Chapter 13: The Syndicate?

The sun hung heavy overhead, casting a harsh glare over the training yard behind Duskmere Manor. A few weapon racks stood nearby, untouched, and the wind stirred the dust in lazy swirls. Carter stood waiting near the tree line, posture relaxed, chewing on a sprig of something unidentifiable.

Ethan arrived, wearing a plain tunic and boots, expecting sword drills or maybe a spar.

What he got instead was a weighted shirt slammed into his chest.

He staggered backward, nearly toppling over.

“Fifty kilos,” Carter said casually. “Shin weights too twenty a leg.”

“What the hell—” Ethan nearly dropped the gear. “Is this a joke?”

Carter offered a faint smile, barely more than a shift in expression. “This is your warm-up,” he said, voice low and composed. “Thirty minutes. Full sprint. No pause. Let your body remember what your mind tries to forget.”

Ethan stared at him. “Sprint? With all this on me? For thirty minutes?”

Carter smiled, just slightly like that smile alone was the answer Ethan was dreading. “You heard me.”

“This is insane. I—I’ll break my legs.”

“You won’t,” Carter replied, adjusting the strap of his loose jacket. “And should the unlikely occur, Master Maelin’s talents are more than sufficient to mend it.”

“That’s not reassuring!”

Carter finally met his gaze, calm and unwavering. “You are a Kingmaker now, Master Ethan. Your body is no longer yours alone; it is bound, resilient, and far stronger than you believe. But strength without will is softness. This training is not merely to endure pain, but to teach your body to act when thought falters. To move with instinct when hesitation could cost lives. You are neither a knight nor a mage. You are a fighter who adapts, who endures, and who survives.”

He pointed at Ethan’s chest. “Endurance makes you last. Speed makes you unpredictable. That blade of yours won’t help if you can’t even keep up with your own swings.”

Ethan looked down at the shirt, then the weights. His arms already felt heavy. “Still feels impossible.”

Carter gave a quiet, satisfied smile, measured, but genuine. “Then it’s worth doing.”

The first step nearly dropped him. His knees buckled under the weight, and it took everything he had just to move.

Then came the sprint.

The ground blurred beneath him, every breath feeling like it scraped his lungs raw. His boots tore through dirt and loose stone, his arms pumping awkwardly under the weighted shirt. He could barely keep his balance. His legs screamed with every step.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes dragged into an eternity.

Every time he slowed, he heard Carter’s voice behind him not yelling, not scolding, just watching.

Carter said nothing at first only watched him, his expression unreadable. Ethan felt the weight of that gaze more than the weights strapped to his limbs. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t anger. Just a quiet, unspoken certainty: if he stopped, something would happen.

Ethan pushed harder.

By the time the half-hour ended, he collapsed to his knees, gasping, arms dangling like wet rope.

Carter didn’t even give him a break.

Carter’s voice carried like a calm ripple across still water. “Jump phase,” he said, almost gently. “Stone to stone. Thirty minutes.”

He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t threaten or demand. But as Ethan lifted his head, he caught the faint gleam in Carter’s eyes, not harsh, but certain. The kind of look that warned, without a word, that stopping wasn’t part of the lesson.

“What!?” Ethan wheezed.

“Legs are the first to go when you panic,” Carter said, pacing. “So we beat that panic out now. Jump. Over and over. No stopping.”

A dozen flat stones had been arranged earlier without him noticing. They were uneven in height and distance. Some wobbled. Some were mossy. None of them looked friendly.

Ethan stood, shaking. His legs barely responded.

He jumped.

And fell.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Every time he stumbled or hit the ground, he got up slower. His shins felt like lead. His lungs were empty. His mouth tasted like metal. But Carter never shouted. He just watched, arms folded, the occasional nod when Ethan forced himself back up.

It was miserable.

But somehow… he kept going.

The final jump landed hard, and Ethan barely caught himself. His balance broke, and he hit the ground with a rough skid. Before he could fully catch his breath, Carter’s voice rang out again calm, but with the rhythm of a man moving on to the next part of the lesson.

