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Chapter 493: Merchant
A caravan wound its way north along the narrow Anzeta Corridor, bound for Romulo City—the southernmost city of the Empire’s heartland. At its head rode Joseph Salacha, a renowned merchant of the Thrace Kingdom, one of the leaders of the Pelson Guild, and the Overall Director of the Guild’s trade with the Empire of Ashen. Rumored to possess one-sixteenth of pure Spiritual Blood, he bore a strikingly handsome and youthful visage—though well past fifty, he appeared no older than thirty-five.
Now, Joseph stared at the endless, narrow valley stretching ahead, tapping his cane impatiently against the ground. “How much longer until we reach the end?”
“Sir,” replied a guard, “once we exit the Anzeta Corridor, we’ll be within the heart of the Empire of Ashen.”
“Basic常识,” Joseph snapped, irritation flaring. “How long has this trade route been established? Yet you still don’t know the terrain around you?”
“Sir, it’s our first time,” the guard said with a nervous grin, bowing repeatedly. Only then did Joseph’s anger subside.
In truth, a teleportation array in Tahan City—part of the Cattapa Region—could have whisked them directly to Isdalia. But Joseph had refused, citing the need to “seek new opportunities.” Of course, that was merely a pretext. Beyond his role as a merchant magnate, Joseph held another, far more powerful status: the eldest son of Wilhelm King and the “white glove” of Prince Bowers.
Using his close ties to the prince, he gathered confidential intelligence, profiting from insider knowledge and carrying out the prince’s underhanded affairs—tasks too sensitive for the royal heir to handle personally.
Though trade between the Thrace Kingdom and the Empire of Ashen had been frequent in recent years, the kingdom remained embroiled in war. Most transactions were managed entirely by the Imperial Southern Continent Company, with Thrace merely waiting in the south to receive shipments.
Moreover, the Empire of Ashen maintained a formidable intelligence network and tight security. As a result, the kingdom’s elite knew little about the Empire’s true state.
This journey, therefore, carried a secret mission: Joseph was tasked with gathering intelligence—mapping terrain, probing military deployments, assessing army strength, even stealing blueprints of military equipment.
To aid in this, they had hired a guide in Tahan City—Hya Gati, a native of the Empire. She was strikingly beautiful, but Joseph couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that her pupils held the slitted gaze of a reptile, sending an unspoken chill through him.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Joseph,” Hya said softly, stepping forward. “We’ll reach Isdalia before nightfall. And there’s no need to walk through the corridor.”
Joseph narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”
She smiled, gesturing ahead. “There’s the Anzeta Corridor station. We’ll ride the Steam Locomotive from here.”
“Steam Locomotive?” Joseph had heard the term before—an exclusive mode of transport unique to the Empire, rumored to be highly efficient.
Following her gesture, he saw a cleared patch of land ahead, where metal tracks had been laid, stretching all the way to the valley’s end. The rails were smooth, uniform in color, flawlessly polished—no dents, no cracks, no hammer marks. Clearly, high-grade steel.
“Such fine steel… just laid on the ground?” Joseph blinked in disbelief. Even the ancient Faldran Empire had never been so extravagant.
Hya chuckled. “Mr. Joseph, the Empire’s steel production far exceeds your imagination. They use massive furnaces to melt down scrap metal and recycled iron from across the realm. And remember—this is the Emperor’s property. No one dares steal from it.”
Joseph adjusted his expression, feigning casualness. “I thought Anzeta was just a remote, barren region. But now I see… it’s more prosperous than I imagined. Still, compared to the glory of the old Sacred Fedran, it’s nothing.”
Woooh—
A deep, echoing whistle tore through the air as a colossal iron beast emerged from the mist, belching thick steam. It came to a halt before the caravan.
Everyone save Hya gasped in awe—Joseph included. One guard even raised his shield, tensing, convinced an enemy had arrived.
“Relax, everyone,” Hya said with a warm smile. “That’s the Empire’s Steam Locomotive. Please, step aboard, Mr. Joseph. Don’t feel embarrassed—everyone reacts the same the first time.”
