Runaway Sorceress
A few days of relative peace passed in Loriana, days that Asep spent acquainting himself with the rhythms of mercenary life. It was a monotonous, yet oddly comforting routine. Mornings were for training—grueling drills and sparring sessions a bit different from the brawling style he was used to. Afternoons were for patrols, either within the town or along the main roads, a visible deterrent to any bandits or opportunistic troublemakers looking to prey on the steady stream of refugees. And evenings... evenings were for the tavern, for drinking and enjoying the night, and the gradually growing camaraderie with his new comrades.
That peaceful interlude, however, was destined to be short-lived.
One morning, Stark gathered them in a small, private briefing room just off the main guildhall. The room was bare save for a table and a few chairs. Bob and Karl were already there, looking unusually serious.
"Lemme guess, sorcerer again?" Karl immediately asked.
"Unfortunately, yes. Another rogue sorcerer," Stark said, unrolling a piece of parchment on the table. "This one is an emergency request. They said the sorceress is on her way to Ardenia, and Zachary wants us to take this job quickly. Considering her background, she is a dangerous one. One of the Grand Sanctuary's students. If we don't deal with her quickly, the Templar Knights of the Holy Empire might cross the border to seize her, which will be a huge problem for us."
Bob whistled softly, leaning over the table to get a better look at the bounty poster. The sketch on it showed a young woman with long hair and an unnervingly vacant expression in her eyes. "Grand Sanctuary... that's the top magic academy on the whole continent, isn't it? Run by the Papacy itself. What's one of their students doing all the way out here? And why is she wanted?"
"The details are sparse," Stark admitted, tapping a finger on the text below the sketch. "It just says 'Wanted for treason against the Holy Empire and unsanctioned use of forbidden arts.'"
Asep, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed himself upright. "Forbidden arts? So we're talking about raising the dead, summoning demons, that kind of fun stuff?"
"Maybe. The poster isn't specific." Stark folded the poster. "But whatever she did, it was enough to get the Templars on her trail. And we all know what happens when the Templars get involved. They're not exactly known for their subtlety or respect for international borders. If they cross into Ardenia, it'll give the Empire the perfect excuse to 'pacify' the region and reclaim their old territory. We can't let that happen." He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze hard. "Our mission is to find her and neutralize her before they do. We'll head out immediately."
"Where do we even start looking?" Karl asked, scratching his chin. "Ardenia's a big place. She could be anywhere."
"Actually, Hank has found a lead," Stark said. Upon hearing that, Bob raised an eyebrow.
"Hank? My cousin? He's back from Clemeront?"
"Yeah. He just returned this morning. He'll guide us from there. Now, gear up. We leave in twenty minutes."
---
The southern wilderness of Ardenia was a plain where Asep first arrived in this world, a sprawling expanse of grasslands that was more akin to a wind-swept prairie than a tranquil savannah, interspersed with rocky crags and dense thickets of thorny bushes. It was untamed land, a place where civilization's grip was tenuous at best. They met Hank at the edge of the wilderness, a wiry, sun-weathered man with a sharp, hawkish face and eyes that missed nothing. He was, as Stark had said, a ranger, and the family resemblance to Bob was there, in the quiet, observant way he carried himself.
"Cuz," Bob greeted him with a nod. "Good to see you're still in one piece."
"You too," Hank replied in a low, gravelly rasp. He gave the rest of the group a quick, appraising once-over before turning his attention to Stark. "I've been tracking her for three days. She's clever, I'll give her that. Sticks to the rough terrain, doubles back to cover her tracks."
"So, what kind of sorceress is she? A fire mage like Borwe?" Karl asked.
Hank wiped his face. "Nah... Actually, I doubt the threat is real."
"What do you mean?" Stark asked, furrowing his brow.
"She's a child. At best, she's about Clara's age. Or even younger, but yeah... I saw her doing some Lumite experiments, though the 'dangerous' part is most likely a bluff made by the church to hunt her down."