“No rest. We begin the next drill.”

Ethan groaned and sat up, every muscle in his legs vibrating with exhaustion. “You’ve gotta be kidding…”

Carter stepped into the clearing, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. “Your body needs to learn to react on its own. Not to what it sees, but to what it senses.”

He took his stance opposite Ethan. Feet shoulder-width apart. Relaxed. Effortless.

“This drill is simple. I will kick you.”

Ethan blinked. “...What?”

“Your task is to dodge.”

The silence that followed was worse than a shout. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, Carter didn’t move. He simply stood there, serene, composed.

Then, without the slightest shift in expression he struck.

Ethan didn’t even see it coming. The next thing he knew, he was tumbling across the grass, air ripped from his lungs.

He wheezed on the ground, coughing. “W-What was that!?”

“Again,” Carter said, his tone as mild as before.

This time Ethan tried to brace. Tried to read something in Carter’s body, shoulders, feet, eyes, anything.

But Carter’s movements were void of tension. Empty of warning. Like trying to predict wind.

The second kick landed. Not brutal. Just sharp. Precise. And once again, Ethan hit the ground.

“You must learn to sense intent,” Carter said as Ethan groaned. “If you wait for motion, you’re already too late. And if your instincts are dulled by hesitation… then you will fall. Every time.”

By the end of it, Ethan lay sprawled in the grass, staring up at the clouds. His limbs twitched. Sweat soaked his clothes. The weights still clung to him like anchors.

Carter walked over, casting a shadow across Ethan’s face.

“Day one,” he said simply, then offered a small, respectful nod. “Well done, Master Ethan.”

Ethan coughed. “...Not bad? I feel like I got hit by a wagon.”

Carter smirked. “Good. That means it’s working.”

He walked away, calling over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow.”

After freshening up, Ethan made his way to the manor’s dining hall, his limbs still aching from the brutal training session. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread lured him forward more than hunger itself.

As he entered, he found the long table already filled. Ceris, Sylviane, Sayo, Maelin, and Arthur were all seated engaged in light conversation as they ate.

Arthur noticed him and raised an eyebrow with a small smile. “Ethan. How’s training going?”

Ethan paused, still sore, then slowly sat down at the nearest empty seat. He reached for a glass of water first, took a long drink, then glanced over at Arthur.

“Not bad,” he said simply, though the stiffness in his movement betrayed the understatement.

Arthur chuckled. “You held up better than I expected.”

Ceris leaned forward with a curious tilt of her head. “Did Carter go easy on you?”

Ethan gave a dry laugh. “Not even close.”

Arthur leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. “Good. Because the formal ball is approaching, and each of you will be expected to represent House Duskmere with dignity and strength. There will be nobles, commanders, and foreign eyes in attendance. Let none of us bring shame to the crest we bear.”

He then turned to Ethan with a nod. “You’ll need proper attire, Ethan. Formal wear not armor. Head to the capital tomorrow and have something tailored.”

Ethan blinked, surprised. “On my own?”

Arthur smiled. “No. You’ll accompany Ceris and Sylviane. Sayo will join you as well. Take the time to enjoy yourself, see the city, and meet the people. Get a feel for our world beyond this manor. You’ll understand more from a day among commoners and craftsmen than you will from any book.”

The next morning:

[Duskmere Manor – Arthur's Office, Morning Before Departure]

The morning sun barely pierced through the stained glass windows of Arthur's office, casting soft hues of blue and red across the polished floor. A large table stood at the center, maps, reports, and sealed scrolls spread neatly across its surface. Arthur stood at its head, hands clasped behind his back, his expression calm but firm.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Ethan stood alongside Ceris, Sylviane, and Sayo, the four of them positioned in respectful attention as the manor's servants quietly prepared travel packs in the adjacent hallway.

Arthur turned his gaze to them.

