Chapter Forty-Five: Selia

Hughes had obtained the method to craft a high-grade enchanted item, and his spirits soared—much of the fatigue and monotony of his journey seemed to melt away. The road to his final destination, the city of Seria, was not an easy one. Desolate wastes stretched out on all sides, with barely a sign of human habitation.

He spurred his horse onward, and only on the seventh day did he occasionally come across other travelers. Most were merchants headed to various places. Hughes replenished his supplies from these caravans, spending freely. Of course, some among them, seeing his generosity, entertained sinister thoughts, planning to kill him and take his money. Every one of them met their end at Hughes’s hands, their bodies left on the road—a matter of luck as to who would stumble upon them next.

Hughes felt no revulsion or guilt in killing; as long as someone harbored evil intentions toward him, he considered himself justified in striking first. Compared to other sorcerers, Hughes thought himself rather decent—at least he didn’t slaughter the innocent.

One of the rules of the Shadow Ring stipulated that human experimentation was forbidden, but Hughes scoffed at such regulations; rules existed only for show. Even the headmaster of the Shadow Ring had been known to sacrifice commoners in rituals. Ordinary people had always feared sorcerers, and so there were certain codes among their kind: never perform large-scale sorcery or experiments in crowded places, lest it provoke the masses. Though sorcerers looked down on non-magical folk, it was from their ranks that new blood was constantly drawn into the order, so most sorcerers abided by the rules.

“At last, I’m almost there!” After nearly half a month’s hard travel, Hughes finally reached the outskirts of Seria.

The ten-day journey had left both him and his horse weary. He dared not travel by night, fearing the horse might collapse from exhaustion. Now, as he led his mount and surveyed the surroundings, he realized the terrain was no longer suitable for riding—the path was too rough, and he had no choice but to walk.

Seria looked promising at first glance; the fields around the city were freshly planted, rows of seedlings just sprouting, a lush green testament to vitality and hope. Along the city’s edge stood a massive windmill, larger than any house, its great blades turning slowly in the breeze.

Hughes had planned to take a detour but noticed a river that would shorten his journey considerably. He tested the water—only knee-deep. The chill of early spring seeped into his bones as he waded across, pulling his reluctant horse behind him. The river was only eight or nine meters wide, so they crossed quickly.

With the city so close, Hughes was eager to find an inn and rest. Delivering the letter could wait. Leading his horse toward the city gate, he took note of the towering walls—so tall that nothing within could be seen from outside. The stonework was scarred with marks from weapons or claws, and two patrol squads moved along the battlements in different directions.

“There must have been a war here once,” Hughes mused, eyeing the visible scars.

“Halt! Who goes there?” At the city gate, a guard leveled his spear, barring Hughes’s way.

“A merchant, here to discuss some business,” Hughes replied with a calm smile, introducing himself unhurriedly.

“Hmm! There’s an entry fee—one copper coin for everyone,” the guard said, eyeing Hughes and his horse, but making no trouble.

“Here you go.” Hughes tossed a copper coin to the guard.

“You may enter. But don’t wander the streets at night. Seria hasn’t been safe lately—several young people have vanished after dark. We’re investigating, so if you’re out late, the patrols might detain you,” the guard warned as he accepted the coin.

“Thank you,” Hughes replied politely, leading his horse through the gate.

Within the walls, the city was a stark contrast to the thriving fields outside. As Hughes walked his horse along the dirt streets, he felt the gazes of the townsfolk: a mix of envy and greed, quickly replaced by fear when their eyes met his. The city’s imposing walls had given no hint of the poverty within—dusty roads, tattered clothing patched with mismatched scraps, and faces sallow and gaunt as if a puff of wind might topple them. Vendors with meager cuts of meat hung from their stalls, eyed hungrily by passersby who seemed on the verge of snatching them and fleeing.

Hughes found himself disappointed by Seria—dirty, chaotic, and impoverished.

“Sigh, perhaps I should just deliver the letter myself,” he thought. Rest could wait. His master had given him only the name of the recipient, Dave Ryan, and Hughes had no idea who the man was. Still, it was likely someone of standing since his teacher knew him.

He stopped a passerby, startling the man, who relaxed only upon seeing Hughes meant no harm.

“Dave Ryan? You’re looking for the city lord?” the man replied, puzzled.

“Oh?” Hughes hadn’t expected the first person he asked would know—and that Dave was the city lord.

“Excellent. Tell me how I can find him.”

“Just follow this road straight ahead—you can’t miss it.” The man gave directions without hesitation.

Hughes led his horse briskly toward the lord’s residence, arriving in short order.

“Halt! Who are you?” The guards at the gate moved to block his approach.

“I’m here to see your city lord. Tell him someone is delivering a letter from Matt Joy,” Hughes said, producing the letter from his pack.

The guard eyed the letter but didn’t take it, studying Hughes for a moment. Satisfied he wasn’t a troublemaker, the guard decided to report his arrival.

“Please wait here while I inform the city lord,” the guard said, his tone more respectful now. If this man truly knew the lord, he was not someone to offend lightly.

Hughes waited patiently outside. Before long, the guard returned with a rotund man whose clothing was exquisitely tailored.

“That must be Dave,” Hughes thought, noting the man’s bearing and the deference shown by the guards.

“My apologies for not welcoming you sooner,” Dave said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Hughes. He hurried forward, a little out of breath—clearly, a dash to the gate did not suit the city lord.

Hughes followed Dave into the grand hall, handed over the letter from Master Matt, and sat sipping the tea offered by a servant while Dave read.

“Sigh! Hughes, I must trouble you with this matter,” Dave said, setting the letter aside.

“Pardon?” Hughes was uncertain what Dave meant.

“You’ve seen for yourself—the people here are suffering. Seria wasn’t always like this. Three months ago, a beast horde swept through, destroying nearly everything. We’re still rebuilding,” Dave explained, taking a sip of tea.

“Things were just returning to normal when people began to disappear. You must have heard talk of it as you walked through the city.”

Hughes nodded; indeed, he’d heard tales of the recent disappearances.

“I’ve sent out many search parties, but nothing’s turned up. Many residents have already left, panic is spreading, and I had no choice but to seek help from your master,” Dave said, slumping into his chair—beset by troubles, the weight of his office evident.

“Did you not appeal to the Church for aid?” Hughes asked, surprised. Normally, Dave should have reported such matters at once.

“Don’t mention it. Without money, the Church does nothing. Even if you do report it, they drag their feet. Seria cannot hold out that long,” Dave replied bitterly, the toll his city had taken clear in his expression.