We embarked at dawn.
The Gilded Thistle smelled of bread and hearth-ash, the same as it had every morning for the past month, and yet everything felt different—lighter and heavier all at once.
Madam Rensha stood by the door, arms crossed tightly over her apron, pretending not to cry.
Yna wasn't pretending at all.
"Ynara," Madam said softly, kneeling in front of her, hands cupping Yna's shoulders as if anchoring her to the floor. "You listen to me, alright?"
Yna nodded, lips pressed thin.
"You eat properly," Madam continued, voice trembling. "You don't skip meals just because you're tired. And you don't let this one"—she shot me a sharp look—"work you to the bone."
"I will… remind him," Yna said carefully.
Madam laughed wetly. "Good. Gods know he needs it."
She pulled Yna into a tight embrace, burying her face in crystalline hair.
For a moment, Yna froze.
Then—hesitantly—she returned the hug.
Her fingers clutched at Madam's back, unsure, awkward… but sincere.
"Come back," Madam whispered into her hair. "Even if it's just to visit. This place… it'll always have a room for you."
Yna's voice cracked. "I… understand."
Madam pulled back, wiping her eyes, then pressed a woven basket into Yna's hands—still warm.
Bread. Fruits. Preserved meats.
"For the road," she said. "And no arguments."
Then she turned to me.
Her expression hardened just slightly—not unkind, but firm.
"Take care of missy, okay?"
I bowed my head. "I understand, Madam. Thank you… for letting us stay."
She waved a hand dismissively. "You're welcome back anytime. Both of you."
We stepped outside.
The door closed behind us with a sound that felt final.
Yna lingered, staring at it.
Madam opened it one last time and waved furiously.
Yna raised her hand slowly… then faster.
And waved back.
—
The road stretched wide and open.
Golden grass rolled beneath the sun, clouds drifting lazily overhead—enough to soften the light, not enough to steal it. The Mythril Bastion rose on the horizon like a mountain forged by intent rather than stone, its towers catching the sun in cold, silver flashes.
A good day.
After nearly two months in Silia, our Adventurer IDs bore new sigils.
Cinder Rank to Wayfarer Rank.
Licensed independents.
No longer bound to beginner contracts.
I unfolded the map. "At this pace… we'll reach the gates before sundown."
I glanced at Yna.
She was chewing bread contentedly, crumbs at the corner of her mouth.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
—
The forest came quietly.
Leaves thick enough to swallow sunlight. The air damp and alive.
We were halfway through when it happened.
Footsteps.
Panicked.
A man burst from the trees, sword flailing wildly. Behind him, a girl clutching a staff screamed—
"H-HELP!!!"
"EEEEEEKKK!!!"
Wolves followed.
A whole pack.
Lower axiom beasts—dangerous in numbers, fatal to the unprepared.
Yna and I shifted instantly into stance.
I scratched my head. "…Yeah. I've got this."
I raised my hand.
Axiom surged—not uncontrolled, but shaped.
Runes ignited in my mind.
ᛋᚨ ᚱᚨ ᚲᛟ (Sara Kō – Piercing Line)(Linear Axiom Compression; converts directed mana into a high-velocity void-edged projectile.)
The adventurers ran past us, nearly colliding into Yna.
The wolves leapt.
I didn't move.
The spell fired.
A straight line of annihilation tore through the pack—flesh collapsing inward, bodies unraveling into void-dust midair. The forest fell silent as low-grade axiom core crystals clinked against the ground like rain.
I knelt, gathering them calmly, then tossed the pouch to the man.
"Here."
He stared at it. "N-no—this is too much! You saved us—thank you! Truly!"
Yna tilted her head. "Why were you in the forest? Low-level monsters gather in shaded zones. Individually weak. In groups—lethal."
I sighed. "…Yna, maybe don't terrify them."
She blinked. "I was… informing."
The girl laughed nervously. "W-we got lost. We couldn't see the city or the sun through the canopy."
"Oh," I said. "We're heading the same way. Walk with us."
Their faces lit up. "That would be our pleasure!"
Introductions followed.
"I am Elrin Mornye."
"I am Ynara Vaelar."
The girl bowed. "Tine Halewyn."
The man grinned sheepishly. "Roku Darnell."
—
The forest thinned gradually, not all at once.
