Chapter 39: City of Oakhaven

"Do not underestimate him because he lacks a tyrant’s reputation, Seraphina. Still waters run deep."

"Will we fight him?" Seraphina asked, tilting her head.

"That’s unlikely to happen," Kaelus said, a faint smirk crossing his lips. "I have no quarrel with Myer. We are merely passing through his capital city, Oakhaven, to utilize their teleportation gate network. It will cut our journey to the Imperial Capital by a month."

He leaned back, the carriage swaying gently as they hit the cobblestone road.

"He is a man I can respect. He does not squander his resources, and he does not lie to my face." Kaelus looked at Seraphina. "It will be a peaceful transit."

The city of Oakhaven was a marvel of architectural harmony.

Unlike the towering, imposing, militaristic black stone structures of the Northern Bastion, Oakhaven was built seamlessly into the surrounding environment.

Massive, ancient oak trees with trunks as wide as houses grew right through the center of the city squares, their sprawling canopies providing natural shade over the bustling marketplaces.

The buildings were crafted from warm, sun-baked clay and polished white stone, giving the entire city a bright, welcoming atmosphere.

When the convoy of the Black Bastion passed through the massive wrought-iron gates, the city did not descend into the panicked, terrified silence that usually accompanied Kaelus’s presence.

The citizens of Oakhaven were certainly intimidated; it was impossible not to be intimidated by fifty heavily armored knights riding demonic warbeasts, but they did not flee.

They stood by the sides of the wide avenues, whispering excitedly, pointing at the massive black carriage and the terrifying, scarred men who rode alongside it.

Inside the carriage, Seraphina had her face pressed flat against the glass, her breath fogging up the window.

"Look!" she gasped, her eyes wide. "Papa Duke, look! They have a fountain shaped like a fish! And that man is juggling fire! And... oh! Are those candied apples?!"

Her small hands slapped against the glass as they rolled past a vibrant market square filled with brightly colored tents and the mouth-watering scent of roasted meats, spun sugar, and fresh pastries.

For a child who had spent five years eating watery cabbage soup in a gray, decaying orphanage, the sensory overload of Oakhaven was intoxicating.

Kaelus watched her excitement.

He saw the way her eyes tracked every food stall, every street performer, every bright piece of fabric.

He then looked down at his own hands, clad in black leather.

He had intended to proceed directly to the Marquess’s estate, conduct the necessary diplomatic pleasantries, secure the teleportation gate, and leave by morning.

It was the efficient, logical route.

But as he watched the child’s shoulders slump slightly when the carriage turned away from the market square, heading up the long, winding road toward the noble district, logic seemed to lose its grip on him.

She had been locked in this mythril box for over a week.

She had faced assassins, ghosts, and the terrifying revelation of her own supreme magical core without a single complaint.

She had been the perfect, obedient pawn.

’A pawn requires maintenance,’ Kaelus justified to himself, the internal lie practically transparent. ’Confining her to the estate of another noble immediately upon arrival will induce stress. And stress affects magical cores. It’s a necessity to allow her to decompress.’

"Sir Lucas," Kaelus commanded, pushing the small sliding window at the front of the carriage open.

"Your Grace?" Lucas’s voice boomed back.

"Halt the convoy."

The carriage ground to a halt.

The knights around them immediately snapped to attention, hands drifting to their weapons, assuming the Archduke had sensed an ambush.

Kaelus pushed the carriage door open and stepped out into the bustling street, his imposing figure instantly causing the nearby pedestrians to freeze in awe and terror.

"Lucas, Gallahan," Kaelus said, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Take the vanguard. Proceed directly to the estate of Marquess Myer. Secure our lodgings and inform the Marquess that I will be delayed. I will arrive by sundown."

Sir Lucas blinked, his scarred face twisting in confusion. "Delayed, Your Grace? Are you pursuing a threat? Shall I detach a strike team to accompany you?"

"No," Kaelus said flatly.

He turned around and reached back into the carriage.

His massive hands gripped Seraphina by the waist, lifting her out of the cabin and setting her gently on the cobblestone street beside him.

"The Lady and I require a detour," Kaelus announced, his tone brooking absolutely no argument.

Gallahan, sitting atop his horse, looked from the terrifying Reaper of the North to the tiny, wide-eyed girl in the blue dress, and then toward the vibrant market square just down the street.

A massive, knowing grin split Gallahan’s face.

"Understood perfectly, Your Grace!" Gallahan saluted, struggling to suppress a laugh. "We shall secure the estate and leave you to your... tactical operations."

Lucas, still somewhat confused, nodded slowly. "As you command. Vanguard! Forward march! Leave the Duke to his business!"

As the heavy cavalry thundered away toward the upper district, Seraphina looked up at Kaelus, her head tilted so far back she almost lost her balance.

"Are we not going to see the good Marquess yet?" she asked.

"The Marquess can wait," Kaelus said, adjusting the cuffs of his dark coat. He looked down at her. "You have been confined for days. And I believe I heard you mention something about a candied apple. It is entirely unacceptable for my heir to lack proper sustenance."

Seraphina’s eyes widened to comical proportions. "We’re going to the market?!"

Kaelus didn’t smile, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

He held out his massive, black-gloved hand.

Seraphina didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed his index and middle fingers with her tiny, warm hand, gripping him tightly.

She practically vibrated with excitement, her small feet doing a rapid, joyful tap-dance on the cobblestones.

"Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!" she chanted, tugging on his hand with all the strength a six-year-old could muster up.

It was a ridiculous sight.