The next morning, we began preparing for our departure from Lageta. It was a bittersweet moment; while I had enjoyed the city’s rich culture and architecture, our mission awaited us. Our next stop was finally the place where we were tasked with escorting Tadeos. Until now, we hadn’t seen much of him. Despite our unit’s role, his protection was primarily the responsibility of the equites, the elite cavalry force personally trusted by Nadea for this assignment. Mannes was technically in charge of our unit, but Tadeos was kept close to the equites, as per Nadea’s direct orders.
If anything went wrong along the journey, it was clear that the equites would prioritize saving Tadeos, not us. Though we traveled together, Tadeos remained isolated within their ranks, shielded from us by a wall of armor and caution. He rode with them during the day and, when we reached towns or villages, he was swiftly handed over to the garrison for further protection. The equites even handled his food and lodging, keeping him under constant surveillance. The man might as well have been a prisoner rather than someone we were supposed to escort.
It was hard not to feel uneasy about the whole arrangement. As far as I could tell, no one from our group had spoken a single word to Tadeos since we’d begun this journey. It was like traveling alongside a ghost—someone who existed in our periphery but who remained entirely inaccessible. His food was different, and his accommodation was separate. And though we were technically on the same side, it felt as if an invisible line had been drawn between us and him, enforced by the equites with an unspoken but palpable tension.
That sense of unease lingered in my mind throughout the journey. One night, as we sat around a campfire, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I shared my theory with Mannes and Cassius, the two men whose judgment I trusted most. “What if Nadea is planning to kill Tadeos on this journey?” I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to stir any suspicions. “What if she’s planning to blame us? We’re the perfect scapegoats. He’s been kept far away from us, and there has been barely any contact. If something happens to him, who’s going to believe that we didn’t have a hand in it?”
Mannes stared into the fire, deep in thought, while Cassius scratched his chin. After a long pause, Cassius shook his head slowly. “I don’t think Nadea has any reason to do that. Tadeos isn’t a threat to her—not politically, at least. He’s not a competitor for power or influence. It wouldn’t make sense for her to assassinate him.” Mannes nodded in agreement, but I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
“Still,” Mannes said after a moment, “we’d be fools not to stay wary. You’re right about one thing: we need to be cautious, even of our troops. We’re not the priority here. If something were to go wrong, I doubt the equites would be too concerned with saving our necks.”
We agreed to keep our guard up and watch our backs. Even though Cassius and Mannes didn’t fully buy into my theory, we had enough suspicion to warrant vigilance. After all, in times of war and shifting alliances, trust was a rare commodity.
The road from Lageta to Charas was long and winding. The terrain shifted gradually, the rugged mountains and thick forests of the western Empire giving way to more open landscapes as we approached Valandian territory. That first night on the road, we set up camp in a dense wooded area, hoping the cover of trees would offer us some protection. It wasn’t just bandits we were worried about; Battanian raiding parties were known to operate in these parts, and the last thing we wanted was to be caught off-guard in the dark.
We positioned our camp strategically, choosing a spot that gave us clear sight lines in case of an ambush. The men were tense, and rightly so. We knew that traveling through these contested regions was always a gamble, and the thick silence of the woods did little to calm our nerves. Each of us took turns keeping watch throughout the night, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Every rustle of leaves or crack of a branch set my heart racing, but by some stroke of luck, the night passed without incident. No bandits, no raiders. Just the eerie stillness of the forest.
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The next morning, we continued our march toward Charas, with the Valandian border growing closer by the hour. As we crossed the frontier, the change in the landscape was immediately apparent. The architecture here was different—distinctly Valandian, with its towering stone buildings and churches. The influence of the West was clear, and it reminded me of the architecture I had seen in certain parts of the Empire’s western regions. Unlike the sleek, functional structures of the Empire, the Valandian buildings had a more austere and heavy feel to them.
We passed through several villages on our way, and each one seemed to embody the distinctive Valandian style, which reminded me of the traditional British countryside. The homes were built of heavy stone, with sloping thatched roofs and sturdy wooden beams, much like the cottages of the British Isles. The air was thick with history, and the architecture gave the impression that these villages had weathered centuries of change and would continue to stand for centuries more. There was a certain charm to it, a blend of timelessness and strength as if the stones themselves had stories to tell. It felt both foreign and familiar, as though I were walking through a forgotten chapter of history from some distant, parallel realm.
By mid-afternoon, the outline of Charas appeared on the horizon. The city sat atop a gently rolling hill, its imposing walls and tall, spired towers reaching skyward like the Gothic cathedrals I’d seen in paintings of old England. As we drew closer, the bustling activity around the city’s gates became evident—merchants, soldiers, and travelers, all moving about with purpose. Charas was one of the key cities in Valandia, a place where commerce and military prowess intersected, and it wore its importance like an old British town known for its naval legacy. The cobblestone streets and meticulously maintained buildings hinted at a culture steeped in both tradition and discipline.
Upon entering the city, I was immediately struck by how different it felt from the Empire. The Valandians had their customs, their way of dressing, and their sense of order. Much like the British with their emphasis on regalia and ceremony, the Valandian soldiers stood at attention in their well-tailored uniforms, polished armor reflecting the midday sun. The city's architecture also spoke volumes—tall, narrow houses with ornate wooden carvings and leaded windows lining the streets, all reminiscent of Tudor or Elizabethan England. The streets themselves were wider and cleaner than in the cities of the Empire, with grand public squares at regular intervals where townsfolk gathered for market days or public events.
It felt as if we had crossed more than just a physical border; we had entered a new cultural realm. Valandia’s spirit was both reserved and proud, like the British. Their cities were built with a sense of permanence and order as if each stone had been laid with the future in mind. Even their mannerisms reflected this—a stiff upper lip, so to speak, with a hint of propriety that reminded me of tales I'd heard of the old British aristocracy. The people here moved with purpose but carried an air of calm control as if no challenge could disrupt their daily rhythm.
The marketplace was a sight to behold—bustling with vendors selling everything from textiles and jewelry to exotic foods from distant lands. The smells of roasted meats filled the air, blending with the more pungent scents of leather and spices. The Valandian merchants, were shrewd and articulate, negotiating prices with a politeness that belied their sharp business acumen. There was a certain refinement to their dealings, an unspoken code of conduct that seemed to elevate even the simplest transactions.
Charas had a sense of dignity to it, not just from its architecture but from its people. Much like the cities that had thrived on trade and defense, Charas seemed to have built itself up through centuries of careful planning and strategic thinking. The city’s layout was orderly, with neatly arranged streets and clear divisions between its commercial, residential, and military sectors. It was the kind of place where traditions ran deep, where the weight of history was always present but never burdensome.