The morning mist hadn’t yet burned off when they reached the overlook.

  The worn stone of Rootroot Bridge lay behind them, and just beyond it, the crooked line of the old stone gate emerged from the fog like the spine of a giant troll.

  Lichen bloomed on its arches in soft, sickly greens, and the path beyond twisted into the mouth of the Samsung Valley Pass, narrow and shrouded, with cliffs rising like the teeth of a dragon with a severe calcium deficiency on either side.

  Lena slowly pushed aside a fern, peering down. “That’s them, yes?”

  “No, that’s the early-morning knitting club,” Anders said. “Yes, that’s them.”

  “Do you think they’ll notice us?” Lena whispered, pressing low into the grass.

  “Not unless you start monologuing about your back mole again,” Rob muttered.

  Lena elbowed him.

  The hillside they crouched on was steep but thick with cover. Tufts of silvergrass and low berry bushes clung to the slope, and above them, a few wind-warped pines leaned out at precarious angles.

  Down the hill, the knight escorts looked like they’d been pulled straight from an overfunded propaganda poster: polished armor and shiny tabards bearing the sigil of the, well, hog, and expressions so stern you’d think they were guarding a portal to the underworld. Blorbo saw some faces from the Knighthood base. Their armor weren’t nearly as shiny yesterday.

  But all of them, knights and horses alike, were absolutely dwarfed by the wagon.

  Calling it a “wagon” was generous. It was a house on wheels. No, scratch that. It was a cathedral with a mild wheel addiction.

  The thing had four axles, twelve wheels (six of which were visibly unnecessary), a gold-inlaid roof shaped like a swan mid-dive, eight horses hitched to it, and curtains. Real curtains. Velvet (which was probably an obsession amongst the nobles by this point), embroidered, and likely worth more than everyone hiding in the grass combined.

  Two footmen stood beside a tiny gold stair that led up to the wagon door, holding poles with ornamental tassels for no discernible reason. The door was closed, and yet the knights guarded it like Silverleaf might leap out at any moment and make a break for it, or worse, speak to someone without an appointment.

  A figure stuck his head out from the curtains. Rob said, “That’s Silverleaf.”

  “How do you know it’s Silverleaf?” Lena asked.

  Rob pointed at the guy. He had a silver leaf on his head.

  Ducaz, on the other hand, turned his attention to a certain figure riding a horse alongside Marin who was leading at the front—one with too many clocks on her ware, a perpetual blush on her cheeks, and a ridiculous head atop her head. “Isn’t that Griesa?”

  “Yeah. That’s her. Didn’t Marin say strangers can’t tag along? Does that mean they got married overnight?” Lena asked.

  “Nonsense,” Anders growled.

  “Speaking of nonsense… Remind me again why we brought a table along?” Ducaz whispered as he glanced back at the table behind them.

  “He’s not ‘table’. He has a name. It’s Blorbo.”

  If my life is a story, I think the author has simply given up on logic by now.

  With his somewhat respectable PER now, Blorbo was able to overhear part of Griesa’s conversation with Marin as she kept twitching next to him like a guilty toddler sitting on a stolen cupcake. “S-ser… Does your armor need polishing? I can make you a gadget that polish your armor.”

  “No need,” Marin smiled, a little too tightly.

  “Since when did you get yourself a Squire, Lotzbowicz?” The knight next to him enquired.

  Marin sighed and gestured vaguely at Griesa, who was now trying to covertly shine his greaves with the edge of her sleeve. “She pestered me to come along all day. Eventually I figured, sure, why not.”

  Griesa beamed like she’d just been knighted.

  Lena asked, “Okay. What do we do now?”

  Anders waved. “Stay here.” Then he raised his eyebrows at Ducaz. “You, Rogue. Come with me.”

  “You’re either paying me 400 copper coins or teaching me one of your tricks,” Ducaz replied.

  “Fine. Just one.”

  “I hope you’re a man of your words,” Ducaz grinned.