"A bluff? Made by the church?" Karl said, scratching his head. "Wait. Does that mean...?"
"She knows something. Something that the church wants to hide. The Templars aren't after her; they're after the secrets in her head, and they made up a good reason to hunt her down."
"Tch... Politicians. I hate 'em," Karl said with a disgusted expression.
"But still..." Stark looked at Hank. "We still need to confirm it. Where did you last see her?"
"Heading northeast, towards Windyvale Town." Hank turned his gaze toward the plains, pointing a finger into the distance. "We need to go before any other bounty hunters find her, Stark."
"Yeah. Alright, let's go!"
---
The woods bordering Windyvale Town were a tangled mess of gnarled roots and moss-covered trees, their dense canopy blotting out much of the sun. The Ardennes, known for its dense forests, rolling hills, and steep valleys, spanned further southeast of Ardenia into northeast Gallia and west Saxonia. For Treste, the perpetual twilight of the forest floor was both a blessing and a curse. It offered concealment from the prying eyes of her pursuers, but it also teemed with unseen dangers. The snapping of a twig could be a squirrel or a stalking wild fangbeast. The rustle of leaves could be the wind or the whisper of a bounty hunter's cloak. Her stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot, a gnawing reminder that she hadn't eaten anything more substantial than a few sour berries in two days. Exhaustion was a heavy cloak draped over her shoulders, each step requiring a monumental effort of will. She clutched the heavy, leather-bound grimoire to her chest, the only comfort she had left in this hostile world.
*Just a little further*, she told herself, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. *Windyvale is just past this ridge. A real town. With food. And a real bed. I can hide there. Just for a little while. They won't think to look for me in a place so... normal.*
But her hope was a flickering candle in a hurricane. She'd already had to deal with three separate groups of bounty hunters since crossing into Ardenia. The first, a brutish trio of ax-wielding thugs, she'd managed to disable with a well-placed sleep hex, buying her a precious few hours. The second, a lone, silent assassin with a pair of wicked-looking daggers, had been a much closer call. She'd only escaped by collapsing a section of a cliffside with a desperate earth-shattering spell, a reckless use of mana that had left her dizzy and nauseous. Her reserves were running dangerously low. She couldn't afford another direct confrontation.
"Ah... I hope I can see Master soon... This is frustrating," she muttered.
A twig snapped behind her, louder and closer than before. Treste froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She spun around, her amethyst eyes wide with panic, her hand flying to the satchel at her hip where she kept her casting components.
"Between flameberry and long pepper, what do you think is better for a spicy mix?"
The voice that floated through the trees was unexpected. It wasn't the guttural snarl of a beast or the gruff, demanding tone of a bounty hunter. It was... a young man's voice. Bored. Lazy, almost.
"Uh... I think they have different tastes. I'm more of a flameberry user. It packs a punch. Long pepper is kinda... subtle," another voice replied, this one more pragmatic.
Five figures emerged from the shadows of the trees, moving with a practiced, casual ease that was somehow more unnerving than open aggression. They fanned out, forming a loose, inescapable semi-circle around her. One was a tall man in a sallet helmet, holding a spear. Another was a brawny man with a green bandana and a spear. A third was a man with a fierce-looking mohawk, holding a crossbow. Beside him, a sun-weathered man with a large longbow slung across his back. And the last one... was just some dark-skinned man with no visible weapons, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trousers.
*Five of them. This is bad. I don't have enough mana to fight all of them. If one of them finds me—*
A voice suddenly sounded right behind her. "Looking for a place to eat?"
"Waahhh!" She jumped, spinning to face the dark-skinned man who had somehow appeared there. "S-stay away! I-I'm warning you! I know forbidden magic!" she blurted out, her voice trembling as she brandished her grimoire like a shield.
The man with no weapons just raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. He took a slow look around the clearing, his gaze lingering on the trampled undergrowth and snapped branches, the clear signs of her recent, frantic passage.
