Merlin sat at the window of his carriage, his gaze fixed on the passing-by white scenery, their train rolling through the border crossing without stopping, having priority clearance given to it ahead of time. It wasn’t a big nor a long ride, only consisting of two carriages, one for the squad of soldiers, the other for Merlin, who was sitting opposite Pion at the back. The journey to Aldrim had been uneventful so far, but Pion’s thoughts were anything but calm. He was here to protect one of the key figures of Avalon, even if Merlin himself was a mage and capable of great things. Their mission, while outwardly straightforward, held a layer of complexity that required precision, cunning, and a touch of theatricality, as Merlin put it, which Pion was unsure if he could pull off. Although he was given no actual instructions on what to do or say… Merlin mentioned that their performance would be vital. Maybe that is why he was so nervous, wishing he would be back in the Pass, killing monsters instead. He watched as Merlin straightened his Prime Minister’s waistband, the golden threads glinting faintly in the sunlight. Once again, he was yawning and stretching, looking to be in a pretty good mood, not showing any nervousness on his face at all. Watching him, Pion's eyes moved to the staff leaning next to the Minister. It was the symbol of his rank within Avalon and, through it, Merlin’s authority as a mage just as much as a weapon for his magic. Anyone seeing it would be immediately able to tell… Avalon had sent a mage to discuss whatever there was to discuss.

On the other hand, Merlin was doing the same, chuckling to himself and monitoring Pion’s nervous body language while sitting across from him. Major Pion, from the outside, simply lounged in his seat with a practiced ease. However, Merlin knew the man’s sharp eyes missed nothing and that his mind was in overdrive with how much his eyes moved around, blinking irregularly. The soldiers accompanying them, all handpicked veterans, rode alongside them in the first carriage, wearing their armors, helmets sealed on their heads, looking like a group of identical killing machines, especially with their skull-shaped faceplates. Each of them was a veteran who not only served Avalon since the start but survived the winters in the Pass and the siege of Lothlia. They were the unmistakable message to Atuvia’s leadership that Avalon was not bluffing…

The train, after riding within Atuvia for half an hour, began rolling past watchtowers and sentry posts manned by Atuvian guards. Merlin could sense that they watched the train pass by with suspicion as their arrival was on very short notice. His Sovereign had requested, or more like, declared in a letter that this diplomatic meeting would happen. The Atuvians had little choice but to accept and prepare for a meeting. Merlin smiled faintly, remembering how it felt to send the message over and how Avalon finally showed that they can be tough when they must. That, of course, had been the point of it. He agreed with the decision that if they only appear soft, people may forget things and try to take advantage of what they are offering them.

"We’re nearing Aldrim," Pion spoke up, breaking the silence, looking out of the window, and seeing the city approaching on the horizon. His tone was casual, but Merlin caught the slight tension in his jaw.

“Relax, Major. Leave the talking to me; you just need to look menacing.” Merlin chuckled.

“What’s your read on how they’ll receive us?”

“With guarded smiles and polite hostility,” Merlin answered, adjusting his gloves and watching the train slow down. “Alvor and his son are pragmatists, but their influence is not absolute. They have been quiet since they returned, at least on the diplomatic front. They probably had no actual progress besides what they achieved originally. Well, That is not entirely the case…”

“What do you mean, Prime Minister?”

“We received contact from his son and his newly established group, the Explorers. They seem promising, but Alvor and the older generation… Nothing concrete yet.”

“Trouble?” Pion asked, his face hardening.

“Nah.” Merlin shrugged, waving a hand, “Some of the guild members for sure will see us as a threat. Others, as an opportunity. Both are correct. I’m just here, following the script of our Sovereign.”

“Which you have still not shared with me.” Pion chuckled.

“Not yet.” Merlin nodded, “We have a mage within the city, and until we know his powers, it is best if you know just what you must to complete the mission. There are spells for the mind, and we can’t be careful enough! I can protect the information in my head against such cases.”

“I understand.” He nodded, agreeing fully and no longer asking any other questions.

…

….

……

Getting off the train, Merlin stretched with another moan, cracking his back while watching Aldrim’s gates stand open ahead of their group. Scanning the walls, he couldn’t help but compare them to Avalon's own, but they paled in comparison. Even if they were adorned with the crest of the Goldlight Guild, made out of actual gold, shining in the sun that was already melting the snow, it was… only second-rate. At least in Merlin’s mind. The city inside bustled with activity despite the still present chill, its narrow streets teeming with merchants, dockworkers, and guild enforcers marked by their golden sashes. The convoy, now traveling on foot, approached confidently and drew stares and murmurs from everyone noticing them. Some even screamed a little when watching the massive, bulky soldiers, wearing skull-faced helmets, looking down on them with glowing, red eyes. Avalon’s delegation was something they had never experienced, and even the local guards spoke with terror in their voices while showing them the way into the city.