"Before you depart for the capital," he began, voice composed, "there's an additional matter to be addressed."

He unrolled a parchment and placed it on the table, revealing a detailed map of the capital's lower districts. Certain areas were marked in red ink, accompanied by small notes in Carter's meticulous handwriting.

"We have reason to believe there's a growing network of illegal enchantment smuggling, human trafficking, artifact circulation, and magical contraband trade within the capital's lower district."

Sylviane raised an eyebrow. "A syndicate?"

Arthur nodded. "So it seems. They've been operating under our noses, avoiding detection through bribes and cloaked wards. But recent reports suggest their activities are becoming bolder and brazen, enough to draw political attention."

He looked directly at Ceris and Ethan. "Your task, while acquiring formal attire and making preparations for the upcoming ball, will include observing the area. Carter will stay in contact with you should anything require escalation."

Ceris gave a small nod. "Understood."

"Approach it carefully. Do not act unless provoked or if there's risk to the public. For now, it's an information-gathering mission."

Sayo tilted her head slightly. "Are we expecting resistance?"

Arthur's lips tightened faintly. "If we were, I would have deployed agents. This is meant to be discreet. Blend in. Observe. Report."

Ethan crossed his arms. "So we're doing a stakeout in nice clothes?"

That earned the faintest of smiles from Arthur. "Precisely."

He then glanced to the side as Carter stepped into the room, expression unreadable as always.

"Should a threat arise," Arthur continued, "I trust you'll handle it with discipline and clarity. I will not have House Duskmere involved in a collateral scandal, no matter how minor."

His gaze then rested briefly but firmly on Ethan. "And Ethan this may appear routine, but you must treat it as a matter of life and death. These are not petty thieves or harmless smugglers. Fight with the mindset that your life is always on the line. Do not underestimate them."

With a final look to the group, he gave a subtle nod.

"You leave within the hour. Make sure you're ready."

The group exchanged glances half anticipation, half uncertainty as the quiet hum of approaching footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Another day. Another mission. And none of them had the faintest clue of the shadow about to rise beneath the capital's streets.

The group made their way through the bustling capital. Ethan, Ceris, Sylviane, and Sayo walked side by side, the towering Duskmere estate slowly fading behind them.

Ceris, dressed in her usual elegant attire with her hair neatly braided, kept a straight but relaxed posture. A faint smile played on her lips. Ethan walked beside her, still reeling from yesterday’s events but grateful for the quiet pace of the morning.

Sylviane, ever regal, lifted her gaze toward the clear sky. She was used to this life, but the weight of the day’s responsibilities still pressed on her. Beside her, Sayo floated with silent grace, blindfolded and unreadable as always, her presence as calming as it was mysterious.

The station wasn’t far, nestled between clusters of grand buildings in the manor’s central district. The rhythmic clack of shoes on cobblestone and distant chatter filled the air as they approached.

The station itself had an old-world charm, iron and stone arches, ornately carved, stood like relics from centuries past. Yet, the soft shimmer of arcane energy in the air gave the place an unmistakable sense of magic.

Ethan’s eyes widened at the sight of the train waiting on the track. It wasn’t like anything from his world, sleek and metallic, crafted from polished iron. What truly stood out was how it hovered just above the rails, a soft shimmer of energy pulsing beneath it.

The wheels were massive, etched with glowing runes that beat like a heart. Even the rails beneath them shimmered, carved with ancient symbols that hovered just above the ground, as if the entire thing was held up by invisible strings of magic.

Ethan stopped in his tracks, staring at the train with awe.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his eyes darting between the strange, magical rails and the metal behemoth that was clearly just waiting to move. “There’s... there’s actual trains here?”

Ceris, walking ahead with Sylviane, turned around and smiled at him knowingly.

“Is this your first time seeing one? Don’t worry, it’s not uncommon in the capital.”

Sylviane chuckled softly, the sound light and carefree.

“It’s a bit of a surprise for some, isn’t it? Trains are still a novelty in most parts of the world, though they’re more common here. You’ll get used to it.”

