Rhyse Synkar, cloaked and trying to appear as unassuming as a thirteen-year-old noble heir possibly could, felt the oppressive weight of the fortress walls and the avaricious gazes of the Synkar-liveried guards.
The two gold sovereigns per head – a king's ransom to the villagers of Dawmoor, yet pocket change from the Synkar Network – felt like a lead weight in the pouch he was about to open.
His mind still reeled from the System's sudden, stark command:
[New High-Priority Quest Issued: The Cleansing of the North Gate].
A five day limit. Penalties that spoke of regional instability, lost revenue, even the unthinkable prospect of bannermen seceding from House Synkar's rule. He could even lose his progresso towards the third tier of the system!
Failure wasn't an option. Yet, to act now, with only Vance, Flint, and Bellweather at his back against a garrison of unknown size and loyalty, was madness.
His Krellian Deeps gambit, the urgent need to understand Livia's "new package" and her Valtari connection, screamed for discretion. He had to pass through this checkpoint, pay the toll, and disappear. The Quest would have to wait for a more opportune moment, a more carefully laid plan, but the five day limit was very troublesome.
The portly sergeant, his nametag reading 'Grimes', leered, his hand outstretched expectantly. "Well, scholar? The fee. Time is coin, as they say."
Rhyse forced a polite, if strained, smile. "Of course, Sergeant. For the smooth passage afforded by House Synkar's diligent protectors." He began to untie his pouch, the metallic clink of coins within seeming to make Grimes's eyes gleam brighter.
It was then that the fragile peace of the queue shattered. "This is an outrage! Daylight robbery under the Duke's own banner!"
All heads turned. A young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, dressed in well-made but travel-stained riding leathers that spoke of minor nobility, stood defiantly before another checkpoint guard, a burly corporal with a sneer to match Sergeant Grimes. A collection of finely crafted instruments – astrolabes, intricate cartography tools, and what looked like a high-quality surveyor's lens – lay on a rough wooden table beside him, clearly the subject of the dispute.
"A 'luxury goods tariff'?" the young noble scoffed, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the serviceable longsword at his hip. "These are tools of my trade, essential for my journey! My father, Baron Marcus Ashworth, will not stand for this extortion!"
The corporal chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "Baron Ashworth holds sway in his own green valleys, little lordling, not here at the North Gate. Here, our tariffs apply, as set by higher authorities." He gestured vaguely towards the checkpoint's main keep. "Pay the gold sovereign assessment per item, or your pretty trinkets become property of the garrison." His own hand moved to his weapon. Other guards nearby began to shift, their expressions hardening, sensing a challenge to their illicit but established routine.
Rhyse watched, his mind racing. He instantly used rapid assessment on the young noble:
[Target: Wyon Ashworth - Rank 2 Squire / Rank 1 Cartographer. Attributes: Courage (High), Swordsmanship (Proficient), Temperament (Impulsive), Integrity (High), Cartography (low). Threat to Guards: Low (Outnumbered). Threat from Guards: Moderate-High (Risk of Injury/Detainment/Confiscation).])
Baron Ashworth's third son. The Baron was a historically loyal, if somewhat minor, bannerman to House Synkar, known for his integrity. This young man was walking into a hornet's nest. His bravery was admirable, his naivete dangerous.
"I will not be robbed!" Wyon declared, drawing his sword with a defiant flourish. "This corruption shames the Synkar name!"
"Foolish boy!" the corporal snarled, his own blade clearing its scabbard. Two other guards moved to flank him, cudgels raised.
Vance, beside Rhyse, tensed like a coiled spring, a low growl barely audible in his throat. Flint's hand subtly shifted towards her sword. Bellweather squared his shoulders.
Rhyse knew he couldn't let this escalate into a public brawl where he was involved, nor could he stand by and watch a potentially honorable young noble be beaten or worse for speaking out against the very corruption his System now tasked him to eradicate. A direct magical intervention, like casting a ward on Ashworth, would instantly mark Rhyse as someone with unusual abilities, shattering his "apprentice loremaster" disguise. He needed a distraction, something to break the guards' immediate, aggressive focus.
He activated his Sensory Enhancement Suite, feeding him a wealth of detail. He noticed a precariously stacked pile of empty ale barrels and discarded supply crates just beside the booth where Sergeant Grimes was still waiting impatiently for his gold. It was messy, poorly maintained – typical of the lax discipline at this checkpoint.
System, Rhyse thought, focusing his intent on the pile, is there a Tier 0 utility that could cause a minor, localized physical disturbance without an obvious magical signature? Something akin to a invisible nudge?
