The next day...
Dawn had just broken.
The streets of the Royal Capital were already bustling.
People began to arrive one after another in front of the Class Holders Guild.
Matthew was neither early nor late.
When he reached the plaza, more than twenty Class holders were already waiting there. Most of them were Silver Rank, with only a few at the peak of the Black Iron Rank.
Most of these people gathered in groups of three to five, clearly knowing one another. Only Matthew stood alone in a corner, quietly observing his surroundings.
Before long, the Deacon from yesterday walked out. Behind him followed two guild staff members. One held a register, while the other carried a wooden box.
The Deacon scanned the crowd and spoke in a steady voice. “Roll call. When your name is called, step forward to receive your badge.”
One by one, the Class holders stepped forward to receive their designated numbers. The one Matthew received was still number seven.
At the same time, he also noticed that among everyone participating in the mission, the lowest strength was Silver Rank. There wasn't a single actual Black Iron Rank Class holder.
This made Matthew even more certain that this mission was by no means simple.
...
Before long, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed from the end of the street. Over a dozen City Guard Knights slowly rode over. Leading them was the very same young Knight from yesterday, still expressionless and taciturn.
The squad of Knights stopped in front of the guild. The youth dismounted and handed a parchment scroll to the Deacon. After a brief confirmation, he turned to face the crowd and spoke in a deep voice. “I am Ryne, the officer in charge of this escort mission. From now on, everyone will follow my command.”
There was no introduction, no morale-boosting speech, and certainly no explanation of the mission's details. He finished with just those few simple words. Afterward, led by the City Guard, the group departed from the Class Holders Guild.
...
Along the way, Matthew observed silently. In the middle of the procession were six heavy transport wagons, all covered with black tarpaulins, completely obscuring whatever was loaded inside.
Four City Guard Knights were stationed beside each wagon, maintaining a tight guard. Rather than an escort, it looked more like they were guarding the cargo.
Furthermore, as the transport wagons passed through the bustling market areas, all pedestrians were cleared out in advance. Many residents stood on the roadsides, watching from a distance. However, there was little curiosity in their eyes; instead, it was more of a habit, as if they had seen such convoys many times before.
...
The convoy slowly entered the West District. The streets began to grow quiet. Shops became scarcer, and pedestrians dwindled. Many houses were even vacant, their wooden doors tightly shut and windows covered in dust. A faint, damp odor drifted through the air.
Aidan instinctively lowered his voice. “Brother Matthew, it's even more deserted here than yesterday.”
Matthew nodded but did not reply.
His Spirit had already quietly spread outward. There were no enemies, no ambushes, and even ordinary residents were rare. It was abnormally quiet.
Just then, the very front of the convoy suddenly came to a halt. Every Knight instantly gripped their weapons, and the entire caravan fell into a dead silence.
Matthew looked ahead. Standing in the middle of the road was an old man. He wore a worn robe and leaned on a wooden staff, standing quietly and blocking the entire path. His head was lowered, as if he hadn't noticed the approaching convoy.
The young Knight, Ryne, frowned. “Old man, move aside.”
The old man did not budge, remaining exactly where he was.
The next moment, Ryne dismounted and slowly walked over. Throughout the process, the entire City Guard entered a state of high alert. But Matthew frowned slightly because his Spirit could not perceive the old man at all.
It wasn't a lack of life force; rather, it felt as if there was simply no one there. Yet, his eyes could clearly see that an old man was indeed standing in the middle of the road.
At that moment, a line Herbert had once said suddenly surfaced in Matthew's mind: When your eyes and your Spirit conflict, never trust the first thing you see.
Matthew's pupils slowly contracted. Ryne walked forward slowly, his pace unhurried, but his right hand remained resting on his sword hilt. The surrounding City Guard had formed a semi-circle, firmly shielding the six transport wagons in the center. The entire street was so quiet that even the sound of the wind could be heard.
The old man still kept his head lowered, as if he hadn't heard a thing. One step, two steps, three steps... The distance between them shrank. When only five or six meters remained, the old man suddenly raised his head slowly. It was a very ordinary face, covered in wrinkles, with white hair and cloudy eyes. No matter how one looked at him, he seemed like just an ordinary elder.
Ryne frowned and spoke again. “Old man, loitering is prohibited here. Please leave.”
The old man stared at him, his lips moving slightly, but no sound came out.
Ryne's brow furrowed even deeper. Just as he was about to step closer, the old man suddenly took a slow step to the side, yielding the road. Then, with his head lowered, he slowly walked toward a nearby alleyway.
The entire process went without any anomalies. There was no attack, no magic, and no accidents occurred. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Yet Ryne did not let his guard down; he kept his eyes fixed on the old man's retreating figure until the man completely vanished. Only then did he wave his hand. “Continue advancing.” The convoy set off once more.
...
But just as everyone thought it was merely a false alarm, Matthew suddenly turned his head to look back at the dark alleyway. His Spirit still could not perceive anything. Yet, just a moment ago when the old man turned around, Matthew had clearly seen the sunlight hitting the ground beneath the old man's feet. There was no shadow. It wasn't faint; there was absolutely none.
Matthew's eyes instantly narrowed. In the next moment, he closed his eyes and released his Spirit once more. The alleyway was empty; there was nothing at all, as if the old man had never existed.
...
A sentence from Herbert's notes came to mind: Some illusion spells can deceive your eyes, and some curses can deceive your perception. But no matter which it is, none of them can exist permanently.
Matthew said nothing, silently committing this scene to memory. He did not warn Ryne because he had no proof, and more importantly, he did not know whether the old man was an enemy or not.
...
The convoy continued forward. After walking for another twenty minutes, a tall wall finally appeared ahead. The wall was constructed from grayish-black giant stones, standing a good five or six meters high and covered in the marks of time.
