"We are on the third day of travel, My Lord. The weather will be favorable," Peter announced, breaking the silence with a gentle formality that Ethan still found strange.
Third day? he thought. It felt like an eternity. Ethan's body longed for the movement and discipline of training, but Duke Larry had forbidden any unnecessary stops. He had only managed to convince Garnold to allow a quick sparring session with the guard at the end of each day. Even so, it wasn't enough.
Ethan took a deep breath and squeezed his parents' necklace under his tunic, a ritual that calmed him. He needed something to do, and fast. He looked at Helena and Peter.
"Helena, Peter, do you have any ideas on how to make this trip less boring?"
Peter, always the most ready to interact, smiled, but his answer was formal.
"It depends on your preference, My Lord. We have many tales of glory and legends of Valorn that we could recite... or perhaps Madame Helena could show you how carriage maintenance is done. It is a very necessary job."
Ethan rolled his eyes at the mention of more tales. He had read more exciting things in hydraulics manuals. "Leave the stories for later. And the maintenance... well, I'm not much for hammering nails, Peter. I do that all day at the academy."
He paused, looking at Helena, who was sitting stiffly, her hands crossed in her lap.
"Helena," Ethan asked, his voice softening a bit. "You showed me that little magic flame in the garden. Is that something anyone here can do?"
Helena looked up, her honey-colored eyes shining with sudden interest.
"Ah, yes, My Lord. The use of Mana for simple tasks is common in the Kingdom of Kamrhin. It is taught in elementary schools. For us, it is like lighting a match."
"Mana," Ethan repeated, frowning. He picked up Peter's notebook and inkwell. "I need to put this in my diary. So... what exactly is mana? Is it air? Is it electricity? Some kind of nuclear energy you don't understand?"
Helena and Peter exchanged glances, confused by the modern terminology.
"No, My Lord," Peter replied, his head tilted. "Mana is... the life force. It is the essence of Valorn. It is in the air, in the soil, and flows through all living beings, like blood. It is simply... magic."
Ethan scoffed, writing in his diary: "Mana = Magical Life Force. Vague concept, no formulas. Note: Ask about Valorn's laws of thermodynamics."
"But if it's in everything, why can't everyone use it in combat, like Lord Marnov?" Ethan countered, frustrated.
"That is the difference, My Lord," Helena interjected with cautious enthusiasm. "We can all do the basics, like lighting a candle. But to manipulate Mana into complex forms, one needs Concentration and Will. And more importantly, one must have Aptitude—a birth gift, or a... connection. It's like trying to speak a language. Anyone can learn to say 'hello,' but few can become poets."
Ethan shook his head, processing the information. The language analogy made sense, but it didn't help his dilemma. If he didn't have "Aptitude," he was at a total disadvantage in this new world.
Then another thought crossed his mind: if he was in another world, how could he understand the language of its inhabitants? He could understand Helena, Peter, and everyone else perfectly, and they didn't seem to have communication problems with him. Could this be another type of magic they used?
"What is the official language of Kamrhin?" Ethan asked. "Don't you find it strange that we can talk normally? I mean, I am literally from another world! I speak three different languages, but..."
Peter and Helena seemed to think for a moment, considering Ethan's words. It was indeed a bit strange.
"Our official language is Kamirian," Helena replied after a brief moment. "I really don't know how to answer your question, My Lord."
"Unfortunately, it is also something beyond my knowledge, My Lord," Peter complemented. "Perhaps Lord Larry can answer it for you later when we take our next break."
Ethan closed his diary with a dry click.
"Alright. Now, another thing." Ethan looked at the landscape passing by the small window. "When are we going to pass through a settlement? I've seen the fields, but never a town. I want to see how the normal people of Kamrhin live."
Peter hesitated, exchanging a quick look with Helena.
"Well, My Lord... by Duke Larry's orders, we are taking rural routes to avoid delays. But if your lordship insists, the route should take us near a small village called Villagemar in about an hour. It is a simple settlement, My Lord. Nothing worthy of note."
Ethan smiled, a spark of determination in his eyes.
"Perfect. We will stop at Villagemar. I didn't come to a new world just to look at carriage walls."
Peter smiled somewhat uncertainly; he hadn't expected Ethan to actually want to stop at Villagemar. Most people would prefer to avoid such remote places, but now he couldn't back down. Reluctantly, he informed one of the guards riding beside the carriage that Ethan wished to stop at Villagemar.
Half an hour later, the caravan slowed with a groan of wood and leather, stopping at the entrance to Villagemar, a village that looked like little more than a camp.
Ethan stepped down from the carriage, closely followed by Peter and Helena—who were apprehensive about the situation. Duke Larry and Garnold came over immediately, the Duke's rigid posture clearly showing his disapproval.
