Interesting enough, the process is not spatial like teleportation, neither the process of temporal transmission.

The process is similar to the word "I think, so am I"

Scripts etched onto the right side of Excalibur. Suspected to be made by "The Author".

Intermittently Adam switched between being conscious and unconscious. The number of times he had drifted on and off, he had no idea but he had since left his previous position after the relocation.

Hands lifted him into the safety of a carriage, and he felt something being stuffed down his throat thrice, something liquid.It actually managed to stabilize his condition and also brought him deeper into slumber. The next time he came to, it was to the sound of battles.Though it was brief. From his neck down till his foot, he felt nothing. Even his telekinesis felt as if it was moving through sludge when he tried using it.

He had never felt so helpless in his life. At least his caretakers were kind enough to not jostle the carriage too much. He barely felt any movement.

Occasionally he would hear a voice telling him something, although it sounded as if from a block away, it was being repeated over and over again.

The next time he came to, he recovered enough to hear the contents of the voice. It was Ikar letting him know that they were almost at Reinhert Stronghold. Also that his injuries were too critical, but could be healed. What he didn't say was the price.

Despite how relieving the words were to his ears, what he was contemplating was something entirely different.

What happens when his objective is completed. What happens when he gets to Reinhert Stronghold.

He itched to find out.

Ikar Torum, first born of count Cerullum and lady Matilda of house Cadill, heir to the Dusk peninsula.

Count Cerullum went missing when Ikar was seven, that was when his uncle took responsibility for him. His mother on the other hand was not on the same continent.

Rage would be an understatement to his feelings at this moment and rightly so. He looked pale enough to compete with a moon hare and he was thoroughly drained of essence that he had to resort to primed mysteries sealed in low cromine amber to deal with the random beast on the rest of their journey after being deposited some kilometers to Reinhert Stronghold and high grade potions to fix the backlash of reaching far above his station. Despite the same potion grade being applied to his comrade in arms. There was no noticeable improvement, save from stopping the injuries being aggravated.

The price to heal him would be immense, his uncle might not be able to bear the burden and he didn't want to resort to asking his grandfather. That man would expect his aid paid duly in both tasks and rune gold within a specific period of time with no leeway at all. The Duke is such a demanding man.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The lack of proper information was to be blamed. There is always a prediction by the tower of insight on some important routes and other things. This time, what they encountered differed from the prediction given.

A mythical fiend was the one crossing the plains, the probability so absurd that it happens only once or twice in a thousand years. What ridiculously stupid luck.

He was suspicious of a hand meddling in the information he got. Who could actually be targeting house Torum?

He had no answer to that question. He'd left home at a very young age, unaware of the dark politics going on among the nobles. Now this turbulent wave of schemes by the nobles wants to drag him under. There would be redress when he get back.

From atop his mount, he glanced at his carriage, which ferried the stranger. Now a friend, he would have become a memory to be forgotten if not for him. He wouldn't forget this good deed.

Very soon they arrived at a city gate, towering walls as high as skyscrapers. Etched in glyphs and bright burning runes. Each glyph array told a story, a story of a race's fight for territory and survival.

The gates pitch black majestic horrors of construction. Spiked with thick metals of all types. The spikes had no order to them with dried blood and ichor giving it a desolate aura. It's mere presence spoke of carnage and destruction, of screaming souls and sacrificed lives.

The gates of Rohn, known for their living characteristics and ability to weaken and demoralise foes. Whose food is the blood and soul of its enemies.

Reinhert Stronghold had the oldest living gate across the kingdom of man. It had never been breached, not even once.

Guards in heavy armor, armed with giant weapons manned the top of the walls. Eyes behind helmets scrutinized the long stretch of caravan for irregularities, finding none. The head guard requested, his voice resounding like thunder.

"Verifications"

Captain Jarce came forth on his mount, retrieving a scroll from a leather satchel strapped to the horse. As he broke the seal and opened the scroll, the text on the scroll lit up in a crimson glow.

The head guard checked a long scroll held on his free hands, a line of text glowed crimson on it, confirming the authenticity of the verification.

The massive maw of a gate swung open silently, an impossible feat for a tool that large. When it was wide enough to allow the caravan passage, it stopped.

As the caravan passed the gate into the stronghold, Ikar felt something scan through each and every one, even he wasn't excluded from the invisible screening. Likely set up by a very high leveled Mystikos. There are always those that sought to sneak in uninvited after all, an extra bit of caution is not unwarranted.

Once in the safety of the stronghold, a massive city of bustling prosperity and clamoring traders greeted their view. The cacophony of wares, man, and foreign races occupied their view with just barely a path for carriages to pass through.

After getting to a section in the city where the noise is subdued, Ikar made the car stop. It was time he feed Adam another potion. The effect of the previous medication would soon be gone and he could not have him succumb to his injuries. Not now when they were close to a greater relocation portal, a symbol of the stronghold being it's portals that connects to almost everywhere in the kingdom of man.

When he got to the carriage, he was shocked. The fur blanket was still in place as if embracing a human form, but the one being embraced was nowhere to be found.

The absurdity of the situation froze his thinking faculties for fifteen full seconds before launching into a laughing fit.

"Authors and their eccentricities." He mumbled, just remembering Adam mentioned his destination to be at the stronghold.

But the question still persists, how was he able to move in his state, all without alerting anyone.

Could a Author do that? He had no clue of what they were capable of.