Early April, in the Protos Empire.
The Northwestern Province, the Milford Border Territory.
Accompanied by the wind that set bells chiming, a gentle spring drizzle drifted down from the overcast sky, blanketing every inch of Milford.
Two squads of knights in polished armor stood on high alert at the gates of Milford, their gazes resolute and sharp as they scrutinized the identity of everyone waiting in line to enter.
This route into the interior of the Milford Territory did not border the Kingdom of Asethelan; rather, it was a common trade route within the borders of the Protos Empire, leading from other Protos city-states into the border territory.
Thanks to the window of relaxed border enforcement and the route prearranged between Count Milford and the Church of the Goddess of Fate, Hyperion had successfully slipped into the Protos Empire alongside the Executioner, the Priest, and the Paladin.
Having taken a detour, they were now poised to formally pass through the defensive barrier of the Milford Border Territory.
Waiting at the rear of the queue, Hyperion looked every bit the young mistress of a merchant guild. Her supple hair cascaded softly over her shoulders, tied with a red ribbon. Paired with a fitted black top and a red checkered skirt, her breezy yet classically elegant ensemble lent her an aura of mysterious charm, while her eyes held an unspeakable shrewdness.
Every motion she made—whether a casual gesture or an order given to the attendants behind her—exuded authority and confidence. She gave off an air of haughty unapproachability, yet without losing the soft grace distinctive of a young woman.
Born of ducal blood, her noble bearing came entirely naturally, and coupled with her exquisite acting, not the slightest discrepancy could be seen between her true self and her present persona.
The three dependable Tier 6 clergymen had taken on the role of her guards, escorting the cargo behind her. Through their performance, not a trace of their clerical background remained; they even carried quite the worldly, hardened demeanor.
Their smooth crossing into the Protos Empire was inextricably linked to Count Milford stirring up trouble from within.
Count Milford, a collaborator of the Church of the Goddess of Fate, held a high position within the empire, but he was equally taking the risk of having any slipup seized upon by the Extinction Branch.
"I truly want to see that gentleman again as soon as possible."
The three clergymen practically wore their thoughts on their faces.
Separated for nearly half a year, they missed Mr. Wilfort terribly.
Merely conversing with him made them sense the meaning of life, rendering every second real and fulfilling.
"..."
Hyperion glanced back at the Holy Trio and said nothing.
Yet seeing how they could not stop thinking about Lanqi, she couldn't help but worry about him as well.
She wondered how Lanqi was doing in the Protos Empire after being separated for just over two months; hopefully, he was currently living a leisurely life somewhere in the south.
After tens of minutes in line, Hyperion and her guards finally reached the inspection checkpoint.
The knights conducting the inspections were clearly on high alert regarding them—not only needing to verify the legitimacy of their cargo, but also because the group looked far too formidable.
One of the knights, a captain wearing a red-plumed helmet, stepped forward. "Where do you come from? The Milford Territory does not welcome outsiders."
In times like these, the border city-states were gripped by paranoia. They would rather deny entry outright than invite any potential hazards into the city-state.
Hyperion prepared to speak; she had long rehearsed her explanation for this exact situation.
Yet just as the tension began to mount, a figure emerged from deep within the gatehouse.
He appeared to be in his early forties, with a stern, humorless countenance, a resolute jawline, a straight bridge to his nose, and neatly trimmed eyebrows. He wore an exquisite velvet robe of deep crimson, adorned with the Milford family crest and gold embellishments.
"Captain, these are my guests."
Count Milford's voice was steady, yet not quite as severe as his aura suggested.
The captain was visibly startled, then bowed. "Understood, Lord Count."
Granted passage at Count Nelson Milford's gesture, Hyperion and the three clergymen walked up to him.
Hyperion hadn't expected to meet Count Milford so soon, nor had she thought the count should personally appear at this moment to escort them in.
The priests of the Extinction Branch had eyes and ears all across the Northwestern Province. The more moves Count Milford made, the easier it was to leave an opening that would draw an investigation from the Extinction Branch.
Count Milford said nothing.
He merely gestured for them to follow the Milford estate's carriages and proceed to the manor before discussing anything.
Hyperion exchanged glances with the clergymen. The Executioner, Priest, and Paladin all nodded; in their eyes, Count Milford was trustworthy.
With that, they followed Count Milford.
As they entered the Milford Territory and stepped onto the pale gray stone-paved streets, the massive city gates slowly closed behind them. Hyperion did not look back, though her heart remained filled with tension regarding her journey through the empire.
Today, she had finally set foot inside the borders of the Protos Empire.
And the path ahead—whether evading the Extinction Branch's scrutiny in the Northwestern Province, climbing the ranks at the Protos Royal Magic Academy in the Imperial Capital, or carrying out the eventual prison-break plan—was fraught with deadly peril at every turn!
A single misstep would lead to utter ruin.
Yet this was the trial she had to face, and the mission she had to fulfill.
As the carriage from the Milford estate led them through the city, the city-state displayed its majesty and splendor. Soaring towers touching the clouds, unyielding walls, and meandering rivers formed an imposing border city-state.
Through the carriage window, Hyperion could also clearly sense the tension and vigilance of the Milford citizens regarding their present lives.
Before long, they arrived at the Milford estate situated on the eastern side of the city-state.
The estate's main gates were crafted from sturdy black oak, inset with brass rings and carvings. Beyond the gates lay a cobblestone path lined with meticulously manicured low shrubs and cold-hardy plants.
Although it was not as cold here as the empire's northernmost frontier, early spring still brought frequent sharp drops in temperature.
A retinue of attendants dressed in red livery came forward to take the luggage from Hyperion and her companions. The four followed Count Milford into the grand Milford manor.
Inside the mansion, they passed through an entrance garden and several corridors before arriving at a parlor lounge. A crystal chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling cast a warm glow over the entire room. Deep crimson velvet sofas and chairs were arranged around an enormous fireplace, where crackling firewood imparted a long-missed sense of comfort.
Only after ordering all the servants out of the hall and stationing his trusted personal aides outside the door did Milford finally turn his gaze once more to the visitors from the Kingdom of Asethelan.
"Please, have a seat."
In contrast to this opulence, the count wore his usual solemn, detached expression, yet his hospitality felt remarkably simple and welcoming.
"Thank you, Lord Count Milford, for your assistance to our church."
Seated in the lounge, Hyperion spoke to the count.
With other noble houses in the Northwestern Province harboring fierce xenophobia, Count Milford and his family held a receptive attitude toward outside forces, willing to extend a helping hand to righteous people. Creating such an opportunity was exceedingly rare.
Though Count Milford's behavior today seemed a little strange—almost as if he had lowered his guard against the greatest threat in the Northwestern Province, the minions of the Extinction Branch—she was still willing to place her trust in him.
Chapter 337