"Yeah, we can see that," he said, his tone dry. "Seems like what they said was true."
"That's right! So, y-you should just leave before I turn you all into... into newts!" It was a childish, empty threat, and she knew it, but it was all she could muster in her panicked and exhausted state.
"Nah," the man with the sallet helmet—Stark—said, his voice calm and even. "We're not here to hurt you, kid. Actually, we're here to do the opposite."
"W-what?" Treste stammered, her confusion overriding her fear for a moment. This wasn't how these encounters were supposed to go. They were supposed to sneer and threaten and demand she surrender. But these men... they were just... standing there. Looking at her. One of them was even yawning.
"Hank, the path's cleared, right?" Stark asked the ranger.
The hawkish man—Hank—nodded. "Cleared it out this morning. Took care of three different groups snooping around the area. A bunch of amateurs. More interested in the coin than a clean capture. They won't be bothering anyone for a while."
"See?" Stark continued, his gaze returning to Treste. "We've been cleaning up the riffraff for you. We just want to talk. No turning anyone into newts. Scout's honor." He placed a hand over his heart in a gesture that was clearly meant to be reassuring, though it looked slightly ridiculous with his helmet on.
Treste stared at them, her mind struggling to process this bizarre turn of events. Cleared the other bounty hunters? For her? Why? She took a hesitant step back, her knuckles white as she gripped her grimoire. "Who... who are you people?"
"We're with the Castalia Mercenary Company of Loriana," Bob, the crossbowman, supplied. "We've been hired to... escort you."
"Yeah. Someone's worried about your safety," Karl, the man with the bandana, added with a grin. "Seems you've got a guardian angel somewhere, little witch."
Treste's brows furrowed. A guardian angel? The only person who even knew she was coming to Ardenia was... her Master. Could she have hired them? It seemed unlikely. She was a legendary witch with no interest in worldly affairs, let alone dealing with a mercenary company. But then... who else could it be? She lowered her grimo—
*Grrrowwwwwl...*
A loud, mortifying rumble echoed through the quiet clearing. A hot flush of embarrassment crept up Treste's neck, her face turning a shade of crimson that clashed with her pale lilac hair. The sound had come from her own stomach.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then the man with no weapons—Asep—let out a soft chuckle. He reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
"Here," he said, tossing it to her. "You sound like you need this more than we do."
Treste fumbled with the bundle, her fingers clumsy with exhaustion, but she managed to catch it. She unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a chunk of hard bread and a piece of dried, salted meat. It wasn't much, but to her, it was a feast. Her stomach rumbled again, this time with a desperate, hopeful growl. She looked from the food in her hands to the faces of the five men watching her. Their expressions were unreadable, but there was no malice in them. Just a sort of weary patience.
"So..." Stark said, breaking the silence. "Are we going to stand here all day, or are you going to let us take you somewhere safe? Your choice, kid."
"Hmph! I am the great sorceress Treste, no need for help," Treste said, trying to puff her chest with a prideful look. "And I don't need your help, thank you."
The five men looked at each other before nodding. "Is that so? Well, see you around then," Stark said before turning his back on her, followed by the others.
"Eh?" Treste was stunned. She had expected them to push her to come with them.
"Later, kid," Asep said with a wave.
"Wait! I-I... I mean, I can show you my gratitude by letting you... letting you escort meee!"
---
The journey back to Loriana was a quiet, almost sullen affair. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery strokes of orange and purple before fading into the deep indigo of early evening. The twin moons were already high in the sky when they arrived at the town's bridge. Treste, having wolfed down the bread and dried meat with a speed that belied her petite frame, now trailed a few paces behind the group, her arms crossed and a pout firmly in place on her face. Her pride had been wounded, her grand, intimidating persona as a 'dangerous sorceress' utterly dismantled not by force, but by a simple act of kindness and a subsequent display of complete indifference. It was, she decided, the most humiliating experience of her young life. Asep seemed amused by how little effort it had taken to bring her to Loriana. He was humming a random melody he'd heard in the tavern the day before.
