Chapter 11: The Underlying Current

Kalia lay on the ground, having fallen alongside the wooden chair whose backrest was pressing painfully against her. Yet she did not awaken immediately. Instead, she was experiencing a common phenomenon among overworked office workers and weary students alike—her brain was rebooting.

Still not fully alert, Kalia tried to make sense of her surroundings. “A strange ceiling…” she murmured, gazing at the unfamiliar ceiling that starkly contrasted with the cozy wooden interior of her own cabin. Oh… so she had already left the Blackthorn Territory.

The rare restful sleep left Kalia in a haze, making her think she had simply dozed off at the treehouse desk. It wasn’t until she took in the unfamiliar scene before her and Roland’s handsome face—marked by a mood that wasn’t quite pleasant—that she snapped out of her daze.

Swiftly, Kalia averted her gaze from Roland, then melted into the shadows before reemerging from another corner of the room. She found herself hesitant to look at him—not just because of the near accident from the previous night, but also due to the strange, unwarranted imaginings that now left her unsure how to interact with him.

Though Kalia remained silent, Roland did not. “You have a bed and choose to sleep face down on the table? That’s creative,” he quipped.

“I…” she began.

“Forget it. If you like it, that’s fine. I don’t have the right to decide where you want to sleep,” Roland said, quickly brushing off the subject. He then shifted to more pressing matters: “Get yourself sorted and come with me to the city defense headquarters.”

“And my personal advice? You should take a bath and change your clothes first.”

“The address here has likely been compromised, but thanks to the martial law imposed by the city defense, those black-clad men haven’t come for you—yet.”

“If you dawdle, who knows what might happen.”

With that, Roland closed the door and left, tossing over his shoulder, “Come find me in the basement when you’re ready.”

Watching him depart without looking back, Kalia whispered to herself, “So bossy right from the start… but I promised to follow his lead in Ryscan, after all.”

She also couldn’t help but marvel that this guy actually had connections within the city defense forces. That thought brought her some relief.

On this continent, the Hest Empire stood as a preeminent power, its military might overflowing. This was embodied in its imperial army equipped with standardized magical gear. Such equipment compensated for the predominantly brawny soldiers' lack of sophisticated offensive options.

A perfect example was the insane mines that could explode and kill four-ring mages before they even realized it. Although the Imperial Academy had yet to find a way to reduce the exorbitant cost of this magical equipment, preventing every soldier from being outfitted, the current resources were sufficient.

Even in Blackthorn Territory, where Kalia grew up, the city defense troops were formidable, let alone in a bustling commercial hub like Ryscan. Generally, the wealthier a city, the better equipped its defense forces.

Her mentor, a nine-ring legendary-level mage, had once told her that if a city defense unit could concentrate all their magical gear’s firepower instantaneously, they could pierce through the defenses of a legendary mage.

This spoke volumes about the combat strength of the city defense troops—they were far from mere fillers.

Though Kalia had come to realize her mentor was a bit unreliable in private, she never doubted his immense power. As a legendary mage capable of physically crossing the Storm Ocean, braving its raging magical hurricanes to reach the elves’ homeland of Avalon, his strength was enough to easily overturn a nation.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have survived the brutal demon king extermination war.

That the Empire’s magic gear could inflict injuries on her mentor was testament to its sophistication and the formidable average combat capability of the imperial army.

Thus, upon learning that Roland had connections within the city defense, Kalia finally exhaled in relief. To her, the worst seemed over. All she had to do next was buy a ticket to the capital.

Finally able to put down the heavy weight on her chest after half a month of anxiety, Kalia peeked to confirm Roland was not lurking near the second-floor bathroom, then retrieved a change of clothes from the shadows and slipped into the bathroom.

Meanwhile, in the basement workshop he had arranged, Roland pulled out the portable communication device he had salvaged. After some inspection, he confirmed his earlier assessment: the rune engraving responsible for receiving signals was damaged, just needing repair.

“Not too troublesome,” he muttered.

“But this map…”

Roland produced the map he had found hidden inside the communicator. It was marked with five red dots. Since it was a miniature layout of the city, Roland could not immediately pinpoint the exact locations of the dots.

While waiting for the communication device to reboot after repairing the rune, Roland compared the miniature map to the larger map of Ryscan pinned on the basement wall.

This relic had belonged to old Lancelot and was ten years out of date. Despite the city’s development causing significant changes in the urban layout, the general geography remained recognizable.

Matching the maps, Roland soon identified the five marked locations: the Governor’s Mansion, City Defense Headquarters, Water Supply Center, Port, and Magic Train Transfer Hub.

He was certain of these coordinates, as these sites had not shifted with urban growth.

A foreboding feeling crept over Roland.

Recalling the rat he had killed earlier—the one whose death inexplicably granted him system rewards—he felt uneasy.

The clues he had gathered were weaving a dense web in his mind, but the connecting nodes remained elusive.

His thoughts tangled like a knot, breeding only disquiet.

“I’m ready, Roland. Uh… still feels strange to call you that,” a voice interrupted.

Roland looked toward the staircase leading to the basement. Kalia was leaning against the railing, half emerging to greet him.

She had tidied her long hair into a ponytail, dressed simply in a white cashmere sweater and a black skirt.

She no longer looked like a witch, but rather an ordinary girl next door.

As Roland thought this, Kalia pulled a stereotypical black wide-brimmed witch’s hat from behind her back and placed it on her head.

“How do I look? Should I try a different color?”

“I brought ten hats in different colors with me,” she teased, pressing the brim down and smiling playfully at Roland.

“...Very nice. If you’re ready, then let’s go. Don’t keep Colonel Odmeyer waiting.”