On the way back to Prius Academy, Baston did not look outside the carriage. He looked inward.
The auction incident had ended better than he expected.
A death beneath crystal chandeliers, the panic wrapped in noble pride, and a staged unconsciousness that redirected suspicion.
At the center of it all, a performance judged by an ancient and unseen evaluator.
The old book had rewarded him with third puppet from his perfect performance. Now, there were three puppets he could control. Three extensions of his will and three silent hands that could move where he could not.
It was enough to survive but survival had never been his only objective.
From the beginning until now, Baston had cleared two quests with excellent results.
Each excellent evaluation had strengthened his magic and granted him a new element which was ice first before flare. Ice was what the world knew and flare was what the world must never know.
He leaned against the carriage wall and closed his eyes.
Beneath his palm, faint warmth flickered with just a whisper of flare magic, answering his thoughts before he suppressed it again.
If the Versance family discovered he possessed dual elements, they would not merely approach him with courtesy.
They would calculate him.
Claire's gaze in the auction hall had not been casual.
Even while he pretended unconsciousness, he felt it. It was sharp, measuring, and curious.
The Herbiens family would be worse. They were not known for patience.
If they believed they could secure him by force or leverage, they would attempt it without hesitation.
Strength was no longer about survival. It was about negotiation.
Without strength, he would be taken.
With strength, he could choose.
That was why he needed another quest. Another excellent or perhaps, another perfect. The carriage lurched and Panto halted the carriage abruptly.
Baston quickly opened his eyes from his concentration.
"What happened?"
Panto leaned out the window, surveying the path ahead. After a moment, he returned inside with a troubled expression.
"It's bad. There's been a landslide. The entire road is buried in mud and rock. No carriage can pass."
Baston stepped down to look.
The main route to Prius Academy was swallowed by thick earth. Mud, shattered stone, and uprooted trees which all tangled together like a collapsed wall.
Travelers gathered in clusters, murmuring about such troublesome situation.
"This will take days to clean the road…"
"If we had enough wizards, we could move it…"
"Not without high-ranking element users..."
Baston listened toward some opinions. They were right.
Magic could clear it but ordinary magic users would exhaust themselves long before the road reopened.
He could use flare, he could evaporate the mud, he could fracture rock, and he could clear it faster than anyone here.
But then, his flare magic would no longer be a secret and this secret could no longer be used for negotiation.
"No need to force it," Baston said calmly, "Let's find another route."
Panto nodded, "There's a nearby town. We can stay the night and circle around tomorrow."
"Do as you see fit."
Panto's eyes brightened slightly. He always looked oddly pleased when Baston trusted his decisions.
The merchant boy had changed since the auction.
Respect had replaced insecurity and gratitude had replaced rivalry.
Baston noted it silently. His misunderstanding was useful.
They turned the carriage around and headed toward the town.
It appeared peaceful from afar. Low stone houses, thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys, and fields beyond the wooden perimeter fence.
The town was ordinary, too ordinary for everyone who had experienced the hectic life in Farbarus. The moment their wheels crossed into the town's entrance, the old book trembled. Just once but Baston felt it clearly. He withdrew it discreetly inside the carriage.
The page turned by itself where the ink bled across the surface.
"Set the people free…"
He stared at the words.
Set who free and from what?
The old book did not explain. It never explained since it only commanded.
He closed it slowly. The quest was surely connected to this town which meant the town was not ordinary.
They stopped at a modest inn.
Panto went inside to arrange the lodging while Baston stepped out into the street.
The air smelled of grain and damp wood.
There were no guards, no chains, and no visible prisoners, yet the quest existed.
It meant something here was hidden.
He began to walk. A small girl approached him hesitantly, holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
"Young master… Would you like to buy flowers? Only one pound."
Her dress was patched. Her shoes were worn thin. Baston intended to refuse but then, he reconsidered.
"I'll buy one..."
Her eyes brightened as she handed him the bouquet. As he gave her the money, he lowered his voice.
"Tell me something… Has anything strange happened in this town recently?"
She blinked, "Strange?"
"For example… Someone being kept somewhere where people will not allowed to leave."
