In the northwestern reaches of Latela Mountain lies the city of Slerom, a place where miners from the nearby Zarat mana stone mine and Silit silver mine trudge through grueling days. With hunched shoulders and aching backs, they finish their exhausting work and return to the warmth of their families in the city of Slerom.
In the Esteta kingdom, royalty, nobles, and wealthy merchants—those possessing either wealth, titles, or both—will stop at nothing to own a mana stone mine, a prize that can significantly amplify their fortune and influence. Even the smallest mana stone is worth more than gold, and a depleted mana stone can be recharged with mana, making it reusable.
These gems, shimmering in various colors, don't merely rely on their beauty to prove their worth. As the power source for magical tools, mana stones are the continent's most practical and valuable resource.
Owning a mana stone mine, a wellspring of immense wealth, also means making enemies. Thus, these mines are fortified with higher walls and towers manned by soldiers. Mounted patrols roam between the mines and the city, ever vigilant for any group harboring ill intentions.
The life cycle of a mana stone begins in Slerom. Rough mana stone ore, extracted by Zarat miners from deep tunnels, is packed into large, soot-stained sacks. These are loaded onto wagons that pass through Slerom's strict security and head to the city's processing plant. There, the ore is stripped of impurities, sorted by size and color, and packed into large wooden crates to be sent to their new owners.
At Slerom's mana stone auction house, boxes of processed mana stones, both large and small, await buyers willing to pay the highest price. The auctioneer's booming voice echoes across the spacious plaza, calling out bids as people gesture frantically—fingers folding and unfolding, hands covering mouths to whisper offers.
Beyond the clamor of the auction house, where money and minerals change hands, the coarse voice of a tavern keeper calls out to newly arrived wagon drivers, promising quality horse feed and refreshing ale. A barmaid's voice rings out, boasting of soft beds free of fleas and bedbugs, along with warm bathwater. A mule driver, claiming his last bath was at summer's end, passes by with a grin, flashing yellowed teeth as he shoos flies buzzing around him, guiding a wagon pulled by two mules.
In Slerom, the daily grind of a mining city persists regardless of the season. The adventurers' guild is always bustling with adventurers and wagon owners hiring escorts for mana stone shipments. The constant clatter of horses' hooves and the rattle of wagonwheels over small stones fill the air, morning and evening alike.
wagons carrying silver ingots nestled in straw-filled crates, unrefined silver ore, or boxes of mana stones roll out of the city. Various types of cargo, hauled by wagons of all shapes and sizes, travel along a well-trodden dirt road where grass struggles to grow. The voices of adventurers and mercenaries hired to guard the wagons mingle with the shouts of drivers urging their horses onward, exchanging greetings with other drivers passing in the opposite direction toward Slerom.
After several forks in the road, the number of wagons gradually dwindles.
On a quiet forest path, only two wagons remain in sight. The driver of the leading wagon, wiping tears from a yawn, wears an old, tattered straw hat riddled with holes. The elderly driver, with half-closed eyes, speaks to the man riding a horse ahead of the wagon.
"Leben, you're getting old too, aren't you? I can see the white hairs creeping in."
The old man says with a chuckle, addressing the man riding a black-and-brown spotted horse.
The man on horseback, clad in chainmail with iron plates reinforcing his shoulders, hands, chest, and stomach, and wearing an old iron helmet, grimaces at the driver's words and glances back.
"Burro, old man, what white hairs? I'm not that old yet. Don't lump me in with you, alright, Leska?"
Leben smiles, stroking the black mane of his longtime companion and friend, the horse Leska, who lets out a cheerful neigh: "Hee-hee-hee!"
"Even with my blurry old eyes, I can see those white strands poking out from under your helmet."
Burro retorts.
"By the way, how long are you going to keep wandering as a knight errant? Hasn't it been twenty years since you inherited Sir Allan's armor?"
"Nineteen years, Burro." Leben corrects. "And I'm a man who chooses his master carefully."
"Hah! That's why you're stuck hauling mana stones with an old driver like me."
Burro snorts, taking off his hat to scratch his head before resting the reins on his knees.
"It's about honor, honor! I'm carrying on Sir Allan's work."