[Querying Tier 0 Utility Functions... Option Found: [Minor Kinetic Pulse (Rank 0)]. Effect: Creates a small, localized kinetic shockwave, sufficient to topple unstable objects or create a startling sound. Range: 10m. Cost: 75 Gold Sovereigns. Arcane Signature: Negligible, easily mistaken for accidental environmental effect.]
Perfect. Less than the cost of a Basic Ward. Activate Minor Kinetic Pulse. Target: Base of the crate pile beside Sergeant Grimes.
[75 Gold Sovereigns Expended. Activating Minor Kinetic Pulse...]
As the corporal and his men lunged towards Wyon Ashworth, there was a sudden, loud CRASH! from beside Sergeant Grimes's booth. The entire stack of barrels and crates tumbled over with a deafening clatter, sending one heavy ale barrel rolling directly towards Grimes's shins.
"Bloody void!" Grimes yelped, hopping back clumsily, his attention entirely diverted. The attacking guards, startled by the sudden chaos behind them, hesitated for a crucial split second, their aggression momentarily broken. The other travelers in the queue gasped and scattered.
In that instant of chaos, Rhyse moved. He didn't draw a weapon. Instead, he strode quickly towards Wyon Ashworth, grabbing the young noble's arm firmly. "Fool!" he hissed, his voice low and urgent, pitched to carry only to Wyon. "You'll get yourself killed! They want an excuse! Come with us, now, if you value your hide!"
Wyon, surprised by the sudden intervention and the unexpected force of Rhyse's grip, found himself being pulled away from the momentarily disorganized guards. Vance and Bellweather moved with fluid ease, instantly forming a subtle, protective cordon around Rhyse and Wyon, their bodies positioned to shield them as they moved purposefully towards the already-open North Gate, as if their business was concluded and they were simply departing. Flint used the opportunity to grab wyon's goods, quickly shoving them into the hands of its owner.
"Hey! Stop them! The lordling and those meddlers!" Sergeant Grimes bellowed, having recovered from the shock of the falling barrel and realizing his "clients" were escaping.
A few guards started to move, but Vance turned, his hand resting on his war-glaive, his expression one of utter, cold lethality. It was a silent promise of extreme violence that made even the hardened checkpoint guards pause. Flint and Bellweather flanked him, their own readiness a palpable threat.
Suddenly, Rhyse flicked a two gold coins in the air towards Sergeant Grimes.
"We've paid our passage, Sergeant," Rhyse called back calmly, still pulling a reluctant Wyon along. "That is for the young lord. We have no further business here. Unless you wish to detain legitimate travelers who have met your requirements? We won't be going peacefully, either." He let the implication of further trouble hang in the air.
Grimes, faced with three clearly professional warriors and the prospect of explaining a violent altercation with paying "merchants" to Captain Arvid, hesitated. His greed warred with his cowardice. The distraction of Wyon Ashworth, now seemingly "apprehended" by Rhyse's party, gave him an out.
"Get out of here then, trouble-makers!" Grimes shouted after them, trying to regain some semblance of authority. "And take the loud-mouthed pup with you! Don't let me see your faces again!"
Wyon wanted to shout some profanities unbeckoming of his lordship status, but Rhyse quickly blocked his mouth, dragged him and didn't look back. They moved swiftly through the gate and onto the muddy track leading into Baron Gentlewell's lands, Wyon Ashworth still sputtering in indignation but allowing himself to be led. Only when they had put a good half-league between themselves and the North Gate, disappearing around a bend in the road flanked by dense thicket, did Rhyse finally release his arm.
The young noble wrenched himself free, his face flushed with anger. "Who in the blazes are you people? And why did you interfere only to drag me away like I was in the wrong? I had those blackguards on the ropes!"
Vance let out a snort that could have been amusement or disdain. Flint merely raised an eyebrow.
"Master Ashworth," Rhyse said, his voice even. "My apologies for the rudeness. Those 'blackguards,' as you rightly call them, were indeed on the ropes, but only because they were about to tie them around your neck. You were outnumbered, out-armed, and moments from being either seriously injured or thrown into their dungeons for daring to question their 'tariffs'."
He reached into an inner pocket and produced the small, discreetly elegant Synkar signet ring Valerius had insisted he carry for dire emergencies – not the great Seal of Synkar, but a lesser signet of the Head of House, recognizable to any true noble or official. "I am Rhyse of House Synkar, acting Head of my House. My companions and I are traveling incognito, for reasons of security. We could not reveal ourselves at the gate without compromising our entire endeavor. Your brave, if reckless, stand against that corruption was admirable. But it was also about to become fatal for you."
