Chapter 413

Nick woke up to the sound of Alluria's bells tolling.This time, however, it wasn’t the joyful peal that marked the start of the Festival, nor was it the hourly chime of the Tower’s clock. Instead, it was a slow, ominous rhythm, and he was certain that if he hadn’t been protected by powerful wards, he would have felt it deep in his bones.

His sleep hadn’t been very restful, disturbed by images of a massive jaw closing around him and dark waters, but it seemed he wouldn’t get a chance to relax.

He sat up, knowing that the priests had finally started acting.

he thought, as he swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his gear.

Throwing on his standard apprentice robes, Nick skipped his usual coat to look less intimidating and quickly headed out to the common room.

Raphael and Willow were already there, looking out the window in worry. He hadn’t seen much of them lately, given how busy he’d been, but he knew Tholm had read parts of the plan for them.

“What’s going on?” he asked, skipping pleasantries.

“A lockdown," Raphael said without turning around. "Or as close as they can get without the Duke signing off on it. The priests made the announcement at dawn, and it looks like they are already starting to enforce it.”

Willow gave Nick a long look, silently indicating she knew he was involved but chose not to press him for now. “They’re claiming the blessing failed because of demonic taint.”

Nick joined them and looked down from the window. Below, the streets were emptier than usual, but the air felt heavy with tension. He closed his eyes and opened his spiritual senses.

It was suffocating. The warm, hazy gratitude of the previous days was gone. In its place was a cold, invasive pressure filling the ether.

And through that coldness prowled the Hounds of the Deep.

He couldn't see them physically since they hadn't reached the Tower yet, but he felt them sniffing at the spiritual undercurrents of the city. They were hunting for the exact spiritual signature he had unleashed last night.

Overall, it was a brilliant move. Demons were the kind of enemy everyone had to band together against, especially when their existence was made public.

By blaming the murky waters on the abominations, the Tidemaster was basically saying that anyone opposing their actions was harboring the taint and, in turn, would be seen as an enemy of life.

"The gates," Nick realized suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "If there's a quarantine, they’ll be shutting supplies down.”

Raphael nodded. “We haven’t gone down to check yet, but I imagine they have posted up checkpoints at every exit, and they’ll increase their presence there throughout the day.”

Nick cursed under his breath.

His payment for sabotaging the festival, which involved a large shipment of enchanted supplies intended for his father’s front line in the North, had partially left through the docks. However, the docks had been taken over by the festival, forcing them to travel by land.

If those wagons got trapped inside the city during the lockdown, they would probably be impounded for inspection. His father would get nothing, and the temples would tighten their grip on the Nobles' resources.

"I have to go," Nick said, already heading for the elevator.

"Do you need backup?" Raphael asked. He had just gotten through a murder trial, so he’d been lying low for a while, but he seemed ready to fight again.

Nick appreciated it, but in this case, going there with too many people would only cause problems. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I should try to avoid coming off as suspicious as possible. An arrogant noble scion is one thing, but a group of Tholm’s apprentices would be seen as a sanctioned reaction from the Tower.”

Not waiting for them to argue the point, he rushed to the elevator and quickly hit the button for the ground floor.

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He couldn't rely on his usual stealth suite of spells. The Hounds would detect his soul even through the , and while the Mire could likely fool them again, it was also exactly what the priests would be looking for. No, he had to step into the open and manually secure as much of his soul as possible.

Clamping down on his mana, he buried the cold, sticky depths of his Occultist class beneath layers of bright, generic elemental mana. It was exhausting, like holding his breath while running a marathon, but the alternative was too risky to consider.

Bursting out of the tower, he ran toward the northern districts.

Down in the streets, the city felt markedly different from the day before. People hurried along, eyes down, avoiding the patrols of priests who roamed around.

It reminded him of when the Duke had led his raids on the underworld, but with a deeper sense of fear. Back then, people understood the purpose of the operation. Now, they struggled to visualize what demonic taint meant, and simply accepted the lockdown as just another restriction.

Nick found the caravan near the edge of the district. Six heavy, reinforced wagons were lined up in front of the gates, their oxen snorting nervously in the cold morning air, sensing that something wasn’t quite right but too well trained to make a fuss.

Devon was already there, arguing with a nervous-looking wagon master. Drusilla was pacing back and forth, barking orders at her guards, while Penelope was going through a series of papers, checking to make sure everything was in order.

It was interesting to notice that no one from the older generation was there. Either because they thought their presence would turn it into a bigger deal, or because they were using it as a test for their heirs, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter much.

"Nick!" Devon spotted him, relief washing over his face. "Where have you been? The city guards are turning everyone back at the gates.”

Before he could reply, Drusilla had marched over. “The Tidemaster is overstepping,” she growled. “Not only has he ordered to stop anyone from leaving, but he’s also taking much of the goods for inspection.”

"They won't seize ours," Nick said, projecting a calm he didn't feel. “Let’s go now, before they get reinforcements.”

