Secret Guard

Era 22, September 11, Year 19, Mole Season

Benedict Empire, Tyre Province, outskirts of Ako City

At dawn, the warm sunlight dispersed the slightly damp mist. It was harvest season. Heavy ears of wheat beaded with "dew" bent their stalks low, and farmers who had labored for more than half a year became even busier. Across the endless fields, whole families harvested the ripe wheat, the swish of sickles mingling with people's calls.

Whoooooooooo! Whoooooooooo!

The long whistle shattered the pastoral scene. Accompanied by billowing black smoke, a metallic serpent slowly approached from afar along the lengthy tracks. Its immense rumbling and constant clacking drew the attention of several farmers. They straightened up and stared at the metal monster.

With its round head, rectangular sections of a body, and short smokestack spewing choking black smoke, it resembled the Beast from folk songs that ought to have been hibernating in its den. Quite a few farmers began cursing the troublesome thing. The tracks had once been used by horse-drawn freight carts—quiet and steady—and farmers could occasionally hitch a ride.

But more than ten years ago, something called a "locomotive" had replaced the horse carts on the rails. Fueled by coal, it was extremely dangerous, cold and merciless, and could not even brake. At first, it crushed or injured many farmers who did not understand how it worked. Naturally, no one could hitch rides anymore. Taking it into the city cost quite a bit of money, but that was not even the worst part. Rumor had it that the smoke it emitted was poisonous, harming crops and people's health while ruining the land. Most farmers disliked the thing.

"Thank you."

After politely greeting his seatmate, Sergei struggled to shove his suitcase onto the rack. Only then could he remove his bowler hat and settle into his seat. He was an engineer—or, more precisely, a bridge designer—on his way to Ero City, the provincial capital of Gramatia Province, to help construct a railway bridge.

"Attendant!"

"Sir, what do you need?"

Taking out 20 ling from his pocket and placing it on the young female attendant's tray together with the menu, Sergei gave her a kindly smile.

"Please add a little honey to my black tea. I'd be most grateful."

"Oh... yes, sir! I'll bring it right away."

The unexpected tip delighted the girl. She hurriedly bowed, then clutched the windfall tightly and quickly disappeared toward the other end of the carriage.

"Youth really is wonderful..."

Rubbing his balding head, Sergei, nearly forty already, could not help reminiscing about his vanished youth. In an era when the average lifespan was under fifty, he was practically halfway into the grave. Before long, however, his attention was caught by a strange person sitting opposite him.

He truly was a strange man. Though seated inside the carriage, he still wore a light-brown wide-brimmed hat and was wrapped in an overcoat of the same color. It was a little conspicuous in this not particularly cold season. His hands were covered in black leather gloves, and he held up a newspaper that completely concealed his face. Only an occasional light cough came from behind the paper.

It was that day's Imperial Times. The slightly pungent smell of ink reminded Sergei of his office. Today's headline was unusual. It was not about Imperial politics, but a biology paper titled "Evolutionary Theory and Biological Diversity," presented at an academic conference by Professor Carlos Salinas of Taryn University. The matter had fermented in the Imperium's academic circles for a full ten days and had even caused a huge uproar in political and religious circles. Some renowned scholars denounced the theory as "an ignorant, arrogant fantasy reached without proper consideration." Many religious figures solemnly warned against this fallacious doctrine, which "defied common understanding and sought to overturn the morality and conscience in people's hearts." They fiercely attacked Professor Carlos as "a madman," "mentally unstable," and "an attention-seeking clown." The tide of controversy even swept into politics. Three days ago, the Imperial Religious Affairs Administration formally sent a letter to the Imperial Higher Education Commission, requesting that all of Carlos Salinas's academic titles be revoked and demanding that Taryn University dismiss him. The Commission had yet to issue an official response, while Taryn University's board publicly declared that, in keeping with the principle of academic freedom, it would not dismiss anyone over academic issues so long as Imperial law had not been violated.

Personally, Sergei did not support this strange theory. He had attended university himself and currently held no particular faith, but evolutionary theory was truly difficult to accept.

"What do you think, sir?"

Perhaps he had become too absorbed in reading. When a hoarse voice came from behind the newspaper, Sergei could not help shuddering. Just then, the attendant happened to push the dining cart over to him.

"Sir, your black tea and dessert have arrived."

"Oh, thank you."

Relieved that someone had rescued him from the coming awkwardness, Sergei swiftly turned around, took the tray, and placed it on the table. At that moment, the man opposite him also lowered his newspaper.

