The difference between a luxury carriage and an iron-ore transport wagon is roughly the same as the difference between a massage and a kick in the kidneys.
Every bump in the road sent a shockwave up my spine. We had been traveling for four hours, leaving the capital far behind. The scenery had shifted from manicured noble estates to the dense, unruly forests that marked the edge of civilization.
I sat on a crate of raw iron ingots, legs crossed, looking completely unbothered despite the fact that my tailbone was currently screaming for mercy.
"You look ridiculous," Sir Gerrick grunted. He was riding his warhorse beside the wagon, looking down at me. "A Duke's son sitting on cargo like a common merchant."
"Adaptability is the hallmark of genius, Gerrick," I replied, examining a piece of timber I had pulled from the stack. "Besides, this wagon has a higher load-bearing capacity. If we run into... trouble, it won't shatter like glass."
Gerrick scoffed. "Trouble? We're on the King's Road. There are no bandits this close to the capital."
"Optimism," I smiled, my blue eyes glowing faintly. "The opiate of the unprepared."
I ignored his glare and turned my attention back to the holographic screen floating in front of me. To everyone else, I was staring into space. In reality, I was reading the manual.
If this world operated like a LitRPG—and it clearly did—I needed to understand the power scaling before I got myself killed.
[System Guide: Power Ranking & Mastery]
The world of Aethelgard operated on a rigid hierarchy. It wasn't just about who could swing a sword harder; it was about the quality of mana one could command.
F-Rank (Civilian): Level 0. The average person. No combat capability.
E-Rank (Novice): Level 1 – 15. The realm of village guards and apprentices. They can use basic aura or cantrips.
D-Rank (Professional): Level 16 – 30. Mercenaries, career soldiers. The standard for combat competency.
C-Rank (Veteran): Level 31 – 50. Captains, elite knights. They can manifest 'Aura Blades' or cast Tier 3 spells.
B-Rank (Master): Level 51 – 70. Regional powerhouses. One B-Rank can wipe out a small army of regulars.
A-Rank (Grandmaster): Level 71 – 90. National deterrents. Strategic weapons in human form.
S-Rank (Legend): Level 91+. Beings who can redraw maps.
I glanced at my own status.
[Caelus von Drakenhof] [Class: None (Civilian)] [Level: 3 (E-Rank Novice)] [Experience: 45/300]
Level 3.
It wasn't Level 0. The soul synchronization must have given me a slight boost, pushing me out of the "Civilian" zone and barely into "Novice." I wasn't helpless, but compared to Gerrick?
[Sir Gerrick] [Class: Heavy Knight] [Level: 45 (C-Rank - Veteran)]
He was a tank. I was a pebble. If we fought, he would crush me in 0.4 seconds.
"Depressing," I muttered.
"What?" Gerrick asked.
"Nothing. Just calculating how long you'd last against a Wyvern. The math isn't in your favor."
Gerrick turned red. "You little—"
[ALERT.] [Structural Anomaly Detected.]
The System's voice cut through my thoughts. My vision shifted instantly. The vibrant green forest turned into a wireframe grid.
About fifty meters ahead, the road—a solid cobblestone path—was glowing red.
[Object: Camouflaged Pit Trap] [Depth: 4 Meters] [Concealment: Tier 2 Illusion Magic] [Trigger Weight: >50kg]
"Stop," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it was absolute.
Gerrick frowned. "What now? Need a bathroom break?"
"Halt the wagon, Gerrick. Now."
"We are not stopping," Gerrick snapped, spurring his horse. "We are already behind schedule because of your carriage stunt. Driver, keep mov—"
"If you take three more steps," I said, leaning back on my crate and smiling lazily, "your horse will break its legs, you will fall into a pit full of wooden spikes, and I will be forced to write a very unflattering eulogy for you."
Gerrick pulled the reins hard. The convoy lurched to a halt.
"A pit?" He looked at the perfectly normal road ahead. "You're hallucinating. The road is flat."
"It's an illusion. Basic light refraction. A child's trick." I hopped off the wagon. My boots crunched on the gravel. "Give me your spear."
"My... spear?"
"Yes. Unless you want to check the trap with your body."
Gerrick hesitated, then signaled one of the guards. The guard handed me a heavy iron-tipped spear.
I weighed it in my hand. Strength 6. Even at Level 3, my physical stats were trash. I had to use gravity.
I walked forward, stopping exactly two meters from the "safe" road. I activated [The Omniscient Builder]. I could see the stress points of the illusion array.
"Watch closely," I said.
I didn't throw the spear. I simply let it fall, tip down, onto a specific stone in the road.
Clink.
The stone depressed.
WHOOSH.
The road dissolved. The illusion flickered and vanished, revealing a gaping maw in the earth. It was a massive pit, easily wide enough to swallow a carriage, lined with sharpened bamboo stakes at the bottom.
