"Let's start the road trip with a felony."
It was a bold statement, but execution required finesse. The Academy stables were quiet, smelling of hay and griffon feathers. The carriage waiting for us was sleek, black, and bore the Royal Crest, but the driver perched on the seat was definitely not a royal servant.
It was the Scarred Mercenary. He was checking the harness of the Night-Mares—horses with flaming manes that pulled the royal transport. He looked jumpy, his hand hovering near the crossbow bolted to the driver's bench.
"Plan?" Kaelen whispered, his hand on his sword hilt.
"I have five seconds," I whispered back. "Literally."
I stepped out of the shadows.
The mercenary saw me instantly. He went for the crossbow.
[Skill: Pause]
[Duration: 5 Seconds]
The world turned grey and silent. The mercenary froze, his hand halfway to the trigger. A moth fluttering near the lantern hung suspended in mid-air.
One.
I walked calmly up to the carriage.
Two.
I climbed onto the step.
Three.
I reached over and gently took the crossbow from his frozen grip. I placed it on the roof of the carriage, out of his reach.
Four.
I sat down next to him on the driver's bench and put my arm around his shoulder like an old friend.
Five.
SNAP.
Color rushed back into the world. The Night-Mares snorted, pawing the ground.
The mercenary blinked, his muscles tensing to grab a weapon that was no longer there. He realized his hand was empty. Then he realized someone was sitting next to him.
He spun his head around, eyes wide.
"Evening," I said, smiling. "Nice night for a drive. I'm riding shotgun."
"You—" He lunged for a dagger at his belt.
"Don't," Kaelen said from the ground, leveling The Prototype (still disguised as a rusty slab) at the mercenary's throat. "You know how heavy this sword is."
The mercenary froze. He looked at me, then at Kaelen. He recognized us. The "Target" and the "Grey-coat."
He slowly raised his hands.
"I wasn't going to shoot," he grunted, his voice gravelly. "I was checking the safety."
"Sure you were," Ria said, stepping out of the shadows and twirling her Phase Blades. "And I'm the Queen of Aethelgard. Get down, Scar-Face."
"Wait," I said. "We need a driver. I don't know how to drive demon horses. Do you, Kaelen?"
"I ride standard cavalry," Kaelen admitted. "These things bite."
I looked at the mercenary. "What's your name?"
He hesitated, looking at the sword point inches from his chin. "Garret."
"Okay, Garret. Here's the deal. You drive us to the Capital. You don't make any stops. You don't signal any patrols. You get us there safe, and we don't tie you to the roof."
Garret narrowed his eyes. "And why should I help you? I'm Iron Covenant. We don't aid magic-users."
"You owe him," I said, pointing at Kaelen. "He saved you from the Carnage Wolf in the forest. A life for a life. That's the Covenant code, isn't it? 'Iron pays Iron'?"
Garret stiffened. I had read the lore. The Iron Covenant were fanatics, but they were lawful fanatics. They took debts seriously.
He looked at Kaelen. He touched the scar on his neck where the wolf had almost got him.
"Fine," Garret spat. "One trip. But once we hit the City Gates, the debt is paid. If Valen finds you, I'm not interfering."
"Deal," I said. "Everyone in!"
The carriage ride was... cozy. And by cozy, I mean six people crammed into a space designed for four nobles.
Lysandra and Ria sat on one bench. Kaelen and I took the other. Tybalt and Cian ended up sitting on the floor, using our backpacks as cushions.
"This is dignified," Lysandra muttered, adjusting her black-painted armor. "I am a daughter of a Duke, fleeing in the night, sitting next to a thief, with a mercenary driving."
"Ex-thief," Ria corrected, raiding the carriage's mini-bar. "And you're a renegade now, Princess. Renegades don't complain about legroom." She popped a grape into her mouth. "Want one?"
Lysandra sighed, then took the grape. "Thank you."
The carriage rattled as we hit the main road. The Night-Mares were fast. The scenery outside blurred into streaks of dark trees.
"So," Cian said, holding a glowing crystal up to the carriage light. It was the Time Fragment. "I've been analyzing the energy signature. Ren, this isn't just a battery. It's a key."
"A key to what?" I asked.
"To the Source," Cian said. "If you bring all five together, the resonance frequency would be strong enough to rewrite not just a room, but... the fundamental laws of the world."
"Like deleting Valen?" Kaelen asked.
"Like deleting magic," Cian whispered. "Or making everyone immortal. Or turning the sky green. It's an Admin Console."
"That's why Valen wants it," I said. "He wants to rewrite the genre. Turn this into a world where he rules, and then leave."
"Leave to where?" Tybalt asked, hugging his knees. "Is there another world? With better food?"
I looked at Tybalt. If I told him about Earth—about traffic jams and taxes and the internet—he probably wouldn't believe me.
