CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Troubles of the Shire
----------------------------------------
Some days after establishing his duel with Ser Anthony, Bram, Rowan, and the three Earthers arrived at the city of Bellen on the northern tip of Bastille Shire.
Located on the outskirts of the Red Forest, the great woodland realm bordering central and northern Lotharin, Bellen was an important city that was both a focus of trade and a gateway between the north and center.
Getting into Bellen wasn’t difficult as the walled city hadn’t yet yielded to the rule of the northern nobles. Although their influence could be felt within its walls through the tensions growing between locals and their northern visitors such as the quarrel happening at this very moment only a few yards past the city gates.
“What’re you looking at?” growled a gray-bearded, barrel-chested man in a fur jacket.
“I-I’m not looking at anything, Ser,” replied a sandy-haired boy with a bag of firewood slung over his back. “I-I was just minding my own business…o-on my way back to the smithy…”
“You calling me a liar then?” the gray-bearded man growled. “I saw you eyeing my mate’s purse just now, bas—”
A great black hart pulled to a stop between them, forcing the gray-bearded man to back away or risk getting trampled on. Sitting astride this magnificent beast, his face half-veiled in a mercenary’s hood, was the seventh prince of Atlan.
“What the bloody hell—”
Bram spoke no words, but the daggers in his eyes revealed the seething rage that seemed ever-present underneath his usually calm and fun demeanor.
The gray-bearded fellow wasn’t a small man either, but he couldn’t help shutting up at the sight of Bram’s hostility. Even with his lack of talent in sorcery, the prince’s physique alone made him an intimidating encounter with anyone who didn’t know his real identity and saw him only as the mercenary he appeared to be.
Yes, Bram wasn’t pretending to be a bard for this adventure. He had opted for the more conventional mask of a mercenary because he’d reasoned that much of his work in Bellen would require a more rough-handed touch than the one used to strum his lute.
“Oi,” a short-haired woman with a scar on her left cheek pulled on the gray-bearded man’s arm from behind, “now’s not the time to start trouble…remember?”
She wore a similar fur jacket as the gray-bearded man. The noble crest on her left sleeve was of a pair of blue clouds, marking her as a member of House von Galen’s forces. The two others standing behind her wore the same uniform as well.
“I wasn’t looking for no trouble.” the gray-bearded man nodded toward Bram. “That bloke’s the one who tried to trample me.”
The scarred woman eyed Bram warily, and he returned her gaze with a cool eye.
“We’re soldiers of—”
“Baron Archibald von Galen,” Bram finished for her. “What of it?”
She seemed taken aback by his brazenness, and an increased wariness flashed on her face.
Bram understood.
Most mercenaries would’ve sheathed their hostility at the mention of a noble patron. At least this was true for those without patrons themselves.
“Baron Archibald doesn’t rule this city…”
Bram made a show of gazing back toward Bellen’s gate which was a good forty yards away behind them. Unfurled upon its high walls were banners of a red pinecone on a field of yellow.
“This is Leyen land…”
When his golden-eyed gaze returned to the scarred woman’s face, Bram’s hand went to the pommel of his sword.
As if on cue, a second hart rode up beside Bram’s. Its rider was a tall, fair-skinned man in a brown padded jacket whose shoulders were nearly as wide as the prince’s. Like Bram’s entrance, Chris spoke no words, but a pair of deep blue eyes underneath bushy brows gazed intently down on the scarred woman as well.
Mistaking these two riders as House Leyen’s men, the scarred woman raised her hands in peace. “We’re not looking for trouble…”
With a nod of her chin, the other soldiers of von Galen, including the gray-bearded man, began walking away. However, before she followed them, the scarred woman tossed a furled scroll up at Bram.
“The baron pays much more for strong-armed mercenaries than House Leyen can,” she promised. “Come find us at the Red Pine Inn if you’re interested.”
With one last wary look at Bram and Chris, the scarred woman chased after her companions who’d joined the throng of people moving deeper into the city’s interior.
Bram peeked at the contents of the scroll and smiled. “We may take you up on that offer.”
While thoughts of infiltrating the baron’s forces played in his mind, a russet hart trotted over to his other side, its rider veiled by a deep emerald hood.
“You ask me not to make a scene”—Rowan sounded amused—“and yet here you are playing the errant knight.”
