A heavy wooden platter slammed onto the center of the long oak table, carrying the whole roasted leg of some wild animal — probably boar or venison — charred until its outer crust looked like dark bark.
Right behind the first servant, two others hurried in carrying wooden bowls filled with a thick, grayish tuber stew, small loaves of brown bread that looked suspiciously like pumice stones, and dented pewter goblets overflowing with cloudy beer.
Sitting halfway down the massive table, William felt his stomach growl loudly after all the morning's tension. Without waiting for ceremony, he grabbed his iron knife, sawed off a thick piece of meat, and shoved it into his mouth.
He chewed once.
He chewed twice.
He chewed ten more times, his jaw muscles tightening as if he were trying to grind down a piece of old leather.
What the hell is this crap..., William cursed silently, his eyes watering slightly as he fought a war against the meat fibers. This thing has the exact texture of a vulcanized truck tire! Where is the salt? Did they forget to invent black pepper in this century??? I would trade my entire future kingdom right now for a single pinch of MSG or a cheap packet of ketchup from that greasy diner down the street!!
Glancing around the spacious dining hall — with its cold stone walls, faded tapestries depicting ancient hunts, and the Wimbledon family crest hanging above a roaring fireplace — William felt the last illusion of Hollywood movies shatter into pieces.
And this is supposed to be the table of the Fourth Prince? Royalty of Graycastle?, William thought, forcing himself to swallow the dry chunk of boar before reaching for his goblet. I ate way better food in my public high school cafeteria! If this is the pinnacle of medieval gastronomy, then I am officially the god of culinary arts!
He took a big gulp of the beer to wash the meat down, only to nearly choke on the spot. The liquid was lukewarm, flat, unfiltered, and carried a bitter aftertaste that scraped all the way down his throat.
Next to him, however, Arthur chewed his food with slow, mechanical precision.
Arthur's face was an unreadable mask. He didn't care about the rock-hard bread or the tasteless stew; his eyes were locked entirely on the head of the table.
There, Roland Wimbledon had barely touched his plate.
Leaning back against his high-backed chair, Cheng Yan was studying his two guests with the cold, unblinking intensity of a laboratory researcher examining two unknown specimens under a microscope. His fingers slowly swirled the pewter goblet of beer, letting the heavy silence stretch across the dining hall until the only sounds left were the crackling firewood and William's tortured chewing.
When the last servant finally bowed, backed out of the hall, and pulled the heavy oak double doors shut with a dull boom, only Chief Knight Carter Lannis remained inside, standing beside the entrance like a statue of polished steel.
Roland immediately stopped swirling his cup.
— "Assistant Minister Barov is currently buried in the mine production reports, and I have dismissed all the kitchen staff so we can speak without curious ears," — Roland said, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a sharp blade.
The prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on the dark wood and lacing his fingers together in front of his chin.
— "We had a very interesting talk out there in the corridor about logic, energy, and new perspectives," — Roland continued, his gray eyes narrowing. — "Beautiful words, truly. Especially in front of my Chief Knight. But philosophy does not build stone walls, and a clever speech is not enough to convince me."
Roland's gaze shifted from William's modern black shirt to Arthur's calm face.
— "Down in the dungeon, and again in the hallway, you two mentioned 'ancient books' and hinted at grand prophecies," — the prince pressed on, his tone dropping every trace of royal politeness. — "Before that, at my gates, you casually threw out the exact chemical composition of a revolutionary building material that does not exist in this kingdom. So, gentlemen... the theater is over. What are these 'ancient books', where exactly did you find them, and why should I believe a single word coming out of your mouths?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees despite the roaring fireplace.
By the door, Carter Lannis shifted his weight slightly, his gloved hand resting firmly on the pommel of his longsword. At the table, William froze with a piece of stale bread halfway to his mouth, feeling the suffocating pressure radiating from the head of the table. Roland was no longer acting like a confused young noble; that was the sharp, cynical mind of a modern engineer demanding hard facts.
Arthur did not flinch.
Slowly and deliberately, he set his rough iron fork down beside his wooden plate. He picked up a coarse linen napkin, dabbed the corners of his mouth to buy himself three precious seconds, and folded the cloth neatly on the table.