To Merlin’s surprise, the delegation meeting them within the city was led by Alvor’s son, Orin. The young man quickly overcame his initial surprise and fear, putting on a polished demeanor as he stepped forward to greet Merlin with ample decorum. Behind him, a group of other youngsters and hired guards stood stiffly, their faces ranging from wary to outright fear.

“Prime Minister Merlin,” Orin said with a deep bow, his voice respectful. “A pleasure to welcome you to Aldrim. My father extends his regrets for being unable to meet you personally. He is attending to urgent matters within the guild and gathering the other Chairmen to host you. He asks for forgiveness as your visit was... unexpected. And sudden.”

“I know.” Merlin smiled, returning the greeting. “The pleasure is mine, Chairman Orin.”

“Oh, no, no, I am not a Chairman.” He said hurriedly, but Merlin simply shook his head, glancing over the others, knowing they had to be from the ‘Explorers’ group, all who followed Orin's lead.

“Maybe. Maybe just not yet.” He smiled, explaining nothing.

“…” Orin's lips twitched faintly, not knowing what that really meant. Should he be worried? Yet, in just a flash, pressing all those thoughts down, he recovered quickly. “If you follow me, accommodations have been prepared for you and your entourage.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Merlin simply nodded, stepping forward. Behind him, Pion and the soldiers kept their formation up, their movements synchronized and matching each other perfectly, making the youngsters think that maybe under those helmets, there were no humans at all... Only machines driven by steam.

…

….

…..

Hours later, Merlin sat in the Goldlight Guild’s grand council chamber, a space that felt simultaneously imposing and antiquated. He liked how they built and designed it, being the first place he didn’t think Avalon could have built better. Around him, guild representatives, delegates from the hundreds of smaller merchant groups in them, and separate, wealthy individuals filled the room, their expressions ranging from interest to outright skepticism. Alvor, having finally arrived, presided over the meeting from a raised seat, being the linchpin between Atuvia and Avalon.

“Your arrival is…unexpected,” Alvor began, his voice carrying a bit of uncertainty, thinking that maybe the Sovereign got bored of waiting for their answer. “What brings Avalon’s Prime Minister personally to our city?”

“My mission,” Merlin said as he rose, his movements calm and slow, his presence becoming more commanding the straighter his back became. “Avalon does not make a move lightly, Chairman Alvor and neither do I. The Sovereign has tasked me with a matter of utmost importance—one that concerns the future stability of both our nations. Of the whole region, including the Empires in the south and west.”

“The whole region?” A murmur rippled through the room, hearing him speak. Alvor raised a hand for silence, using the few precious seconds to try and come up with anything. He knew Avalon would go against Ishillia… but the fact their Prime Minister was here was making the hair on his back stand up. “Speak plainly, Prime Minister Merlin. We may be merchants, but we also value straightforwardness.”

“I see.” Merlin smiled while he inclined his head. “Avalon intends to move against Ishillia this year. To strike decisively to end their rule over the region and to restore Mirian Ishillia to the Empire's throne. To do so, for our plans to work, we require access through Atuvian territory, specifically the routes leading into the former Kingdom of Scorc.”

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices before he could even finish. Merlin let the noise wash over him, maintaining his smile and his calm expression, which looked almost amused. To him, it really was, and he was enjoying watching how everyone understood why the sudden show of strength. Finally, after minutes of trying, Alvor’s voice managed to cut through the chaos.

“Quiet!” he shouted, attempting to calm down the other Chairmen present, who were trying to say their own piece. It took him great effort to force the hall back into something manageable. “You ask much of us, Prime Minister. To grant such access would entangle us in your war.”

“Not a war, Chairman Alvor,” Merlin said smoothly. “Think of it as… liberation. Ishillia’s reign has stifled this part of the continent for centuries. We are going to end it. Imagine a future where your caravans no longer fear Ishillian tariffs or interference on a whim, confiscating your cargo.”

“…” Alvor leaned back, his expression unreadable, gathering his strength to ask the question everyone had on their mind. “And if we refuse?”

“Well…” Merlin’s smile sharpened. “Then we will move our troops over your territory without your permission.”

