Shal’anar was a mountain city. By that, I didn’t mean it was backed against a mountain, like Zarua; this place was carved out of the mountain.

Great, twisting spires rose from the city’s platform, which overlooked grassy hills and massive vineyards, a great forest to the north seemingly shrouded in darkness.

Structures sprawled in no particular pattern, rough overhangs sheltering them from the elements. Each was a single lump of smooth rock, shaped into a building and carved to perfection, the dimensions so uniform it hurt my eyes.

The sun beat down on us, stuffy air having me sweating just seconds after emerging from the portal. Here, the people were a little rough-hewn, their clothing loose, thin, and pragmatic, their skin bronzed by constant exposure to this wilting heat. I whistled.

Idly, I wondered just how far Ruler View could zoom. I’d had it focused on specific areas during combat before, but would it work outside of battle? Attempting it, I discovered that while I could see the city on its own, it was lacking any kind of labelling system that would point me toward the Duke’s manor.

Really, what was I expecting?

Fortunately, I wasn’t at a total loss. Hana’s only visit to Shal’anar, as a child, was too long ago for her to remember, but a bit of educated guesswork let her point me toward an area.

At the city’s highest point, a rocky manor bulged from the mountain like a wart, ready to be lasered off. If nothing else, it looked out of place—where the rest of the city could be written off as an, albeit spectacular and ludicrously coincidental, natural formation, this building stood out.

It had spires almost imitating the natural ones, and was about half the size of my palace, going by external dimensions. Though it lacked colour on the walls, it more than made up for it with an assortment of stained glass windows, colours varying across the rainbow and beyond.

At first, I mistook it for a church. But the Church of the Eight Pillars always had that weird, eight-pointed star symbol, and this didn’t. It was gaudy, ostentatious, and out of place.

What could it be, other than a Duke’s manor?

We ascended the platform’s shallow slope to the top, where we came to a set of gates, even those made from the mountain. How many Mages had it taken to build this place?

Once there, Hana showed the Standard and a Guard fetched an attendant—a diminutive man in a loose cotton suit, with light brown skin and black hair.

My eyes almost bulged out when he told me.

“What the fuck do you mean, he’s not here?!”

“I mean he’s not here, Your Highness.” The attendant glared at me, heedless of our relative positions.

“Where is he, then?”

“Kalst,” said the attendant. “A small town on the edge of the Dark Forest. However, Duke Shal is a busy man, so if you’d like to make an appointment…”

I gaped. How stupid could one person be? If you were just going to force me to make an appointment, then why tell me where he is in the first place?

Shia stifled a giggle, so I elbowed her lightly in the ribs. She glowered at me, but got the message. Hana rolled her eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, waving the attendant away. “Thanks for your time.”

Bowing, he left, allowing the guard to close the gates. With that, I sighed.

“Shia,” I said, and she, quite unforgivably, released a sigh of her own that easily crushed mine in single combat.

***

The difference between the two settlements was like night and day. Kalst was orderly, set out in a grid, with each district strictly adhering to its zone, every road straight and interconnected.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Though simpler, the buildings were still built in a uniform fashion, but they also had colour. People had painted their houses and businesses in eclectic tones, ranging from greens and blues to yellows and reds—it sort of gave me the impression an artist had swallowed their paints in a fit of madness, then thrown up all over the town.

Surrounding all this were miles upon miles of grapevines. Laid in neat hedges, these stretched far to the south, brilliant purple grapes glinting under the scorching sun. People ambled around them, wearing straw hats and throwing compost.

A friendly air settled over the place, and I instantly felt welcome. Relaxed. I could see why Duke Shal would want to stay here.

However, something else penetrated the air. A distinct sense of something hidden between the lines, words unsaid, maybe forbidden to be.

Curiouser and curiouser.

I asked the first person we saw—a woman with bright blonde hair and a permanent grin carrying a wicker basket—and she was happy to direct us straight to the Duke’s manor. She didn’t even ask for the Standard, or anything.

