In the velvety embrace of the nighttime, inside a spacious chamber nestled within the barracks, mere stone's throw away from the king's grand palace. The barracks sprawled across a vast expanse of five thousand square meters, encompassed by a modest yet sturdy wall.
Adorning the ramparts, a peculiar sight greeted the eyes. Instead of archers poised with lethal arrows, a figure garbed in a lightweight robe stood sentry, an array of potions dangling from their belt.
Their vigilant gaze scanned the horizon, ever watchful for any sign of encroaching adversaries. This world had forsaken conventional archers, replacing them with mages capable of unleashing swift and lethal spells upon their foes.
Amidst the barracks' confines, guards meandered along their patrols, stifling yawns as they diligently paced their assigned routes.
Time wore on, and with each passing moment, these sentinels would return to the barracks, relieving their weary comrades of their duty.
The barracks itself was partitioned into two distinct areas, each catering to a specific class and occupation.
The realm of the swordsman boasted a sprawling training ground, offering ample space for honing their skills. In stark contrast, the mages' domain housed an alchemist's workshop, a hub of potion production, albeit confined within more cramped quarters.
For a swordsman, the path to mastery lay relatively straightforward, demanding only physical prowess to ascend to the esteemed rank of a 1st class.
Mages, however, faced a far more intricate journey, necessitating a blend of intelligence, precision, and innate talent to harness the arcane forces.
Each mage held intrinsic value, their rank dictating not only their status but also their wealth and privileges within the hierarchy.
The chambers within the barracks served multifarious purposes, accommodating a variety of needs.
Among them, a designated room existed for official duties, binding all ranks and classes to remain until their assigned tasks were completed—a rule enforced impartially, whether one held a superior or subordinate position.
...
"Master, did you summon me?" In a particular chamber, the one to which Bastian's family had been mysteriously transported, an enchanting woman donning a military uniform made her entrance.
Her lustrous blonde tresses cascaded in a neatly tied ponytail, gently swaying with each step. Her sky-blue eyes held a mesmerizing depth, accentuated by naturally long lashes that framed her visage.
If not for her modest bust, which deviated slightly from the average women in this world, she would have been deemed a perfect candidate for a potential wife.
"Yes, Noel, please have a seat," Weston, the man who had conversed with Bastian and his family previously, beckoned to her.
He sat amidst a clutter of papers strewn across the table, his focus honed on the task of organizing crucial documents pertaining to Bastian and his family.
Noel, holding a kettle in her delicate hands, carefully set it down and proceeded to pour tea into Weston's waiting cup. As she did so, her azure eyes brimmed with curiosity, stealing glances at the scattered papers.
"Tomorrow, make your way to the port where a new ship has docked. Inform the individuals on board that their new residence awaits them-
"-and then guide them to their accommodations within the inner city lands, adjacent to the bustling market," Weston instructed, extending a file toward her.
"Yes, master," Noel responded dutifully, her voice laced with respect. While her gaze remained fixed on Weston's figure, a trace of concern flickered within her eyes. "Allow me to handle these matters, master. You deserve a peaceful retirement."
Upon hearing her words, Weston sighed and then chuckled. "And who shall assume my position? You, perhaps? Hah! You are still far too young for that," he jested, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Noel pouted, her cheeks puffing out as her brows knitted together, all the while fixing him with a confident stare. "Fear not, master. Besides me, no other soul possesses the qualifications to assume your esteemed position. Hmph!"
Weston was momentarily rendered speechless, his gaze locking with Noel's unwavering stare. After a brief pause, they both burst into laughter.
"Hahaha, you've developed quite the sense of humor, Noel. It's only been a few years, and yet you have become a master witch," Weston said, his gaze softening as he regarded Noel, whose image occasionally overlapped with that of the little girl he had taken under his wing years ago.
"Hehehe, on another note, master," Noel began, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why did you recruit them and then deceive them?
"We have no need for additional active master witches, aside from Lady Violet and myself. Moreover, by bringing them into our fold, have we not risked offending the Imperial Empire?"
Their once smiling countenances now bore solemn frowns as Noel observed her master, his gaze fixed upon the vista of the barracks.
"They carry something of great value, a connection to our hero, Sieg. I refrained from prying into their secret, sensing an enigmatic energy surrounding their son. It was a faint ripple that brushed against my senses, but it defied reason for a mere infant to manipulate and wield such power," Weston explained, his voice tinged with a hint of contemplation.
Noel remained steadfast, her eyes unwavering as she faced her master. "So, all of this is based on your belief in the potential of their son?
"Forgive me, master, but it sounds preposterous! We have no shortage of young talents, including Her Highness Elizabeth and Miss Diana!" she countered, crossing her arms in defiance.
Weston chuckled, choosing not to directly address her question. "That's precisely why I said you are still too young for this," he remarked, a teasing lilt to his voice, much to Noel's annoyance.
...
Simultaneously, within the grand halls of the Imperial Empire's palace, bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight seeping through numerous glass windows, the expansive chamber resonated with the presence of imposing pillars.
These columns cast elongated shadows, veiling a group of indistinct figures.
One of the shadows discreetly slipped away, gracefully falling to one knee before the ornate throne. "My king, we have located the whereabouts of the former noble, Leona.
"She and her family have taken refuge in the port of the North Kingdom. Regrettably, our attempts to retrieve her have proven unsuccessful," the figure revealed, their attire adorned with the emblem of the empire, a mark of their allegiance.
The king, seated atop his majestic throne, peered down at the supplicant before him. Cloaked in black garments, bearing the unmistakable imperial symbol, this individual belonged to the same cadre of assassins responsible for the assault on Leona and her family.
"After three long years, you have finally emerged. No matter the cost in lives, persist in dispatching more assassins, especially from the newly trained ranks," the king commanded, his voice resonating with unwavering determination.
"I demand her capture alive! Eliminate the rest of her family! With that power, I shall reunite the human kingdoms!" The king's voice reverberated through the hall, his words resolute and commanding.
"Yes, my king!" In unison, the shadowy figures emerged from the concealed recesses behind the pillars, one by one kneeling before the throne, their synchronized response resonating through the chamber.
Suddenly, the king's laughter ceased, and he posed a question that hung in the air, freezing the room in anticipation. Though obscured by the shadow cast by his throne, the flickering crimson glint in his eyes betrayed his intensity.
"Did one of their children possess a rare trait?" The king's voice held a note of urgency, his anticipation palpable.
"Yes, my king! According to the information we obtained three years ago, their daughter possesses the playful trait rank!" one of the subordinates promptly replied, their voice filled with deference.
"And what of the other child?" The king's impatience was evident, his desire to personally apprehend them barely contained. Were it not for the weight of his responsibilities and the kingdom he governed, he might have flown to the North Kingdom this very moment.
"My apologies, my king! We have yet to gather any information on the second child. The North Kingdom maintains stringent control, and our assassins managed to infiltrate only with the aid of the Aristocratic Technocracy organization."
"Hmm, the Aristocratic Technocracy—a small group of nobles seeking to regain their former power after the rebellion. Ensure that their daughter is captured alive as well. We require more blood to fortify and train our troops," the king commanded, his tone unwavering.
"Yes, my king!" the group chorused, their obedience unwavering. They stood poised, awaiting further instructions. It was only upon the king's subtle gesture for them to depart that they swiftly vanished, blending into the shadows as if they were never there.