On the main avenue of Prye City, the Royal Capital, a convoy of wagons laden with sacks of grain slowly passed through the city gates in the morning mist, heading southeast along the official road.
The fog was thick, like a veil of milky-white gauze draped over the entire city. The guards at the gates hunched their necks against the cold, their white breath gathering into cloudy clumps in the air. They lazily inspected the grain sacks on the first few wagons, prodding them with their spears. Once they confirmed that they truly contained food, they waved the convoy through.
On the surface, this was merely an ordinary merchant caravan—the wheels creaked along, the carriage drivers idly flicked their whips with stalks of grass between their teeth, looking half-asleep.
The escort guards followed alongside the convoy in twos and threes. Some yawned, while others chatted in low voices. Everything looked so ordinary, so inconspicuous. If anyone passed by, at most they would give it a glance before looking away—dozens of such caravans could be seen leaving the Royal Capital's gates every day. There was truly nothing worth noticing.
Yet beneath the facade of this unremarkable caravan lay anything but ordinary cargo. Hidden beneath those grain sacks were carefully forged weapons—steel-bladed longswords, sharp battle axes, heavy maces, each gleaming with a cold, deadly light.
There were also bundles of arrows, their heads carefully wrapped in oilcloth to keep out dampness. And batch after batch of gunpowder, likewise wrapped in oilcloth, gave off a pungent smell. Should these supplies be discovered by anyone with ulterior motives, they would be enough to cause an enormous uproar.
The true mission of this "merchant caravan" was to transport supplies for the army secretly dispatched by the Empress Dowager. Earl Eisenberg and his aide, Viktor, had