Inside his head, the entire script he had built while climbing the dungeon stairs was already laid out from start to finish. To fool a modern man trapped in a fantasy world, a simple lie wouldn't work; the lie needed to be so grand, and yet so tied to the rules of this new reality, that even a skeptical engineer wouldn't be able to prove it wrong.
— "I completely understand your suspicion, Your Highness," — Arthur began, his voice smooth, steady, and effortlessly commanding the room. — "In a world where lies and political traps are the standard currency of the royal court, the pure truth often sounds like the wildest invention."
Arthur leaned back slightly, meeting Roland's eyes without blinking.
— "To answer your questions properly, I must ask Your Highness to look far beyond the borders of Graycastle," — Arthur said. — "Beyond the Four Kingdoms, and even beyond the edges of the known continent."
Roland's eyes narrowed a fraction further.
— "Go on," — the prince ordered.
— "Some time ago, during our relentless search for lost knowledge, William and I joined an expedition exploring the extreme south, down in the treacherous waters of the Fjord Islands," — Arthur said, raising his gaze slightly toward the high stone ceiling as if recalling a distant, harrowing memory. — "As Your Highness may know, the seas down there are a death trap of whirlpools and jagged reefs. During our voyage, we were caught in an unnatural tempest — a storm of such fury that it felt almost alive. Our vessel was smashed against the rocks of an uncharted island."
Beside him, William went back to chewing his rock-hard bread in total silence, using every ounce of his self-control to keep a straight face while his heart hammered with excitement.
Oh man, there he goes again HAHAHAHA!, William cheered inside his own head, fighting the urge to grin. Let the master storyteller cook! The Fjord Islands? Does that place even exist on the map yet? Well, it does now!
— "Barely surviving the wreck, we dragged ourselves ashore and sought shelter from the freezing gale inside a deep crack at the base of a cliff," — Arthur continued, leaning forward slightly and locking his gaze back onto Roland. — "That crack led us into a colossal underground cavern. Only... the interior of that cavern had not been carved by nature, Your Highness."
Arthur lowered his voice just enough to pull Roland deeper into the narrative:
— "The walls were completely smooth, seamless, and emitted a faint, constant white glow without a single torch or flame in sight," — Arthur described. — "And right in the center of that main hall, resting atop a pedestal made of a silver metal that showed not a single spot of rust despite the sea air, lay two abnormal books."
Roland's fingers tightened around his pewter goblet.
— "Abnormal in what way?" — Roland asked, his voice tense.
— "Their physical craft was unlike anything made by human hands in our era," — Arthur replied smoothly. — "The pages were not made of sheepskin, vellum, or coarse parchment. They were thin, blindingly white, completely smooth sheets made of some pressed plant fiber that refused to tear easily. And the script inside... it was not written with a quill. Every single letter was stamped onto the page with uniform perfection."
At the head of the table, a tiny muscle twitched near Roland's jaw.
Wood-pulp paper? Mechanized printing press?, Cheng Yan's mind raced wildly behind his calm facade. Fluorescent lighting and stainless steel pedestals? Wait... did they stumble upon the ruins of a pre-apocalyptic civilization? Or devices left behind by other interdimensional travelers before me?
Seeing the exact spark of scientific curiosity he wanted in the prince's eyes, Arthur pressed forward:
— "The storm raged outside for days, trapping us inside that glowing chamber," — Arthur said, his tone carrying the weight of an actor worthy of a golden trophy. — "With no way out, we dedicated every waking hour to studying those two tomes. The first book... was a chronicle of fate. It described the history and the future of this continent with terrifying precision."
Arthur paused, letting his gaze flick briefly toward Carter Lannis by the door before returning to Roland:
— "In fact, Your Highness, that first book transcribed word for word the secret terms of the Royal Decree issued by your father, King Wimbledon III," — Arthur stated calmly. — "It detailed the exact day the decree was signed in the King's City, and the exact territories — whether prosperous or barren — assigned to each of your brothers and your sister in this contest for the crown. Everything written on those white pages has come to pass in the exact reality we stand in today."
Clink.