Sayo, walking alongside them, gave a subtle nod, though her face remained unreadable as always.

“This is just one of the more... practical uses of magic.” Ceris stated.

“This is... magic?” He was still processing it all the subtle glowing runes, the way the train barely touched the tracks but still seemed to glide with ease. It wasn’t like anything he had ever seen back home. "I mean, where I come from, this would be... impossible."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at him, offering a rare, quiet smile.

“It’s one of the more interesting blends of magic and technology. Think of it as a glimpse into how different our worlds can be.”

The train let out a low hum, signaling its readiness to depart. A few other passengers, mostly nobles and traders, began boarding, their voices a soft murmur as they gathered their things.

Arthur, standing at a distance near the edge of the platform, gave a small wave, his face showing a rare hint of warmth. "Take care, all of you," he said, his voice steady but kind. "Don't forget to get everything you need. The ball is near, and it's important to be prepared. Stay safe."

Ethan nodded in response, feeling the weight of Arthur’s words. "We will. Thanks, Arthur!"

"See you soon," Ceris said with a brief smile, then turned toward the train.

Ethan was still in awe, though. "This is... amazing. I never imagined a world like this."

"Well, now you’re living in it," Sylviane said with a smile. "You’d better get used to magic and technology blending together."

They boarded the train, its interior surprisingly cozy wooden floors with arcane engravings, soft cushioned seats, and crystal lanterns casting a gentle glow.

Ethan leaned back in his seat and let out a relaxed sigh. “Okay… this? This is nice.”

Ceris reached into her satchel and pulled out a small sack tied with red twine. She handed it to Ethan.

“What’s this?” Ethan asked.

“Your funds. You’ll need them for clothes and whatever else you might want.”

Ethan weighed the pouch in his palm. It clinked heavily with coins.

He untied the string and peeked inside. “Is that… one Royal, twenty Crowns, and forty Copper Crowns?”

Before Ceris could respond, Sylviane cut in. “Correct,” she replied, as if the alternative was absurd.

Ethan blinked. “I’ve never been so financially trusted in my life.”

“Don’t waste it on junk,” Ceris added, though her tone was more amused than stern.

He gave her a mock salute. “No promises!”

Sylviane glanced at Ethan as the train rumbled to life. “So… what powers your world, if there’s no magic?”

Ethan blinked, caught off guard. “Electricity, mostly. We generate power with machines, some fueled by burning coal or gas, others by the sun or wind. It runs everything from lights to computers to transportation.”

“No ambient energy,” Sayo murmured. “Your world sounds… artificially sustained.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Ethan said, leaning back in his seat. “But despite the lack of magic, it’s still pretty convenient. We’ve found ways to make everything work, people get creative when they have to. It’s not magic, but we’ve got plenty of tricks up our sleeves.”

Ceris tilted her head, intrigued. “So your people shaped an entire civilization without magic?”

“Yup,” Ethan replied with a slight smile. “And somehow, we’ve made it this far.”

Ethan leaned forward a bit, a curious glint in his eyes. "Okay, but if you’ve got all this magic, why rely on trains and all these mechanical things? Can’t you just teleport everywhere or something?"

Ceris chuckled. "Teleportation isn’t as simple as it sounds. It requires precision and energy, and even then, it’s not something you’d use casually. Traveling by vehicle is just far more comfortable and reliable for longer distances."

Sylviane shrugged. "Magic isn't limitless. The train blends arcane tech with machines, offering more comfort and ease than teleporting ever could."

At that moment, Omen’s voice broke through the conversation, clearly growing impatient. “And when will we get to the capital already? I’m starving!” he complained, his tone dripping with annoyance. “I can already taste the food I’ll have when we arrive! Don’t forget to grab me some snacks, too. I’ll need a feast to make up for this slow journey!”

The sudden outburst startled everyone. Ceris flinched, her hand instinctively gripping the armrest. Sylviane’s eyes widened in shock. “What—?” she started, her voice trembling in disbelief.