Penelope shook her head. “My men report that there is already a group of priests blocking the way. Even if the guards can be persuaded, they definitely cannot.”

That was what Nick had feared, but it didn’t mean it was over yet. “We will have to remind them of their place in the city’s hierarchy, then,” he said lightly, but allowing a glint of seriousness to enter his eyes.

"And how are you going to do that?" Drusilla demanded. He could sense she was genuinely nervous about a confrontation with the priests, and this was simply her way of blowing off steam, but now was not the time to let nerves take over.

"I," Nick replied, adjusting his simple apprentice robes, "am going to have a polite conversation about jurisdiction.”

He climbed onto the bench of the lead wagon beside the driver. "Move out. Don't stop for anything less than a spear wall.”

The man watched the two heiresses, who eventually surrendered, and soon, the caravan moved forward, its heavy wheels clattering on the cobblestones. They traveled through the oddly empty streets, heading toward the stone archway of the Northern Gate.

There, they found the expected chaos.

A long line of merchants and travelers was being delayed by the City Guard. However, the guards looked uneasy in their role and only enforced it under the authority of the priests of Ulter, who were thoroughly searching each cart. At the center, an old man in flowing blue robes supervised the operation with passionate dedication.

And beside the priest, shimmering like heat haze against the stone, was a Hound.

As the caravan drew closer, the Hound halted. Its head turned toward the lead wagon, where Nick was sitting.

Instinctively, he wanted to summon the Mire and vanish from its senses. It had already proven enough once, and he knew it would work again, but something about that jangled his instincts.

He didn’t know if the priests had done more than just disperse the murky waters, but he suspected they had at least gained a sense of what the avarice in the water felt like, and he had no intention of giving them an inch.

Thus, he clenched his hold on his soul, letting his elemental affinities take center stage, locking any trace of spiritual mana deep inside.

The Hound paused, snuffled in confusion, then turned its attention back to a terrified turnip merchant, whose fear was spreading in great waves.

"Halt!" one of the priests shouted, stepping into the road and raising a hand upon seeing they weren’t slowing. "By order of the Temple, all transit is suspended pending inspection.”

The City Guard captain, a tired-looking man that Nick vaguely remembered from the raid on the underworld, was named Niels, and he looked relieved to have someone else take charge.

Nick didn't order the wagon to stop, but he signaled the driver to slow to a crawl, forcing the priest to step back or be run over by an ox.

"Captain Niels," he called, ignoring the priest completely, projecting his voice so that it could be heard over the chaos. "Why is the Duke’s highway blocked?”

Niels winced, recognizing him. "Lord Crowley. The, uh, the Temple of Ulter has declared an emergency. Due to the incident yesterday…"

"The incident?" Nick raised an eyebrow, injecting just the right amount of noble disdain into his tone. "You mean when the Tidemaster’s plumbing backed up?”

A few merchants in the line snickered loudly before remembering themselves. The priest’s face turned bright red.

"Careful, boy," he snarled, stepping in front of the caravan. The clergymen behind him shifted their grips on their staves, ready to interfere. "You speak of matters beyond your understanding. The city is under threat from demonic taint, and all caravans must be searched before they can leave.”

Nick finally looked at the man, wearing his most bored expression.

"This caravan carries strategic materials for the Northern Front," he said slowly, gesturing toward Penelope, who pulled a scroll from her belt. "Materials ordered by the Crown to fight the Dwarves. Are you telling me, priest, that the Temple of Ulter wishes to aid the Kingdom’s enemies by delaying vital supplies?”

It was a bullshit argument, and everyone knew it. A single caravan from Alluria wouldn’t change the conditions at the front. But it was a bullshit argument, which made it very sticky.

“Listen here,” the priest stammered, caught off guard by the shift in tone, “no matter how important, demons have been sighted…"

“They have been sighted?!” Nick exclaimed, sending a ripple through the crowd. “Are you absolutely certain about that? It was my understanding that it was only suspected! Are you willing to stake your name on that claim?”

The old priest sputtered, and even the younger ones he had brought along appeared hesitant to speak up.

“Captain Niels,” Nick said, turning to the man in charge of the gate, “These wagons are under the protection of House Crowley, House Sadie, House Boer, and House Osmond. They are vital supplies for the frontlines. If you plan to seize them due to suspected demonic taint, even though the hounds haven't reacted, be prepared for the repercussions.”

Captain Niels turned pale, and even the priests looked uneasy, reminding Nick that, despite being part of this operation, many of them were probably good people.

Before the old priest could do something foolish, Niels acted first. "Open the gate!" he shouted at his men, stepping aside.

"Captain, you cannot!" the priest shouted.

"It's a military shipment, Father," Niels grunted, avoiding his gaze as the heavy iron gates creaked open. "I don't have the authority to stop it.”

Nick hopped off the wagon, giving the coachman and guards a meaningful look. “Safe travels.”

They nodded back and left Alluria behind.