At her words, Bram glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of the sandy-haired boy the gray-bearded man accosted. The lad had probably escaped during the stand-off.
“He didn’t even bother to thank you,” Rowan commented.
“I didn’t do it for gratitude,” Bram said as he steered Renfri back to where Hajime was struggling with his hart on the opposite side of the road. “I only—”
“You wanted to blow off steam,” Rowan finished his thought.
Bram sighed but nodded.
Over the last few days, the northern nobles visiting Bastille had begun to make noise. They didn’t challenge him overtly, but Baron Archibald and Vicomte Henry had started a campaign to gain supporters among the highborn of Bastille to create an opposition against Bram’s rule in the center. This wasn’t difficult to achieve since many central nobles already thought poorly of their new governor, including the eorls of the three shires bordering Bastille to the south, east, and west. Meanwhile, the two lords’ men had also started causing trouble among the locals of Bastille much like what they were doing here in Bellen.
Bram’s patience was growing thin, though he stayed his hand because he didn’t yet have the strength to achieve a decisive victory against the North.
“Patience,” Rowan reminded him. “Our time will come.”
“I know…” Bram turned to face their companion next. “Thanks for the assistance, Chris.”
“Unlike Bridge, I wouldn’t have been any help in a fight,” Chris nodded to the ghostly blue window floating close to his face. “It’s been a few days but I’m still getting used to all of this.”
As the Loom’s chief administrator, Bram was privy to the statuses of all those who joined the great undertaking. It’s how he knew that Chris had chosen to become a ‘Squire’, one of the only two beginner jobs the Loom offered to the otherworlders besides Hajime’s arcane novice.
While Chris rode alongside him, Bram observed that the Texan had lost much of the gauntness that marred his face when they met several nights ago. He thought this was good because it meant Chris was enjoying his time on Aarde enough that his health was recovering from overworking in his former job. Bram hoped all the otherworlders they summoned in the future would feel the same sense of rejuvenation. It would burden his conscience less if they did.
“Let Aarde be a place of healing as well as excitement.” Bram mused aloud. Then, guiding Renfri back to where Hajime and Bridget waited, he added, “Let’s move on…the adventure awaits.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
----------------------------------------
Later, after they’d spent some time exploring the main thoroughfare, with the otherworlders enjoying their first glimpse of a city that wasn’t Bastille, Bram’s party of five entered a less prominent district of Bellen close to its northern wall. It was dirtier and poorer than what they’d seen of the rest of Bellen and worse off than Bastille’s Lowtown.
The buildings on both sides of the pothole-ridden cobblestone street seemed in dire need of repairs. The paint on houses was chipped, and their walls were flooded by graffiti. Storefronts were bordered up, their shutters closed due to a lack of business. Thankfully, the smell wasn’t too bad because the sewers underneath the city seemed well-maintained.
“We saw signs of poverty back on the main streets too, but this is worse,” Bridget observed.
She and her otherworlder friends were eyeing a pair of urchins on the other side of the street. They each had oily, matted hair and faces streaked with dirt. Their clothes were frayed too, with one of the children, a little girl, missing a shoe.
“I…I want to help them,” Hajime said, his face crunched in concern. “Chris-senpai, can we spare some griffins?”
“Sure, we can give them griffins enough for a bite to eat, but I’m not sure we should…” Chris nodded toward a nearby alley where a gang of shady-looking locals were eyeing the party with hungry gazes. “I reckon someone will just steal the money from those kids once we’re out of sight.”
“Then I’ll give them food,” Hajime insisted.
He was about to turn his hart toward the other side of the street when Bridget grabbed its reins.
“I’ll take care of it,” she suggested. “It’s safer than you trying to ride over there and accidentally trampling them to death.”
Chris chuckled. “Good thinking.”
Bram, who’d been listening to their conversation, was glad that they who hailed from another world seemed eager to assist Lotharin’s citizens without him needing to goad them. However, he wasn’t certain that a well-meaning act of charity was the right way to aid those children.
Silently, he watched as Bridget approached the urchins with the rations Hajime had given her. They were wary of her at first, but the scent of fresh bread and dried beef jerky quickly won them over. Soon enough, the children were stuffing their faces with food, and the sight of their toothy smiles as they ate, the tears of gratitude pooling underneath sunken eyes, well, even Rowan seemed affected by this scene.
