CHAPTER 63: GATES OF CROSSGARD

The morning sun struggled to pierce through the thickening, grey fog that blanketed the deeply rutted, muddy trail. The late-night tests on the deserters and the suffocating stench of spilled blood in the forest were now nothing more than a memory of yesterday evening. Our black, armored wagon rolled rhythmically along the deep grooves of the forest road. The solid oak chassis did not emit a single unnecessary creak, and the heavy iron-bound wheels crushed the frozen clumps of mud with hollow thuds. Every strike of the draft horses' hooves beat the rhythm of our rising dominance. The engine of my Vessel hummed within my chest at a quiet, perfectly stabilized frequency, seamlessly channeling sapphire plasma through reinforced energy conduits. With every passing kilometer, the trail expanded drastically and grew firmer, herald of our approach to a vast metropolis bustling with ruthless life. Silas, though still slightly pale after witnessing the birth of Aksji in the forest clearing with his own eyes, was slowly regaining his merchant composure. He sat on the driver's bench wrapped in his thick fur coat, steadily guiding the team while releasing plumes of grey smoke from his wooden pipe.

Suddenly, the forest trail broke through the final tree line, and from the thinning mist on the horizon loomed the overwhelming, colossal silhouette of Crossgard.

My sapphire eyes narrowed slightly as I evaluated the sight through pure, cold logic. Rising far above the canopies of ancient oaks stood monolithic, somber defensive walls that resembled an unbroken rampart of black basalt. The structure was so massive that its parapets vanished into the leaden clouds, while the narrow embrasures gaped with the heavy iron frames of wall-mounted ballistas. Floating over the entire metropolis was a dense, purplish shimmer of defensive barriers, humming softly with the accumulated charge of high-voltage magic conduits. From the massive industrial manufactories and arcane smithies within the city, thick plumes of greasy black smoke billowed into the sky, settling upon the stone battlements in a heavy layer of soot. The air surrounding the walls reeked of burned coal, melted sulfur binder, and the sweat of thousands of mercenaries queuing for clearance.

Crossgard appeared as a gigantic anthill pulsing with brutal force, torn apart by geopolitical war and strictly divided into spheres of influence between the armies of Halgard and Redgard. The guards along the ramparts looked down upon every traveler with hostile suspicion, hands resting on their weapon hilts at the slightest movement. Fights to the death were the primary industry and entertainment for the masses, while underground arenas and ruthless crafting guilds ruled this world without restraint.

Silas took a deeper drag from his pipe, his hand trembling noticeably on the leather reins and betraying his rising anxiety.

"Well, boss, those are the gates to absolute hell," the old fence muttered, spitting thick saliva onto the muddy trail. "The main gates lie ahead. Redgard and Halgard maintain their checkpoints there, and the local thugs in city colors are just waiting to strip every newcomer of their gold. If they smell weakness, we'll end up in a gutter with snapped necks faster than you can blink. This city never forgives weakness."

I rested my head against the wooden sideboard of the wagon, narrowing my eyes with a relaxed smile while keeping my hands pushed deep into the pockets of my black coat.

"Let them wait, Silas," I replied with brazen chill. "Logically speaking, every gate has its key. We're simply driving in on our own hard terms. Money and blood circulate in this swamp without brakes, but we operate by our own non-negotiable rules."

Our armored wagon rolled slowly forward, approaching the gigantic, iron-bound entry portal. Right before the gate, the trail narrowed drastically, constrained by massive, razor-sharp oak palisades. An armed patrol of the city guard immediately blocked our path.

They were typical gutter trash—arrogant, overconfident pawns wearing official, worn Crossgard colors, but reeking of cheap alcohol, sweat, and greed from a mile away. There were eight of them, equipped with heavy, rusted halberds and short swords. Their commander, a burly, fat brute with a nasty scar slicing across his left cheek, stepped onto the center of the road. He spat near our horses' hooves and raised his hand, rudely commanding us to halt the vehicle immediately.

"Halt, drifters!" the guard commander roared, baring yellow, rotting teeth in a foul smirk. "Where do you think you're pushing that armored box? This is Crossgard! Entry for outsiders costs coin, and that wagon of yours looks like a remarkably rich catch. Get off the bench and hand over your pouches! This armored wagon and those pretty ladies behind you belong to our squad from now on. Move before my boys turn you into strainers!"

A dead, vibrating silence instantly fell over the back of the wagon. Shnee and Karys reacted in a fraction of a second. The First Pillar tensed her muscles to spring, her slender hand dropping to the hilt of her translucent rapier as freezing black frost began to creep across the steel. Wild Karys extended hard, black claws from her fingers, ready to tear the attackers apart in the blink of an eye.

I raised my hand slightly, stopping them with a single, calm gesture.

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"Fall back. I'll handle this," I threw to them in a quiet, emotionless tone.

I stepped off the wagon completely on full chill, keeping my left hand pushed deep into my coat pocket. My posture radiated such immense, brazen calm that the guards froze for a moment, disoriented by the complete lack of fear. The guard commander scanned me from head to toe, his smirk growing even ruder.