By the heavy oak doors, the steel plates of Carter Lannis's armor shifted as the Chief Knight let out a low, sharp breath of pure disbelief, his grip tightening so hard on his sword hilt that his knuckles turned white.
For two unannounced foreigners to speak so openly and accurately about the King's succession decree — a sensitive political matter whose fine details were kept strictly within the royal family and top ministers — was borderline treasonous on the part of the other nobles who spread the information to mere outsiders..
Roland's breathing grew noticeably heavier as well.
There is no way simple travelers would know the internal clauses of my father's decree, especially isolated out here in Border Town, Roland calculated rapidly. Unless they are elite agents sent by Garcia, Timothy, or Gerald... No, even spies wouldn't throw that card on the table just to brag about a book.
— "And what else did this supposed prophetic book say?" — Roland asked, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned closer over the table, unable to hide his burning curiosity beneath a mask of royal indifference.
Arthur offered a small, discreet smile — the smile of a man holding a winning royal flush.
— "The first book also revealed the conclusion of the contest, Your Highness," — Arthur said softly. — "It stated that the Fourth Prince, initially mocked by the court and exiled to the poorest mining town on the frontier, would not merely survive the brutal winter and the Months of Demons. It wrote that you would shatter the old rules of this world."
Arthur's voice rang clear and steady across the quiet hall:
— "It stated that Your Highness would be the only ruler with the wisdom to see the true worth of witches, pulling them from the gallows to ignite an era of iron and fire," — Arthur continued. — "And in the final chapters of that tome... it was written that Roland Wimbledon would crush the schemes of his siblings, bring the Church of Hermes to its knees, unify the realm, and sit upon the throne as the one true Supreme King."
When Arthur finished speaking, the silence in the dining hall became absolute.
Even the crackling of the logs in the fireplace seemed to fade into the background. By the door, Carter Lannis looked as if he had been struck by lightning, his eyes darting between the calm scholar and the young prince he served.
At the head of the table, Roland's mind practically short-circuited.
A prophecy? A book predicting that I win the throne and overthrow the Church?, Cheng Yan thought, his modern skepticism fighting a war inside his skull.
As a man raised on science, the very word "prophecy" usually made him want to laugh out loud. It sounded like cheap street-corner fortune-telling or a badly written fantasy novel.
Yet, how could he cling blindly to his old worldview now? He had died at his desk and woken up inside the body of a medieval prince. Less than an hour ago, he had watched a seventeen-year-old girl summon pure fire out of thin air without fuel or oxygen. If soul transmigration and magic were undeniable facts of this universe, who was he to say that precognition — or perhaps a high-level probability calculation made by an ancient technological relic — was impossible?
More importantly, Roland analyzed, his mental gears spinning at top speed, if they truly read a book saying I would save witches and use them to build a new era, that completely explains why neither of them flinched when I spared Anna at the gallows or in the dungeon!
Every strange reaction from the duo over the past twenty-four hours suddenly clicked into a single, logical narrative.
Still, Cheng Yan was not about to surrender that easily. He tapped a finger against the oak table, his eyes locking back onto Arthur.
— "Assuming, for a moment, that I buy this very convenient fable about my glorious future," — Roland said, his tone sharp and testing. — "A book of history and fate still does not explain what you shouted at my castle gates yesterday. Magic and royal prophecies do not teach industrial chemistry, Mr. Arthur. How do you know the exact raw materials and kiln processes required to make cement?"
— "And that brings us directly to the second book on that pedestal, Your Highness," — Arthur replied without missing a single beat, letting a flash of genuine excitement show in his eyes.
— "While the first tome dealt with the history of men and kings, the second was an encyclopedia of the physical world," — Arthur explained, gesturing with his hands over the table. — "However, unlike the first book, its language was deeply complex. Most of its pages were filled with concepts that even we could barely grasp. There were detailed drawings of towering metal chimneys breathing dark smoke, heavy iron carriages that moved across steel tracks without a single horse pulling them, and strange, intricate symbols."
Arthur looked straight into the engineer's soul:
— "Page after page was covered in bizarre formulas made of letters, numbers, and geometric diagrams linked together," — Arthur added.