"Lord Martins," Larry said, his voice tense. "With all due respect, these are not safe routes for stops. Villagemar is poor and..." He paused, searching for the right word. "...irrelevant. We could have avoided this unnecessary detour."
"Irrelevant, Larry?" Ethan tilted his head, looking around.
The place was a sensory shock to anyone from his world. The houses were crude constructions of stone and clay, with roofs covered in dark, damp straw. There was no paving, just dry mud and dust. The smell was a mix of wood smoke, manure, and something sour that Ethan couldn't identify.
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In the center of the "square"—which was just a large circle of beaten earth—there was a stone well and a small fire where an elderly woman was cooking something in an iron pot.
The real surprise, however, was the people. They did not look at him with curiosity, but with a mixture of fear and deference. Men and women stopped what they were doing, bowing rigidly, their eyes fixed on the ground as the carriage entourage passed.
"People live here, and in a terrible state from what I see. How can that be 'irrelevant?'" Ethan replied to Larry, ignoring the Duke's growing anger. "I've seen the palaces and the gardens, but how am I supposed to understand this world if I don't see how the people live?"
Ethan walked to the well, where a thin boy, perhaps 10 years old, struggled to pull up a bucket of water. The boy wore patched and thin clothes, and his arms looked like bones wrapped in leather.
Driven by a reflex from his world, Ethan approached the boy.
"Hey, kid, let me help you with that," he said, reaching out for the bucket rope.
The boy did not accept the help. Instead, he dropped the bucket and threw himself onto the muddy ground, hitting his head on the dirt.
"Forgiveness, sir! Forgiveness, forgiveness! I didn't touch your lordship! Forgive me for daring to stand in your way!" The boy was visibly trembling.
Ethan froze, his hand still extended in the air. He could feel the terrified looks of all the villagers on him.
Larry, Garnold, and even Peter seemed embarrassed, but not surprised.
"My Lord!" Larry hissed, pulling Ethan's arm with surprising force, moving him away from the boy. "Do not interact with commoners so directly. They are a totally different class from yours; they cannot even look at you without permission! Your actions are reckless!"
The blood boiled in Ethan. He pulled his arm from Larry's grasp.
"Reckless? I was just going to help him get a bucket of water! I'm from a world where we help each other! What is this nonsense? They are afraid of me! What nonsense are you talking about, he is a human too, isn't he?"
"Hierarchy is law, My Lord!" Garnold intervened, his voice grave. "If a commoner touches a noble, the penalty is severe, and if the noble is harmed, they can be executed. They are afraid of dying because of you!"
Ethan looked at the boy, who was still prostrate, crying softly in the dust. He then looked at the simple houses, at the elderly woman who was now praying silently. He thought about the magical "Life Force" that was in everything, but which was not used to build a decent roof or clean the water.
That moment was a punch to the stomach, a brutal contrast to the organized and secure life he had left behind. This world was not only medieval in technology; it was medieval in its social cruelty.
He closed his eyes for an instant, breathing deeply to control the wave of nausea and anxiety.
Then, he noticed something Peter had said.
"Peter," Ethan said, turning to his assistant with a new intensity, ignoring Larry and Garnold. "You and Helena said that Mana is in everything and can be used for simple tasks, right? Why aren't these villagers using magic to pump water or heat their homes?"
Peter, relieved to return to a technical matter, replied. "Yes, My Lord, but... the continuous use of Mana without Aptitude drains a person's essence. It is exhausting. They need the energy to work in the field. Excessive use can cause Magical Fatigue, and that is a luxury that workers cannot afford."
"Besides, My Lord, I do not believe these people have had proper education about the use of the magical arts," Helena complemented, but regretted it immediately when she received a stern look from Larry.
Ethan clenched his fists. A world where magic existed, but was a luxury that would kill the worker if used to heat their home. Sighing to maintain his calm, Ethan turned again to face Larry and Garnold and said in a cold, authoritative manner:
"We are not leaving this village until every citizen receives at least one decent meal. How can you let the people of your kingdom suffer in this way?"
"My Lord! We cannot waste time with such futile things," Larry replied firmly, wanting to change the young summoner's view. "We must reach the royal capital as soon as possible and..."
"Believe me, no one is in a bigger hurry than I am. If you want to speed up the journey, then be quick with what I said, and don't come at me with these stupid hierarchy laws. If I see a villager being mistreated... I will compensate for the days of training I lost on those responsible."
Garnold and Larry exchanged uncertain glances on how to proceed. Peter and Helena were tense; this was indirectly their fault. What would happen to them? Why was Ethan so angry? They were just peasants; he didn't even know these people.
