The road to Veridian stretched before us like a merchant's promise. What I meant by that was how straightforward it seemed, all the while hiding countless complications in its dusty folds.

  I rode slightly ahead of the others, letting my transformed axe's weight settle against my back while my mind wandered through labyrinths of thought.

  A Demi-God. Or Demi Goddess, in her case.

  Given Lady Nezehra could reveal Borric’s class, she had to be 9th Ascension. This world… was really strange. And dangerous, too. Not even two months here, I was stumbling upon deities on a road trip. If she were an enemy, we’d have been dead.

  I couldn’t get complacent just because I reached Level 42. I had to focus on getting stronger. Although ideally, I should raise Ragna to 4th Ascension first.

  Not yet though. We probably wouldn’t have monsters to fight for a while. We were very close to Veridian. Ahh, politics. How I hate them. Couldn’t I just enjoy a fight?

  …Hmm. Maybe this barbaric body was affecting me a bit too much to be thinking like that. Regardless, the following days would benefit from my mind instead of my Levels.

  Kingdoms and Empires. Politics. The words rolled around my consciousness like a bitter pill. Back on Earth, I'd studied their rise and fall through academic texts. Here, I lived within their machinery, feeling the gears grind against flesh and bone. Every banner we passed, every tax collector's booth, every patrol of guards – they all were theater props in humanity's oldest performance.

  The illusion of order imposed upon chaos.

  "You're brooding again," Ragna called out, spurring her horse to match my pace. "Your face gets all scrunched when you think too hard."

  "I don't scrunch," I protested, deliberately relaxing my expression.

  "You do! Like angry old man who lost his teeth." She demonstrated with an exaggerated grimace that made Borric chuckle behind us. I shook my head. Barbarian Princess, my foot.

  "That's your impression of me thinking?"

  "No, that's you trying to understand why bread costs different in every town." She grinned. "I already know answer. Merchants are thieves!"

  "Hey!" Borric protested. "We provide valuable distribution services!"

  "Valuable robbery services," Ragna countered, then dodged as I tossed a dried apple at her head for being rude to our friendly neighborhood merchant.

  Isolde urged her mount forward, joining us with practiced grace. The afternoon sun caught her blue hair, transforming it into something ethereal. Even travel-worn and dust-covered, she carried herself with unconscious nobility. Her spine was straight, chin lifted, every gesture economical yet elegant.

  I told myself I was watching her because she was the princess and the center of this mess.

  That was only half true. The other half was simpler. She was… distracting. Dust clung to her riding clothes, and somehow her curves were apparent even with all those on. I decided to blame my young blood and enjoy her swaying on the road.

  "We should see Veridian's walls within the hour," she announced, then her expression softened. "I haven't been back since Uncle Marius retired here five years ago."

  "Tell us about him," I suggested, genuinely curious about this figure who'd gathered forces in apparent preparation for civil war.

  Her eyes warmed with memory. "Uncle Marius practically raised me alongside Father. He served as chief diplomat for three decades. He negotiated treaties with five different kingdoms, prevented two wars, and once talked a siege army into switching sides through pure rhetoric."

  "Sounds terrifying," Ragna observed.

  "He could be," Isolde admitted. "But to me, he was the uncle who taught me chess on rainy afternoons, who'd sneak me honey cakes when Mother forbade sweets." A shadow crossed her features. "He disagreed with Father about Erebian influence, said we were becoming too dependent on their protection. They argued terribly before he requested retirement."

  "Smart man," Borric noted. "I’m no expert in politics, but I’ve heard stories. A lot of stories. Erebia's protection always comes with chains, even if they're silk-wrapped."

  "He remained neutral in court politics afterward. Never supported any faction, never chose sides between..." Isolde paused, letting out a sigh. "Unlike what happened with Valtor."

  Ragna ran back to her horse, climbing back up while dusting off the apple I’d thrown at her earlier. She took a bite and asked, "Who's Valtor? Another uncle?"

  I glanced at her. "Isolde mentioned him before. I think it’s her eldest brother?"

  "Oh, she has another brother other than the Kaelan punk? I don't remember that," Ragna frowned, then looked at Isolde expectantly.

  The princess's hands tightened on her reins. "Valtor was... is my eldest brother. Seven years ago, he was accused of secretly negotiating to sell our coastal territories to Erebia. Letters were found, witnesses came forward. Father had no choice but to brand him a traitor and exile him."

  "But?" I prompted, hearing the doubt in her voice.

  "But I never believed it." The words tumbled out like water breaking through a dam. "It's too strange. Valtor loved Thalassaria more than any of us. He'd spend entire months just sailing, knew every cove and inlet along our shores. He taught me to read wind patterns, to navigate by stars..." Her voice caught. "My brother loved these waters too much to sell them."

