Chapter 1133 — The Adventurer Heading North

The voices that had once questioned the Northport Construction Corps and questioned the decisions of the Wilde family had dispersed at some unknowable point. Before the towering harbor shields and the municipal heat-collecting towers, all pale and feeble doubts melted away like spring snow, while the other voices, those that had expressed worry, faded gradually after the swift rise of Northport's new commerce.

The new order brought a prosperity such as the northerners had never seen, a prosperity that left men dumbstruck; the flowing golden pounds and fennars stuck like honey to every doubting tongue. Even the blindest, most short-sighted native noble, standing in the "Northport Customs Hall" or the "Northport Railway Junction," could not in his heart of hearts denounce it as "a vulgar product that throws order into confusion."

There were, of course, the especially stiff-necked ones — only they had already merged with the earth, together with their hard heads, and become part of the foundation stone on which the new districts spread outward.

A fine rain visited the port city. It was the second rainfall since summer began, but this was the far North after all; even with summer come, the rain seemed especially chill, as though fine ice crystals were mixed in the drops. In the hazy rain, the towering city heating facilities and the rune-inlaid arcane obelisks pointed at the sky, and the magic radiance each gave off formed rings of light that spread outward through the misty air.

A line of iron-black arcane trains slowed in the drizzle, and the yellow holographic marker wall projected before the platform turned green to signal passage. The steel behemoth, running on repulsor devices, glided into the platform marked out by holographic projection and slowed smoothly at its edge; with a series of clicks as the mechanisms reversed polarity, the train finally stopped and, with a chime, opened its doors.

Travelers from afar poured out of the train, and the already busy platform grew livelier still.

Among the travelers surging toward the platform, a figure in a short black robe squeezed out from the crowd, cursing all the way — among the travelers in all manner of dress, this short-robed figure still stood out sharply. He had white hair and beard and looked to be an old man of seventy or eighty, yet he was full of vigor: not only could he shoulder a path through strong young men, but at the edge of the crowd he could hop on his feet and shout that someone had stepped on his toes.

He wore a short mage's robe that had already begun to look a little behind the times in this "new era." The robe had plainly accompanied its master for many years, its surface much worn, yet it was still clean and neat. At his waist hung a black sheepskin grimoire of the kind mages commonly used; on the other side hung a short staff and a spell-orb in a pouch; and on the old mage's head was a black soft cap. The cap looked plain, but the rubies set at its brim were proof enough that it was a transcendent treasure of understated style.

The whole outfit was plainly well suited to moving through wild country, and mages setting out on adventures generally favored such "gear" — it did not hinder movement and could still deliver steady combat strength.

But few mages who set out on adventure were of his years — an old man of such age, even if still a powerful spellcaster, ought to cherish the remainder of his life and settle down honestly in a mage's tower to study the tomes of a lifetime's accumulation.

"Young people these days have less and less respect for their elders," the old mage shouted a few words from outside the crowd, then shook his head and shuffled off muttering toward the platform exit. As he walked, he could not help lifting his head to study the dazzling arcane devices, advertising signs, and direction posts on the platform, and the freight train slowly drawing in at the platform on the other side. "But then again, these clever little things of the present day really are interesting... machines that run by themselves? Truly fine stuff that only clever folk could contrive..."

"Of course, this gentleman of discernment —" No sooner had the old mage finished speaking than a cheerful, vigorous young man's voice came suddenly from beside him. "Welcome to Northport, the most flourishing and advanced port city in all these lands. You have come to the right place — good things are everywhere here..."

The old mage turned his head and saw beside him a young man in a dark blue coat, his hair immaculately groomed, wearing a pleasant, friendly smile.

"Selling local wares? Or peddling inns for travelers?" The old mage's eyebrows shot up at once, and before the other could finish he cut him off. "Don't take me for some bumpkin on his first arcane train — I simply work in the wilds a good deal; it's not that I've never been to a city. Have you ever set foot in the rune-forging works of Tenwoods City? Have you ever set foot in the crystal-smelting works of Portchkess Castle?"

The young man was stopped short by this string of words, and his face flushed on the spot. "That... that is not what I meant, sir. I only saw you standing on the platform and wondered whether you needed any help..."

"First, there's no need to stick an 'old' in front of 'sir' — I'll likely outlive you yet. Second, I don't need local wares or inn recommendations. I've come here on proper business, with arrangements of my own — though speaking of help, there is indeed something I'd like to ask you about."

The young man seemed cowed by the presence the old man gave off. He swallowed hastily and put on a smile tinged with awkwardness. "By... by all means, ask."

"There should be a 'Far North Exploration and Development Corps Registration Office' in this city, shouldn't there? Which way is it?"

"The Far North Exploration and Development Corps?" The young man blanked for a moment, then caught on. "You mean the adventurers' guild that goes to Tal Lund?"

"That's right, that's the one, the adventurers' guild... I think that name rolls off the tongue a bit better too," the old mage stroked his beard. "There seem to be two places on the northern mainland where you can sign up — one in the Holy Dragon Duchy, one here in Northport. Actually, I meant to go to the Holy Dragon Duchy at first, but that place is too far and the trains don't run there, so I came here to see how things stand."

"Yes, there really is a registration center here for adventurers signing up to go to Tarlond," the young man said, and could not help glancing at the old man before him several more times. Try as he might, he could not believe that this white-haired, white-bearded elder could possibly be lumped together with adventurers. "But you... are you really planning to go to Tarlond too?"

"Nonsense!" The old man's eyes went wide at once. "Do you take me for someone who spent an entire day on a train just to admire the toilets of the Far North Exploration and Pioneering Corps?"

"No, no, no, that's not what I meant... All right, from here you go straight ahead, and after you leave the station exit turn west. Go through two crossings and you'll see the sign, a very conspicuous sign bearing the twin emblems of Cecil and Tarlond. Of course, if you don't mind spending a little money, you can also take a hired carriage or a magic-powered car straight there."

As he spoke, the young man suddenly blinked. Before him there was only the already empty platform; a cold wind blew past him. Where was any trace of the old mage?

"Ghosts... g-ghosts!"

The young man instinctively shrank his neck and muttered under his breath, but then he suddenly felt as if there were something in his palm. He raised his hand and opened it, and saw a coin with a face value of one Fenar lying quietly in his palm.