“WHAT?!” One of the representatives, a stout man with a golden sash marking him as part of the Goldlight Guild, probably someone who was not a Chairman but someone responsible for whatever military the guild had, stood, his face redder than the sunset. “You speak of liberation, yet would just march armies into OUR territory?! What assurances do we have that this move won’t embroil us in a conflict we cannot afford? What if your soldiers suddenly decide to stay?!”

“I understand your fears.” Merlin’s eyes flicked to the speaker, his voice soft, but there was no warmth in them. “We could do that. We could march into your city and conquer it in a day. Yet we did not. We are not conquerors, Chairmen of Atuvia." He continued, turning back to Alvor and the rest, "We are here to negotiate the price of our troops moving over your borders.”

“YOU–!” The man gasped, just as many others, but before someone else could speak, another voice rose, this time from a representative of the Quickfeet Guild.

“And what price does Avalon want to pay for our cooperation? I am not stupid enough to think you are willing to pay what we may ask for.”

“…” Merlin turned to face the man fully, his staff tapping lightly against the stone floor. “A fair question. Avalon seeks your blessing for the passage of its armies and logistical support during the campaign. In return, Atuvia will be granted privileged trade agreements with Avalon and access to the technologies and innovations that have been created within our borders. It would be much easier for you to finish the copy of our tractors that way.” He added, his lips turning into a smile, “It would be a partnership, not subjugation.”

“That…” The representative faltered, feeling his face go red, but was saved as Alvor leaned forward, his expression hardening.

“You make it sound so simple, Prime Minister. But such decisions are not made lightly. You ask us to gamble the stability of Atuvia on Avalon’s word alone. We want our cooperation to go on and prosper, but we don’t want to get involved in your war!”

“You already are.” Merlin’s gaze hardened, his tone shifting from diplomatic to commanding. There was no more smiling, and his eyes were akin to those of an emperor. “Chairman Alvor, I speak not just as Avalon’s Prime Minister but as a man who understands the stakes better than most. Avalon is asking you because we respect your sovereignty and your people’s courage. The fact that they are trying to embrace change. We approve of your young! Do not mistake our silence when you try to imitate our devices for weakness. We sold them to you, knowing you would try, but we expected you lot to contact us openly, asking for the blueprints to further strengthen our cooperation, not to try and do it by yourselves!” He snorted, looking over the people in the hall, “Doesn’t matter. I am not here because of that. I am here to tell you the facts! We will move against Ishillia, with or without your blessing. If you choose to stand with us, you will share in the rewards of victory. If you choose to hesitate, you may find Avalon’s armies moving through Atuvian territory regardless, and after our victory, your indecisiveness will be remembered.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of Merlin’s words turning heavy in the air. Alvor’s jaw tightened, but he did not immediately respond, exchanging glances with the others. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do, even if he himself was open to the idea… he knew he had to represent the others when speaking. He couldn’t agree to it openly just yet. Merlin let the moment linger before softening his tone, his face relaxing, but his smile did not return.

“Chairman Alvor, gentlemen, Avalon seeks allies, not enemies. Let us build a future together, one where Atuvia thrives alongside Avalon, free from the shadow of Ishillia. The decision is yours, but know this: we have a timeline set out before us. We are not going to wait for long.”

…

….

…..

That night, Merlin thought about what happened and couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling proud as he walked the halls of his quarters, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The meeting had gone as he expected. The Atuvians were wary, but they had little choice but to consider his Sovereign’s proposal. They would deliberate, argue, and make plans, and in time, the information he brought forward would undoubtedly reach Ishillian ears, courtesy of their spy within the city.

Merlin’s real work began now when the city slept, and the rats were squeaking outside on the streets, passing on the news. He withdrew a small, intricate compass from his coat. Its needle was made out of CC, glowing faintly with a bluish aura, charged by his magic. It was a tool of his own design he came up with, attuned to the faint magical traces left by active spells and concealed presences of any magical device.

“Let’s find our elusive little rat,” he murmured, the corners of his lips curling upward.

“My men already noticed multiple hidden spells within the city, probably prepared for a getaway if he gets exposed.” Major Pion emerged from the shadows, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “I gave the order to avoid them at all costs, to not spook our target. We are ready when you are, Prime Minister.”

Merlin nodded, his eyes twinkling in the dark, filled with a type of childish excitement he simply couldn’t get enough of. He already knew this would give him ample inspiration for a new book… The Rathunt. The Ishillian mage was here, hiding among the multiple halls and maze-like corners of Aldrim. By the time he left this city, Avalon would not only have its answer but also a name and face attached to the real target of his visit.