"Yeah," I said. "There are other worlds. But they have their own problems."
"Ren," Lysandra said, watching me closely. "You speak like you've been there."
"I read a lot," I deflected.
"You read a lot of books that don't exist in our library," she countered.
I changed the subject. "We need to talk about the Capital. The City of Glass."
I pulled out the map.
"It's called the City of Glass because the Royal Palace and the High District are encased in a massive magical dome," I explained. "It filters the air, controls the weather, and most importantly... tracks mana usage."
"Surveillance," Ria said, frowning. "I hate surveillance. Hard to pick pockets when the sky is watching."
"Exactly. Inside the dome, any unauthorized spellcasting above Tier 1 triggers an alarm. The Royal Guards teleport in instantly."
"So we can't use magic," Kaelen said. "That handicaps me, Cian, and Lysandra."
"And me," I added. "My abilities trigger the same alarms. They register as 'Anomalies'."
"So we go in physical," Ria said, tapping her daggers. "Good thing we leveled up our melee stats in the dungeon."
"There's a loophole," I said. "The slums. The Low District outside the dome. It's chaotic, crowded, and the sensors don't reach there. That's where we'll hide."
"The Low District," Lysandra wrinkled her nose. "I have heard... stories."
"It's not that bad," Ria said. "Just... don't eat the street meat. And don't make eye contact with the rats."
"We need a contact," I said. "Someone who can get us into the High District without triggering the alarms. Someone who knows the Sunken Temple."
I looked at the map again.
"There's a character," I muttered. "Chapter 45. The Information Broker."
"Another friend of yours?" Kaelen asked dryly.
"Not exactly. In the book, he tries to sell you out. But he knows the waterways."
"Great," Tybalt groaned. "Another traitor. Can we find a nice baker instead?"
The journey took two days. We stopped only once to let the Night-Mares drink (they drank oil, which Garret carried in canisters).
Garret didn't talk much. He just drove, chewed on a toothpick, and occasionally glared at Kaelen through the partition window.
On the second night, I sat up front with him again.
"You're quiet," I said.
Garret spat his toothpick out. "I'm thinking about how much trouble I'm in. Transporting fugitives. Valen will have my head."
"Valen won't know," I said. "You drop us off at the South Gate, in the confusion of the market. Then you report your carriage stolen."
Garret looked at me. "You'd let me report it?"
"It covers your tracks," I said. "And it buys us time while the guards look for a 'stolen' vehicle that's already empty."
Garret grunted. "You're a strange kid, Ren. You act like a general, but you look like a squire."
"Appearances are deceiving."
"Tell me one thing," Garret said, his voice lowering. "The Iron Covenant. The tattoo on my neck. You know what it means?"
"It means you believe magic makes people weak," I said. "That relying on the Gods or the Mana Well is a crutch."
"It means we believe in humanity," Garret corrected. "Before the Mages came, men built castles with stone and sweat. Now? They wave a stick. We want to return to the Old Way."
"Valen doesn't care about the Old Way," I said. "He's using you. He's using your hatred of magic to build an army, but he's the strongest mage of them all. He's a hypocrite."
Garret gripped the reins tighter. "I know. I saw him in the forest. He didn't walk; he floated. He looked at us like... like ants."
He looked at me.
"If you're going to kill him," Garret said. "Make it hurt."
"I plan to."
We arrived at dawn on the third day.
The City of Glass lived up to its name. Even from miles away, you could see the massive, shimmering dome that covered the inner city. It reflected the sunrise, turning the horizon into a blinding kaleidoscope of gold and pink.
Outside the dome, the Low District sprawled like a dark stain—a chaotic jumble of wooden shacks, brick factories, and smog.
"End of the line," Garret called out, pulling the carriage into a narrow alley behind a tannery in the outer slums. The smell was horrendous.
"Tybalt, don't breathe through your nose," Ria advised as we piled out.
"Too late," Tybalt gagged.
Garret stayed on the bench. "This is it. The debt is paid."
Kaelen walked up to the horses. He patted the neck of the flaming beast.
"Thanks, Garret," Kaelen said.
Garret nodded once. "Watch your back, Dark User. The Covenant has a chapter house here. And they know your face."
He cracked the whip, and the carriage rumbled away, disappearing into the morning fog.
We stood alone in the alley. Six students in dirty uniforms (and one suit of black armor), carrying illegal weapons and three fragments of reality.
"Welcome to the Capital," I said. "Try not to look like fugitives."
"We look like a traveling circus," Ria said. "Especially with Lysandra in that armor. We need disguises."
"Clothes first," I agreed. "Then we find the Broker."
We moved through the crowded streets of the Low District. It was a sensory overload—shouting merchants, barking dogs, the clang of smithies.
