The Crimson Vultures were gone, vanished into the cliffs like the rats they were. The attendant, his face grim but efficient, dealt with the aftermath, clearing the path. Soon, the four students were back inside the carriage.
The atmosphere was heavier than stone.
Alaric sat in a corner, his arm hastily bandaged. His face was a thunderous mask of fury. He, a Rook of the proud Valewyn family, had been defeated in a single, humiliating move by a bandit. The shame burned hotter than any physical injury.
Seraphina was meditating, her eyes closed, but her brow was furrowed slightly. Her breathing was deep and even, her mana circulating as she likely replayed the battle in her mind, analyzing the bandit captain's sword qi, and Maelon's terrifyingly simple response.
The carriage door opened. Maelon stepped inside, holding the dead bandit captain's sword. It was a crude, heavy blade, notched and stained. He wiped the blood from the pommel with a simple cloth.
As he did, Arthur saw it.
Etched into the dark metal of the pommel, faint and clearly old, was a small, unmistakable insignia: a simple crown, cracked down the middle. A broken crown.
Maelon's eyes flickered towards Arthur for a split second, seeing that he had noticed the mark. But the Emissary said nothing. He simply wrapped the sword in the cloth and placed it beside him, his expression returning to its usual calm. The silence in the carriage grew deeper.
Later that night, as they made camp, Orion sat next to Arthur by the fire.
"I've never seen anything like that," Orion whispered, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "That golden thread… Is that the true power of the Citadel? Alaric and Seraphina… were helpless."
Arthur nodded, staring into the flames. "There's more to strength than being a rook or a knight, clearly. A master knight is obviously going to be stronger than apprentice Rooks. " he said, echoing Maelon's earlier words. They both knew it now. The titles of Knight and Rook, which seemed so important back in Eldermoor, felt fragile out here.
The rest of the journey was quiet. Alaric didn't speak a word. Seraphina remained withdrawn, lost in her own thoughts. The easy bickering of the first few days was gone, replaced by the shared memory of overwhelming power.
After two more days of travel, the landscape began to change. The wild forests gave way to neat, cultivated farmlands. They began to see tall, stone watchtowers on the horizon, each one staffed by knights in gleaming steel armor bearing the royal crest of Caeloria. Patrols on the road became more frequent, their gazes sharp and disciplined.
Then, they saw it.
It started as a dark line on the horizon, but as they drew closer, it resolved into a sight that made Arthur's breath catch. A wall. A massive, impossibly high wall of white stone that seemed to stretch from one end of the horizon to the other, piercing the clouds. This was the legendary Aegis Wall of the capital city, Aethelgard.
The sheer scale of it was meant to intimidate, to declare the absolute power of the kingdom's heart.
"First time?" Orion glanced at Arthur's shocked face.
"You haven't even seen the beginning of it." He laughed.
Their carriage, bearing the Citadel's mark, did not stop at the massive main gate where long lines of merchants and travelers waited. They were waved through by guards who bowed deeply, their eyes full of respect and a little fear.
Inside, the city was a different world. The streets were wide and paved with smooth, grey stone. Towering, elegant buildings rose on all sides, their architecture a beautiful but imposing display of wealth and power. The air itself seemed to hum with more concentrated mana than in Eldermoor.
The carriage didn't travel towards the bustling market district or the noble manors. It took a different path, heading towards a central spire that dominated even the impressive skyline. It was a district of stark, imposing structures, all built from the same dark, polished stone.
Finally, the carriage came to a halt before a towering building, a spire of black obsidian and silver that seemed to absorb the light. It had no grand banners, no ornate gates, only the simple, severe symbol of the Citadel of Fate carved above its tall doors.
The attendant opened the carriage door. Maelon was the first to step out. He looked at the four students as they emerged, blinking in the capital's bright light.
"Welcome to Aethelgard," Maelon said, his voice calm.
He turned towards the silent, towering structure.
"Your trials begin tomorrow morning. Rest while you can."