  Oh, but he’s pretty much not a man of his words.

  But whatever. Do whatever you want. I have no stakes in this. No quest for me.

  [QUEST RECEIVED—A Keen Eye (4)]

  Objective: Follow the action and identify as many skills and spells used as you can.

  Reward: 0~1 PER per skill or spell detected.

  Prerequisite: None

  Failure: None

  Accept: YES/NO

  0~1?! What is this, a raffle?

  He selected YES anyway.

  Anders got to work, and Blorbo’s Skill Appraisal immediately caught his first skill.

  [Feather’s Drift—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  + 0 PER

  Anders took a breath, and his movements became something almost supernatural. His footfalls barely brushed the ground, and the wind seemed to carry him forward. His form didn’t even stir the grass around him. It was as if the very earth had decided to ignore his presence.

  0 PER? I worked hard to identify that skill right in front of me!

  [Mimic’s Frame—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]

  Blorbo knew he knew this one! He was off to the same trick again. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and suddenly, Anders looked like someone who was supposed to be there. A knight, perhaps. Or at least someone important. The casualness of his movement, the aura of confidence, was enough to make anyone think he belonged.

  + 0 PER

  What? Come on! I should get something for actually recognizing a skill I have seen before!

  [Paid in Apathy—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]

  Anders stepped forward into the open, casually walking past the knights, who appeared to glance at him—and then didn’t. They felt nothing.

  + 1 PER

  Finally! I deserve this so much.

  His [Paid in Apathy] spell had worked perfectly, ensuring the knights’ attention drifted away from him. But then, Marin, seemingly one of the more observant knights, narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely immune to Anders' subtle magic. It was possible he was either more resistant to mind-altering spells, or he simply knew Anders' face from past encounters.

  Old man’s too cocky! You really thought you’re gonna walk in front of a man who just drank with you yesterday and get away with it?

  “Wait…” Marin muttered.

  But before Marin could make his move, the sound of clanking boots suddenly echoed in the opposite direction.

  [Fake Footstep Echo III—Level 6—Rare Exchange Spell]

  + 0 PER

  [Footstep Amplifier—Level 11—Beginner Exchange Spell]

  + 1 PER

  The [Fake Footstep Echo] bounced through the air, mimicking the sound of heavy boots scraping against rocks, louder and more distinct than any normal person’s footsteps. But it wasn’t the real source of sound that mattered. It was the illusion.

  As the echoes rang through the clearing, Ducaz bolted into action, sprinting… uphill, away from the knights, with deceptive speed.

  From his observation, Blorbo deduced that this echo magic worked in tandem with the [Footstep Amplifier] spell, ensuring the sounds were distorted and exaggerated, carrying far across the landscape.

  Huh? Isn’t that good observation, huh, huh? Do I get an extra PER for this?

  He moved fast and quietly, zigzagging to cover the tracks. The sound of his amplified footsteps rang out sharply as if he were in full sprint, and the ground even shook slightly with each imagined step.

  All the knights turned toward the noise, which to them, was behind the wagon.

  “What is that?!” one of them exclaimed, as their heads snapped toward the echoing clatter.

  "Get to the back!" The knight next to Marin barked, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Now! Find the source of those footsteps!”

  His command sent the knights into immediate motion, dashing toward the hill in a uniform frenzy. They scrambled, their shiny armor clanking in a perfect counterpoint to the deafening illusion that had been cast. The distant footfalls grew louder as they charged toward the imagined danger, away from Anders’ position.

  “Look at Dad,” Lena’s mouth was shaped like a perfect ‘O’. “So confident! He got this.”

  Their attention was fully diverted, leaving Anders with a brief window of opportunity. But then, as if the world itself decided to throw a wrench in Anders' perfect plan, a voice rang out from behind him.

  "You're that rude old man!"

  Anders froze mid-step, his posture faltering for a split second. He didn’t have to turn around to know who had spoken. Griesa.