Stepping into the courtyard, I spotted four middle-aged men, each about 1.90 meters tall.They wore black plate armor engraved with multiple runes — some to lighten certain parts, others to strengthen resistance against blows or impacts.
Each carried a sword and a shield bearing the crest of House Von Varus.One of them, his face marked by a long scar, stepped toward me.
"Reporting for duty, my lord," he said, giving me a military salute.
"Sir Edmond."
I gave him a curt nod.
Edmond, a knight of Rank 1 — meaning he had undergone his first ritual successfully, officially becoming the kind of power every lord sought to recruit.
"Hemrich must have informed you. I'm heading to the city center; I have business with the Alchemic Chamber," I said, slipping on a pair of silk gloves.
He nodded, signaling to the three men behind him — his squires.
A squire is an aspiring knight: he serves a confirmed knight until he gains the strength and the coin to afford an inscription ritual.
They brought me a white horse — the color of nobility — before mounting their own.
They took position at my flanks, while Edmond stayed close at my side, ensuring tight protection.
We left the manor, perched on a hill not far from the town below: Vlorich, the county capital of the Von Varus.
Vlorich — a city of around a hundred thousand souls, mostly commoners and merchants.From afar, it looked prosperous, its rooftops of red, yellow, and orange tiles covering every building, and its massive ten-meter walls built from black stone imported from the western mines.
I could even make out, faintly, the silhouettes of the townsfolk. My perception seemed sharper… or perhaps it was just my imagination.
The journey didn't take long — barely half an hour — and passed in silence. Speaking to, or questioning, one's lord without first being addressed is against proper etiquette.
Before us stretched a vast avenue teeming with life: merchants hauling their wares, commoners coming and going, and patrols saluting us.
The crowd naturally parted for the son of their lord — though not without casting wary glances my way.
Yet what struck me was not the usual fear in their eyes, but the gloom that hung over the city. Everything looked dirtier, poorer than just a few weeks ago, while the air itself seemed heavier.
Faces were grim, people moving only to fulfill whatever task had brought them there.
The townsfolk whispered quietly among themselves, their gazes vacant, as though gripped by a shared depression.
Looking more closely, some seemed ready to flee the city, while others eyed me with open hostility — discreetly carrying black banners…
It was strange. Vlorich had always been a key hub for trade between Vultor and Balard, the Balkan capital.
My hand stroked my patchy, prepubescent beard — a gesture that probably made me look rather ridiculous.
"Edmond."
"My lord," he said, stepping closer and bowing his head respectfully.
"What's going on here?" I asked, frowning.
"Young master, border tensions with the Balkan Principality have recently risen. The fear of a Second Balkan War haunts people's minds," he murmured, locking his unflinching gaze with mine.
My frown deepened. The Balkan Principality — south of the Empire.The Empire's Achilles' heel.
At once a key trade partner and an ancestral rival, they nursed a vengeful spirit, still bitter over their defeat in the year 146, when they lost a quarter of their territory — mostly farmland.
Shaking my head, I pressed deeper into the city, toward the center.
The half-empty taverns and meager shop stalls filled me with unease.
The fief's future looked grim.
The rest of the city was no better. At least the patrols still seemed loyal to my family — a small reassurance.
When I reached the main square, I saw a large Victorian-style building, three stories high, with a sign that read:
— Alchemic Chamber —
An imperial institution charged with the production and sale of alchemic aggregates.
At the entrance, two guards stepped aside, opening the door and allowing me to enter alone.
Inside, a richly decorated hall unfolded. A long red carpet stretched from the entrance to the reception desk. On either side, leather armchairs — made from the hides of trapus, a mountain breed — were neatly arranged for clients' comfort.
A soft scent of flowers and orange lingered in the air.
Surprisingly, there were no customers except for a few elderly merchants.
"Welcome, Frédéric Von Varus."
A beautiful young woman of about twenty broke my reverie. Her milky white skin, large blue eyes, and jet-black hair left no doubt as to her eastern origin.
Her figure was delicate yet shapely, her gaze as gentle — and as smooth — as silk.
She wore a rich green tunic, pinned with the badge of the Alchemists' Guild.
"My lady."
I gently took her fine hand and kissed it. The status of an alchemist in the Empire is no less than that of a noble — and probably higher during wartime.
The floral fragrance grew stronger, slowly stirring the monstrous part of me.
She smiled, clearly pleased, and said in a melodious, clear voice:
"Your etiquette is impeccable — better than that of some nobles in the capital."
She wasn't wrong. Those in the capital were worse than scoundrels. My memories of Belark were far from fond.
"Your words honor me, my lady. My tutor is… particularly strict."
I couldn't hide a slight blush as I asked:
"Might this lady honor me with her name…?"
She smiled softly, placing her hands behind her back.
"Éléonor de Garonne."
De Garonne — an independent duchy east of the Empire.
Suspicious… What was she doing in Vultorian lands? And in such a remote part of the realm, no less?
If I were to be pessimistic, Count Varus's county was hardly appealing to alchemists. The monstrosities needed for alchemy were not abundant here. Well… except for that thing in my dungeons.
My thoughts were racing when her beautiful voice broke through.
"What does the young master desire?"
Snapping back to the present, I met her gaze and spoke with the poise and charisma befitting a noble:
"I… I've come to do business."
She laughed softly, placing her delicate hand before her small mouth, then motioned for me to follow.
She led me up to the third floor, into a salon reserved for the nobility. An elegantly decorated room: indigo walls adorned with paintings of glorious tales, and in the center, two armchairs facing each other across a glass table.
I pulled one chair out for Éléonor before seating myself in the other.
For a few moments, I sat in silence, almost hypnotized by her angelic beauty, before regaining my composure.
"I need the materials for a Rank 1 inscription ritual — the highest quality available."
She blinked, looking slightly puzzled.
"Surely the young lord does not run errands for one of his squ—"
"It's for my own ritual," I cut in, concerned for my honor… or perhaps to impress her, I couldn't tell.