The girl froze only for a second but Baston saw it. A flicker of fear, hidden in such innocent expression.
"I… I don't know," she said quickly, "I can't talk about it."
Before he could say something, she ran away. She was too fast and too deliberate.
Baston did not chase her. He didn't need to since fear existed which meant truth also existed. Inside the inn, he tested the waters again.
"Has there ever been someone held captive in this town?" he asked casually.
The innkeeper laughed too loudly, "Captive? Impossible! We've lived peacefully for decades."
A worker shook his head, "It's just rumors. People like to slander our town."
The janitor's tone sharpened unnaturally, "It must be jealousy from neighboring villages."
Their denials overlapped, rehearsed, and not spontaneous. Baston smiled politely.
"Of course... I must have heard wrong..."
But internally, his suspicion hardened.
The old book did not lie.
This town was hiding something. That night, dinner was a single bowl of thin soup. Panto looked apologetic, thinking he was a failure.
"I'm sorry… They claim they're short on supplies. They could only provide simple dinner."
Baston nodded, understanding his effort.
But when his puppet, disguised as a rat, slipped into the storage room, it saw barrels of grain stacked to the ceiling.
Fresh meat hung behind sealed doors.
They were not lacking. They were restricting. Perhaps, they were targeting him since he asked what must not be asked.
His curiosity took the best of him so he began investigating more.
Another puppet flew across rooftops as a sparrow and another scurried through alleyways. It took a while before he saw it.
On the western edge of town stood an old granary structure. It had reinforced doors and no windows.
Two men were stationed outside. They were not guards in armor but farmers. They were armed and watchful.
Strangely, it was more telling than the building itself after scrutinizing the visible pattern.
No townsfolk walked near it and children avoided that street entirely.
The granary was avoided without being announced as forbidden which meant everyone knew. Still, no one spoke about it.
*****
At midnight, Baston remained seated on his bed with his eyes half-closed.
He looked calm and sleepy but unexpectedly, his puppets gathered information outside.
Through cracks in wood, through roof vents, and through burrowed soil. Inside the granary, there were people.
Seven of them, bound not in chains of iron but ropes.
Exhaustion could be seen on their expression. They wore travel clothing. Surely, there were not locals.
Perhaps, they were merchants, travelers, or refugees.
No one knew and the puppet could only monitor them closely. One of them whispered weakly.
"What would happen to us? Are they going to sell us at the dawn?"
Sell?
Such word made Baston's eyes opened fully.
So that was it. The town wasn't harboring criminals. It was capturing outsiders, selling them before disguised as the income of the town.
Human trafficking was indeed hidden beneath rural calm.
The old book had not specified innocent or guilty. It simply said set the people free.
He considered his options since he only had three puppets.
With limited information surrounding the town, an unknown number of collaborators, and a town united by silence, direct confrontation would alert everyone.
Flare magic would expose his secret. Ice magic might work but noise would follow. For better approach, he could just release all of them.
He could do it silently. With no clue and no evidence, it would bring fear.
Fear fractured unity and unity was the town's strength.
Confrontation might happen but for the best, he must not do it directly.
Before dawn, Baston moved. Though he looked like sleeping, his puppets were working tirelessly. It obeyed the orders and it would do without any complaint.
*****
Then, before sunrise, Baston walked downstairs.
"Good morning," he greeted the innkeeper cheerfully, "Any breakfast today? Last night's soup left me starving."
The innkeeper forced a smile, "Of course! Fresh ingredients arrived this morning."
It was interesting phenomenon. Yesterday was scarcity but today was abundance. Panic made people generous. As he ate delightful meal, Baston added casually.
"By the way, I confirmed it with my friend. There's no captive here after all. Just a rumor. I wonder who dared to spread such evil lies."
"Yes! Just a rumor!" the innkeeper replied too quickly.
Baston nodded thoughtfully, "I'm glad because imagine if outsiders discovered such a thing.
Authorities would investigate, traders would avoid the town, and prices would collapse."
The spoon trembled slightly in the innkeeper's hand.
"Such lies could destroy everything," Baston continued mildly.
"Yes… yes…"
"Of course, since it's false, there's no need to worry."