Amateurs.

Anyway, we reached Duke Shal’s holiday manor in less than an hour, our route made easier by the sheer, unnatural rationality of these streets. Who had designed them? If I had them team up with Arter, what kind of utopia could I create?

It was less of a manor, and more just a large house. White and stalwart, it was probably big enough for five bedrooms and a couple of en-suites, with a fat chimney rising from the clay roof.

The grounds were small but well-kept, with some kind of sweet-smelling pink flower prominent among the gardens, with grass kept so short it may as well not have been there. There was a small gate, which was locked, but had no guards.

Well, only one thing for it.

I looked at Shia.

She pouted. “I’m not a pack horse, you know.”

“No,” I said, “you’re a taxi, and I’m hailing you.”

“What’s a taxi?”

Hana fingered her chin. “The Holy Sword of Kavsta?”

“No,” said Shia, “that’s Takki.”

“In that case—”

“Never mind,” I said, rubbing my forehead. Even if they knew I’d been isekaid, that kind of joke would still fall flat. Still though, taxis. Horses could pull carriages.

But how big could we make them? How many horses? Timetables and routes began overlaying in my head, though they were probably useless—

No, bad Oliver! Stay on topic! Duke Shal now, public transport later.

Curious, I checked Ruler View again. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see Duke Shal, so I just had Shia drop us in a random room.

We emerged to a disgusting smell, our noses wrinkling as one.

Right before us, a portly, sandy-haired man with tanned skin and a stupid amount of jewellery sat on a stool with his pants down.

“Excuse me,” he said, “do you mind?”

***

Red-faced, we found a drawing room nearby to wait in. The walls were covered by tapestries, thick fur rugs softening our footfalls as we entered. There were only a couple of chairs, these being simple wood, and a desk in the middle of the room holding papers, an inkwell, and a glass of alcohol.

Shia and I took the two chairs, leaving one behind the desk, and Hana stood beside me, as always. One day, her legs would give out, I swear.

After a while, the man—Duke Shal, I assumed—returned, having a hard time looking at us. A silver silk robe flowed down his figure, obscuring the shirt and pants we’d seen when we really shouldn’t have. He was a brave man, to dress like that in this heat.

Gold and rubies weighed down his neck, ears, and wrists, to a level I’d yet to see since coming here. Even Scarlet didn’t wear much. Thinking about it, what was the cultural opinion of jewellery here? Usually, it represented wealth, but if that was the case, why didn’t I see more nobles with it?

Why did I have to keep putting off my research?

Taking his seat behind the desk, Duke Shal coughed awkwardly, focusing anywhere but on us. It was like Shia, but less adorable.

“Well, I say,” he said. “I’m afraid I must ask who you are, how you got in here, and exactly what it is you want with me?”

“All right,” I replied, nodding. “In order, I’m King Oliver of Larheim, my Mage is a good pack horse, and I’d like you to… not try being your own country?”

He furrowed his brow, his bangles jangling as he steepled his fingers beneath his jaw. “Yes, I see. Hmm.”

Producing the letter, I said, “from Duchess Vissel.”

Perking up, he took it, tearing the envelope and analysing the contents. “Hmm… yes, I see… this is certainly her seal, yes.” With a thoughtful expression, he dropped it back on the desk.

“Well?” I said, staring at him. He was sweating, and something gave me the feeling it wasn’t the heat. Probably, he was a nervous man anyway, but some form of tension held him in an iron grip, driving the heat to unbearable levels. “Will you join me?”

“It, well, seems as though Lady Emilia is, indeed, quite taken with you. I do not think there could be better recommendation.”

My heart soared. After all the shit I’d gone through with the previous three duchies, was this the light at the end of the tunnel? Could it actually be this easy?

Were we finally at the finish line?

“However,” said Duke Shal, “I would, you see, like to ask you for a favour first.”

My face fell. Of fucking course he did.

Nothing was ever allowed to be simple, was it?