Chương 194

The Noble District of Silverpeak was a world apart from the busy market streets or the austere Sanctum. Streets were lined with mana-lamps glowing warm and golden, even during the day. Manors decorated with colorful marbles and intricate gardens competed for attention like peacocks at a ball. His last visit hadn't endeared him to the denizens, but Orion put those thoughts aside. It's perfectly possible that this guy simply got his hands on a unique artifact and actually grew up.

I shouldn't go in with already established judgment, or I might ruin the life of an innocent person. Orion strolled along the main avenue, hands clasped behind his back, his lab coat fluttering gently over his formal robes. He sensed numerous eyes upon him, from servants peering out of windows to private guards observing from gatehouses.

"Don't make it obvious," Pauline murmured, adjusting her robe and stealing a glance toward him.

"But look at the flower seller on the corner. And the carriage driver two houses down." Orion didn't turn his head, letting his gaze drift naturally in the direction she'd indicated. The flower seller arranged bouquets with surprising dexterity, occasionally moving to another plant so she could edge closer to the tables set before a cafe. The driver sat motionless, carefully scanning the street in a methodical grid pattern.

"They're ours?" he asked.

"Inquisitors," Pauline confirmed.

"Elder Morliana might be a traditionalist pain in the neck, but she doesn't do things by halves. If we're here, you can bet there are a dozen other teams picking apart the city's underbelly."

"That's good," he muttered back. He wasn't a fan of the Elder, but he was glad she seemed to be taking the threat seriously. If he had to convince her of the danger, he might as well have packed his things and left for Valderun. They reached the end of the avenue, where a large, walled estate dominated the block. A sign in gilded script announced it as The Golden Fields.

"I see someone I know," Pauline said suddenly, spotting a woman in a grey cloak slipping into an alleyway nearby.

"Give me thirty seconds. I need to know if we're good to go, or if something else's going on." She slipped away before Orion could protest, leaving him standing alone in front of the large iron gates. Sighing, he approached the entrance. Two guards in livery that likely cost more than a workman's yearly salary stood with crossed halberds, looking bored out of their minds. Their posture was relaxed, and Orion doubted trouble often found them, but the moment he approached, they tensed up.

"Halt," one of the guards said, holding up a hand. He looked him up and down, his eyes snagging on the white lab coat, and sneered.

"Deliveries go to the side entrance, alchemist. This is the main gate." Orion blinked, befuddled.

"I am not making a delivery."

"If you aren't, you have no business here," the guard drawled, clearly enjoying the chance to exercise a little power.

"Look, unless you have a membership token or an invitation from a Noble Family, you aren't getting in. This is an exclusive club for the city's elite. We don't need potion-stained fumes warding off the guests."

"My robes are quite clean," Orion said, genuinely perplexed.

"And I come from the Sanctum." The guard snorted.

"Right. And I'm the High Priestess's secret lover. Look, kid, just walk away before I—""Whose lover are you?" Pauline's voice was sharp and icy, like a cold splash down the back of the neck. She suddenly appeared beside Orion, startling both guards. Having lowered her hood and opened her coat, she now revealed a silver medallion of a Magistra on her chest. That, coupled with the frigid countenance of a war witch, was quite intimidating. The guard who had been speaking looked at Pauline. Then he looked at Orion.

Then he looked at the embroidered silver crest on Orion's blue robes, which he had previously ignored. The blood drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive.

"M-Magistra," the guard squeaked, his halberd rattling as his hands shook.

"I... I didn't..."

"My charge," Pauline said, placing a hand on Orion's shoulder, "was attempting to enter. I trust his lack of a token won't be an issue?"

"No! No issue!" The guard stammered, fumbling for the release mechanism. He looked like he was about to faint.

"Please, enter! Welcome to the Golden Fields! Can I get you water? Wine? A guide?" The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Just open the gate," Orion said. He suppressed a smile as the guard hurriedly complied and swung the heavy iron bars open for them to pass through. As they walked through, Pauline leaned in.

"Now just imagine their panic if they knew whose son you are." Orion suppressed a snicker. Veil Priestesses were almost revered within the Sanctum. In Silverpeak, they might as well have been legends. And that was nothing compared to his other parent, who was technically even more famous and important. The interior of the Golden Fields lived up to its name. Manicured gardens surrounded a central sparring arena made of imported white sand.

Tiers of marble seating overlooked the pit, where the youth of Silverpeak's nobility lounged, drank wine, and cheered on the combatants. It was pretentious, noisy, and exactly the kind of place Orion hated, yet if he was after debauchery and corruption, it was the perfect spot.

"There," Pauline indicated with a nod. In the center of the ring, a young man was fighting. He was slender, pale, with sharp features and hair swept back in a style that surely required magical fixation. He moved with a jerky, frantic speed that contrasted sharply with the smooth motions of his opponent, a hired instructor with a heavy shield. Orion's eyes narrowed, and he inspected the young man.

