The steady creak of wagon wheels and clop of hooves marked time as we traveled the kingdom's highway. Each day blurred into the next, the caravan's routine as predictable as a well-oiled machine. At dusk, we'd halt. At dawn, we'd move. The Iron Trail Company lived up to their reputation as everything ran like precision gears in a clock.

  From my spot among the wine barrels, I watched the other passengers through gaps in the canvas. There seemed to be two groups of them: one was a mother and son pair of travelers, the other were three merchants in short traveling robes.

  The mother kept her son close, their clothes marking them as middle class, probably members of a merchant's or craftsmen's family. She'd smooth his hair when he dozed against her shoulder, her eyes always scanning the road ahead. The three merchants traveled in the wagon ahead of mine, huddled over ledgers and speaking in low voices about profit margins and market prices.

  None tried to strike up conversation with the silent widow in black, which suited my needs perfectly. The less interaction, the less chance of my monstrous nature being discovered. I used the solitude for maintenance, checking joints and gears when we stopped at night, while others gathered around cook fires.

  My Assembly ability proved useful in keeping my chassis in working order. The constant vibration of travel caused more wear than I'd anticipated, but I managed to craft small replacement parts from the bits of metal I had stored in Depository. The work kept my mind occupied during the long hours of travel.

  The highway itself told stories of the kingdom's might. Stone-paved and well-maintained, it bore the marks of ancient engineering. It was a far cry from the Kingdom of Aspiration's bare dirt roads.

  We passed military patrols regularly. Knights sat in polished armor atop warhorses, with foot soldiers marching in formation behind them. Each time, the caravan master would present papers, and we'd be waved through with barely a glance. The Iron Trail Company's reputation opened doors that might have been closed to independent travelers.

  The countryside changed gradually as we moved deeper into the kingdom's heartland. Forests gave way to cultivated fields, small villages to larger towns. More traffic joined the highway as merchants, pilgrims, and soldiers traveled alongside us. All were moving toward the capital like streams flowing to the sea.

  The mother would point out landmarks to her son, teaching him the names of towns and rivers we crossed. The merchants discussed which markets would be best for their goods. I stayed silent in my corner, watching, listening, learning. Each mile brought us closer to Kaldos City, to the Academy, to whatever future awaited me there.

  Another night descended on our caravan camp. The usual sounds filled the air: the merchants counting coin, the caravaneers sharing stories around fires, guards pacing their rounds. I remained in my wagon, using the privacy to inspect my mechanical parts.

  While waiting for a newly crafted joint to set, I pulled up my status box. The familiar blue window materialized before my eyes, its text glowing softly in the darkness.

  I frowned at the screen. Something nagged at me, like a misaligned gear grinding against its neighbors. My fingers traced through the air, scrolling through the entries again.

  The memories surfaced of precise movements with blade and body, techniques passed down through generations of battle-hardened soldiers. I could recall every stance, every counter, every killing stroke of Isparan Battlefield Fencing. The knowledge sat in my mind as clearly as the Court Style techniques I had learned.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Yet it was conspicuously absent from my status screen.

  This made no sense. When I'd learned Court Style from Marshes's lessons, it had appeared instantly in my abilities. Same with Analyze when I first used it. Why would Isparan Battlefield Fencing be different?

  I closed the status screen, troubled by its incompleteness.

  Through the gaps in the canvas, I watched another patrol approach our caravan. The usual routine played out: papers exchanged, quick glances at cargo manifests. But something felt different this time.

  A figure in long robes lingered near my wagon while the others conducted their inspection. No armor marked him as a warrior, just the deep blue cloth of a battle mage. His eyes fixed directly on me, and I felt the telltale tingle of someone using Analyze.

  My mechanical hands clenched. If his ability was rank C or higher, he'd see what I truly was. The mage's eyes widened slightly. He turned to the patrol commander, whispered something in his ear, then pointed toward my wagon.

  Steel rasped against leather as swords cleared scabbards. Armed men surrounded my position, their weapons held ready but not yet threatening.

  "Exit the wagon," the knight commander ordered. "Slowly."

  The trail captain stepped forward. "What's the meaning of this? We have all the proper-"

  "Be silent." The knight's voice cracked like a whip. "This matter doesn't concern you."

  I weighed my options. Fighting meant revealing myself, probably killing these men. Running would only confirm their suspicions. Neither choice ended well.

  My fingers found Kolin's wrapped sword beneath my cloak. The familiar grip offered cold comfort as I rose from my seated position.

  The canvas rustled as I emerged into the afternoon sun. The soldiers tensed, hands tightening on weapons. The mage's eyes never left me, studying, analyzing, seeing through my carefully constructed disguise.

