Accustomed to the almost wild roads, where vegetation clung to every inch as if trying to devour the path, Joel found a different landscape on his new journey. Here, nature seemed tamed: vast fields, perfectly aligned crops, and paths that gave the deceptive impression of being wider than they actually were. No treacherous roots waiting to trip a horse. This was cultivated territory, with human hands firmly in every corner.

  The three adventurers he hired showed themselves to be a disciplined and professional group from the start. Joel, of course, attributed this in part to the overwhelming power gap between him and them. It was a new dynamic for him… and, to be honest, somewhat strange: for the first time in a long time, he didn't have to worry about someone trying to overpower him.

  Douglas, the leader, soon proved to be a more profitable investment than expected. Not only did he know every shortcut and safe detour, but he also knew exactly where to stop for a rest, where to stock up on supplies without paying double, and how to deal with easy-smiling swindlers and serious-faced officials at the numerous roadblocks.

  As the days passed, Joel realized that Douglas not only saved him time… he also saved him money, and a lot of it. Enough for him to admit—albeit only to himself—that adventurers, at least the good ones, were an indispensable tool in the world of trade.

  One particular evening, the route led them to a small inn that smelled of burning wood and stew… a lot of stew. The table they sat at creaked under the weight of the steaming bowls served to them, and Naomi, the only woman in the adventuring trio, barely ate a couple of spoonfuls before frowning.

  “This has no soul,” she complained, placing her spoon on the edge of her plate. “It’s like drinking hot water with chunks of meat on it. And no, Douglas, don’t tell me it’s ‘salted,’ because salt alone doesn’t make a good meal.”

  Douglas raised his hands in surrender, while the third adventurer smiled silently. Joel, on the other hand, tilted his head, curious. To him, the stew was “acceptable”… but, of course, after he’d spruced it up with his own favorite seasonings.

  “Maybe,” Joel said, reaching into his clothes, “we can fix that.”

  He pulled out a small, clear glass jar, its contents mingled in layers of reds, golds, and earthy tones. It was a concoction of seasonings he’d conjured straight from his dreams, one of the few luxuries he’d refused to give up since his days of isolation in the woods: pepper, paprika, garlic powder, and, in copious quantities, saffron.

  "Try this," he said, as he poured a bit of the condiment into Naomi's bowl. The aroma immediately changed, filling the air with a warmth that contrasted with the previous blandness.

  Naomi took the spoonful, stirred the stew, and tasted it… and her eyes widened as if she'd just discovered treasure.

  "What the hell is this?" she asked, already dipping her spoon in for the second time. "This is clearly magic."

  Douglas and the other adventurer shamelessly extended their plates toward Joel, and in a matter of seconds, the inn's stew went from "culinary punishment" to "a feast worth remembering."

  Joel, seeing their expressions, couldn't help but smile. For the rest of the trip, he shared his condiments at every meal… and silently wondered what would happen if one day he dared to pull out something truly revolutionary, like a jar of mayonnaise or a bottle of hot sauce… Maybe the world wasn't ready for this.

  Joel had grown fond of his three escorts. Not only for their efficiency, but also for how easy it was to surprise them with the little things he took out of his bag. Between breaks and food stops, he enjoyed seeing their faces when he offered them some of the treats he conjured up at night, while everyone was asleep: from simple fruit-flavored sweets to elaborate chocolate-covered vanilla cookies. Even some bittersweet candies that made the three of them pull extremely funny faces.

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  Of course, Joel never revealed where his treats really came from. Every time they asked him, he smiled mysteriously and repeated the same story: they were the creations of a magician-alchemist friend of his, a true artist in the art of food, with too much imagination and too much time on his hands.

  But the tranquility evaporated as soon as they crossed the border of the Kingdom of Mitrohr. The change was almost abrupt: the armed patrols multiplied, and they were no longer just road guards. Here, every soldier seemed more prepared for battle than for checking cargo. Inspections of Joel's wagon became constant, accompanied by interrogations about his identity, his route, and, above all, what a level 4 mage was doing traveling as a simple merchant.

  More than one official, with that air somewhere between condescending and greedy, suggested he “consider” a position serving a local noble. Joel politely declined, though inside he was dying to reveal his membership in the Cult of the Dawn.