"Stop humming! It's annoying!" Treste snapped, her voice sharp.
"Oh? Sorry, Miss Great Sorceress," Asep replied without turning around, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "Didn't realize my peasant humming was an affront to your noble ears."
Treste just grumbled, kicking a loose pebble on the dirt path.
Upon reaching the guildhall, Stark led her directly to Zachary's office, while the rest of the group, mission accomplished, peeled off and headed for the comfortable, familiar chaos of the Havenfold Inn, their lodgings and preferred watering hole. Zachary was, as always, behind his desk, the soft glow of a Lumite-powered lamp illuminating the piles of paperwork in front of him. He looked up as Stark and Treste entered, his sharp eyes taking in the young sorceress with a calm, neutral expression.
"Miss Treste, I presume," Zachary began, his voice a smooth, even baritone. "I am Zachary, the commander of this company. Thank you for agreeing to come with us."
"Hmph. It's not like I had much of a choice," Treste mumbled, pointedly avoiding his gaze and instead choosing to examine a particularly intricate tapestry hanging on the curved wall of the office.
Zachary let the comment slide. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Please, have a seat. I'm sure you're tired. I have some questions for you, if you don't mind."
Treste hesitated for a moment before shuffling over and sinking into the plush leather chair. It was far more comfortable than she had expected. Stark gave Zachary a nod before quietly excusing himself, leaving the two of them alone.
"Now then," Zachary began, steepling his fingers. "The bounty poster issued by the Papacy claims you are a dangerous fugitive who has committed treason and practiced forbidden arts. My men, however, seem to be under the impression that you are little more than a lost, hungry child. Which is it?" His question was direct, leaving no room for evasion.
Treste bristled at the word 'child.' "I am not a child! I'm already an adult! And I am a fully initiated sorceress of the Grand Sanctuary!" She sat up straighter, trying to project an aura of authority. "The forbidden arts part... might have been a bit of an exaggeration. To scare off undesirables. It's a perfectly sound defensive strategy!"
"I see..." A ghost of a smile touched Zachary's lips. "And the treason? What could a student, even one from the Grand Sanctuary, do to warrant such a severe accusation?"
"It's seeecreeet!" Treste said with a cheeky smile. "But a student can't do anything to be accused of treason. Isn't it a bit exaggerated?"
"Then tell me the real reason. Why are you running from the Sanctuary? Isn't it a prestigious place to learn magic?"
"You don't understand!" Treste huffed. "Besides, I'm searching for my Master. She's somewhere here in Ardenia. She said... I need to find my own way in magic, so she left me alone..."
"... I see." Zachary nodded. *She must be desperate. Should I ask more about the Grand Sanctuary? No... I don't think she wants to talk about it. If I put more pressure, she'll probably break down. Alright, for now I'll just play along with what she told me.* "So, your Master. You're trying to find her. Who is she?"
"She's a great mage. The best in the entire world! She knows every spell, can brew every potion, and is even friends with a dragon!" Treste's eyes shone with a hero-worshipping fervor as she spoke of her master, her earlier defensiveness melting away. "But... she's also a bit... eccentric. She told me to see the world beyond the walls of the Sanctuary, and just vanished, leaving only a note telling me to go, seek my own way."
Zachary listened patiently, absorbing every detail. A runaway student, an eccentric master, a vague quest... On its own, it sounded like a teenage misadventure. But the involvement of the Papacy and the Templars added a sinister, political dimension to the story that couldn't be ignored. He had a feeling the truth was far more complex than Treste was letting on, or perhaps even understood herself.
*But letting her wander around would be bad for this region. What if they caught her? What if the Albion exploited her?*
"... If you want to stay in this town, there's an abandoned house in the Old Loriana square. It used to be a bakery, but it's been empty for a year now," Zachary proposed.
"Huh? Really?" Treste's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise and hope in them.