"My apologies. I was in too much of a rush catching the train today to buy a paper. Would you like some?"

With a smile, Sergei gently pushed the dessert plate forward and took a closer look at the man. He appeared to be a weathered middle-aged man. The silver-gray hair over his forehead, light-blue eyes, high nose bridge, and chiseled cheeks all revealed his ethnicity—the sparsely populated Yus.

Most noticeable was the cross-shaped scar over his right eye, giving him a peculiar air. Sergei thought for a moment and realized that he somewhat resembled veterans discharged from the battlefield, though he was not nearly as dispirited. There was something deeper about him.

There was another detail that made Sergei rather uneasy. From the collar, he could see a black stand-up collar. Beneath the man's coat seemed to be an entire black outfit. It was an ominous color that always reminded Sergei of certain terrifying people.

"Thank you for the offer, but I don't eat sweets."

The man shook his head and gently pushed the plate back toward Sergei. Then he picked up the cup at his side and took a small sip of the orange-yellow liquid inside. From his observations, Sergei judged it to be Paka Juice, an odd drink famous for its bitterness that most people could not tolerate. It was said to be excellent for staying awake, but Sergei had tried it once, and everything he ate tasted bitter for an entire day afterward.

"Speaking of which, Mr. Sergei Bulkatov, do you also think Professor Carlos is a madman?"

Sergei froze the moment the other man spoke. He had not expected this person to know his name. But when he saw the man smiling and pointing at the hat he had set aside, he realized that he had left his locomotive ticket inside it.

"My name is Diego Alatriste."

"A pleasure, a pleasure."

The two shook hands amicably. Sergei became increasingly certain that the other man was probably a veteran, because even through the gloves, he could feel the immense strength in that hand. A man like this was either a mercenary or a soldier, but he lacked the common rakish air of a mercenary.

"Mr. Alatriste, are you going to Ero as well?"

"This train doesn't go as far as Quito, the Imperium's western border city, does it?"

"Cough..."

Sergei had to admit that he had asked a stupid question. He hurriedly raised his teacup to conceal his embarrassment, then had no choice but to steer the topic back to its original course.

"It's an irrational act. He is too eager to prove himself. This theory is riddled with flaws."

"Perhaps the direction is right?"

The meaningful smile on the man's face made Sergei feel uneasy, like a mouse being watched by a cat.

"Hard to say. Just as flour cannot turn into eels, some things may be right at the start, but a flawed theory will still lead everything into error. Like a locomotive, even a slight shift off the tracks can cause disaster. Only by following the right path can one reach the right result."

"But quite a few professors support him."

"Scholars are not sages either. And honestly, do you think... ah, forgive my presumptuous comparison, that your sacred ancestors evolved from fish in the sea? Or from some other animal covered in fur?"

It was well known that the Yus had upheld ancestral worship since ancient times. They firmly believed their ancestors remained with them, so the question was rather pointed, strictly speaking. Sergei regretted it a little, but the man leaned back and spoke in a low voice.

"Not many people believe in those things anymore. Things are always changing, aren't they?"

"Mm..."

Just as the atmosphere gradually cooled, children's cheers suddenly rang through the carriage.

"Mom! Look outside!"

The two turned toward the window almost at the same time. A great river stretched across the wilderness, winding in from the distance. Huge sailing ships crisscrossed its waters, bustling with activity.

"We've reached the Corinth Canal already."

Though it was not his first time seeing it, Sherman was still amazed by this creation of immense power—the Corinth Canal, the great artery of the Imperium's eastern trade. It was nearly 380 li long, with a maximum width of 400 meters and a maximum depth of 25 meters, capable of accommodating every vessel currently known.

Mentioning this canal inevitably brought up the late great Arcana master Zelak and Emperor Waina VII of the same era. When Waina was young, he lost his right of succession in a palace coup and fled westward. Master Zelak saved him and helped him reclaim the throne. But at the time, Arcana was considered a dangerous heresy by the Kane Church. Both the Eastern Church and the Western Church strictly prohibited it, and not even the emperor could easily defy them.

To prove the power and righteousness of Arcana, Master Zelak gathered all his apprentices and spent ten years using Sculpting to carve a majestic canal through land where such a project should have been impossible. Emperor Waina VII then swept aside every obstacle, declaring the Arcane Association a legal institution within the Imperium and placing it under royal protection. Arcana had since become a technology widely accepted by Imperial commoners, while the Royal Arcane Higher Academy had become the foremost institution of higher learning in the Scale Kingdom, even eclipsing the Witchcraft School, which had been rooted in the Imperium for over a thousand years.