Wyon Ashworth stared at the signet, then at Rhyse's young face, his jaw slowly dropping. The anger drained from him, replaced by stunned disbelief, then a dawning, awestruck respect. He had heard the of the tragedy that had befallen Lord Corbin and Lady Evelyn, the young, magically inert heir left to navigate a den of vipers. However, as the third son, he didn't participate in higher diplomacy, his older brothers and father riding to the funeral instead, so he didn't recognize Rhyse.
"Lord Synkar?" Wyon finally managed, bowing deeply, his earlier bluster gone. "Forgive my outburst, my lord. I did not realize… I was unaware." He looked chagrined. "They truly are vultures at that gate. I was on my way to report their thievery to Baron Gentlewell, and then perhaps petition the regional Synkar Magistratum."
"A noble intention, Master Ashworth," Rhyse said, accepting the apology with a nod. "But one that would likely see your petition lost in bureaucracy or your person waylaid by 'bandits' before you reached the next major town. The corruption at that gate is not isolated; it is a symptom of a deeper rot."
The [Cleansing of the North Gate] Quest flashed in his mind. He now had a potential ally, someone with local standing and a personal grievance.
"It seems our purposes may align, Master Ashworth," Rhyse continued, an idea forming, bold and audacious. "That checkpoint is an affront to my House, a drain on legitimate trade, and an insult to every honest traveler. I intend to see it rectified. But I cannot do so with only three guards, however skilled. Tell me, your father, Baron Marcus Ashworth – he is a man of honor, loyal to the traditions of service to House Synkar?"
Wyon's eyes lit up with a fierce pride. "My father is the most honorable man I know, Lord Rhyse! He served Lord Corbin faithfully on three border campaigns. His loyalty to House Synkar is absolute. He despises corruption."
"And his household guard? His levies?" Rhyse pressed. "If a legitimate Ducal Directive arrived, one authorizing him to assist in restoring order and Synkar law at the North Gate, how many men could he muster, and how quickly?"
Wyon blinked, the sheer audacity of Rhyse's implication dawning on him. This wasn't just a complaint; this was the young Lord Synkar contemplating direct, forceful action. "My father commands nearly two hundred household knights and seasoned men-at-arms, my lord," Wyon said, a new excitement in his voice. "Men loyal to him and to the honor of their oaths. For a true cause, under your ducal banner to cleanse such filth from our borders… I believe he would bring the majority, and they would be ready to march within two days, perhaps even one if the urgency was stressed. However, it would still take them two or three days to arrive here from our land."
A grim smile touched Rhyse's lips. Two hundred armed men, led by a loyal Baron, combined with his own skilled team and the power of the System… it was a formidable force, certainly enough to overwhelm a corrupt checkpoint garrison. However, the distance was too much. It would take 2 days to march, and 2-3 days to arrive, which put him dangerously close to the time limit on the quest.
"It's too much time, we can't afford to stay that long,' Rhyse said.
"If my Lord is in a that much of a hurry, how about asking Baron Gentlewell instead? He is a good friend of my father and one of the most loyal men I know," Wyon said, "His territory is also much closer."
"!" Rhyse's eyes lit up, "That's a brilliant idea. We will head to Baron's Gentlewell state right away. I'm counting on you to get us in, Master Wyon, so as to avoid unnecessary trouble and keeping our identities secret."
Wyon Ashworth, his earlier indignation replaced by a fervent, almost fanatical curious gleam in his eyes, drew himself up. He would love to get back at those corrupt officials, and this young lord of the Synkar seemed interesting and much more bold than the rumors of a inert heir led him to believe. "It would be my honor to lead you to him, Lord Rhyse. I will also send an encrypted arcane communication to my father requesting reinforcements, even if they are late. I am sure both House Ashworth and House Gentlewell will answer the call of House Synkar!"
[System Quest Update: The Cleansing of the North Gate - New Optional Sub-objective: Forge Alliance with House Gentlewell to Secure Military Support. Reward: Increased Quest Success Probability, Loyalty (House Gentlewell), Loyalty (House Ashworth), Unique Local Resource Access.]
[System Notification: Potential Long-Term Ally Acquired - Wyon Ashworth. Reputation (House Ashworth), Reputation (House Gentlewell) +Developing Alliance.]
The System was already adapting.
"Then it seems, Master Ashworth," Rhyse said, his voice now holding a clear note of command that brooked no argument, "that our immediate journey takes us not further north just yet, but to Baron's Gentlewell estate. We have a Baron to convince, and a gate to cleanse."
The Krellian Deeps, and Livia's treacherous "new package," would have to wait just a little longer. A more immediate, and perhaps more symbolic, battle for the integrity of his Duchy had just presented itself. And Rhyse Synkar, with a new ally at his side and the System's backing, was ready to meet it.