"Well, well, look at the brave lordling in the black coat!" the patrol leader rasped, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Listen here, kid. The entry fee for this armored wagon is five silver pieces. Plus a mandatory search of the back. I see some quite pretty ladies back there. My boys need to thoroughly check if you're hauling any illegal contraband or runaway slaves. Move before we drag you off that wagon ourselves!"

His guardsmen chimed in with loud, dull laughter, their hands instinctively tightening on the shafts of their halberds.

A sudden, predatory hyperfixation fired off in my mind. I had zero intention of paying these fools or starting a bloody massacre right beneath the city walls, which would only draw unwanted attention from the Halgard and Redgard garrisons stationed along the ramparts. I looked at the rude commander and muttered under my breath with a brazen smile:

"Hm, I have an interesting idea. Let's see if this works."

I stood still for a moment. My left hand drifted to my chin, cupping it while my right arm supported my left elbow, habitually slipping into my analytical habit for working through problems. Instead of releasing a physical kinetic shockwave, I focused the full precision of my Vessel and sent a quiet, needle-thin beam of raw will directly into the captain's spinal cord.

Click.

Protocol Aksji tapped into his motor nodes with surgical, sub-millimeter accuracy. No bursting blood vessels, no vomiting blood. A clean, bloodless grip. The signal beamed directly into his cerebral cortex and motor fibers seized control of his nervous system with sub-millimeter efficiency, turning the proud city guard into an unresisting bio-android. The guard commander's eyes darkened for a split second before becoming completely hollow, drained of any human volition.

I gently flexed my fingers inside my coat pocket, verifying the quality of the motor connection. It was an incredible sensation—his muscles and nerves were now a direct extension of my own mind.

The remaining guards looked at their boss in clear confusion.

"Captain? Everything alright?" one guardsman asked, taking a step forward.

Under the dictation of my will, the controlled guard commander suddenly turned on his heel toward his men. His movements were rigid, unnatural, resembling the motions of a wooden puppet on strings, but in the morning commotion, no one noticed. He opened his mouth, releasing a completely mechanical, colorless, and emotionless voice:

"Stand down from the wagon!" the captain shouted under the dictation of my mind, his voice sounding as if he were reading a blank line from parchment. "This transport is exempt from tolls and inspection! Raise the portcullis! Immediately!"

The guards froze, their minds catching a massive lag.

"But captain... this wagon..." one guardsman tried to object.

"Silence, fool!" the captain roared, taking a rigid step toward him and almost mechanically raising a hand to strike, completely shutting down the discussion. "Execute the order!"

The shocked guards did not dare disobey. They scrambled toward the heavy iron mechanisms on the side tower. The heavy, rusted chain groaned terrifyingly, setting the cogwheels in motion, and the massive, steel-bound iron portcullis slowly began to rise, opening the passage into the interior of the metropolis.

I turned slowly back toward the wagon. The guard commander, completely controlled by Aksji, executed a deep, unnaturally stiff bow toward the back of the wagon and delivered a obedient line:

"Welcome to Crossgard, noble travelers. The road is clear."

I smiled broadly, slipping my hand back into my coat pocket, and leaped back onto the high driver's bench beside trembling Silas. I adjusted the collar of my black coat and muttered softly in our Polish cipher:

"No i zajebiście."

I released the precise grip of Aksji. The direct feed from my core was severed. The guard commander instantly went limp, his eyes regaining their murky sheen. He staggered slightly, clutching his temple with an expression of complete disorientation and a dull headache, completely unable to recall what had transpired a moment prior.

I pulled hard on the leather reins, and the two massive draft horses surged forward. With a loud, heavy clatter of steel axles, our black fortress drove through the open gates straight into the smoking, war-torn streets of Crossgard.

The reaction of our Crew in the back was simply priceless.

Karys, our Second Pillar, had absolute, monumental shock in her eyes. Her brilliant, analytical strategist mind once again caught a massive, deep lag. She had seen slaughter, blood, and pain in her life, but this methodical, bloodless hijacking of human bodies and treating a guard captain like a helpless puppet on strings, with hands in pockets, sent a reverent, primal shiver of respect through her.

Our journey was just beginning, but I was certain that anyone who tried to stand in our way in this new city would end up the exact same way. Crossgard lay wide open before us, and I intended to play this metropolis one hundred percent on my own hard terms.

The amethyst wolf looked at me with wide eyes, ultimately and indisputably accepting the fact that her new family belonged to an unstoppable monolith. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, sensing the dense, predatory scent of sapphire plasma leaking silently from my pores. For Karys, raised under the harsh laws of the jungle and the struggle for survival, this display of bloodless dominance was far more terrifying and mesmerizing than any simple manifestation of brute force. She understood that the man standing before her did not fight this world's system—he simply and brazenly rewrote it to his own dictation.

Shnee smiled proudly, her diamond eyes narrowing, while Kaede chuckled quietly in my ear: – Boss, the guy froze so smoothly he didn't even catch where the discreet system patch came from!

Our journey was just beginning, but I was certain that anyone who tried to stand in our way in this new city would end up the exact same way. Crossgard lay wide open before us, and I intended to play this metropolis one hundred percent on my own hard terms.