At the ducal estate's training grounds, Ethan leaned against a stone pillar, watching Colin swing his wooden sword with vigorous flourishes.
For the past half-month, he hadn't gone anywhere.
He followed Isabella everywhere she went, accompanying his mother as she pruned the flowerbeds, drank tea, and strolled through the corridors.
Each time, Isabella would smile and link arms with him, her conversation invariably turning to marriage.
She'd mention how House Natt's third daughter was gentle and virtuous, how House Windsor's niece was well-educated and sensible, or how the imperial family's little princess had also come of age.
Every time Ethan heard these remarks, the smile on his face would stiffen a bit, yet he couldn't simply leave. He could only respond with a dry, “I'll think about it.”
As for displaying a Wizard's might and ordering his own mother around?
Wouldn't that be insane?
What normal human could do such a thing?
Colin, on the other hand, benefited.
Whenever Ethan was overwhelmed by his mother's incessant nagging, he'd drag Colin to the training grounds and teach him swordsmanship.
Colin wasn't lacking in comprehension; after half a month, his sword stance was quite decent. However, every time Ethan disarmed him of his wooden sword in just a few moves, he'd grimace and rub his wrist.
That afternoon, Ford hurried from the end of the corridor, clutching a secret letter in his hand.
Ethan took it, tore it open, and quickly scanned its contents.
The entire Garce family had been executed.
All three counties were now incorporated into House Leo's territory.
The last remnants of the private army, who had stubbornly resisted, were wiped out in the ruins of the old fort. Not a single leading member of the collateral branches escaped.
He folded the letter and handed it back to Ford.
“Tell Father I've grown tired of the Imperial City,” he said. “I'm going out for a stroll.”
Ford took the letter, his graying eyebrows twitching slightly. He didn't ask any questions, simply bowed again.
Ethan turned his head to glance at Colin, who was still holding his wooden sword in a daze in the center of the training grounds, and waved his hand.
Colin seemed about to say something, but Ethan had already turned and was walking towards the main gate.
Standing at his own doorstep, Ethan's thoughts stirred.
“Set anchor point.”
【Anchor Point 3 set. Location: Wizard World - Thorn Empire - Leo Ducal Estate.】
After setting the third Anchor Point, Ethan continued without pause, passing through the city gates and onto the stone road leading out of the Imperial City.
Three years ago, an extraterrestrial meteor had fallen on Horn Mountain, turning half the sky fiery red.
Afterward came years of drought, parched rivers, and ruined harvests.
Colin had said that the entire mountain had collapsed, burying all three villages at its foot.
No one had bothered with it later, as the path into the mountain was completely blocked by rubble.
Whether it was a meteor or something else, anything capable of causing an anomaly of such magnitude was at least a supernatural item.
Since it fell within the Thorn Empire, it was tied to his own interests.
If he encountered it, he certainly had to investigate.
The mountain before him had collapsed on one side, as if cleaved in half by some immense force.
The mountain's cross-section revealed dark red rock strata, starkly contrasting with the surrounding grayish-green rocks.
Rubble cascaded from the summit all the way to the base, forming a chaotic slope of rocks, with the largest boulders the size of carriages.
At the foot of the mountain, the remnants of three villages were still visible.
On the rocky ground outside Horn Mountain, dozens of figures were scattered.
Some carried worn-out iron picks, others wore notched scimitars, and a few were clad in faded leather armor, with a mercenary group's emblem pinned to their chests.
They trudged across the rubble that had spilled from the mountaintop, slowly moving towards the mountain's fractured face.
No one spoke. All had their heads down, their gazes sweeping back and forth over the piles of rock at their feet.
Occasionally, someone would bend down, pick up a stone, examine it, and then casually toss it aside.
An old man with a bamboo basket on his back squatted at the edge of the rubble slope, using a blunted iron pry bar to clear stones and dig out the soil beneath, which he then brought to his nose to sniff.
Nearby, a young mercenary kicked aside a basin-sized stone. It rolled a couple of times, striking another piece of rubble with a hollow thud.
He spat and continued forward.
Ethan stood outside the rubble slope, observing these people.
Three years. That meteor had fallen on Horn Mountain, turning half the sky fiery red.
Afterward came years of drought, ruined harvests, and three villages, along with most of the mountain, had collapsed.
For these three years, people seeking treasure in the mountain had never ceased.
Some had dug up black stones at the mountain's foot, selling them for over a dozen gold coins in town.
Others had found a fist-sized lump of iron in the mountain's fissures, trading it for half a year's worth of food.
Still others found nothing at all, dying in the piles of rubble, their bodies dragged aside by those who came later, who then continued digging.
Among these people, some had eyes full of greed, while others' faces showed only numbness.
Greed or numbness, it didn't matter.
Who knew?
Who cared?
Ethan withdrew his gaze and walked towards the mountain's fractured face.
After only a dozen steps, he paused.
An invisible resistance pressed from straight ahead.
This resistance had no physical form; it was like an extremely thin, transparent, weightless membrane.
It adhered to the air, blending seamlessly with the surrounding rubble, withered grass, and mountain wind.
Ethan raised his right hand, pressing his palm forward.
The moment his palm touched the membrane, a gentle pushing force emanated from its surface.
It wasn't repulsion, but an obstruction.
It was as if a large sheet of transparent rubber had been stretched taut in the air; his hand pressed into it, and the rubber yielded inward but never broke.
Ethan withdrew his hand and looked around.
On the mountain's fractured face, several mercenaries were digging through the rubble.
A woman wrapped in a headscarf walked past less than five paces from Ethan, her steps unwavering, her gaze fixed on the stones beneath her feet, passing directly through the location of the barrier.
The hem of her clothes swept through the air without any hindrance.
Ethan watched the woman's retreating back, then looked at the seemingly empty air in front of him.
The barrier had no effect on mortals.
It didn't obstruct mortals at all.
It only affected him.
“Tsk, interesting,” Ethan murmured.
He extended his right hand, splayed his fingers, and the moment his fingertips touched the invisible membrane, he simply pulled it aside.
No incantation.
No mana fluctuations.
He simply peeled it open with his hand.
The membrane, like a torn spiderweb, split open into an oval-shaped hole at the point his fingertip touched.
The edges of the hole were neat and smooth, without any ragged tears.
The surrounding air subtly trembled, emitting an extremely faint hum.
The sound was so low that the mercenaries digging for stones didn't react at all.
The hole was just large enough for one person to pass through.
Ethan stood before the hole, looking at the oval opening.
Behind the opening was the fractured face of Horn Mountain, its dark red rock strata gleaming dully in the sunlight.
The rubble slope was still the rubble slope, and the half-collapsed mountain was still the half-collapsed mountain.
Nothing had changed, yet everything seemed different.
The barrier was not a Wizard's doing.
A Wizard's methods would leave mana residue, energy particle fluctuations, and traces of runic circuits.
This barrier had none of that.
It existed, yet had no discernible source.
It obstructed, yet produced no energy ripples.
“Heh, so you're luring me into a trap?” Ethan said.
He withdrew his hand and stepped into the oval-shaped opening.
Rate on N.U.
