Dalan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll use the village. I’d rather deal with questions over breakfast than during my sleep.”

  Kharnek chuckled from the driver’s seat. “Ha! Spoken like a man who’s learned that civilization means different kinds of trouble, not less.”

  Linne gave a small shrug, smiling like a cat that knew the truth. “At least the inns have soft beds.”

  Ludger muttered something about “soft beds being overrated” and turned his gaze forward. The mist thinned slightly as they descended, revealing a faint flicker of light in the valley, the promise of roofs, lamps, and another unfamiliar borderland.

  Civilized or not, Ludger thought, the League felt like a place where curiosity cut just as deep as swords.

  The road down from the mountain wound into a shallow valley, where faint lights glimmered through the thinning mist. As they drew closer, the shapes of rooftops and fences came into view, a village, modest but clearly thriving. Wooden homes lined the dirt streets in tight clusters, each window glowing with warm orange light.

  To Ludger’s mild surprise, it looked… normal. No sprawling magical towers or floating workshops, no sign of the industrial chaos he’d half-expected from the Velis League. Still, there was something unmistakably different about it. Every building, every tool, every small movement had a faint pulse of rune-light to it, soft and steady, like quiet breathing.

  The group rolled their carriages to a stop near the village square. A large, two-story inn stood at the far end, its walls reinforced with polished stone and steel seams that gleamed faintly under enchanted lanterns. A hanging sign above the door flickered with glowing letters that rearranged themselves every few seconds to say Welcome in different languages.

  “Well,” Kaela said, stretching her arms, “at least they’re polite about it.”

  Ludger stepped down first, his eyes scanning the area. Even here, in this small place, he could see the difference between Empire craft and League invention. Near a well, an old farmer was using a runic pulley, the rope wound itself automatically as the bucket ascended, guided by faint blue runes carved into the frame.

  Across the road, a pair of children were playing with floating lanterns, the little glass spheres bobbed weightlessly, powered by low-grade wind enchantments. And further down, a blacksmith hammered at a blade while a runic bellows pumped air into the forge all on its own, hissing with rhythmic precision.

  It wasn’t loud or extravagant. It was practical, every spell and rune serving a purpose to ease daily life. No wasted energy, no needless flair.

  Kharnek whistled low. “So this is what civilization looks like when mages have too much free time.”

  Dalan smiled faintly as he stepped down from his carriage. “Efficiency, not excess. That’s the League’s motto.”

  Linne looked at Ludger. “See? No torches. No mobs. Just progress.”

  Ludger grunted, his eyes still following the glow of the runes across the buildings. “Progress with too many moving parts,” he muttered. “If one thing breaks, ten more depend on it.”

  Kaela smirked. “Spoken like a true frontier man.”

  Maurien gave a low hum of agreement. “Or a realist.”

  Inside the inn, they found exactly what they needed, rooms enough for all of them, a stable for the horses, and a common room large enough to fit Kharnek without breaking furniture. The air smelled of roasted grain and oil, the faint hum of enchantments blending with the chatter of locals.

  It wasn’t the Empire. It wasn’t the frontier. The Velis League, Ludger decided, was a strange middle ground, a place where magic wasn’t a privilege, but a tool, woven into every corner of daily life.

  He leaned against the window frame, watching the glow of the village lights flicker through the mist outside. “Functional,” he said quietly. “But it's still too quiet.”

  Linne heard him and smiled knowingly. “That’s how it always starts, Vice Guildmaster. The quiet before invention.”

  The group headed toward the village center, the sound of wagon wheels soft against the damp dirt road. The lights from windows shimmered faintly through the fog as they reached the inn, a sturdy two-story building of dark timber, with runic sigils carved subtly into the doorframe to keep warmth inside and pests out.

  Linne and Dalan immediately took the lead, stepping ahead of the others. Their posture changed, professional, courteous, almost rehearsed. They approached the counter with polite smiles, their voices light and confident. Ludger could tell they were trying to make the group seem more presentable than a caravan of dusty foreigners.

  The innkeeper, a broad-shouldered man with a bushy gray beard, eyed the group with the suspicion of someone not used to travelers from outside the League. His gaze lingered a little too long on Kharnek and Kaela before flicking to Ludger, his youthful face clearly not helping. Still, when Linne began talking, the man’s expression softened. Her tone was smooth, her manner perfectly polite, and she even slipped in a few phrases in the League’s dialect. Dalan, meanwhile, counted the coins with the precision of a banker.

  A few minutes later, keys changed hands.

  “Five rooms,” Linne said as she turned to the group. “Comfortable enough, and the bath’s enchanted—fresh water whenever you want it.”

  The innkeeper still looked faintly wary, but he said nothing as they began to climb the stairs. His suspicion, Ludger thought, was probably habit more than hostility. Foreigners draw attention.

  They unpacked in silence. Kaela threw her bag onto her bed with a satisfied sigh, while Kharnek tested the frame of his with a single palm and muttered something approving when it didn’t creak. Ludger placed his satchel by the window, taking note of the faint runic pattern pulsing beneath the floorboards, a warming enchantment, subtle and steady.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Before long, the smell of roasted grain and herbs drifted up from below. Kaela stretched her arms and smirked. “Dinner’s calling.”

  Maurien nodded. “And I prefer not to ignore a call like that.”

  They headed downstairs together to the tavern, the murmur of conversation rising as they entered. The room was lit by enchanted glass globes that dimmed and brightened in rhythm with the flicker of the fireplace. The tables were half full, locals eating quietly, a few tinkers comparing runic devices over ale.

  To Ludger’s eyes, even the normal here was strange: mugs that never cooled, spoons that stirred themselves, and a serving board sliding gently from table to table on a glowing rail set into the floor. The League, it seemed, couldn’t leave even basic hospitality untouched by enchantment.

