The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Chapter 82: Anomalies

The sun was about to set. The yellow shine of the evening created a warm glow through the windows of the carriages.

The massive gates of Judea were opened before they even arrived at the Dukedom, even Beth-El Judean, a bald, obese man with several courtesans surrounding him, viewed the lines of carriages passing without stopping from his position on the top of the border walls.

He would’ve hoped to halt them and greet them once, but when he knew that the fifth Prince was travelling in the same fleet, he changed his thoughts and let the trouble pass.

Everyone knew the tales of the Fifth Prince. Not a single duke wanted to get on his bad side.

The carriages passed through several counties, with guards stationed on the walls and the gates open. None of the noblemen dared to get in the way of the carriages; even the roads and markets were cleared for them to pass through.

Wherever they went through, the people of the cities would look at the carriage with lowered gazes and bow humbly to the person sitting in the violet carriage. Children who had the chance to glance through the window, even if the slightest of reflections, would jump in happiness.

At the same time, in the carriages behind the covenant ones, the Tower master of Burnhum tapped the ceiling of the carriage once, and they stopped, while the rest of them moved ahead without halting for the duke.

Grahm Burnhum looked in the direction of the west, seeing through several miles and countless houses.

"You move forward with them, inform Ferrey that there’s an unstable rift nearby, and take the last carriage with you. Fifth Prince’s attendant is a powerful man," he said, looking at the mage accompanying them on a horse.

"Yes, Tower Master," the blond mage in a red cape replied, and signalled a few of his men to move along the carriages forward, while Grahm turned a separate way.

Grahm’s a clearance six mage; he excels in the element of fire, and he has an extraordinary sense of awareness.

Violet saw that there were considerably fewer knights and mages than before and turned to face Ymir.

"There’s an unstable rift nearby, Grahm is going to take care of it," Ymir said, without waiting for her to ask.

"You can sense the rift?" she asked.

"More like a fracture in space, but yes, it indicates that’s a rift, and it’s leaking some demonic energy, so it’s unstable," Ymir replied.

Violet nodded as the carriages entered the village of Marakan.

The infrastructure here was slightly less architecturally advanced than that of the dukedom’s centre. Houses were made of stones with a mixture of cement and falling paint, roads were damp of muds because it was an agricultural area.

The people of the village were lined up outside their houses, with some of the knights from Judea clad in grey armour, and a symbol of wealth, Lunar’s coin.

Ymir was running a continuous assessment of everything in his field of sight.

"Hmm..." He hummed, looking at the crowd.

Local villagers were recognisable by specific markers. Worn boots with the particular mud pattern of the surrounding farmland, clothing taken out anew from their wardrobe to be in the presence of the Saintess, clause patterns on hands, faint marks on the inner side of the forearm from the handle of the shovel, nervousness and reverence in eyes, and a look that is certainly not politically inclined. Despite behaving slightly nervously, the unconscious mind of theirs claimed ownership of people on familiar ground.

Then the pilgrims and visitors from other towns, different boot mud, different repair marks, clothing that’s slightly too good for the journey they might’ve taken, the way they look around, orienting themselves in an unfamiliar space.

Ymir read all of this passively; it wasn’t an investigation but just a habit of his.

And he’s been specifically paying more attention from the time Grahm separated. Although he’s not suspicious of Grahm, because it’s optimum for a man like him to take care of the rift, which can pose a serious threat, than just stay with the fleet.

But Ymir always trusts his gut feelings. He’s not the type to ignore a sense of uneasiness.

He paid more attention to the people, and not just how they looked, but how they behaved, how they kept themselves, what visible marks could he spot, who were awakened who were not, who had a look of disdain, who had utter reverence, who might possess utter hatred, jealousy, who’s analytical, who’s educated, who’s naïve, he looked at everyone.

It was then that he noticed something wrong.

There were three types of people in the crowd. One that were forces of Judea, clearly visible, clean armour and physique. Second, the people of the village, and third, the pilgrims and visitors.

And then there were those who didn’t fall into each of these categories.

They were dressed appropriately for pilgrims, but the wear on their clothes was wrong. Pilgrims who travelled to Marakana for this specific occasion arrived recently. Their clothes show journey wear, dust, crease, the specific dishevelment of people who slept in carriages or roadside inns.

But those who stood out were the people who’ve been in position since the previous evening; these show different wear, clothes settle, as they have been still rather than moving all day and night.

Their boots were not muddy enough for local, not dusty enough for recent travel, the specific cleanliness of people who stay ready.

Their height and build distribution is statistically off for a random crowd, too many of them in a specific physical range, identical, and uniform. The unconscious result of an organisation that attracts and retains a specific type of person over the years.

And lastly, their positioning. Which Ymir read in a quick pattern, there were too many legitimate crowd movements obscuring it, but as a series of individual positions themselves, it made no sense. Some of them were standing in a position where they had no clear view of the carriage, but they still watched for each other, creating a pentagon of connection on either side of the roads through which the carriages passed.

Ymir said nothing, just filed it the way he analysed everything. The pentagon formation on either side of the road told him enough that they weren’t going to attack right now. They’ll observe and wait for the dead of the night.

He counted eleven on the path, and three more groups were separated across the village.

The carriages moved through the lined crowd, children pressed forward at the edges, an old woman in the second row had her eyes closed and her hands pressed together, a man near the back had lifted his son onto his shoulders so the boy could see above the crowd.

Violet was looking out her window at the crowd with the eyes of a woman who seemed to have returned home, but she didn’t feel any warmth in it.

The carriages slowed as they approached the monastery square; the stone face of the building rose above the roofline of the surrounding houses. The edges of its walls were broken, the windows of the monastery were shattered, but except for that, it looked like it was cleaned daily, and flowers were taken care of in the gardens around it.

Ymir looked at the square’s perimeter. He counted five entry points, noting the Judean Knights’ positioning along the edges.

The carriages stopped.

Outside, the covenant attendants began organising the reception, a senior priest descending in white robes with a symbol of a crescent moon on the chest of his dress.

Then the staff and the nuns.

The village elder, an old man with a sense of dignity and responsibility for a small piece of the world, stepped forward to receive them.

Violet hadn’t moved yet. She was looking at the monastery through the window, at the broken edges of the walls, the shattered windows, that reminded her of something.

Her hands were folded in her lap in stillness, as she stared at the violet orchids aligned beautifully in the monastery.

"Someone has a very...specific taste, it seems," she said.

"Indeed," Ymir replied.

"I’m guessing you counted them," she said.

"What? Flowers?" Ymir looked at her.

"The people," Violet replied.

"What do you think, I’m a walking analyst or something?" He mumbled.

Violet squinted, looking at him, and Ymir scratched the back of his head.

"Fifteen groups in the covenant, five hundred and eight in the village, one hundred and two pilgrims and visitors, thirty-five noticeable individuals, nine knights from Judea," he said.

Violet sighed and shook her head.

The gates of the carriage opened up.

Ymir bowed slightly and gestured at the open gates, offering one of his hands to help her up.

"My~ How gracious," she said.

"Wouldn’t want my fiancé to fall face-first on the muddy ground-"

Violet squeezed his hand, which could barely hold completely despite the difference in size.

"- I mean, the ground is uneven, it’s better to be careful." He said.