I had seen it clearly.
The sight of knights in white armor—the Knights of Cold Steel—tearing through the blizzard, leaping onto a moving locomotive with the grace of hunting cats. Their movements were a defiance of biology. They caught up to steaming iron beasts on foot and shattered basalt with their bare gauntlets.
In the Aethelgard Empire, knights were not merely soldiers in tin suits; they were the apex predators of the battlefield.
"Aaaaaaah!"
"It's the Frontier Guards! Scatter!"
The screams of the terrorists were short-lived. Against the elite of the Empire, the raid was over in less than a minute. It was a brutal, efficient surgical strike that left the corridors of the train stained with blood and the smell of ozone.
'Is it over?'
I returned to cabin 403, my steps silent on the soot-covered carpet. I plopped back into my velvet seat, the very place I had sat when I was still "Aristhide," the common traveler.
The carriage was a skeleton of its former self. If not for the heavy defensive runes etched into the iron frame, we would have derailed miles ago. Outside, the scenery was shifting. The oppressive, frozen peaks of the Arette Mountains were receding, replaced by rolling plains and the first hints of spring greenery.
"The raiders have been suppressed," a voice boomed through the hallway. "Please remain in your seats. The train will arrive at Leathevelk shortly."
I looked out the window. Beyond the horizon, the majesty of Leathevelk began to loom. It was a sprawling metropolitan beast. Towering spires of brass and glass soared into the sky, factory chimneys belched white clouds of industrial progress, and massive airships paddled through the stratosphere like whales in a glowing sea.
It was Steampunk dialed to an eleven. A world of clockwork, steam, and the subtle, humming heartbeat of magic.
'Twenty-seven years,' I mused. Twenty-seven years since I died on Earth and woke up in this beautiful, terrifying mess. I had survived the trenches of Utah and the shadows of the borderlands, but looking at that city, I felt a familiar, cold dread.
"Are you alright?"
I turned my head. Standing in the jagged ruin of my cabin door was the knight who had saved me earlier. Up close, her beauty was as sharp as her blade. She had porcelain skin, midnight-black hair that contrasted with her snow-white plate armor, and eyes that held the clarity of a mountain spring.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice steady. "Just lost in thought. Thank you for the assistance, Sir Knight."
She smiled, a gesture so warm it seemed out of place in a carriage filled with corpses. "I am Veronica DeVille. It's my duty. You seemed quite capable yourself back there."
DeVille. A name that carried the weight of centuries of military tradition.
"I did what I had to," I replied.
Chooo-chooo!
The train's horn drowned out any further conversation as we pulled into the Leathevelk station. The platform was a sea of people—police, reporters, and curious onlookers gawking at the half-destroyed "Gilded Rail" transport.
The door to the carriage was thrown open, and a squad of uniformed officers rushed in.
"Dear passengers, please wait! We have something to check!"
Veronica stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword. "I am Veronica of the Cold Steel. What is the meaning of this, Officer?"
"A pleasure, Sir Knight," a man named Remlus replied, tipping his cap. "We have orders to verify all survivors. We believe there were insiders—traitors among the staff—who helped the raiders. We need to ensure no terrorists are slipping away in the crowd."
My heart did a slow, heavy thud against my ribs.
Identity verification.
I touched my face. My camouflage mask was at the bottom of a cliff. I had boarded this train as "Gerrard," a middle-aged merchant with a thick beard and weathered skin. Now, I was a young man with sharp features and not a single wrinkle.
If I tried to run, Veronica would cut me down before I reached the door. If I stayed, they would find my fake papers and realize I was a man with no history. In this Empire, a man without a past was usually a spy or a criminal.
The officer pulled out the passenger manifest. "Room 403," he muttered. "Let's see... the manifest says two men were in this cabin. A Gerrard, age forty-five... and a Ludger Chelysie, age twenty-six."
He looked up at me, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "You're clearly not forty-five. Where is Gerrard?"
"He's dead," I said, the truth tasting like ash. "The first explosion... it blew out the wall. He was swept out before he could even stand up."
The officer frowned. "And your name?"
I felt the sweat begin to gather at the nape of my neck. My hand drifted toward the suitcase sitting on the floor—the one Julian Vane (or was it Ludger?) had dropped before he was vaporized.
"He's not a suspect," Veronica interrupted, stepping between me and the officer. "I saw him fighting the mages in the hallway. He used high-level magic to protect the carriage until we arrived."
The officer blinked, then looked back at the list. His eyes widened as he read the notes next to the second name.
"Wait... Ludger Chelysie... Room 403... 'Newly appointed Senior Professor of Sorenth Academy'?"
"What?" Veronica turned to me, her eyes sparkling with newfound respect. "A Professor of Sorenth? At your age?"
I looked at the suitcase. I looked at the dead man's ticket sticking out of the inner pocket. Then I looked at the officer, who was now bowing slightly.
In that split second, I did the math. Aristhide was a ghost. Gerrard was a lie. Vesper was a corpse. But Ludger Chelysie? Ludger was a golden ticket. He was a man with a prestigious job, a high social standing, and—most importantly—no one in the capital knew what he looked like yet.
I stood up, adjusting the collar of my frock coat with an air of practiced, aristocratic boredom.
"Yes," I said, my voice dropping into a deep, commanding resonance. "I am Ludger Chelysie. I trust my credentials are in order?"
The officer practically tripped over himself to hand back my ticket. "My deepest apologies, Professor! We didn't realize... a man of your stature... please, forgive the intrusion!"
Veronica beamed at me. "A professor! I knew your magic felt refined. It's an honor to have met you, Professor Ludger."
I gave a curt, scholarly nod, my heart finally slowing down. I had just committed the most dangerous fraud in the history of the Empire. I wasn't going to the capital to sightseeing anymore.
I was going to teach.