Chapter 200: Oldmarsh

The skeletal hooves of Argus struck the damp, uneven earth with a hollow rhythm as the horse and its master crossed the threshold into Oldmarsh.

Oldmarsh was a quiet little settlement. Stagnant water, cooked meat and burning peat were the most present smells in the air. Wooden houses with sagging, moss-eaten thatched roofs dressed the muddy main road, looking more like sinking ships than proper homes.

It was, by all visual accounts, a perfectly normal town. Closer to a village than a city, and there was a reason for that.

In the kingdom of Evernia, the line between a town and a city was not merely drawn by population size or landmass.

Structurally, towns were almost identical to villages—simple, agrarian, and quiet. Cities, however, were entirely different beasts, and they were defined by a single, highly coveted commodity: Awakeners.

Simply put, Awakeners built cities.

It was an engine of pure economics and magical power. As the number of Awakeners naturally grew within a town or village, the crown's eyes would turn toward it.

The kingdom would flood the settlement with funds, explicitly to aid in the training and containment of these blessed individuals.

Following the royal coin came the institutions.

Powerful Guilds would arrive to construct towering, opulent quarters to recruit fresh blood. Prestigious Academies would lay the foundations for sprawling campuses.

For the ordinary families whose children had the sudden, terrifying fortune of Awakening, the crown offered a staggering wealth of coin. It was framed as a stipend, but in reality, it was a transaction of sorts.

That payment meant a transfer of ownership, taking the child from the hands of the parents and placing them squarely in the grip of the kingdom.

This was the first method of birthing a city.

The second was through the density of Gate Worlds.

Gate Worlds were such bittersweet things. Even though they were great threats as they were, they carried their benefits. In many ways, they were gold mines.

The moment a Gate World was cleared, ownership transferred directly to the local Baron. From then on, whenever Awakeners from other regions traveled to enter it, as usual they paid fines.

More Gates meant a massive influx of external coin pouring into the local economy.

Furthermore, Gate World density acted as a beacon. Awakeners were naturally drawn to places with frequent Gate spawns, viewing them as fertile hunting grounds where they could level up rapidly.

They wanted to be the first to dive into newly opened Gate Worlds, eager to claim the primary system rewards, the Gate World's Aspect, and the massive payouts from selling the cleared Gate to the Baron.

This aggressive migration of powerful, wealthy individuals led to a sudden, explosive expansion.

Taverns turned into grand inns, Blacksmiths into bigger armories, and quiet towns flourished into sprawling, unyielding cities.

All of this grand history and economic theory was crucial to note because Oldmarsh was the exact, tragic opposite of that standard.

It had not risen to greatness; it had plummeted from it.

Whatever spark of magic or commerce had once graced this land was long dead, and all that was left behind was an old husk of a town slowly sinking into the mud.

An ancient land that once grew into a majestic city.

An old marsh.

Percival brought Argus to a halt near the center of the dreary settlement. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the dirt, his dark cloak billowing lightly in the damp breeze.

He reached up to haul Eristasia down from the skeletal horse's back. But the moment his hands gripped her waist and her boots touched the ground, the matriarch exploded into violent motion.

She twisted her body with feral strength, thrashing wildly against the drake-leather bindings. She kicked out, her noble boots scraping against his armor as she fought to rip herself away from his grip.

Unflinching and unsurprised, Percival simply clamped his hands down harder, his grip like iron on her shoulders, locking her entirely in place.

"So, you're awake," he drawled apathetically.

"Unhand me, you wretch!" she screamed, her royally entitled voice tearing through the quiet street.

Percival immediately raised a hand and clamped it firmly over her mouth, cutting off her tirade. With his other hand, he pulled a thick, coarse strip of cloth from his cloak's pocket.

Ignoring her muffled protests and thrashing head, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the lower half of her face, knotting it securely at the back of her head to gag her.

Around them, the dreary townsfolk had stopped their meager chores.

Men carrying firewood and women washing clothes by the barrels froze, muttering in hushed, nervous tones as they stared at the dark-haired Wanderer manhandling a furiously struggling woman.

Eristasia's chest heaved. If she couldn't speak, she would fight. She narrowed her eyes, focusing her intent.

She shifted her bound hands behind her back, trying to position her fingers to summon a compressed blade of wind to slice Percival's throat.

Nothing happened. The mana in her core sparked, but it hit a dead end, unable to channel outward.

She frantically shifted her fingers again, trying to form even a basic gust to knock him off balance. Still, nothing.