  In the end, the quickest way to avoid trouble was the usual: a couple of silver coins in the right hands, which some called bribes and others preferred to dress up with the elegant name of “donations.” It worked like a charm.

  Thanks to these involuntary contributions, the group was able to advance without major incident until they reached the first villages of the kingdom, where the dusty streets and the bustle of the market marked a new stretch of the journey.

  However, as they approached the third village within the kingdom, very close to the first cities, Joel noticed something out of place. Just around a bend in the road, several carriages were partially blocking the route. From a distance, nothing seemed particularly alarming; it could have been a simple wheel failure. But as the group drew closer, the details began to change, as did the possible situation.

  The carriages clearly bore the symbols of the Empire, but the people around them didn't look like Imperial soldiers. No shining armor or impeccable uniforms; instead, they wore dark robes and camouflage-patterned garments, blending in with the hues of the forest.

  Joel's instinct screamed danger. His first reaction was to turn the wagon around and retreat, but it was too late: the individuals had spotted them, and a group was already heading their way.

  With a swift movement, he stopped the wagon and ordered the adventurers to dismount and take cover behind them. Douglas, immediately sensing the potential risk, led his companions into a defensive position, using the wagon's wood as a makeshift barricade.

  Joel, however, decided to take the initiative. He dismounted with calculated steps, walking toward the strangers. There were five of them in total, and one of them stood out with an aura that felt powerful. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd put it around level 5.

  He slid his hands under his tunic, feeling the cold metal of his pistols. A small gesture released the safety on both. He was ready to respond with all the necessary force… if they took the first wrong step.

  When they were no more than 20 meters away, everyone stopped. The tension was almost palpable, as if the air itself had thickened. Joel kept his eyes on the five men, analyzing every gesture, every microexpression, looking for a nervous blink, a foot that landed awkwardly, any weakness he could exploit to strike first and gain the initiative. Something the group seemed to be doing as well, as the five slowly began to try to surround Joel.

  It was then, sharpening his vision beyond what the normal eye could perceive, that he noticed an almost insignificant but revealing detail: one of the men, with short brown hair, was wearing a pair of silver earrings, representing the sun halfway over the horizon. That symbol struck Joel's memory like a thunderclap, bringing with it a crucial memory that could prevent conflict.

  Without hesitation, maintaining his stance as if he were still about to attack, Joel fixed his gaze on the strongest individual and spoke in a firm voice:

  "I visited a field of flowers in winter, hoping to see something that had already perished."

  The effect was immediate. The five men stared at each other, their eyes wide open, as if they had just heard a password they had never expected to hear there. The leader, the one who radiated the dangerous aura, took a step forward and replied:

  "I know of a place where twelve roses remain frozen... ready to be revived."

  Joel felt the tension in his shoulders suddenly dissolve. He took a deep breath, like someone freeing himself from an invisible noose around his neck. They weren't bandits, nor enemies. They were members of another of the blessed cults, and allies of the Cult of the Dawn.

  The leader of the group didn't immediately let his guard down. Although the initial hostility had disappeared, his gaze still measured Joel as if evaluating the edge of a sword before sheathing it.

  "And what's a man like you doing here? There shouldn't be any lone agents in this area. Identify yourself," the leader said, his voice deep and demanding, sounding more like a demand than mere curiosity.

  Joel remained calm. "Currently... I'm a Dawn agent in self-imposed exile," he replied matter-of-factly. "After a disastrous encounter with members of one of the cursed cults."

  The leader's eyebrows raised. A flash of genuine surprise crossed his face, followed by a short, dry smile. "Surviving cursed mages isn't something many can tell you about... I suppose you were the only one." He took a step forward, his initial stiffness gone, and placed his hand on his chest. "I'm Alrik, of the Cult of Dusk."

  Joel bowed his head slightly. "Joel." And after a brief pause, he added with complete seriousness. "I'm on my way to one of the kingdom's cities. I need to contact headquarters… to be extracted from this world.”

  Alrik nodded slowly, as if understanding the protocol necessary to return after an event of the magnitude Joel described. However, he ended by saying, "That's going to be difficult. This region is the target of a large-scale operation by several blessed cults… And I'm afraid I can't let you or your friends leave… Although perhaps you can communicate with your headquarters much more quickly than you expected."