"This town is a safe place, for now," Zachary continued. "We can protect you from the bounty hunters. Also... it's just my speculation, but seeing your skill, I might hire you for any jobs related to magic. If you accept this offer, I suggest you stay here until your master finds you."
Treste blinked. It was a lifeline. A safe haven. A chance to rest, to recover, to plan her next move without constantly looking over her shoulder. She didn't know whether to trust him or not, but it wasn't like she had another choice. The other bounty hunters were still lurking out there, and she didn't have enough mana or even money to survive another day.
"... F-fine," she stammered, trying to sound nonchalant. "If you insist. I suppose I can grace your humble town with my magnificent presence for a little while. Just until I feel like leaving, of course. But... can I continue my research?"
"You can. I believe the old bakery has a basement. As long as you don't blow up the town, you can have it," Zachary said with a slight chuckle.
"It's a promise then! I will not blow up this town!"
"Good," Zachary said, his expression returning to its usual neutrality, though if one looked closely, they could see a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. He stood up. "I'll have Sylvanne show you the place. She... has experience dealing with newcomers. I trust you'll be well looked-after."
Treste just nodded, a wave of relief so profound washing over her that her knees felt weak. She had a place to stay. She was safe. At least for now.
---
The next day, Asep found himself covered in a fine layer of dust, his muscles aching with a familiar, laborious burn. He hadn't expected his morning to involve hauling crates and muttering curses, but Sylvanne, true to form, had been utterly incapacitated by a triumphant, all-night drinking binge. She was still dead to the world in her bunk, leaving him as the designated—and only—volunteer to help the new sorceress move into her assigned lodgings. The old bakery was a charming, if slightly neglected two-story building tucked away in a quiet corner of Old Loriana.
"The hell is this thing? And how the hell do you carry such big-ass crates?!" Asep grunted as he dragged a particularly heavy wooden crate across the dusty floorboards of the old bakery.
"The secrets of arcane arts practitioners are not for the uninitiated to comprehend!" Treste declared, striking a dramatic pose from atop another crate. She hadn't lifted a single thing, of course, instead opting to 'supervise' the entire operation with a series of vague, unhelpful pronouncements. "Besides, you're the brawn, I'm the brain! It's a classic synergistic dynamic! Now, be a dear and put that one over there... no, not there, a little to the left! It needs to be in perfect alignment with the ley lines!"
Asep just rolled his eyes, dropping the crate with a loud thud that sent a cloud of flour dust billowing into the air. "Ley lines in a bakery? You're telling me this town was built on some kind of ancient magical hotspot?" He coughed, waving the dust away from his face. "And here I thought it was just a good spot for catching fish."
"Hmph! Shows what you know, muscle man," Treste sniffed, hopping down from her perch. "The entire world is a tapestry of intersecting energies! A nexus of power! You just... can't see it. This place, in particular, has a very... pleasant 'flavor.' It's good for my research." She patted a smaller, securely locked chest with a fond, proprietary air.
"Right. Research," Asep said, eyeing the locked chest with a healthy dose of suspicion. "That's not going to involve accidentally summoning a gluten demon or something, is it? Because I'm not cleaning that up." He leaned against the flour-dusted counter, folding his arms. "So, what's a 'Great Sorceress' like you planning to do in a rundown bakery, anyway? I thought you'd be in some kind of ivory tower, mixing potions and cackling at the moon."
"Of course not! A travelling magician needs to adapt to their new environment!" Treste huffed, her cheeks puffing out. "And there's nothing 'rundown' about this establishment! As long as it has a roof and a basement deep enough to contain any minor thaumaturgical 'overspills,' it's a perfectly functional laboratory!" She gestured grandly at the cobweb-draped walls and the dormant, cold brick oven. "All it needs is a little structural reorganization. And a thorough de-spidering hex. I abhor spiders." She shivered theatrically.