We found a second-hand clothes shop. With the last of the gold Headmaster Eldric gave us, we bought new outfits.
Kaelen swapped his armor for a long leather trench coat that hid his sword. He looked like a brooding mercenary.
Ria got a hooded rogue's tunic (classic).
Cian got a scholar's robe that was three sizes too big but "had great pockets."
Tybalt got a baker's apron and a floppy hat. "It makes me feel safe," he insisted.
Lysandra was the hardest. She refused to wear rags. We compromised on a simple grey traveler's cloak over her cleaned armor.
And me? I just bought a new grey coat. I liked the aesthetic.
"Okay," I said, checking our reflection in a shop window. "We blend in. Mostly."
"Where to?" Kaelen asked.
"The Drowned Rat Tavern," I said. "It's by the docks. That's where the Broker operates."
We navigated toward the harbor. The smell of salt water mixed with the city smog.
The Drowned Rat was exactly as charming as it sounded. It was a sinking wooden structure built on stilts over the polluted harbor water.
We walked in. The patrons stopped talking and stared. We were "blending in," but we still had that Main Character energy that drew eyes.
I walked up to the bar. The bartender was a goblin with one ear.
"I'm looking for Silas," I said.
The goblin wiped a glass with a dirty rag. "Silas is busy. Who's asking?"
"Tell him 'Row 43' sent me."
The goblin paused. He looked at me, then at my group.
"Back room," he grunted. "Don't touch the cards."
We walked to the back.
Silas was sitting at a round table, shuffling a deck of glowing tarot cards. He was a human, thin as a rail, wearing spectacles that magnified his eyes comically.
"Row 43," Silas said without looking up. "That's a specific code. Haven't heard that since... well, since never. Because it doesn't exist."
He looked up.
"You're the kids from the Academy," he said, grinning. "The ones who blew up the arena. You're famous. And... valuable."
He tapped a card on the table. It showed a picture of Kaelen's face.
[Bounty: 10,000 Gold Pieces]
[Dead or Alive]
"Valen moves fast," I said, pulling up a chair. "Put the card away, Silas. We're not here to be sold. We're here to buy."
"Buy what?" Silas asked, eyeing Kaelen's hand on his sword.
"Information," I said. "About the Sunken Temple."
Silas froze. The playful grin vanished.
"The Temple?" he whispered. "Kid, you don't want to go there. That place is cursed. The last diver who went down there came back... wrong. He kept screaming about 'the water having eyes'."
"We know the risks," Lysandra said, stepping forward. "We need a way in. A submarine. A diving bell. Anything."
Silas looked at us. He shuffled his deck.
"I have a submersible," he admitted. "Old gnomish tech. Leaks a bit. Smells like fish."
"We'll take it," I said.
"It'll cost you," Silas said. "Not gold. I have enough gold."
"What then?"
Silas pointed at my hand. At the geometric tattoo.
"I want to know what that is," he said. "I deal in secrets. And that ink... it's not magic. It's... script. Like the stuff the Architect used to write."
My eyes narrowed. "You know about the Architect?"
"I know a lot of things," Silas said. "Deal? You tell me what you are, and I give you the boat."
I looked at the team. They nodded.
"Deal," I said.
I leaned in.
"I'm the guy fixing the bugs," I whispered.
Silas stared at me. Then he laughed. A high, wheezing laugh.
"Bugs! Of course! The whole world is glitching, and you're the patch!"
He threw a rusty key onto the table.
"Dock 4. The boat is called The Rusty Bucket. Good luck, Patch-Man. You're gonna need it."
We grabbed the key and turned to leave.
But as we reached the door, the tavern went silent.
The front door opened.
Standing there were five figures in sleek, white armor with gold trim. They wore masks that covered their faces entirely, smooth and featureless like eggs.
[Royal Guard: Elite Division]
[Level: 50]
"Identify," the lead guard droned. His voice was mechanical.
"Trouble," Ria hissed. "They found us fast."
"The sensors," I realized. "Silas didn't trigger it. We did. Just by being near the water. The Sunken Temple radiates energy. We amplified it."
"Run?" Tybalt asked hopefully.
"Fight," Kaelen said, drawing his sword.
"No," I said. "We can't fight the Elite Guard in a tavern. We'll bring the building down."
I looked at the floorboards. I could see the dark water through the cracks.
"Everyone," I said. "Hold your breath."
"What?" Lysandra asked.
[Skill: Kinetic Redirect]
I stomped on the floor.
CRACK.
The rotten wood gave way instantly.
The floor of the tavern collapsed.
We fell into the harbor water with a massive splash.
Cold, dark water swallowed us.
"Swim to Dock 4!" I bubbled, grabbing Tybalt by the collar.
The Arc of the City of Glass had begun. And we were already underwater.