The wind over the grasslands carried the distant scent of the Green Ocean, lending the air a wild edge. Nick ignored the vague sensations of wilderness and power, feeding a steady stream of mana into the bubble around him and Tim.
He pushed their speed faster than ever before, made easy by the seemingly endless reservoir of power he now possessed. The landscape below blurred into a continuous smear of dark plains and silver moonlight.
Flight at this speed and duration would have exhausted a lesser mage within minutes, if they’d even been capable of it, draining their mana and leaving them plummeting toward the earth. Nick, however, breathed easily, allowing his control over the ether to cycle ambient mana through the spell in a frictionless loop, barely dipping into his reserves.
Tim sat cross-legged in the center of the bubble, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric of his trousers. He stared down at the rushing ground, pale-faced and clearly fighting a losing battle against vertigo.
They crossed the vast expanse of the Barony in a little over an hour. As the false dawn spread its light across the eastern horizon, the sprawling silhouette of Oakenhollow came into view.
Nick willed the bubble to slow, angling their descent toward a dense thicket of pines half a mile beyond the town’s walls. They touched down with a soft crunch, and the shield dissolved into the morning air as if it had never been there.
Tim stumbled forward, dropping to his hands and knees. He dry-heaved into a patch of ferns, his breath hitching as his inner ear struggled to adjust to the sudden stillness.
"Breathe deeply," Nick advised, even as he changed into fancier clothes, to better sell the deception.
He could have made the trip easier by going slower, but they were already running out of time.
Tim spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I know, I know.”
Seeing that he was recovering well enough on his own, Nick turned his attention to the town.
Oakenhollow was a wealthy settlement, built around a series of ancient, towering oak trees that predated the Barony itself and had, in fact, probably once served as the seat of a beastman clan before Berea’s push into the west.
The architecture blended nature and carpentry, and great care had been taken to preserve its character. Plazas wound around gnarled roots, and sprawling wooden houses were built directly into the lower branches of the great oaks.
It was a merchant hub, located farther from the monster-infested borders than Floria, drawing caravans carrying silk, spices, and iron from the southern provinces.
That, even more than House Poules, made it too valuable to leave in the hands of a ruthless, ambitious witch.
Yet as Nick expanded his senses, the town felt unnervingly sterile.
He focused on the western gate. The defenses were sparse, barely a dozen men manning the wooden palisade. That alone was strange for a settlement boasting such merchant wealth, even considering that many had gone north with their lord. But their behavior was far stranger.
The guards stood in the biting chill without shivering, silent and watchful. There was no idle banter about the cold, no complaints about the late watch. They stared straight ahead with blank stares, reminding him more of homunculi than of real people.
"She has probably stripped the watch down to a skeleton crew to reinforce the manor," Tim said after Nick relayed what he’d sensed. "She trusts her control more than steel.”
"Where is Claudius?" Nick asked, turning away from the gates. It was unnerving, yes, but nothing more than he’d already expected.
"There is an old hunting cabin in these woods," Tim said, pointing to a faint deer trail winding through the trees. "My father used to bring me here to track boars. Claudius said he would wait for me there if he could slip out.”
They moved through the brush in silence, having already said all that needed to be said, and found the cabin leaning precariously against a rocky outcropping, its thatched roof rotting and its windows boarded shut.
Within, Nick could sense a cultured presence. Not particularly powerful, but still noticeable.
Tim stepped onto the sagging porch, knocked twice, paused, then knocked three times.
A moment of silence passed before the door creaked open an inch. A pale blue glow flared in the crack, unmistakable evidence of a primed spell.
"It's me, Claudius," Tim hissed, stepping into the narrow line of sight, even as Nick prepared to defend him should the worst come to pass and the old mage be compromised.
Fortunately, the blue glow faded, and the door swung open, revealing an older man wrapped in a moth-eaten woolen cloak.
As he remembered, Claudius had a lined face, his gray hair thinning at the crown, though he seemed to have aged more over the past year. He was a decent mage, a veteran of the Tower who had seen enough of the world's sharp edges to know when to run.
Nick didn’t see any scars on his soul, so he relaxed a fraction.
Claudius pulled Tim inside, eyes darting toward the tree line. "You fool. I told you to stay away. The witch has locked down the town. Old Miller tried to leave yesterday, and Candra had him dragged back to the square and publicly praised his 'sudden realization of duty.’ He’s now joined her.”
"I did not come alone," Tim said, stepping aside.
Nick walked into the musty cabin, letting the door click shut behind him.
Claudius turned, his reprimand dying in his throat. The older mage clearly recognized him but seemed to sense something more. He stared, eyes growing hazy as a sensory spell washed over Nick.
Deciding that this would get done faster if he wasn’t questioned at every turn, Nick allowed him a glimpse.
The man stumbled backward until his spine hit the hearth, the color draining from his face. To a mortal mage, touching the edge of Nick’s mana was like reaching out to test a puddle and finding a bottomless ocean trench.
"By the Gods," Claudius wheezed, clutching his chest. "What... what are you?”