Asep chuckled, a soft, genuine sound. The kid was a walking bundle of arrogance and theatricality, but underneath it all, she was just... a kid. A nerdy kid who'd gotten in way over her head and was now trying to bluff her way through it with big words and a pointed hat. It was almost endearing. "Alright, alright, I get it. Top-secret wizard business." He pushed himself off the counter. "Well, I've hauled all your 'thaumaturgical' junk. I think I've earned a break." He stretched, his back popping satisfyingly. "You gonna be okay here by yourself? Need me to fight off any rogue dust bunnies for you?"
"I am perfectly capable of handling the mundane pestilences of this mortal realm!" Treste declared. But then, as Asep turned to leave, her voice dropped, becoming smaller, less certain. "Wait... You're... you're leaving? Already?" There was a flicker of something in her amethyst eyes—not fear, exactly, but a hint of vulnerability, the quiet anxiety of being left alone in a new, unfamiliar place.
Asep paused at the doorway, his hand on the knob. He glanced back at her. The 'Great Sorceress Treste' had vanished, replaced by a slightly overwhelmed teenager standing in the middle of a dusty, empty room, looking very small and very alone. He let out a soft sigh. *Damn it.*
"Haaah... Alright, alright," he said as he turned back. "I'll stick around for a bit. To see if you're not going to burn this whole building down."
The heavy stuff was already moved, with just a few small items left. Asep then helped her clean the whole bakery, and he even helped fix the leaky faucets.
"You know a lot of things for a mere mercenary," Treste said.
"Well, I used to be a construction worker back where I come from. And plumbing is just one of many small skills I have."
"Oh, really? Then can you help me set up an alchemy workbench?" Treste's eyes sparkled. "I'll pay you, of course!"
"Alright, alright, geez... Just tell me what to do."
"Yeaaay!"
---
The afternoon sun slanted through the grimy windows of the bakery, illuminating swirling dust motes. Asep wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a sooty streak on his forehead. He had, against his better judgment, spent the better part of the afternoon acting as a grunt worker for a pint-sized magical taskmaster. He'd assembled a surprisingly complex alchemy station from a series of pre-cut wooden beams and brass fittings, all according to Treste's meticulous and often contradictory instructions.
"No, no, the alembic clamp needs to be at a thirty-three-degree angle! Not thirty-four! Are you even listening? It's crucial for the proper distillation of ethereal essences!"
"I don't have a protractor, kid! I'm eyeballing it!"
"What kind of shoddy craftsman are you?! Eyeballing is for bakers, not for high alchemy!"
Despite the constant bickering, a strange, comfortable rhythm had developed between them. Asep's practical skills and no-nonsense approach to problem-solving were a surprisingly good match for Treste's theoretical knowledge and obsessive attention to detail. Together, they had managed to transform a corner of the old bakery into a respectable, if somewhat ramshackle, alchemist's corner. Beakers and vials now sat neatly in their racks, a complex series of glass tubes and copper pipes snaked their way to a burner, and a heavy mortar and pestle sat ready for use.
"There," Treste said, stepping back to admire their handiwork, a proud, satisfied smile on her face. "It's... adequate. For a temporary setup." She turned to Asep, her amethyst eyes shining with a genuine, unforced gratitude that caught him off guard. "Thank you, Asep. Truly. I wouldn't have been able to do all this on my own."
Asep just shrugged. "Don't mention it. Just don't blow a hole in the floor. Zachary would probably take it out of my pay." He looked around the now-cleaner, more organized space. "So, what are you making, anyway? Love potions? Elixirs of immortality? Something to turn lead into gold?"
"Hah! Such mundane pursuits are beneath me!" Treste scoffed, though the playful glint in her eyes told him she wasn't truly offended. She picked up a small, dull grey stone from the table. It looked like a common river rock. "I'm working on a far more... illuminating project. Tell me, Asep, what do you know about Lumite?"
"Uh..." Asep scratched his head. "It's... the glowy rock, right? The stuff they use in lamps. Or what sorcerers use for channeling their mana. The kingdom's rich in it, or so I've heard."