“It’s not enough…” Bram’s brow creased. “To truly aid the impoverished of this city, we need to deal with the source of Bellen’s troubles.”
“Is this a result of losing trade with the north?” Rowan asked.
Bram shook his head. “The north stopped trade only a short while ago, but Bellen’s decline started long before this.”
The prince knew the cause of the city’s growing poverty since he’d read about it in Ser Anthony’s report on the shire’s concerns. It was the same one he’d shared with Chris and Rowan the day he decided to use Bellen’s troubles to fund their great undertaking.
As a city built on the outskirts of the Red Forest, Bellen’s livelihood depended on the woodland realm. Their main trade was lumber taken from red pines, though fur, leather, and iron were resources abundant in the red forest too. Unfortunately, the dangers of the forest increased significantly these past ten months. To the point that the Leyen barony’s soldiers were no longer enough to protect the loggers, miners, or hunters who made their living there. Nor could the city guard effectively patrol and secure the southern half of the ‘Red Road’ that was the main thoroughfare between central and northern Lotharin.
“It’s not simply a problem of commerce, but also of security,” Bram finished.
“The Red Forest is ancient. It was here long before your Imperium’s birth,” Rowan recalled, her lips pursing slightly. “It holds many secrets — some quite dangerous — though such dangers are well-hidden or in deep slumber…”
“Secrets like yours?” Bram asked.
“There are no secrets like mine,” Rowan replied.
The prince couldn’t help noticing the fleeting melancholy in the trickster’s expression.
“Though I will admit that there are elements in the Red Forest, which, if awoken, might stir the great troubles you’ve mentioned,” she conceded.
“Yet another reason why we need to recruit champions from Earth…” Bram glanced over his shoulder at Hajime, who, though still struggling with his steed, was managing to keep pace with Chris and Bridget who’d returned from her good work of charity. “I’m looking forward to hearing your plans to ensure our great undertaking’s success.”
Chris, riding to Hajime’s left, reported, “Thanks to the money y’all invested in us, we’ve begun setting up our new gaming studio—”
“—which we’re calling ‘Trickster Studios’ by the way,” Bridget cut in.
“A clever name.” Smugness flashed on Rowan’s face. “I like it.”
“Of course, you would,” Bram replied.
“The name’s not set in stone yet,” Chris reminded them. “We’re still waiting to get the trademark for the brand and logo design. It might take a while. New York’s patent and trademark office is notoriously slow with these things.”
Seeing one of Rowan’s eyebrows twitching upward made Chris clear his throat.
“But, um, I’m sure we can ask them to prioritize our request,” he conceded. He then switched the topic to something less hazardous than irking a rebel trickster of legend. “On the bright side, with the boss’ investment secured in our new bank account, we’ve at least proven that financial trade is possible between worlds.”
A day after the Finance tool was created, just like the Loom had promised, once the two bank accounts were set up, Chris was able to exchange his promissory note with the Bank of Steel for ten gold griffins taken from the Lotharin Investment Fund. At the same time, the system confirmed to Bram that the thousand US dollars Chris had traded for those ten gold griffins had also been deposited to the then-unnamed studio’s new company account back on Earth after deducting the amount from Chris’ bank account.
This first successful trade inspired the prince to send an investment of wealth to Earth.
Using the Loom’s currency exchange tool, Bram had converted a vast amount of griffins into cryptocurrency, which, after the griffins’ digital equivalent arrived in Chris’ custodial wallet, the Texan then sold it for the money he would deposit into the company’s account.
Trained to foresee ‘game bugs’ in advance, Chris had informed his bank that the money—which he’d transferred in increments of a hundred thousand US dollars—was part of an investment made by an individual investor to fund their new game studio. This helped ensure that the fledgling business wouldn’t come under scrutiny from the IRS or other government institutions that were on watch for bad schemes like money laundering.
Here in the present, Chris ended his explanation with, “We’re alright for now, but we keep doing it this way and the Feds will notice, and they might start asking questions about where the money’s coming from.”