Chemical formulas! Thermodynamic equations and mechanical blueprints!, Roland's heart slammed against his ribs so hard he had to clench his teeth to keep from standing up out of his chair. They didn't find a magic grimoire... they found an engineering manual from the modern world!
— "Most of those advanced machines required tools that simply do not exist in our world," — Arthur concluded, resting his hands flat on the table. — "But during the days we were trapped by the storm, William and I focused on deciphering and memorizing the foundational sections we could actually understand and apply. That was where we learned the true nature of elements, the classification of ores, the principles of high-temperature kilns, and... the exact formula for grinding limestone and clay into gray powder that hardens like solid rock under water. We absorbed every line we could before the tempest finally broke."
Sitting right next to Arthur, William hurriedly raised his coarse linen napkin to his face, pretending to wipe his mouth while his shoulders shook slightly with suppressed laughter.
Holy shit! I am sitting right next to the greatest bullshitter in the history of the universe! HAHAHAHAHA!, William screamed inside his mind, his head spinning with admiration for his friend's nerve. This absolute madman just came up with a bulletproof alibi! He explained why we know the entire plot of the novel using the 'first book', and explained why we know modern ideas without knowing how to build a nuclear reactor from scratch because the 'second book' was too hard to read! He literally turned our manga and webnovel binge-reading into a sacred artifact! Forget nobility, give this bastard an Oscar right now!
At the head of the table, Roland leaned all the way back against the carved wood of his chair, his gaze drifting toward the dancing orange flames of the fireplace.
He processed every single word in silence.
If someone had told him this story back on Earth, he would have called psychiatric security within two minutes.
Wait... he wasn't on Earth anymore.
Roland looked down at his own pale, slender hand resting on the armrest — the same hand that had felt the heat of Anna's magical fire down in the dark cell. In a bizarre world where girls could bend the laws of physics at will, Arthur's story about a glowing cavern and two mysterious printed books was actually the most rational explanation possible for how two outsiders knew about cement and his own secret ambitions.
More than that: whether their story was a hundred percent true or hid something deeper, their practical value to him was undeniable. He was one man trying to drag a feudal backwater into the industrial age; having two sharp assistants who already understood the concepts of the future was a gift from heaven.
Then, a sudden wave of pure scientific greed hit Roland.
He sat up straight, his eyes flashing with urgency as he fixed his gaze on Arthur.
— "That second tome..." — Roland began, his voice barely concealing the hunger of an engineer who had just heard about a library of Alexandria. — "What other practical processes did you manage to memorize besides cement? And much more importantly... where are those two books right now? Did you leave them in the Reino da Aurora, or are they still hidden in the Fjord Islands? If I commission an ocean-going vessel as soon as winter ends, can you guide my men back to that cavern? With that single encyclopedia in my hands, Border Town could leap forward five hundred years in a single generation!"
Arthur slowly lowered his gaze to the wooden table, letting a heavy, theatrical sigh escape his chest — looking every bit like a devoted scholar mourning the loss of a priceless treasure.
— "That, Your Highness, is our greatest tragedy, and the very reason we guard what remains in our heads so fiercely," — Arthur said, shaking his head slowly. — "When the storm finally calmed on the fifth day and the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds outside, we decided it was time to leave the island and seek a ship. Naturally, we lifted both books from the metal pedestal to bring them with us."
Roland leaned halfway across the table, holding his breath.
— "What happened to them?" — the prince demanded.
— "The moment we stepped across the threshold of that cavern and the natural light of the sun touched their covers, they vanished right in our hands," — Arthur declared, raising his eyes to meet Roland's stunned gaze directly. — "They did not burn into ash, nor did they crumble into dust. They simply dissolved into thousands of tiny particles of white light, scattering into the ocean breeze as if they had never existed at all."
Arthur placed his right hand over his chest in a solemn gesture:
— "Once their contents had been passed into our minds, the artifacts fulfilled their purpose," — Arthur concluded smoothly. — "The physical books are gone forever, Your Highness. All that remains of that knowledge is what William and I carry inside our memories. And because those pages defied reality in a way no mortal craft ever could, we believed every word of the prophecy they held. That is why we crossed the sea and came straight to this muddy frontier — to stand at the side of the future Supreme King."