  "Remove your veil and hood." The commander's hand stayed on his sword hilt. "Now."

  I complied, knowing this charade had run its course. My pale fingers pulled back the black fabric, letting my long dark hair spill free. The porcelain mask I'd crafted to hide the ragged red flesh where my eyes should have been caught the sunlight directly.

  Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. The mother pulled her son close, shielding his eyes. One of the merchants stumbled backward, nearly falling over his own feet. Even the battle-hardened soldiers shifted uneasily.

  "What are you?" The commander's blade cleared its scabbard an inch.

  Rather than speak aloud, I projected my thoughts outward, letting them ripple across the minds of everyone present.

  I am traveling to Kaldos City.

  The effect was immediate. Several soldiers jerked as if struck. The commander's sword flew free, its tip aimed at my throat. The merchants scrambled away, and someone screamed.

  "Wait!" The robed mage grabbed the commander's arm. "Hold, Sir Dalen. That was not an attack."

  "It spoke in my head," the commander snarled. "Some foul magic-"

  "Telepathic speech of some kind," the mage cut in. "A system ability no doubt. Nothing more. If it meant any harm, we'd know by now."

  The commander's sword wavered, then slowly lowered. His eyes never left my mask.

  The tension bled from the air as weapons lowered, though they did not return to their sheaths. The mage's intervention had prevented bloodshed, though fear still radiated from the gathered humans in waves.

  "What is your purpose for traveling to the capital?" The commander asked me, his voice gruff.

  That is none of your concern. My projected thoughts carried an edge of steel.

  "I'm making it my concern." The commander's jaw set. "You can tell me here, or explain from inside a cell. Your choice, creature."

  The soldiers tensed, ready to move at their leader's command. The mage watched with scholarly interest, no doubt cataloging every detail of our exchange. I had no desire to fight these men, nor did I wish to reveal too much. But they left me little choice.

  I reached into my Depository, the dimensional space rippling as I withdrew a rolled parchment. The commander's sword snapped up at my movement, but I simply held out the document.

  I travel to the Kaldos Academy of War. This is my invitation.

  He snatched the scroll with his free hand, breaking the wax seal. His eyes widened at the mark stamped at the bottom: the Academy's symbol of a red bull's head over two crossed swords. The parchment trembled slightly in his grip as he read Mallie's invitation.

  The change in his demeanor was immediate. The sword disappeared into its scabbard with a whisper of steel. He bowed, deep and formal.

  "My sincerest apologies for the delay." He gestured sharply and his men lowered their weapons. "All who receive the Academy's invitation walk the path to legend. We would not dream of hindering such a journey."

  He returned the scroll with another bow. "May your road to Kaldos be swift and safe. Glory awaits you at the Academy's gates."

  The soldiers fell into formation at his command. As they marched away, each warrior cast glances over their shoulders. Their looks were no longer filled with suspicion, but with something approaching reverence.

  The trail captain's boots crunched on gravel as he moved towards me. His weathered face studied my mask, then he let out a long, weary sigh.

  "Damn patrols. Always wasting our time with their nonsense." He scratched his beard. "Look, normally Iron Trail has strict rules about monsters. Been that way since we started running these routes. Too much risk, too many problems."

  I remained still, letting him speak his piece.

  "But that invitation changes things." He gestured at the scroll I still held. "Academy candidates get special treatment everywhere in the Kingdom. Even the monster ones." His tone carried no judgment, just stating facts. "So you can stay. Just keep to yourself like you've been doing."

  I understand. My projected thoughts made him flinch slightly. I won't cause trouble.

  "Right then." He turned to address the gathered caravan. "Show's over! Get those wagons moving. We're burning daylight and Kaldos City ain't getting any closer while we stand here gawking."

  The merchants scrambled back to their positions, though they gave my wagon a wider berth than before. The mother hurried her son past, keeping her body between us as they climbed into their cart.

  I settled back among the wine barrels, pulling my hood low over my mask. The familiar scent of oak and spirits surrounded me as I arranged my skirts. Through gaps in the canvas, I caught glimpses of the others stealing glances in my direction.

  Let them look. Their curiosity would fade with time, replaced by the monotony of travel. The road stretched long ahead of us, and I had no desire to be the subject of their attention.

  The wagons creaked into motion, wheels turning once more toward Kaldos City. I leaned back against the barrels, grateful for the relative privacy of my corner spot. The invitation had served its purpose, both with the patrol and the caravan company. Now I could return to being just another quiet passenger, even if they knew what lurked beneath my mourning clothes.