Light returned in strands, slipping between branches, revealing stone markers half-buried in moss—old road signs carved with ward-runes worn smooth by centuries of passage. The ground hardened beneath our boots, roots giving way to cobble, the air changing from damp green to iron-dry.
Then—
The trees ended.
And the world opened.
The Mythril Bastion stood before us.
Not merely walls—but layers.Tier upon tier of reinforced stone and alloy, each band etched with glowing containment sigils that pulsed in slow, measured rhythms, like the breathing of a colossal beast. Watchtowers rose like spears against the sky, their lenses tracking movement with quiet vigilance. Massive gates of silvered metal loomed ahead, engraved with imperial crests and ancient runes that hummed faintly underfoot.
I stopped without realizing it.
Yna did too.
Even Tine and Roku fell silent for a moment.
"So," Roku said quietly, almost reverently, "this is it."
The Bastion wasn't beautiful in the way temples were.
It was beautiful in the way armor was.
Tine glanced at us and smiled knowingly. "Let me guess—first time?"
"…Yeah," I admitted.
She chuckled. "You never forget your first look."
The road widened as it approached the gates, feeding into a sprawling convergence of people. The closer we got, the louder it became—voices overlapping in dozens of dialects, wagons creaking, boots striking stone, the rhythmic clank of armor. Merchants argued over tolls. Migrants clutched travel permits with white-knuckled desperation. Adventurers compared scars like badges of honor.
Above us, a vast transparent magic circle stretched across the sky, faint but unmistakable—an imperial ward lattice. It filtered sunlight into something cleaner, sharper, as if even the sky was being disciplined.
Yna looked up slowly.
"…The air feels different," she murmured.
"It is," I replied. "Stabilized Axiom flow. You're standing under an empire's breathing apparatus."
The line crawled forward.
Imperial guards moved with mechanical efficiency—ID checks, toll collection, threat scans. Some people were turned away without explanation. Others were escorted aside for questioning. No shouting. No mercy. Just procedure.
Then—
"Oh? Tine Halewyn. Roku Darnell."
The guard squinted at them, unimpressed. "What trouble did you two find this time?"
"Pure coincidence!" Roku said too quickly.
The guard snorted, then turned to us. "You."
We stepped forward.
"IDs."
We handed them over. The guard studied the sigils, his brow lifting slightly.
"Wayfarers already?" he muttered. "Didn't expect that."
He glanced at Tine and Roku again. "They didn't cause you trouble, I hope."
"No," I said honestly. "They helped."
A pause.
Then the stamp came down.
"Welcome to the Mythril Bastion."
We passed beneath the arch.
And the city swallowed us whole.
The sound hit first—alive, layered, endless. Hammer on anvil. Spell-discharge crackling in controlled bursts. Steam hissing from rune-driven engines. Voices calling prices, directions, warnings.
The streets were wide, paved in polished stone veined with glowing channels that pulsed softly—Axiom conduits embedded directly into the infrastructure. Windmills turned atop buildings not for grain, but to power arcane regulators. Bridges crossed over lower districts where pipes, cables, and runic arrays intertwined like exposed veins.
Medieval towers stood beside factories.
Mage academies shared streets with forges.
This wasn't a city that grew naturally.
It was engineered.
Yna walked slowly, eyes darting everywhere, trying—and failing—to take it all in.
"There's too much," she whispered.
I nodded. "That's intentional."
Tine laughed. "First rule of Mythril—don't try to understand it all at once."
She pointed things out as we walked.
"Inns there—safe ones. Avoid anything south of the Third Ring at night."
"Market District if you need gear—but check seals twice."
"That tower's a military relay. Don't stare."
We crossed plazas filled with banners from every corner of Assembia. Saw soldiers drilling beside civilians going about their lives as if this constant readiness was normal.
At a branching alleyway, we stopped.
"This is where we split," Roku said.
Tine smiled warmly. "You'll do fine here. Just… keep your heads down."
"We will," I replied.
Yna bowed. "Thank you."
They waved, disappearing into the crowd.
I stood there with Yna beside me, the Bastion towering overhead, the hum of imperial power vibrating through stone and bone alike.
This was it.
The heart of Assembia, Mythril Empire Capital Bastion.
The place where answers waited.
I exhaled slowly.
Step one… was complete.