The horses whinnied in terror, backing away. The driver went pale as a sheet.
Gerrick stared into the abyss, his face draining of color. If I hadn't stopped him, he would be a shish-kebab right now.
"Ambush!" Gerrick roared, drawing his sword. "Defensive formation!"
"Finally," I sighed, dusting off my hands. "You catch on."
Twang.
An arrow flew from the tree line.
It wasn't aimed at Gerrick. It was aimed at me.
Time seemed to slow. Or rather, my processing speed sped up.
[Incoming Projectile: Iron-Tipped Arrow] [Velocity: 65 m/s] [Trajectory: Intersecting Host's Cranium] [Evasion Chance: 12% (Agility Boost from Lv 3)]
12% chance. Still too low.
"Gerrick, three steps left!" I shouted.
Gerrick didn't think. The adrenaline from the pit trap made him reactive. He lunged left to cover me, raising his shield.
CLANG.
The arrow sparked off his shield, inches from my nose.
"Enemies in the trees!" Gerrick bellowed. "Shields up!"
Six figures dropped from the canopy. They weren't common bandits. They wore sleek, dark leather armor and moved with fluid precision.
[Enemy Identified: Assassin (Guild Unknown)] [Level: 25 (D-Rank Professional)] [Weapon: Poisoned Daggers]
Six D-Rank professionals. Against four regular guards (Level 15) and one C-Rank Knight.
The math was bad. The guards would be slaughtered in under a minute, leaving Gerrick surrounded.
"Protect the Prince!" Gerrick shouted, engaging the lead assassin. Sparks flew as steel met steel.
I stood by the wagon, unmoving. A guard next to me took an arrow to the throat and fell, gurgling.
Panic? No. Analyze.
I looked at the assassins. Then I looked at the wagon full of construction materials.
[Material: Bag of Quick-Dry Mortar (dust form)] [Material: Raw Iron Ingots (Heavy)] [Environment: Wind direction North-East at 15km/h]
I grinned. A feral, engineer's grin.
"You guys brought knives to a construction site," I whispered.
I grabbed a knife from the fallen guard's belt. I didn't run at the assassins. I ran to the back of the wagon.
"Driver!" I yelled. "Cut the rope on the timber stack! Now!"
The driver, cowering under the seat, looked at me crazy. "What?"
"DO IT!"
He slashed the rope.
The massive logs, intended for my future manor, rumbled loose. But they didn't just fall.
I kicked the release lever for the wagon's tailgate.
[Angle Calculation: Perfect.]
The logs rolled off the back, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash. They rolled down the slight incline of the road—directly toward the three assassins flanking Gerrick.
"Whatever that is, move!" one assassin screamed.
They leaped back to avoid being crushed. Their formation broke.
"Now! The mortar!" I grabbed a sack of grey powder and hurled it into the air.
I didn't throw it at them. I threw it up.
The wind caught the fine dust, blowing a massive grey cloud directly into the eyes of the assassins.
"My eyes! It burns!"
Quick-lime mortar. Highly alkaline. Upon contact with the moisture in their eyes, it would cause chemical burns.
"Gerrick!" I pointed at the blinded, coughing leader. "His left flank is open! Strike now!"
Gerrick didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, his blade glowing with blue aura.
SLASH.
The leader's head flew off before he could wipe the dust from his eyes.
"Retreat!" the remaining assassins screamed. The mission had gone from a simple assassination to a disaster. They scrambled back into the woods, leaving two dead bodies behind.
Silence returned to the road, broken only by the groans of the injured guards.
Gerrick stood panting, his sword dripping blood. He looked at the pit trap. He looked at the logs that had broken the enemy formation. He looked at the cloud of settling mortar dust.
Then, slowly, he turned to look at me.
I was leaning against the wagon, checking my fingernails.
"Start cleaning up, Gerrick," I said, my voice bored. "And someone loot the bodies. I want their daggers. The steel quality looked decent."
Gerrick sheathed his sword. He walked over to me, his heavy boots thudding ominously. He stopped a foot away, towering over me.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice low. "The Caelus I knew couldn't tell a sword from a spoon. You just... commanded a battlefield."
I looked up at him, my blue eyes shimmering with that unsettling, celestial light.
"People change, Gerrick," I said softly. "Usually after they realize everyone wants them dead."
I tapped the side of my head.
"I didn't command a battlefield. I just renovated it."
[Quest Completed: Survive the Ambush]
[Reward: Level Up! (Level 3 -> 4)]
[Attribute Point Gained: +1 INT]
[Gerrick's Loyalty: -50 -> -35 (Suspicious Respect)]
"Now," I climbed back onto the wagon. "Let's get moving. I want to reach the Hollowlands before tea time."