"Correct. On a superficial level," Treste said, a professorial tone creeping into her voice. "But Lumite is so much more than a simple light source. It's a crystalline matrix that resonates with the ambient mana of the world. It absorbs it, stores it, and under the right conditions, can release it. But it's inefficient. Crude. Most of the potential energy is lost as simple light and heat." She held the dull rock up. "This, however... this is something different. My master and I... we theorized a way to refine Lumite into a more energy-efficient form. You see."
"Now you mention it... This Lumite thing sounds like more than just a mana battery. It's like... a source of energy. With some spells, this stuff could generate heat, right?" Asep asked. "On a small scale, it could be used for cooking, I think. Then, if we use it on a large scale... Like, making it into some sort of engine, using the thermal energy from the spell to boil water, creating steam, and then using that steam to run a turbine... Wouldn't it create an unlimited source of energy? Or maybe, is there a spell to generate electricity directly? Like, generating a lightning strike? If so, then with some improvements, wouldn't it become something much better than a mere lamp?"
Treste's jaw dropped. She stared at Asep, her amethyst eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. The concepts he'd just described—thermal dynamics, steam power, turbines, the direct generation of electricity—were so far beyond the scope of conventional Rodinian magical theory that they bordered on the heretical. They were the kind of revolutionary, world-altering ideas that were whispered about in the most secret, forward-thinking circles of the Grand Sanctuary, theories that were immediately suppressed by the conservative archmagi as being too dangerous, too destabilizing. And this man, this uneducated, muscle-bound mercenary, had just laid it all out with the casual ease of someone discussing the weather.
*Shit, I forgot. Those basic principles might not have been invented yet in this world. Vocational School and all the workshop stuff aside, did I just spout all that? Those three years of listening to Pak Ujang Jana's ramblings about car engines really stuck in my head, huh?*
"... Forget what I said. That's just a madman's rambling," Asep added quickly, realizing things would get more complicated.
"No... no wait..." Treste finally found her voice, a hushed, awe-struck whisper. "How... how did you...? That... what you just described... the direct conversion... the generation of motive force... Those are... those are the principles behind my Master's 'Great Work'!" She grabbed him by the arm, her eyes burning with an intense, feverish light. "Who are you? How do you know these things? No one outside the highest echelons of the Sanctuary should even be capable of conceiving such ideas! Did my Master send you? Are you one of her... secret apprentices?"
Asep blinked, taken aback by her sudden intensity. He gently disengaged his arm from her grip. "Woah, calm down, kid. I'm not a secret apprentice of anyone. Like I said, it was just... rambling. Just some crazy thoughts." He had to backpedal, fast. He'd let his modern-world knowledge slip, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't in a place where the industrial revolution was a historical fact. "Let's just say I... read it in a weird book once. A long time ago. Probably a work of fiction."
*A curriculum book, but whatever*, Asep thought. Even if the knowledge leaked, they would need to work it out for themselves. Technology isn't invented overnight; a concept needs to go through a continuous process of cumulative development and refinement, which might take decades or even centuries.
Treste wasn't buying it. She continued to stare at him, her mind racing, connecting dots that shouldn't have existed. This man, Asep... there was far more to him than met the eye. His strange fighting style, his odd turns of phrase, and now... this. An intuitive understanding of arcane engineering that rivaled her own Master's. "A... a book..." she repeated, her voice skeptical. "That must have been a very... very advanced book."
A long silence settled between them, charged with unspoken questions and newfound suspicions. Treste was no longer looking at Asep as a simple-minded mercenary. She was looking at him as an enigma, a puzzle she was suddenly desperate to solve. And Asep, for his part, realized he'd made his first major mistake in this new world. He had shown a card he should have kept hidden, and in doing so, he may have drawn the attention of forces far more complex and dangerous than a few inept bounty hunters. The quiet, simple life he'd been hoping to build in Loriana had just become significantly more complicated.
---