  Kaela grinned as she took her seat. “You have to admit, Ludger,” she said, resting her chin on one hand, “civilization has its perks.”

  He glanced at a mug that was refilling itself from a floating pitcher. “Sure,” he said dryly. “Until someone forgets to carve the safety rune.”

  Kharnek laughed, loud enough to earn a few looks from nearby tables. “Then it’s a real party.”

  Maurien only smiled faintly and signaled for drinks. The night, at least for now, felt peaceful, the calm before whatever storm the League had waiting beyond its polite walls.

  As the meal went on, conversation started to flow more freely. The clinking of metal utensils and the low hum of runic lamps overhead gave the tavern a steady, warm rhythm. The group had just been served a platter of roasted game and vegetables when Linne leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

  “Vice Guildmaster,” she began, “I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you learn about rune theory? You seemed rather… fluent for someone trained in geomancy. Most earth specialists I’ve met barely remember what an amplification loop is.”

  Dalan nodded, equally curious. “You didn’t just memorize a few symbols. The way you talked about efficiency and cost balance… you’ve studied actual engineering work.”

  Ludger glanced up from his plate. He had a small piece of bread halfway to his mouth but decided to answer before they asked again. “I read a book,” he said plainly. “Written by the Ironhand engineers.”

  That made the two pause, mid-bite.

  “The Ironhand?” Linne echoed. “You mean that Ironhand? The builders who use rune arrays to shape metal and stone?”

  “The same,” Ludger said, taking a drink. “Their notes on thermal compression and mana feedback were... useful. For someone who works with earth.”

  Linne frowned slightly. “But they’re not part of any of the League’s guilds.”

  “They’re not,” Ludger confirmed. “They’re a guild from the Empire. We worked together once.”

  Kharnek, who had been busy tearing a roasted leg of something with alarming enthusiasm, let out a hearty laugh. “Worked together, he says! More like saved their hides. The Ironhand had this waterlogged labyrinth, full to the ceiling with and beasts.”

  Linne and Dalan exchanged a look, then turned back to Ludger, suddenly more intrigued than before.

  “You really worked with the Ironhand?” Dalan asked, his voice lowering a notch. “That explains your perspective… they were the ones who first tried embedding stabilizing runes into bridges and other constructions.”

  Ludger only shrugged. “They build things that last. That’s the only reason I paid attention.”

  Kaela smirked. “And here I thought you only read when it’s about killing something or making walls.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Those are still productive activities.”

  Maurien chuckled quietly into his cup, and for a brief moment the table’s mood lightened again, engineers, warriors, and mages from different worlds, breaking bread and trading stories under the hum of enchanted lamps. But in the back of Ludger’s mind, he noted the flicker of interest in Linne’s eyes. She wasn’t just impressed, she was calculating.

  The next morning, the group packed early and set off toward the nearest city, a dense sprawl of stone, brass, and glowing sigils that served as the Velis League’s western academic hub, just a few days’ ride from the imperial border. The sky was gray, streaked faintly with mana vapors rising from the runic workshops that ringed the outskirts. Even before they reached the gates, the faint scent of burnt oil and charged ozone hung in the air, biting the nose and throat.

  The road widened as they entered, merging into clean-cut stone streets engraved with faint blue runic channels that pulsed in rhythm, powering lanterns and water pumps alike. The noise of the place hit them like a wave, hissing valves, grinding gears, mana hums, and the endless chatter of voices, scholars and craftsmen arguing over formulae and prices alike.

  “Welcome to Veyra, the first academic city of the western ring,” Linne said, sweeping a hand toward the skyline. Dozens of narrow towers rose in uneven clusters, many crowned with rotating mana conductors or glass domes that flickered with lightning.

  Kaela frowned, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Smells like someone fried a storm spirit and left it to rot.”

  Linne gave an awkward chuckle. “The air is… a bit heavier here, yes. That’s what happens when everyone insists on testing prototypes in their backyards.”

  Dalan sighed beside her, his tone half defensive, half resigned. “You get used to it. Every great innovation has to be tested somewhere. And this city happens to believe that ‘somewhere’ means everywhere.”

  Ludger watched the glow of the pavement under his boots as they walked. “Runes for light. Runes for heat. Runes for traffic control. I can see how things got… crowded.”

  “It’s not all bad,” Dalan replied quickly. “These networks allow for clean water distribution, automated crop rotation, temperature control—”

  Kaela cut in, “—and apparently slow poisoning of your lungs.”

  That earned a glare, but she only smirked.

  Linne cleared her throat and turned toward Ludger, her voice dipping into a more earnest tone. “Not every academy city is like this one. Some don’t care about balance, just results. They’ll burn through mana stones, air quality, and ethics to push limits. But our city, Dalan’s and mine, is different. We design for efficiency and sustainability.”

  Ludger didn’t stop walking. His eyes moved from one runic lamp to another as they passed, watching the steady flicker of sigils. “You don’t have to defend yourselves,” he said evenly. “I’m not here to judge how people live. Every place trades something for progress.”

  Linne blinked, caught off guard by the calmness in his voice.

  Maurien, walking a few steps behind, gave a low hum of approval. “That’s more wisdom than I’ve heard from most in this city.”

  Kharnek, meanwhile, coughed and spat into the gutter, his expression twisting. “Your progress tastes like smoke.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dalan said with a dry smile. “After a week, you won’t notice it anymore.”

  Ludger’s gaze lingered on the towering academy in the distance, its spire etched with massive circular runes that pulsed like a living heartbeat. “That,” he said, nodding toward it, “must be where the decisions are made.”

  “Where they’re supposed to be made,” Linne corrected. “Half the time, the experiments make the decisions for us.”

  Kaela chuckled. “Sounds like home.”