Sayo, always so calm, blinked in surprise, her blindfolded gaze darting around as if trying to locate the source of the voice.

Ethan, a bit embarrassed, rubbed his temples. “I’ll get you something, Omen. You don’t need to keep reminding me.You’re always hungry aren’t you?”

“Ha! I’ll take that as a compliment,” Omen shot back smugly. “Just don’t forget about me when we get there, or I might start making things... difficult for you.”

Ceris, still looking perplexed, leaned slightly toward Ethan. “Did... did that thing just speak?”

Ethan gave a helpless shrug. “Yeah, Omen’s been like that since the beginning. He’s kind of... uh, persistent.”

Sylviane raised an eyebrow, her surprise shifting into curiosity. “Persistent, huh? I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that he can talk too.”

Sayo, in her usual calm voice, added, “I sensed... a presence. But I didn’t know he could speak.”

Omen grumbling, clearly annoyed

"When will we get to the capital? I'm starving! Make sure to get me something good to eat, Ethan!"

Shura laughs lightly, her voice full of amusement and curiosity

"HAHA! This one is interesting! An ego weapon with an appetite like this, how amusing!"

Omen snaps, irritable and defensive

“Who are you laughing at, weapon? I’m not some joke!”

Shura responds with quiet amusement

"Oh, I wasn’t laughing at you, just at how unique you are. An Ego weapon, but your hunger and complain like a spoiled noble."

Omen growls, annoyed but trying to maintain his composure

“Shut up, weapon. You don’t know anything about me.”

Shura, intrigued by his reaction

"Perhaps. But I think you’ll be quite the fascinating one to watch, Omen."

Omen huffs

“Just make sure you’re not in my way when we get to the capital.”

Ceris surprised, looking back and forth between Shura and Omen

“Did… did it just talk?” her voice softens in awe. “I didn’t expect an Ego Weapon to have such personality, let alone a... sense of humor.” She raises an eyebrow, amused but still somewhat taken aback. “I guess Omen and Shura aren't exactly what I imagined.”

Sylviane eyes narrowing in slight disbelief, trying to hide a grin

“I’ve known that Ego Weapons are sentient and rarely talk but with hunger?” she looks from Omen to Shura with a smirk “Quite the charmer you’ve got there, Ethan.” Her tone is light, though there’s a hint of something like amusement, though she quickly regains her composure. “Try not to use all your funds on foods for Omen.”

Ethan let out a slightly forced laugh, scratching the back of his head.

"That’s the plan… unless he eats it all first."

Sayo without a word, she reaches over and lightly smacks Shura on the handle, her face still calm as ever

“Behave,” she says in her usual soft tone.

Meanwhile, the station hissed and growled beneath him, all steam vents and arcane gears ticking. The iron rails shimmered with rune-glow, and the midday sun cast long shadows between the arches.

He crouched low on the roof, the wind tugging at his threadbare cloak, eyes scanning the incoming train as it slowed to a crawl. Another noble arrival. You could tell by the guards. By the way people made room without being asked.

He yawned. Until he saw them.

First came the silver-haired woman, a noble perhaps. The girl beside her walked with a blindfold, mysterious, dangerous.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” he muttered.

Then the third stepped off like it was his first time seeing sunlight. Brown hair messy from the ride, eyes wide, clothes plain. He looked like he’d gotten lost in a wardrobe on the way here. And gods above

His coin pouch.

Right there.

Looped lazily on his belt like a gift from the heavens.

The boy’s eyes lit up beneath his scarf.

“Well, aren’t you just asking to get robbed?”

He slipped his scarf higher, grin curling.

“This is gonna be easy.”

Quick job. Light hands. In and out before the guy even noticed.

Then maybe a meat skewer and a nap in the old clock tower.

He moved, light as breath, ducking under the shifting brass gears of the station dome. Stalking his next mark, waiting for the perfect opportunity to take his crowns.