Nick dialed his presence back, sealing the suffocating power behind a vault of iron will. "I am Nicholas Crowley, and I am here to reclaim Oakenhollow in my father’s name.”
Claudius swallowed hard, his hands trembling as the overwhelming pressure receded. He looked at Tim, a desperate spark of hope igniting in his tired eyes. "You brought the Lord’s son. But my Lord Crowley... her magic. It does not obey the laws of combat. If she were to capture you with her wiles, it would be over.”
“I am aware of what she is,” Nick said calmly, pulling a rickety stool from the corner and sitting down. "She is holding court this morning?”
"She is," Claudius confirmed, rubbing his temples. “Last I heard, she is to seize the Blackwood Trading Company’s assets. The owner supposedly gifted the deeds to her out of 'profound admiration.' It is a farce.”
“That’s good," Nick said. He leaned forward and began outlining the theater they were about to perform. “We'll walk through the front gates at mid-morning, not bothering to hide, to truly sell my overconfidence. Tim, you will play the desperate, dispossessed heir clinging to my coat-tails. Claudius, you will follow him, acting as the cowed retainer incapable of preventing a tragedy.”
"And you, my Lord?" Claudius asked nervously.
"I will play the arrogant prodigy," Nick said, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "A spoiled noble heir who considers Oakenhollow beneath him. I will be haughty, easily insulted, and absolutely certain of my superiority.”
Tim nodded along. "We want her to think he is a brute, a last-ditch effort on my part.”
"Exactly," Nick agreed. "If I march in, demanding justice with righteous fury and my full power on display, she might panic, and things could turn into a bloodbath. But by acting like a vain, arrogant child flexing his power, she will see an opportunity. She will want to add me to her collection, to cement her position forevermore, and perhaps even reach beyond the town’s borders into the Barony proper.”
Claudius nodded slowly, understanding the game. "She is a creature of ambition. The chance to charm a Crowley heir and turn him into her personal lapdog… Yes, she will not be able to resist the temptation. But she isn’t stupid, my Lord. If you do not sell it well, she might smell a trap.”
Nick nodded. Such a woman would need to be handled with care, even by one such as he.
They waited in the cramped cabin as the sun climbed above the horizon until the bells of Oakenhollow began to chime the mid-morning hour; then Nick stood and circled a breeze, making sure to sell his look as a foolish heir who’d rushed here as soon as possible.
"Time to put on a show," he said.
They walked out of the woods and onto the main road leading to the northern gate. As they approached the palisade, Nick shifted his posture to better resemble the noble heirs of the Tower. Chin raised, shoulders squared, he moved with a loose, predatory grace that demanded people step out of his path.
The four guards at the gate crossed their spears, blocking the entrance.
"Halt," the captain said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Lady Candra has decreed that no armed parties may enter Oakenhollow without a writ of passage.”
Tim flinched, stepping slightly behind Nick. Claudius kept his head bowed.
Nick stopped. He made a show of looking at the crossed spears, then up at the captain’s blank face, adopting an expression of offended disbelief.
"You dare cross steel in my path?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "I am Nicholas Crowley, son of the Baron. Drop your spears, or I will have you stripped of your positions and exiled.”
The captain did not blink. "By order of Lady Candra—”
Nick waved his hand with a dismissive flick.
A wave of kinetic mana erupted from his palm. Not a lethal strike, for these men had done nothing wrong, but a display of brute strength that even Claudius would have been hard-pressed to emulate, if not equal to what he could truly do.
The force slammed into the four guards, ripping the spears from their grasp and hurling them backward through the open gates. They crashed to the ground, their armor clattering loudly, groaning as the breath was driven from their lungs.
“Let’s go,” Nick commanded Tim and Claudius, stepping over a groaning guard without breaking stride.
They moved down the main thoroughfare. The streets were busy with merchants setting up their stalls beneath the sprawling roots of the ancient oaks, yet a strange, muted atmosphere hung over the market. Laughter was rare. Conversations were hushed and strictly transactional.
As they passed, Nick caught sight of a middle-aged man arranging trays of cheese rolls outside a bakery. He had the broad shoulders of a former adventurer, but he fidgeted constantly, his body language anxious and shrinking, like a child expecting a blow. He looked up, saw Tim, and his eyes widened in terror. The baker snatched a tray of pastries, ducked back into his shop, and pulled the wooden shutters closed.
"Zoran," Tim whispered, a note of sorrow in his voice. "He used to sneak me sweet rolls after my father’s failed attempts to drill me in the yard.”
"Keep walking," Nick ordered softly, maintaining his haughty stride. "Look desperate. The trap requires you to appear weak.”
They reached the manor at the center of town, an opulent structure built into the base of the largest oak in the Barony. The great wooden doors were flanked by more guards, but upon seeing their luxurious attire and the unmistakable sigil of the ruling house, they parted without crossing their halberds. The news of the gate incident had clearly already spread.
Privately rolling his eyes at the spectacle he was about to perform, Nick kicked the huge double doors. The wood struck the stone walls with a loud crash that echoed through the grand hall.