A monumental silence settled over the dining hall once again.
Roland closed his eyes and raised a hand to rub his temples, letting out a long, defeated breath.
The disappointment of losing a complete manual of modern science felt like a lead weight dropping into his stomach. For a brief moment, he had pictured himself flipping through printed periodic tables, lathe blueprints, and steam engine diagrams.
Yet, at the exact same time, he had to admit that Arthur's explanation closed the final loophole in their story. Books that dissolved into light sounded absurd, yes — but no more absurd than a girl conjuring fire from nothing. And convenient or not, it meant there was no physical evidence left for Roland to demand, nor any library for his enemies to steal.
Deep down, Cheng Yan accepted that he had lost this round of the interrogation.
Were Arthur and William hiding something behind that polished story? Almost certainly. Their modern clothes and that sapphire-crystal wristwatch still didn't match a simple shipwreck in the south.
But does it really matter right now?, Roland asked himself pragmatically. If I lock them in the dungeon or torture them, I gain nothing and risk losing the only two people in this world who actually understand what I'm trying to build. As long as I keep them inside my castle, under my watch, their brains belong to Border Town.
Roland opened his eyes, dropping the cold, hostile mask of an interrogator and replacing it with the composed acceptance of a ruler.
— "Losing a complete record of physical science to the sea wind is an immeasurable tragedy for this world, without a doubt," — Roland said, shaking his head with a dry sigh. — "However... the fact that you two survived that wreck and walked all the way to my gates with what you memorized cannot be ignored. Whether you were sent here by the whim, by ancient magic, or by fate itself... you are officially welcome in Border Town."
Screeech.
Roland pushed his heavy chair back and stood up at the head of the table, his royal cape brushing against the stone floor as he signaled the end of the audience.
— "We have had more than enough revelations for a single morning, and I still have a mountain of administrative mess to clean up," — the prince said, looking from Arthur to William. — "From this moment on, you two are no longer under guard watch. You have my personal protection within these walls."
Roland turned his head toward the entrance:
— "Carter."
— "Yes, Your Highness," — the Chief Knight answered immediately, stepping forward.
— "Have the guards unlock their things and instruct the head maid to prepare two permanent guest rooms in the east corridor, right past the main kitchen where the warmth of the ovens keeps the stones dry," — Roland ordered. — "Our two scholars from the Reino da Aurora are now honored guests of Graycastle. Let them rest today and get used to the castle. Tomorrow morning, we begin turning those 'prophetic memories' of theirs into real limestone kilns and iron."
Carter Lannis struck his clenched fist against the steel breastplate over his heart in a crisp salute, then pulled one of the heavy oak doors open.
— "It will be done, Your Highness. Right this way, gentlemen."
Arthur and William stood up from the table at the same time. They offered Roland a brief, respectful bow of the head — neither too servile like the local peasants, nor arrogant like the court nobles — and walked out of the dining hall, leaving the exhausted prince alone by the fireplace with his thoughts of rotary kilns and royal thrones.
As soon as they crossed the threshold into the bright stone corridor and the heavy doors thudded shut behind them, Carter Lannis took the lead, his armored boots marching five paces ahead down the hallway.
Waiting until the knight's back was turned, William couldn't hold it in for another second.
He nudged Arthur's ribs sharply with his elbow, his eyes wide with a mixture of sheer disbelief and absolute admiration as he mouthed a silent curse.
— "Books that dissolve into particles of light?!" — William whispered so softly it barely brushed past his lips, grinning from ear to ear. — "You sick scoundrel, you actually sold him our webnovel history as a divine prophecy!"
Arthur didn't say a single word.
Keeping his pace steady behind the Chief Knight, the strategist simply reached up with two fingers to straighten the collar of his modern shirt, cast a sideways glance at his grinning friend, and let a cold, supremely satisfied smirk settle across his face.
The interrogation was over, and every single piece on the board had moved exactly where he wanted. The Prince had swallowed the hook, the line, and the sinker — and now, the industrial revolution of Border Town was officially in their hands.