still drunk?"
"No, I see it too—it's walking!"
"That thing's headed straight for the front gate!"
The guards groaned the gates open, but what took most travelers days by wagon or on foot was cut to hours. By the time the sun was high, Reyn's forge-shop was already approaching the thriving city of Viremont, famed as the Home of Business and Entertainment.
---
Meanwhile, in one of the long queues leading into the city, a group of adventurers escorting a caravan of craftsmen and mages wilted under the summer heat.
"Well damn it…" one muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "Figures. We come to the heart of trade and pleasure, only to spend half the day roasting in line."
"Oh, quit whining," said another, practically bouncing with excitement. "It'll be worth it! They're unveiling a flying contraption today—history in the making!"
Their more cynical companion tugged his hat low. "Bah. I'd rather be back at camp in the spatial tent, stretched out with all the comforts of home."
Their grumbling cut short as a colossal shadow swept over them.
They turned—and froze.
A house, chimney puffing smoke, reinforced windows gleaming, and smithing tools rattling against its armored sides, thundered toward the gates on six pounding legs. The ground quaked. Dust and dirt fountained with each stride.
"Monster attack!" the guards roared. "Form up! Brace for impact!"
Spears leveled. Arrows nocked. Spells readied.
But before a strike landed, a golden blur surged forward.
Boom!
A lion beastman with a mane like wildfire slammed a fist into their shield wall. The shockwave shattered it like brittle glass, sending armored men tumbling like children's toys.
A second figure stepped in—gleaming sword flashing. A beautiful woman clad in radiant armor deflected spells and steel alike, her expression calm, her stance unyielding. The aura she radiated made even seasoned veterans falter.
From atop the walking house, the old man leaned out of a window, wild beard whipping in the wind, tears streaming down his face from laughter.
"Bwahahaha! You fools! This ain't no monster—it's my forge, my home, my shop! Don't scratch the paint, or I'll hammer your helmets into chamber pots!"
But the house wasn't slowing. Its shadow loomed over the wall.
"Reinforce the barrier!"
"Brace the gate!"
"Run for your lives!"
With a thunderous thoom, the walking house bent its legs, then leapt.
It soared clean over the wall.
The earth trembled when it landed inside the city, stalls rattling, horses screaming, dust clouds swallowing the street.
Outside, the adventurers gaped.
"Did… did that house just jump the wall?"
"Is that even legal?"
"I—I wanna live in one."
---
Inside, chaos exploded. Guards sprinted after the walking house, determined to bring it down. But the impossible happened—it turned a corner and… vanished.
The building shimmered, its facade reshaping until it blended seamlessly with the rows of shops around it. To the guards, it was as though the house had dissolved into thin air.
"Damn it!" the squad captain cursed. "Where did it go?!"
"I swear it was right here!" one of his men stammered.
The old man's laughter still echoed faintly down the alleys, taunting them.
The captain halted, chest heaving, scanning desperately. His instincts screamed—this was no ordinary trick. And then it hit him.
A crushing presence. Heavy, suffocating, yet restrained. His knees almost buckled.
He spun—nothing. Only merchants, travelers, hawkers shouting their wares.
And then a voice, clear as his own thoughts:
"Do not report this incident."
The captain froze. His hand gripped his sword hilt. Then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure lifted.
Three children walked past him, laughing. One with scruffy brown hair, one with golden curls, and one with sharp green eyes. Just kids weaving through the crowd.
Yet sweat trickled down his neck as they disappeared from sight.
"Captain?" one of his men asked nervously.
The captain drew a steady breath. "Calm the people. Word will spread regardless." His voice was firm, though his thoughts replayed the voice he'd heard.
As his men dispersed the panicked citizens, the captain lingered. His gaze drifted toward the street where the children had gone.
"…No. Impossible. Just kids."
Still, unease gnawed at him.
---
Elsewhere, in one of Viremont's busiest squares, where glowing shop signs fought for attention and street musicians played to the crowd, a group of wealthy youths lounged at a café terrace.
Trays of pastries and steaming tea lay scattered across their table as they reveled in their holiday.
"I still can't believe this city," one boy said, eyes fixed on an enchanted projection of horse races. "The odds on that flame-bred stallion are insane. If only Father let me bet real coin…"
A girl laughed, pointing at stalls across the street. "That ring that plays music when you open it? Brilliant. But that broom that sweeps itself and complains about the mess? What idiot would buy that?"
The group chuckled, already plotting which inventions they would invest in once the clever ones hit the market.
One invention in particular had them amazed—projection magic, a new marvel that created lifelike moving images. They eagerly discussed how it was already used to project racing along with other sports here, the theaters and storytellers could use it to transform their performances forever.
Even more thrilling, they heard that tomorrow a flying contraption was scheduled to be unveiled. The design, they said, had been inspired by a popular new novel making its rounds across the Empire. According to the rumors, it looked like a ship with wings, and its inventors claimed it was intended for transportation.
"Is that really necessary, though?" one of the kids asked with a skeptical laugh. "We already have the teleportation gates."
Another shook his head knowingly. "Only the wealthiest cities can afford to build and maintain those. For most of the Empire, something like this flying ship could change everything."
Already they were making plans to return and witness it, giddy with anticipation.
Later, they strolled through enchanted gardens, fountains shaped like mythical beasts spraying arcs of glittering water. They posed for magical portraits, then spoke eagerly of seeing the Phoenix Troupe's famed illusion-play later that evening.
Still, one wrinkled his nose. "If I had one complaint—it's cramped. Even with all its wonders, everything feels stuffed too close together."
"Hah! Compared to Duke Roland's city, this place is half the size," said a tall youth smugly. "Greyhold has dignity. This place? A playground."
Yet none of them could deny Viremont's intoxicating vibrancy.
---
Not far away, at another café table, three figures sat quietly.
The one in the middle had a black cat perched on his shoulder. His voice carried a strange gravity.
"Tonight, we need to be in perfect character. Liora—you're the beautiful, brave, serious female warrior. Kael—you're the cool, wild, tough guy. And me? I'm the old, wise, mysterious master."
His companions smirked, suppressing laughter. He leaned closer, grin tugging at his lips.
"Until then—enjoy yourselves. But don't be late. Got it?"
Nearby, the wealthy youths chuckled into their tea.
"Actors," one whispered. "Rehearsing for a play."
"Well," another said with a sly smile, "if they're this convincing offstage, the show will be worth seeing."
Of course, the three weren't actors at all. Reyn, Liora, and Kael—perfectly disguised—were merely blending into the city.
And tonight, under the cover of moonlight, they would slip into the lord's mansion.
Not for a performance.
But for a surprise that would knock the vice count's socks off.