Walking up to the boy from before, Ethan helped him up while calming him, saying that nothing bad would happen to him. Larry sighed and gave the order for the guards to gently gather the villagers for a feast, which made Ethan more satisfied. Larry was about to withdraw when he heard Ethan call him once more.
"Larry, in my world, I am known as a two-time champion in Muay Thai, something I am very proud of. If you try to grab me as you just did one more time, you are going to learn what that means."
Feeding the peasants took longer than expected. By the time the guards and servants finished the task, the sun was already setting. In the end, the caravan had to spend the night in Villagemar. Garnold simply didn't think it was a good idea to continue along those roads after sunset. Ethan, of course, didn't mind at all, but the dissatisfaction was clear on Larry's face, who did not want to spend a night in such a... low-class place, let's say.
Meanwhile, at the Broken Axe Tavern in Tallen's Crossing—a neighboring village to Villagemar—news of Ethan's caravan was spreading.
"I'm telling you! I was on the road, near Villagemar! Duke Larry Marnov's caravan stopped. It stopped! And it wasn't to fix wheels!"
The peasants laughed. "Larry Marnov doesn't even stop here in Tallen. What would he want in a backwater like Villagemar, Goro?"
The lumberjack, Goro, slammed his hand on the table. "Lies! This time, it was because of him. The Youngster."
This got the others a little more interested.
"What youngster, Goro?" asked an older man.
"The new one! The so-called Stranger! He was in Larry's carriage. They said he was a... well, I don't know what he is, but he's pale, wears fine clothes, and talks like a noble, but with the hot head of a commoner!" Goro leaned in, lowering his voice. "He saw the children of Villagemar. Thin, almost starving, as always. And what did the Stranger do?"
Goro took a swig of his beer, prolonging the suspense.
"He ordered Larry Marnov, the Duke of Water, to give food to the entire village! Right there in the mud! And Larry obeyed! I saw him giving orders to the guards to distribute soup!"
The tavern fell into shocked silence. Larry Marnov was famous for his arrogance and impatience.
"Order?" the older man hissed. "No one orders a Duke, except the royalty itself."
"He did! And when Larry tried to grab him," Goro continued, trembling with excitement, "the young Stranger threatened him! Said he was a 'two-time champion of something with punches' and that Larry would learn a lesson if he dared to touch him again! Larry went white! He didn't say a word, just obeyed and backed away!"
Murmurs spread through the tavern with Goro's story. A young man who could order a Duke? Without even belonging to the royalty? Who could this mysterious young man be?
Reclined over a worn table in the back of the Tavern sat a man dressed in dark leather, polishing a silver coin. He didn't need to polish the coin; it was a habit to calm his nerves while he listened.
The lumberjack, Goro, was still at the main table, his voice hoarse from shouting the story of Marnov's caravan.
Silas—the mysterious man—was not interested in fairy tales. But Goro's gossip had three valuable elements:
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A pale, unknown youth in the kingdom's most secret entourage.
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An open conflict where a high-ranking noble (Larry Marnov) yields by force to a moral command.
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The mention of a strange "art of punches" that did not come from Kamrhin's knight academy.
He picked up a small wax tablet and began to calculate mentally: nobility + Potential for Political Damage = Price.
Larry Marnov was a known target. If the "Stranger" could force Larry to obey, he was something interesting.
Silas called the tavern owner with an almost imperceptible nod.
"The lumberjack's story about Marnov's entourage. Is it true?" Silas asked, his voice low, like the clinking of ice.
The Tavern owner swallowed hard. "Yes, Silas. My brother is from the Villagemar field. The soup was real. The threat... also. They are calling the young man 'The Patron, a Noble who came to make the law fair.'"
Silas scoffed. "Justice is cheap. But a Duke's fear is expensive."
He pushed the silver coin toward the Tavern owner.
"Find out where the caravan is going. Find out who this young Stranger is, and why the royal family is hiding him." Silas narrowed his eyes. "And spread the rumor, but not to the peasants; they already gossip enough among themselves. I'm looking for the ears of those indebted to Larry. It's more than time for the old duke to learn some humility."
Silas thought of the court's vulnerability with the King's illness. The Stranger was not a hero as the peasants saw him; he was an opportunity. If the youth was so righteous, perhaps he could be manipulated to eliminate political enemies or to create the chaos the underworld needed.
He picked up the wax tablet and wrote a single sentence: "Unknown Noble, young. Possesses an unknown 'Martial Art'. Price: High."
He folded the tablet. This information would not go to the Baron of Tallen. It would go to the Prince of a rival kingdom, or to a group of assassins in Seamond.