Joseph closed his mouth, forced a stiff smile, and retorted, “Compared to Faldran’s steel guardians, this is nothing. I’m merely curious—does this Steam Train serve the common people, or is it reserved for the elite? And what about our cargo?”
Hya answered patiently. “The Steam Locomotive is a benefit granted to all citizens of the Empire. A small fee, barely worth mentioning, is all it takes to ride. It’s incredibly convenient. A poet from the past once said: ‘The Emperor forged steel through mountains and highlands, bringing people closer than ever before.’”
She laughed softly. “As for your cargo—don’t worry. This locomotive can carry up to three hundred tons. These iron beasts roar between north and south, transporting thousands of tons of goods each month, distributing Empire products across the entire Feanso Continent.”
Joseph wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, murmuring, “Indeed… very convenient.”
But beneath his calm façade, his mind raced. He was thinking of the Empire’s military mobility. Not every region had a stable teleportation array—those were costly to build and maintain. But these steam engines could carry hundreds of tons of supplies, and soldiers were nothing compared to that.
If the Emperor issued a single command, the Empire’s entire army could gather in the south in days. For the Thrace Kingdom, that would be catastrophic.
And worse—these were magical constructs, yet they were available to common citizens! Even the old Sacred Fedran Empire would never have allowed such a thing.
That was the thought that gnawed at him.
After paying twenty-one Golden Nael in fare, the entire caravan—nearly a hundred people—boarded the train. Their goods were transferred to the freight car.
Woooh—
The whistle sounded again, steam billowed, and the locomotive surged forward, racing down the tracks toward the north.
It moved swiftly, quickly exiting the Anzeta Corridor and plunging into the vast, endless Anzeta Great Wasteland.
Joseph gazed out the window, secretly using a stone disguised as a medal to record the landscape—though the blur of motion outside made it nearly impossible to capture more than fleeting fragments.
Then he squinted.
“Is that… farmland?”
Before him, endless fields stretched to the horizon—flat, fertile, crisscrossed with neat rows of irrigation ditches.
“Compared to the Central Great Plain, this is barely anything,” he muttered.
Then he froze.
His breath caught.
Rows of massive, wheel-driven iron beasts were moving through the fields, their broad, mechanical “jaws” turning the soil, sowing seeds. Thick plumes of smoke poured from their backs.
The sight struck him as absurd—almost blasphemous.
Magic. There was no other explanation. These were clearly magical constructs.
And yet, the people of this Magical Wasteland—Anzeta—were using such priceless creations for the most menial labor: farming.
What kind of world was this?
Even in the old Sacred Fedran Empire, spellcasters held noble status. They never deigned to do such lowly work.
Seeing the shock in Joseph’s eyes, Hya spoke up.
“That’s a United Seeder,” she said, gazing at the fields with quiet reverence. “Another gift from the Emperor. In the past, Anzeta was a land of hunger and cold. Now, we’ve overcome scarcity. This small farmland is nothing—what’s truly astonishing is the Matra Great Farmland in the north. Years ago, it was a frozen wasteland. King Kai Xiusu himself wielded his supreme might, lifting the land and forming towering mountains to block the freezing northern winds. The snow melted, and rich black soil spread across the plains—fertile beyond imagination. Today, seventy percent of the Empire’s grain comes from Matra.”
Her voice trembled with awe. Her eyes shone with devotion.
Joseph stared, utterly stunned. Even disbelief flickered in his gaze.
Shaping the land? Creating mountains?
If true, even legendary mages would struggle to achieve such a feat. This was likely the power of a spell from the Ninth Layer of the Magic Web.
He hadn’t even reached the legendary capital of Isdalia—just a single stretch of journey—and yet, he was already shaken to his core.
This Empire… everywhere he looked, he saw ambition. Unstoppable. Uncontainable.
Could such a nation truly be satisfied with Anzeta and Cattapa—two lands far from wealthy?
(End of Chapter)
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