  Silence stretched between us, broken only by hoofbeats and distant birdsong.

  "If it helps," Borric said gently, "from a merchant's perspective, you possess qualities neither brother has. Valtor's passion without his rigidity, intelligence without Kaelan's cruelty. Your people would prosper under your rule, Princess."

  "Thank you, Borric." Her smile was fragile but genuine. "Though I wonder sometimes if Valtor might have... changed. If exile twisted him as power corrupted Kaelan."

  "People don't change," Ragna said bluntly. "They just show what was always inside."

  An interesting perspective from someone so young, I thought, though I wasn't sure I agreed. People changed constantly. I was the living proof. Or perhaps I was simply revealing layers that existed in both my lives, soldier and barbarian merging into something, neither wholly one nor the other.

  As Veridians walls rose before us, massive stone monuments to human ambition, my mind spiraled back into contemplation. How many times had this story played out? A rightful heir seeking to reclaim their throne, gathering allies, facing dark forces. The names changed, the kingdoms rose and fell, but the pattern remained eternal.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Were we heroes or simply the next actors in an endless play?

  Isolde spoke of saving Thalassaria, but what did salvation mean? Replacing one ruler with another while the fundamental structures remained unchanged? The farmers would still farm, the merchants would still trade, the nobles would still scheme. The crown would rest on a different head, but its weight would crush just the same.

  Democracy, monarchy, empire – I'd seen and read them all in my first life. Each claimed superiority, each promised prosperity, each eventually devolved into the same basic truth. The powerful consumed the weak, justifying their feast with whatever philosophy soothed their conscience.

  And yet... I looked at Isolde's determined profile. She was a strange one. Without the rest of us, she’d have been dead by now. Some may call her naive. She doesn’t have to be. I… am here to seek glory. Pilgrimage is just that.

  So couldn’t I attempt changing history?

  Perhaps the individual mattered more than the system. I knew she’d at least be a better ruler than Kaelan, who was sacrificing villagers for the growth of his land. But other than that? Perhaps she’d be a good queen who could minimize suffering even if she couldn't eliminate it. Perhaps that was enough.

  Or perhaps I was simply another fool seduced by blue hair and noble intentions, wrapping cynicism in hope's thin cloth.

  Who could ever tell?

  ****

  Veridian's gates loomed before us, and immediately I noticed the differences from other cities we'd passed through. Guards stood at sharp attention, their armor polished to mirror brightness despite the late afternoon hour. The sight was worrying.

  Weapons moved through the streets on carts. Not hidden or hurried, but transported with military precision. In a courtyard visible through the gates, citizens drilled with staves, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

  "Your uncle's been busy," I observed.

  "Indeed," Isolde murmured, pulling her hood lower to shadow her distinctive features. "We should avoid attention. I know someone here. Captain Meroval, an old family knight. He'll help us reach Uncle discreetly."

  We soon reached an inn. The Gilded Swan was a try hard in the sense that it tried so hard to appear sophisticated that it nearly succeeded. Gilt-framed paintings adorned the walls, depicting historical scenes with more artistic license than accuracy. The common room smelled of beeswax polish and expensive perfume rather than the usual tavern mixture of ale and sweat.

  "I feel underdressed," Borric muttered, eyeing the silk-clad merchants at nearby tables.

  "You are underdressed," Ragna said helpfully, smiling widely with her arms crossed. "Not me. This is premium Volcanic Island fabrics!” she pointed at her clothes. Then she nodded at Isolde. “And there’s this person too. She always looks fancy, even covered in road dust."

  Isolde and Ragna had their girl compliment exchange, and I zoned out for a bit. A bit later, while Isolde sent word to Captain Meroval through careful channels, I studied the inn's patrons. Unlike the nervous energy of cities fearing war, these people radiated purpose. Conversations died when anyone mentioned the Marquis, but not from fear – from respect. Unity. As if the entire city had agreed to some unspoken compact.

  Marquis Marius Thalasson. He seemed interesting.

  We waited near an alley, away from people’s eyes. Evening painted the sky purple when Captain Meroval finally appeared. He was a grizzled looking veteran with silver threading through his beard, wearing the practical leather of a working soldier rather than ceremonial plate. His eyes swept our group dismissively until Isolde rose.

  [5th Ascension]

  "Captain," she said quietly, keeping her face hidden. "The silver falcon still flies true."

  He frowned at the old secret motto. "Many claim loyalty these days, girl. If you're another pretender seeking the Marquis's support–"

  Isolde pulled back her hood just slightly.

  The transformation in Meroval was instantaneous. His eyes widened, jaw dropping slightly before snapping shut. Color drained from his weathered face, then flooded back. "B-by the Seven Seas," he breathed. "Princess?!"

