Chapter 141: The Reverse Side of the Coin

Since coming ashore, Kraft hadn’t walked more than a few steps on Westminster’s streets, repeating the cycle of getting in and out of vehicles, jumping from scene to scene like a montage edit.

The boxy carriage was compact but pulled by two large, muscular draft horses; its sealed body featured intricately carved windows that neither let in light nor were lightweight, producing a muffled, uneven composite sound when tapped.

“It’s lined with iron,” Martin said, sliding the latches shut on both windows and lighting the wall-mounted candle sconce before sitting across from him. “The exterior’s covered in wood veneer to prevent arrow penetration—very secure.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve assured me of that.”

As the carriage moved, its sturdy cabin offered little reassurance. If the initial pagan assassination could still be explained by ordinary logic, the mysterious disappearances steeped in deep, unnatural energy rendered any guarantee meaningless.

“Have you made any headway with the pagans or those cursed cherry blossoms?”

“My esteemed professor, it’s only been half a night—two hours hardly suffice for anyone to produce results,” Martin replied with a wry smile, noticing Kraft’s glances toward his cheek. He wiped his face and found a smear of red.

In those two hours, he clearly hadn’t spent all his time on official business—he had the discipline of a seasoned time manager.

“If these two incidents are connected, the people behind them are far more efficient than we are,” Kraft said, gripping his left arm and leaning back with his eyes closed. Beyond the galloping of the draft horses, he heard additional hoofbeats drawing closer to the carriage. “What’s outside?”

“Our people,” Martin said, seeing his tension. He cracked open a window slit—several armored riders flanked the carriage on both sides.

The window closed quickly, but it was enough for Kraft to see buildings far lower and simpler than those by the river—they were well beyond the city center.

After another stretch, the hard stone pavement gave way to a rough, muddy dirt road, its poor repairs occasionally jolting passengers off their seats.

The hoofbeats on either side never faltered, keeping pace through torchlight’s limited glow, their riders’ familiarity with the terrain and superior horsemanship maintaining a distance from Kraft equal to one en.

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This level of attention was significant. Such a cavalry unit required immense personnel and equipment costs, plus years of training. As a core force, with enough boldness, they could have stormed even lightly armed temporary troops.

Even in wealthy Westminster, only the most central authority could mobilize them.

To be pulled out of the city at night to escort a scholar to an unknown destination—its meaning was unmistakable.

After a long, unmeasurable journey through darkness, the carriage slowed, tilting slightly backward.

Uphill

A long ascent. When they reached a certain height, the vehicle paused briefly, then turned again—just as passengers thought they’d reached the summit, it began climbing once more.

As someone whose own home road was built like this, Kraft immediately recognized the pattern: switchbacks, designed for terrain too steep for direct climbs. But compared to this seemingly endless stretch, the engineering behind Woodtown’s back hill seemed like a child’s toy replica.

The carriage repeated its climb-and-turn rhythm. The endless journey dulled the mind, making it impossible to count turns or estimate altitude. Yet intuitively, the time between each turn shortened—indicating they were nearing their destination.

His grandfather’s military knowledge stirred in him a barely concealed envy—after all, who wouldn’t want a castle fronted by such a long, dramatic steep slope?

When the long incline finally ended, the wheels rolled onto level ground again. A flash of bright light and rapid voices passed through the window slit, then the carriage halted before two successive gates operated by heavy chain winches, and after another checkpoint, it came to a complete stop amid the clanking of approaching armor.

“We’ve arrived, Professor Kraft.”

Martin pushed open the door and stepped out first. A bright, perforated metal cone emerged from the shadows—it was the beak of a boar-faced helmet, thrust toward Martin.

“Martin? My brother, life without you has been unbearable,” the helmet’s owner lifted his visor, embracing Martin with a breastplate bearing a white oak leaf emblem. “Without you as the star, Anna hasn’t even invited us to her afternoon gatherings.”

“We’ll catch up later, Barro. There’s a guest who must be taken inside the inner keep—is the gate open?”

“You know the night guards at the inner gate are harder than the walls themselves—not even an echo can get through. Take the other path,” said the knight, roughly Martin’s age, selecting the brightest torch from a group of soldiers clad in identical blue cloth armor and handing it to Martin.

Martin rubbed his bruised sternum, frowning skeptically. “My guest is important—is there any room for negotiation?”

“You can wait until sunrise—we’ll line up to welcome you through the main gate then,” the oak leaf knight lowered his visor, saluted Kraft with a tap on his breastplate, and said, “Welcome, honored guest—but we are not the ones who set the rules here.”

He and his men performed a cursory inspection of the carriage, then reformed their ranks and departed. The torches lit part of their surroundings: towering, unadorned stone structures, built from rough-cut blocks, rising into darkness that merged with the night sky, their vertical forms radiating an oppressive, imminent collapse.

Martin led him along the base of this artificial cliff, finding an unremarkable small door around a corner. “This way—we’ll have to take a detour.”

“I don’t mind.”

For an unfortunate “noble guest” who’d eaten a heavy dinner and been jolted all day, a few extra steps were a welcome change. He followed Martin onto the spiral staircase behind the door.

Then came another endless ascent—the left-turning stairs had no windows, only recessed alcoves spaced along the walls, repeating until it felt like walking in a looped space. Astonishingly, even though these alcoves extended more than an arm’s length into the wall, they hadn’t breached the stone bricks or compromised the structure’s stability.

The confined, enclosed space and thick walls evoked memories of suffocation beneath the southern hills, or some alien game designer stretching loading times for a grand scene. He regretted agreeing to take this route.

But it was merely an illusion born of repetition. After counting over two hundred steps, a similar small door appeared on the left.

Martin pushed it open. Before them stretched a wide stone passage, broad enough for a carriage, straight and unobstructed, extending into the open air. At its distant end, a colossal silhouette loomed like a mountain suspended in view, crowned with a halo of jagged light.

Stunned by the sight, Kraft momentarily lost himself—then noticed the arrow slits and breastworks lining both sides of the path, atop an impossibly wide rampart. He stepped out of the doorway, drawn by awe, onto what felt like a fleeting illusion rising from the boundless night, gazing down with reverence for its builders.

The patrol torches looked like sparks in an ash heap. On the other side of the wall, a gently sloping trapezoidal rampart faced an endless, unbroken slope.

He turned back toward where he’d come—and saw he’d emerged from another equally majestic structure: twin towers standing at opposing angles, blazing with fierce, unyielding flames against the night.

Two towers, vast trapezoidal walls—Kraft instantly realized this was not his first encounter with it.

Coins

Its image was stamped on every most prized and sought-after object, circulating throughout the kingdom—but only upon seeing it in person did one understand why it occupied one side of the coin.

The miracle of North military history, the impregnable fortress, the crown’s guardian, the unyielding, immortal oak.

All his confusion and deductions since the journey began were now confirmed—the most astonishing, yet most logical, guess had become reality.

“Westminster Castle! Martin, you really know how to hide things!”