Baston smiled and finished the last spoonful of meat porridge.
He did not linger. He did not look toward the western side of town. He simply paid the bill, thanked the innkeeper for the excellent hospitality and returned upstairs.
Panto was already dressed and ready to leave.
"Everything settled?" the merchant boy asked.
"Yes," Baston replied calmly, "We should depart before the road grows crowded."
Panto hesitated, "About last night… I heard some commotion outside. People shouting and something about smoke near the granary."
Baston paused only for the briefest second before adjusting his sleeve.
"Such place are prone to accidents," he said lightly, "Perhaps, someone left a lantern unattended."
Panto frowned slightly but did not press further. In his mind, Baston was many things.
He was clever, calculating, and capable but not someone who would entangle himself in such disputes without reason. The merchant boy simply nodded.
They left the town under a sky washed pale by morning light.
No one stopped them and no one accused them but Baston noticed something.
The town was quieter than before. Doors were half-closed and eyes watched from behind curtains. Suspicion had begun to turn inward. Such effect was good enough.
Division would protect the freed captives far more effectively than confrontation.
Once the town disappeared behind the trees, Baston allowed himself to relax against the carriage wall again.
Three puppets returned to him one by one. They were silent and obedient. There was no pursuit and no immediate consequences.
From a practical perspective, it was clean. Seven people freed and no evidence or trace left.
Yet, the old book remained silent.
There was no warmth, no turning page, and no ink forming across parchment.
It was nothing.
Baston lowered his gaze. He retrieved the ancient book discreetly, shielding it from Panto's sight with his sleeve.
The page where the quest had appeared still read the same.
"Set the people free…"
The words did not fade.
They did not transform and did not display evaluation. No excellent, no perfect and not even a simple good. It was as if nothing had happened.
His fingers tightened slightly around the book. That meant one thing. The seven captives in the granary were not what the book meant.
He closed it slowly. So his action last night was irrelevant.
For a brief moment, Baston felt something close to irritation.
He had calculated carefully, he had chosen the most efficient method, he had manipulated fear without revealing his identity, he had saved lives, yet the ancient evaluator did not acknowledge it.
Either the book's definition of people was different or the captives were not the true prisoners.
His mind replayed every detail.
The tremor when entering town, the girl's fear, the rehearsed denials, the scarcity of food, the granary, seven bound outsiders, and selling them at dawn.
Everything aligned logically, too logically to mess up.
A faint chill crept up along his spine.
What if the granary was only the surface?
What if the town itself was the cage?
What if the people to be set free were not tied with ropes?
He glanced at Panto. The merchant boy was humming softly, unaware of the silent conflict occurring inches away.
Baston decided instantly. He would not tell Panto anything. Not about the granary, not about the smoke, and not about the freed captives.
The less Panto knew, the safer he remained.
If the book had not evaluated the act, then the matter was unfinished. And unfinished matters were dangerous.
He leaned back and stared at the carriage ceiling.
Had he misunderstood the quest or had he only removed a symptom while ignoring the root?
The old book had always been precise. It was cruel but precise. If it demanded set the people free, then it implied a larger captivity. Not just seven people. Perhaps, an entire town bound by something unseen.
Maybe the villagers themselves were prisoners.
Prisoners of whoever orchestrated the trafficking, prisoners of an agreement, or prisoners of a hidden master.
The granary might have been merely a transaction point and not the core.
Baston exhaled slowly. He had acted too quickly without complete understanding.
A faint sense of unease lingered in his chest.
For the first time since gaining the old book, he felt the possibility that he could misinterpret a command entirely.
If he had stayed longer and if he had dug deeper, would the evaluation have appeared?
There was another possibility.
Perhaps, the book required more than action.
Perhaps, it required impact.
Freeing seven strangers might not be enough to alter the structure of captivity in that town.
If the trade continued next week with new victims, then what had he truly changed?
Baston's eyes sharpened.
The town was behind them now but the quest was not.
He would have to return one day. Not impulsively, not blindly, but prepared.
Prepared to uncover what truly bound that place, prepared to dismantle it entirely, and prepared to achieve not just rescue but liberation.
"Let's turn back…"