Valerius Entominius Melior — Rasing Patsy Class: [Iron Swordsman] [C-rank] Level: 59 Mind: 69 Attunement: 178 Body: 160 Traits: Internal Mana Manipulation [C-rank]; Iron Swordsmanship [C-rank]; Weapons Handling [C-rank] Valerius lunged. It was a sloppy attack, overextended and off-balance, and the instructor raised his shield easily to block it. The grey sword in Valerius's hand blurred.

A sound like a giant mosquito buzzed through the arena, and the blade struck the steel rim of the shield, sliding through the metal as if it were wet clay. The top half of the shield fell into the sand, the cut edge glowing cherry-red from friction heat. The instructor stumbled back, dropping the ruined equipment, wide-eyed with surprise. Since the man had more than ten levels over Valerius, this was not the expected outcome, but it couldn't be denied that he was the winner.

"Again!" Valerius shouted, thrusting the humming blade at the man.

"Fetch another! That one was brittle!" Orion focused on the blade. Lucina had made it out to be the cause of the scion's quick rise, and he could see why she thought that was the case. [Hypotheticism] got to work, yet he didn't find much to go off. The blade was well-made, obviously using magical means, but he couldn't sense specific enchantments on it, nor did it share the anti-magic properties the Silence could impart. Yet, it had done something.

"I can't find active magic," Orion murmured, leaning closer.

"It seems fully mechanical. The blade was vibrating at a frequency high enough to cut through steel on contact, so there has to be a source, but I can't sense it."

"Is it them again?" Pauline asked softly.

"It might be," he replied, thoughtful.

"This is definitely unlike anything I've seen employed in the Magocracy, but then again, I've not yet examined dwarven crafts, and the Ironwood Sentinels are also said to wield strange weapons." Still, it was a unique weapon and certainly deserved more scrutiny, especially given whose hands it had fallen into. He was about to step forward when a shadow fell over him.

"You're new," a voice purred from behind. Orion turned to find a young woman standing entirely too close. She was undeniably striking, with the same blonde hair as Valerius but softer features. Her intricate gown complemented her look, and she watched him with the hungry intensity of a cat spotting a canary.

"And you have very pretty eyes, too," she said, stepping even closer, fingers brushing the lapel of his robe.

"I saw you at the gate. Very dramatic. I'm Leticia. Valerius is my brother." Orion stiffened, taking a polite but firm step back.

"Orion. A pleasure." The girl was several years older than his current body, which was all kinds of wrong, and far too young to interest the older part of him. Even if he were willing to seek that kind of companionship—which he wasn't—she would not have been in his strike zone.

"Orion," she said, rolling the name around her mouth.

"You look like you need a drink. The sparring is so barbaric. Why don't you join me in the private box? We have imported wine and much better entertainment." Pauline let out a sound that was suspiciously like a choked laugh. Orion met her eyes. She was beautiful, wealthy, and clearly used to getting what she wanted.

"No, thank you," he said, his tone flat.

"I'm here to observe the techniques, not to socialize. Excuse me." He turned his back on her and refocused on the arena, hoping she'd get the message. If he had to spell it out, she'd be humiliated. For a second, there was silence. Then, a sharp intake of breath.

"Well," Leticia huffed, voice rising in indignation.

"I suppose manners aren't taught in the Sanctum." She spun on her heel and marched straight down the stairs, right onto the sand of the arena, where she grabbed her brother's arm, whispering furiously in his ear while pointing a manicured finger directly at Orion. Valerius resisted her grip for a moment, though Orion noticed that he wasn't having much success, until she added something, and he looked up, his eyes locking onto Orion. He pushed his sister gently aside and stalked toward the edge of the ring.

"You there!" Valerius shouted, raising the grey sword.

"The one in the alchemist's coat! My sister tells me you insulted her honor." Orion sighed, adjusting his glasses.

"I declined a drink."

"Who would dare dismiss a Melior?!" Valerius spat.

"And you stand there, still unrepentant. I can see it in your eyes. You think you're better than this just because you come from the Sanctum? You think we do not know what witches think of their men?" He gestured to the others arrayed around the arena, all scions of noble houses, with a few nouveau riche noticeable only thanks to their overcompensating clothes. All of them had stopped what they were doing and were focused on him. Welp, so much for subtlety.

"Come down here, little boy. Let's see if your Sanctum magic can hold up against true power."

"He's baiting you," Pauline warned.

"But if you refuse, he'll claim victory, and your honor will be stained. This might be a good opportunity to study him better." Orion gave a shallow nod. He could see as much. It was interesting to see that the nobles hadn't missed his allegiance to the Sanctum, unlike the guards, but considering the coven's fame, it was no wonder that they didn't believe him to be a big shot. In their eyes, he might as well have been a perfect target to take out their frustrations.

They lived in the shadows of a much greater power, constantly forced to bow to it, yet still allowed enough space to think themselves superior. And Pauline had covered her medallion again. The instructors seemed nervous enough to have realized this wasn't a good idea for anyone, but Orion didn't intend to give them the time to smooth things out. He pushed with his feet, activating [Flight], and gently floated down into the arena, much to the surprise of the spectators.

"I accept," Orion said calmly. Yet their murmurs were quelled when Valerius flicked his sword, and it began humming again.

"At least you're not a coward."