  "Hello, Sir Meroval." She extended her hand, palm up, revealing an old scar running from thumb to wrist. "Remember when you tried teaching me the Vanguard Stance? I gripped the practice sword wrong and – "

  "Sliced yourself when you parried," he finished, dropping to one knee with surprising agility. "My lady, forgive me. We heard... Prince Kaelan said you were dead."

  "Reports of my death were a tactical exaggeration." She helped him stand. "Rise, old friend. We need your help."

  The change in Meroval was remarkable. Doubt transformed into fierce loyalty, his entire bearing shifting from suspicious guard to devoted protector. He was no Sir Allister, that was for sure. "The Marquis has been hoping... that is, he never believed..." He composed himself. "He'll want to see you immediately. I can arrange a discrete entry tonight."

  As he led us through darkening streets toward the estate, I noticed how citizens stepped aside without being asked, how guards nodded with crisp precision. This wasn't fear-based obedience but something else. Genuine respect? Or something more orchestrated?

  The Marquis's manor sprawled across manicured grounds, tasteful in the way only old money could achieve. No gaudy displays of wealth, just quality evident in every stone, every artwork, every perfectly placed ornamental sword. Royal artifacts decorated the walls. They were not ostentatious but strategic, and each piece reminded visitors of House Thalasson's glory. It was still the Royal family, even if a branch.

  Guards wearing silver falcon badges stood at attention throughout the corridors. They watched us pass with professional assessment, hands resting on sword hilts with practiced ease.

  The study door was carved ironwood, depicting the founding of Thalassaria in intricate relief. Meroval knocked twice, announced us, then stepped aside. My eyes fell inside.

  [6th Ascension]

  “You’re here, Meroval?”

  The man had to be stronger than Allister. Marquis Marius Thalasson stood behind an oak desk covered in maps and correspondence. He was distinguished as diplomats were. His black hair was perfectly styled even with grey at the sides, his clothes expensive but understated, and his movements were economical and precise. His gray eyes held depths that spoke of secrets carefully cataloged.

  Then he saw Isolde.

  “Uncle…” Isolde called, pulling her hood down.

  "My dear, dear, dear niece," he began, slowly rising from his desk as the controlled diplomat shattered like ice in spring. He rushed around the desk, arms spreading wide. "The true hope of our house returns!"

  The embrace was fierce, protective... and lasted just a heartbeat too long.

  I caught it because I was watching. Maybe because I was too much on high alert. The way his fingers spread across her back, how his face buried in her hair, the slight tremor in his hands as they held her. When he pulled back, something flickered in his gray eyes. Not familial affection but something hungrier, more possessive.

  His hand remained on her shoulder, thumb tracing small circles against her collarbone. The gesture looked comforting, but the pressure was wrong, the movement too intimate.

  Nah, I must be seeing things. It was a long journey.

  "Uncle, you're trembling," Isolde said with concern.

  "Joy overwhelms me." His voice was steady, and his eyes mapped her face as if he was dreaming. "When I heard what Kaelan had done, the accusations against you, I feared..."

  "I'm safe. Thanks to my friends." She gestured to us, and Marius seemed to notice our presence for the first time.

  His gaze dismissed Ragna and Borric quickly. A barbarian woman and a merchant, they were beneath consideration. But when his eyes met mine, something passed between us. Recognition, perhaps. Not of identity but of nature. One observer to another. He saw me watching him, analyzing him, and his expression tightened minutely.

  "Barbarians from the Volcanic Islands," he noted with forced pleasantness. "I heard news that a ship docked at Seaguard. How... unusual to see them with you, Isolde."

  "We are unusual people, old man," I replied evenly.

  "Indeed." His attention returned to Isolde. "Come, sit. Tell me everything. We have so much to discuss – the kingdom's future, your rightful place, our plans..."

  As he guided her to a chair, his hand slid from her shoulder to the small of her back. I knew I was thinking too much, but what harm was it in being careful? Nobody would judge a barbarian for staring.

  Ragna nudged me with her elbow, raising an eyebrow at the Marquis's obvious wealth. I just smirked with her, muttering, ‘You too, one day.’ Borric studied the battle plans on the walls with professional interest, although I doubted he understood much.

  I returned my focus where it needed to be, staring at the man. Was there any hidden agenda here, or was I a man in a foreign world, unused to the customs and thinking too much?

  Power, I reminded myself, corrupts in such predictable patterns.

  "With your return," Marius declared, spreading his hands over the maps before us, "we can finally restore purity to the throne."

  The word 'purity' rolled off his tongue with disturbing reverence, and his eyes never left Isolde's face as he said it. I held back a sigh.

  I wondered if she noticed. I wondered if it mattered.

  I wondered what price this uncle's support would truly cost.

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