Leben says, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"By the way, how long does it take to get to Bucure? That's the Norend family's territory, right?"
Burro, perhaps amused by Leben's effort to change the subject, shakes his head with a long sigh, letting the matter drop.
"Over ten days, at least. Still, Bucure pays better than the merchants in Ves-Dinas, so that's where we're headed. Though, I'll admit, I'm a bit uneasy being escorted by an old horse and an aging knight, but what can you do?"
Burro grumbles, resting his chin in his hand. Leben and Leska, hearing this, turn to glare at him, Leben pouting and furrowing his brow.
"Ahem! So, Leben, are you entering the Grand Tournament? In Ves-Dinas, right? Next spring's in Karobdiff, isn't it?" Burro asks.
"You're right, old man. I've already ordered a few ashwood lances. The Ves-Dinas match is this year's last tournament."
"It'll be tough competing with the young ones." Burro remarks.
"You've got to endure a little hardship for the cheers and the crowd's excitement."
Leben replies, and Leska neighs in agreement, nodding her head: "Hee-hee-hee!"
"Ugh, maybe I'll go check on the folks in the wagon behind us."
Leben says, turning to look at the other wagon approaching from a distance.
A black-painted wagon is driven by a woman with orange hair wearing a blue robe, accompanied by a Droko with red scales sitting beside her. Flanking the wagon are three men and a woman with long black hair, riding horses on either side to protect it.
One man, hooded deeply in a robe, rides with his head bowed, one leg free from the stirrup, balancing a small wooden board on his knee to scribble something on paper. On the opposite side, two men on horseback and the Droko in the wagon chat animatedly.
"Hey! Having a good journey?"
Leben calls out, waving his hand above his head toward the black wagon's group.
"You bet!"
Nia, the Droko, stands up from the wagon's seat, waving both arms enthusiastically in response.
"Ha, what a lively Droko."
Leben chuckles, clicking his tongue to signal Leska to turn toward the other wagon.
Seeing Leben's wide, toothy grin as he approaches, the woman, Diara, and her companions don't tense up, exchanging friendly greetings.
"Where are you folks headed?"
Leben asks, riding alongside the wagon's left side near Reave and Kein.
"To Ves-Dinas." Kein replies, noticing the purple flower emblem on Leska's tack and the shield, recognizing Leben as a knight.
"And you, sir? No need for formalities with me."
"We're going to Bucure, in the Country of Norend. Since we're on the same road to Ves-Dinas, how about traveling together until then?" Leben suggests.
"Oh? That sounds... good... right?"
Reave chimes in, glancing at Diara for approval, his words trailing off. Seeing Diara's quiet nod, he continues the conversation with Leben.
"Haha, perfect! I've been with that old driver up front for so long, I'm running out of things to talk about." Leben says with a loud laugh.
Burro, driving the lead wagon, feels the drowsiness of the cool breeze blowing from the forest's depths. The occasional jolt of the wagon briefly rouses him, but soon he's nodding off again, head drooping as he lets out a long "Phew" and drifts into sleep.
The two wagons press on through a tedious path lined with green grass and trees. Leben, now chummy with Diara's group thanks to his cheerful demeanor and silver tongue, regales them with a tale of the foul-tasting steamed fish he ate at a shabby Slerom tavern the previous night.
"The moment that mushy flesh hit my mouth, it was like a fishy stench that'd been sitting in the sun for days just whooshed up." Leben says.
"Ugh, I've been there. I can imagine it so well it's making it worse,"
Reave says, grimacing as he pictures the fishy smell.
"So, when we get to Ves-Dinas, I'm wiping out that bad memory with some proper fish. How about it? I know a great tavern by the harbor—want to come along?" Leben offers.
"Woah! Sounds great! What's the place called? We've spent a lot of time in Ves-Dinas, so we might know it." Reave replies.
"Oh, you're from Ves-Dinas? Then you might've heard of it. It's… by the small dock on the east wharf, called Sha—"
"Argh! Leben!!" Burro's sudden scream cuts Leben off.
Without a moment's hesitation, Leben spurs Leska toward the front wagon, drawing his sword from its scabbard as he races to Burro's side in an instant.