"The canal is a miracle. That bridge is a miracle too."

Hearing the man's words, Sergei could not help nodding. He knew which bridge the other man meant.

The Ilan Bridge—the first bridge spanning the canal, the first bridge built entirely of metal, and the only bridge serving both rail and road traffic. Twenty years ago, the Imperial Ministry of Transport led its construction, with the Arcane Association providing technical support. It took five years to complete. Worth mentioning was that, to build the bridge, the Imperium officially established a dedicated construction management company and issued shares for the first time. After all, with its increasingly worsening finances, the Imperium truly could not bear such enormous construction costs alone.

"My mentor participated in its design."

This had always been a source of pride for Sergei. Although he himself was merely one of his mentor's less accomplished students, the man still offered a word of praise.

"Only great designers and builders can forge such a great undertaking."

Time always passed quickly in casual conversation. By the time night fell, the locomotive had reached its destination.

"It was a pleasure traveling with you."

After leaving the carriage, Sergei immediately spotted a horse-drawn carriage bearing the sign of the Bridge Engineering Association nearby. The driver was already dozing atop it. With a smile, Sergei shook hands with Alatriste in farewell. The other man merely nodded politely and said nothing more.

"By the way, where are you staying? Perhaps I can visit you if there's a chance."

"I still need to continue on my way. Farewell."

Watching the man hurriedly vanish into the crowd, Sergei could only shrug helplessly. He truly was a strange fellow.

But he would never have imagined that, after leaving the crowd behind, the man who had just been chatting so pleasantly with him would discard his outer coat. If Sergei saw him again now, he would surely wet himself in fright. Beneath that coat was another coat: a fitted long garment as black as the night, with a blood-red sash at the waist. A holster hung on the left side, holding a rare revolver whose red grip stood out vividly in the darkness. On the right hung a silver badge with a peculiar emblem: a dog's head holding a broom in its mouth. The man also turned his hat inside out, revealing its black side.

The Secret Guard—an intelligence agency established during the early years of the Benedict Empire, answerable only to the emperor.

At first, the Secret Guard merely hunted down rebels. But as time passed, its authority grew greater and greater. Most of its members were orphans, trained from childhood. Once grown, they moved in secret throughout the Imperium in the emperor's name. Government offices, churches, armies, academies... nowhere could guarantee it had never been infiltrated by the Secret Guard. They gathered every piece of useful or seemingly useless intelligence and set about eliminating threats before they emerged: dark Beasts roaming the borders, Wizards abusing Hanan's Power, dangerous monsters escaping from laboratories, corrupt officials, opportunistic generals, cultists inciting the masses, dissidents spreading harmful ideas, and even royal family members disloyal to the emperor. Whenever the Secret Guard was authorized to raise the Blade of Judgment, its power became limitless.

For that very reason, the Secret Guard's reputation became notoriously foul. People believed they were merely a pack of vicious dogs raised by the emperor—cruel, merciless, and cold-blooded, just like the inquisitors of the western world. People feared and despised them in equal measure.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

Just as he turned into an empty alley, Alatriste heard the crisp sound of hooves. He turned to look. A black steed was galloping toward him. As though he had expected it, he showed not the slightest surprise. When the horse reached his side, he made a nimble flip and mounted it.

"Still not here?"

At the military-only station outside Ero City, a locomotive rested silently on the tracks. A squad of fully armed soldiers stood in formation on the platform. Wearing gray greatcoats and tall hats, they remained as motionless as rocks, with the Imperium's newest breech-loading rifles slung over their shoulders. An officer paced back and forth irritably, occasionally pulling a pocket watch from his breast pocket.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

Hearing faint hoofbeats in the distance, the officer hurriedly turned around. In the vast night, a vigorous figure rode a steed along the tracks toward them.

"Sir! He's here!"

"He's finally here? Can the Secret Guard not even manage to be punctual these days?"

A helpless sigh came from the locomotive. A middle-aged soldier in a splendid uniform stepped heavily onto the platform. But when he saw the newcomer's face, his originally displeased expression abruptly turned to surprise.

"You!"

"What, General Yusuf? You dislike seeing me that much?"

Grinning, Alatriste untied a longsword from the saddle, then lightly leaped down onto the platform.