Based on their recent discussions about investments and RMTs, Bram had learned quite a bit about Earth’s banking system, which he thought was similar to how the Bank of Steel did business. So, it was with confidence that he said, “Your side will have to prepare receipts for any financial transactions and pay the appropriate taxes once the game launches. That’ll ensure legitimacy for most of our earnings.”
“That’s actually what we should do.” Chris couldn’t help sounding impressed. “When did you become a finance expert?”
Bram was still a teenager with little experience in worldly matters. Yet he’d arrived at the same conclusion the Texan had one second earlier.
“Trying to keep a failing kingdom afloat is giving me lots of practice with economics,” Bram answered, chuckling as he did.
“Heavy is he who wears the crown,” Chris replied, chuckling too. After a short while, he cleared his throat, and added, “Anyway, once the studio’s up and running, we’ll hire a team on our side that’ll work to integrate the Loom with the gear we’ve picked as the summoning beacon for y’all’s ritual over here.”
“That’ll be the Visionary II,” Bridget chimed in.
According to the otherworlders, the ‘Visionary II’ was a newer version of the device that Bram had seen in his vision that had sparked his original idea for the great undertaking.
“The Visionary II has a sleeker wireless visor with built-in high-end inside-out tracking and external object tracking. Its tactile gloves and supplementary body suit also offer better haptic feedback than the old second-gen VR tools,” Hajime explained.
These tech details sent confusion flitting across Bram’s and Rowan’s faces.
“What Hajime means is that the Visionary II’s hardware will help fool people into thinking this world isn’t real,” Bridget clarified.
“It will be the most realistic VR game they’ll ever play,” Hajime finished, smiling sheepishly.
“I see,” Bram lied.
Truly, the science of Earth was difficult for him to comprehend just as it was challenging for Chris and Bridget to understand the sorcery of Aarde.
“Let me know if you need more investment.” The prince’s gaze drifted to a tall spire further away. “It’s why we’ve come here instead of meeting with Bellen’s lord.”
Though Bellen was part of Bastille Shire’s territory, the barony of House Leyen were lords of the city. Their matriarch, Baroness Lena, was a loyalist who was once a sorcerer in direct service to the Sovereign. The prince wasn’t sure that loyalty extended to himself because rumors of Baroness Lena favoring visitors from the north had spread even to Bastille. Fortunately, Bram hadn’t come to Bellen to test House Leyen’s oath to the Sovereign’s blood. He and his companions were in the city for another purpose…recruitment.
The party rode their horses up to the gate at the end of the lane. Beyond it was a shabby-looking manse that had seen better days like the rest of the impoverished street.
“So, here’s where we shall find…” Rowan’s face turned contemplative. “…What did you call them again, Hajime?”
“Tech support,” Hajime answered.
Rowan pointed to the symbol engraved on the rusted wrought iron gate; three eight-pointed stars set in a triangle formation.
“From its sigil, I assume this coven can fulfill that need,” she said.
“C-Coven?!” Hajime glanced sideways at her, his eyes widening slightly.
Unlike Hajime, Bridget’s gaze was alight with curiosity. “You’re not talking about vampires, right?”
“Vampires?” Bram repeated.
Hearing this otherworlder mention the undead scourge sequestered in the faraway northern continent caused the prince’s brows to stitch together. He found it strange that a world without magic would know of vampires and covens. Though, from their expressions, Bram guessed that the meaning of a ‘coven’ on Earth differed greatly from what it meant here on Aarde.
“There’s no cause for fear,” he promised.
The prince then explained how a coven was not a place where evil gathered but one where sorcerers came together in search of enlightenment.
“It’s a gathering of those who follow the same arcane traditions and sorcerous practices, united as they are in the common purpose of solving specific arcane mysteries,” he explained.
“Which, based on their sigil…” Rowan pressed her hand against the rusted wrought iron gate which groaned at her touch. “…should be divination, shamanism, and—”
With a single flick of her wrist, the gate gave way to her prodigious strength, with one-half of it flying off its hinges and crashing onto the overgrown front lawn beyond.
“Summoning arts,” she finished.
Bram sighed. “I asked you not to cause a scene.”
As the front door of the manse flew open, with several people in bright green robes rushing out of it, their hands glowing with the telltale sparks of magic, Rowan flashed Bram an impish grin.
“I’ve simply wrung the bell, My Prince,” she replied teasingly. “Now, shall we introduce ourselves?”