Confusion momentarily pierced through her rage. She strained her neck to look down at her hands, finally taking note of the intricate, bizarre way the leather rope had been laced through her fingers and wrists.

Percival notified her frustration. He leaned in slightly, his blue eyes cold and piercing.

"Surprised?" he asked flatly. "I know exactly how you Mages position your hands to control magic. You need somatic pathways. By weaving the rope between your knuckles to keep your fingers splayed flat, and binding your wrists at an inverted, downward angle, your mana circuits are physically blocked from completing a loop."

"Sorry if it hurts, matriarch. But tying you like that is the absolute best way to stop you."

Eristasia snapped her head back up to look at him. If looks could manifest as physical damage, the pure, venomous hatred burning in her aristocratic eyes would have decapitated him on the spot.

Percival was entirely unfazed. "Walk," he commanded.

He took her by the arm, and the march began.

She resisted every single step, digging her heels into the dirt, but Percival simply dragged her forward, his strength far exceeding hers.

He forced her to walk tentatively beside him, humiliating the high noblewoman in front of the whispering peasants as they made their way toward the largest, most structurally sound building in Oldmarsh: the local inn.

Percival pushed open the thin door. The bell above chimed a dull, rusted note.

Standing behind the wooden counter was an innkeeper, a balding man polishing a mug with a dirty rag. Percival sighed in his head. He was honestly getting tired of meeting so many innkeepers in this world.

The noise around the tavern had vanished with their presence. Men and women sitting at the splintered wooden tables froze, their mugs of ale hovering mid-air.

All eyes locked onto the dark haired, dark armored man with a coffin in his back, and the beautiful, gagged red haired woman writhing and letting out furious, muffled screams beside him.

Percival ignored them. He dragged her all the way to the counter, the silence in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

The innkeeper slowly set down his mug, his eyes darting nervously between Percival's cold face and Eristasia's frantic, pleading eyes.

"Oi," the innkeeper started, looking ready to fight. "Why don't you free the lady, young man?"

Percival stared at the innkeeper, his expression completely blank. "If you all want to be dead in a matter of minutes, then I would."

The innkeeper stepped back, thoroughly confused and visibly shaken. "What... what are you saying?"

"I'm a bounty hunter," Percival lied, his voice carrying clearly and calmly across the dead-silent tavern. He gave Eristasia a slight shove forward.

"She is my bounty. A rogue Awakener who has been terrorizing towns and villages across the province."

Eristasia's eyes bulged wide. This lying bastard!

Percival saw her expression but ignored her. "She and her crew slaughtered parties of Awakeners just by the open field in-between the farmlands down south. I tracked her, and swooped in to catch her when she was weakened from the fight."

He let his gaze sweep over the terrified patrons in the room. "And you're all very lucky I did. Because Oldmarsh was her next target."

A collective, horrified gasp echoed through the tavern. Chairs scraped against the floor as people instinctively backed away from her.

From the corner of the room, a grizzled man clutching a half-empty tankard stood up, his face pale. "By the gods... I heard stories from a traveling merchant just this morning. He said there was an absolute slaughter in the village of Deathlehem. He said a beautiful woman and her crew of murderers killed every living soul there."

Percival turned to the man. "Yes. That is her."

Eristasia let out a muffled shriek of pure outrage. She thrashed against her bonds, shaking her head violently, trying to scream through the thick cloth that he was the murderer, that she was the Lady of House Windwhisper.

But to the terrified patrons, her frantic struggles just looked like the manic thrashing of a bloodthirsty psychopath.

Everyone's fear and confusion quickly mutated into anger. The patrons glared at her, muttering curses, spitting at the floor near her boots, and calling her a monster.

Eristasia was enraged. How could she, a noblewoman, be reduced like this? The very people she believed herself socially superior to were now looking at her like she was a rabid dog.

The innkeeper wiped a layer of cold sweat from his forehead, looking at Percival as if he were a divine savior sent by the heavens themselves.

"Thank you," the innkeeper breathed, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank the gods you caught this demon, Bounty Hunter. You saved my tavern... you saved all of Oldmarsh." The man scrambled behind the counter, eager to please.

"Please, sir. I'll give you a free room. The best we have. And a free meal for as long as you stay in our town."

Percival adjusted his grip on the fuming, humiliated noblewoman.

"That's fine," Percival said with a perfectly level tone. "I'll pay for my room."

He paused.

"The free meal, however... I'm interested."