A large number of City Guard soldiers were already stationed outside the wall, keeping an extremely tight guard. The gates slowly ground open, and the transport wagons entered one by one.
Matthew looked up. Inside the walls lay a massive warehouse district, complete with granaries, armories, potion storehouses, and over a dozen large stone buildings. It looked like a strategic materials warehouse of the Royal Capital.
Strangely, however, the people inside the warehouse were pitifully few. There were only a few dozen scattered staff members, which seemed highly disproportionate to such a massive architectural scale.
Once the entire convoy had entered, the heavy iron gates slammed shut.
Boom—
The dull, heavy sound echoed throughout the warehouse.
At that very moment, Matthew keenly felt that something in the air had changed. It wasn't the temperature, nor was it the smell; rather, it was his Spirit. His Spirit felt as if it had collided with an invisible film, and its detection range instantly shrank by half.
Matthew felt a slight jolt in his heart. Spirit suppression? No, more accurately, it should be a large-scale Wizard formation covering the entire warehouse.
His expression remained completely unchanged, but waves of emotion surged in his heart. This was the first time since arriving in the Royal Capital that he had truly come into contact with traces left behind by a wizard.
Matthew did not show any anomaly. Instead, he deliberately slowed his breathing and slowly retracted his Spirit. Herbert had repeatedly warned him that upon discovering a Wizard formation, the first thing to do was not to study it, but to hide oneself, because the vast majority of Wizard formations possessed basic detection capabilities.
An ordinary Knight would never notice their Spirit being suppressed. If Matthew showed any abnormality, it would easily expose him instead. With this in mind, his Spirit quickly fell dormant, retaining only the most basic thread of perception. To anyone else, he looked no different from an ordinary Silver Rank Knight.
...
Meanwhile, the convoy had stopped. An old man wearing a dark gray robe slowly walked out from the depths of the warehouse. He had snow-white hair, a slightly hunched back, and a face covered in wrinkles. His clothes were very plain, bearing neither noble insignias nor knightly crests. He looked just like an ordinary warehouse manager.
Strangely, however, when he appeared, all the City Guard Knights, including Ryne, proactively bowed their heads.
“Mr. Hall,” the young Knight greeted with a slight bow, his tone carrying a touch of respect.
The old man merely nodded slightly, his voice raspy. “Any anomalies along the way?”
Ryne was silent for a moment. “We encountered an old man. Other than that, everything was normal.”
Hall lifted his eyelids, looking at him seriously for the first time. “An old man? What did he look like?”
Ryne described him truthfully. After listening, Hall fell silent for two or three seconds before calmly saying, “If you meet him again in the future, pay him no mind. Keep moving forward.”
“Yes.” Ryne did not ask further. It seemed he had long grown accustomed to such answers.
However, Matthew noticed a small detail. Just as Hall spoke those words, his right hand unconsciously and gently rubbed the silver ring on his left index finger. The movement was extremely subtle, and an ordinary person wouldn't have noticed it at all. But Matthew's pupils contracted slightly. That ring was drawn in Herbert's notes. Although the style was different, the runic inscription structure on it was almost identical. It wasn't an ornament, but a wizard tool.
At this moment, Matthew could finally be certain that the seemingly ordinary old man before him was by no means a regular warehouse manager. At the very least, he had been in contact with wizards, or perhaps... he was a wizard himself.
...
Hall slowly walked over to the first wagon. Raising his withered palm, he gently pressed it against a wooden crate. In the next instant, Matthew's Spirit keenly captured an extremely faint fluctuation. There was no chanting, no staff, and not even any mana leakage. That power was like a ripple spreading across the water's surface, vanishing in a flash.
Immediately after, the old man nodded slightly. “You may proceed.” Several staff members immediately stepped forward and began unloading the cargo. The entire process was orderly, as if it had been repeated countless times.
Matthew stood among the crowd, making no move to draw close. Instead, like the other Class holders, he took responsibility for guarding the perimeter. However, his attention remained fixed on Hall—or more accurately, on that ring.
Herbert had once mentioned that true wizards rarely exposed their power directly. They preferred to rely on wizard tools, magic circles, and alchemical items to accomplish things. This was both safe and prevented their identities from being easily exposed. The scene before him almost perfectly matched the descriptions in the notes.
...
Just then, Hall suddenly raised his head, his gaze slowly sweeping across all the Class holders. Those cloudy eyes held no sharp edge, yet they caused Matthew's heart to tighten slightly. He immediately looked down, pretending to inspect his sword. The entire movement was natural and fluid, without the slightest hesitation.
A few seconds later, the gaze slowly moved away. Only then did Matthew secretly breathe a sigh of relief. He had a feeling that just now, Hall wasn't looking at people, but rather perceiving—sensing whether there was any presence that did not belong to an ordinary Knight.
Fortunately, he had been cautious enough, keeping his Spirit completely dormant. Otherwise, even a single leaked fluctuation might have aroused the other party's suspicion.
...
The unloading continued for over half an hour. Just as the final wagon was finished, a deep bell toll suddenly echoed from the depths of the warehouse.
Clang—
Clang—
The sound was long and drawn out, and the entire warehouse fell silent instantly.
Hall's expression changed slightly. He looked toward the deepest part of the warehouse, his brow furrowing for the first time. Then, without any explanation, he said in a heavy voice, “That is all for today. Everyone, leave immediately.”
Ryne didn't ask for the reason either, drawing his longsword immediately. “All squads, assemble! Prepare to head back!”
Watching this play out, the doubts in Matthew's heart grew even deeper. Because that bell toll just now... had not come from outside the warehouse, but rather from deep underground beneath it...
Rate on N.U.
