Chapter 137. First Arrival at White Harbor
One day later.
On the southwestern side of Winter City, at an inconspicuous and hidden side gate.
This place was usually only used by carts responsible for cleaning sewers and transporting waste, yet at this mont, it was unusually quiet.
Several mbers of the Shadow Guard stood watch silently, like ghosts rged into the shadows.
Logaris West leaned against the wall, adjusting his collar while looking into a palm-sized mirror.
Today, he was not wearing his signature black research robe. Instead, he had changed into an outfit of an entirely different style.
A rough yet sturdy dark brown suede jacket hung loosely over his shoulders, its collar open to reveal a white linen shirt underneath.
On his lower half, he wore a pair of indigo coarse-cloth trousers treated with deliberate wear and tear—this fabric, known as “denim” in riga, was both durable and resistant.
On his feet were a pair of high leather boots fitted with spurs. At his waist hung his modified magitech revolver. To match the outfit, he had even swapped out his refined holster for a rugged, weathered leather one.
And that was not all.
He pulled a black object from his pocket and placed it on the bridge of his nose.
It was a large pair of sunglasses, giving him an air that was both mysterious and dangerous.
“If I were you, I would not bring that gun.”
The crisp sound of horse hooves approached, accompanied by a teasing female voice.
Logaris pushed up his sunglasses and turned his head.
Even soone like him, who had developed a certain resistance to beauty, could not help but pause his breathing for a mont when he saw her.
Sylvia rode atop a tall, jet-black horse.
She, too, had shed her usual elaborate and luxurious attire as the Acting Governor, replacing it with a sharp and efficient n’s outfit.
Her tight black riding suit, made from the hide of a high-tier magical beast, perfectly outlined her long, straight legs and slender waist. The short vest further accentuated the breathtaking curve of her chest.
Her silver hair was simply tied up at the back, and she wore a wide-brimd cowboy hat pulled low, revealing only her flawless jawline and slightly upturned lips.
Though it was n’s clothing, on her it exuded a wild, aggressive beauty even more striking than when she wore dresses.
The cold elegance born of her high status, combined with the untad aura of her outfit, created a deadly contrast.
“What is it?” Sylvia pulled the reins, looking down at Logaris. “Professor, are you stunned?”
“I was wondering whether that outfit is breathable enough,” Logaris replied calmly, speaking nonsense with a straight face. “After all, we have nearly a thousand kiloters to travel.”
Sylvia dismounted in one smooth motion, as agile as a hunting leopard. She walked up to Logaris and examined his attire.
“This is your disguise?” She looked into his eyes. “Not bad. You actually look the part. A bounty hunter from riga?”
“More precisely, a wandering traveler across the continent who works part-ti as a bounty hunter.” Logaris adjusted his sunglasses. “Na’s Leon. An emotionless killer.”
“And what about ?” Sylvia asked with interest.
“Ada,” Logaris replied without hesitation. “A runaway noble lady.”
Sylvia let out a soft laugh. In that fleeting mont, the icy aura around her lted, warming the very air.
She turned and pulled out a matching pair of sunglasses from her saddlebag, placing them on her face.
“Alright then. First layer of identity: adventuring partners from riga—Leon and Ada.”
“Second layer: if we are questioned, we are a runaway noble lady and her escort knight.”
“Third layer: if that fails, we reveal our identification as Northern Territory investigators.”
“As for the final layer… let us hope we never need it.”
If they had to reveal their true identities as a princess and the Acting Governor, it would an the situation had spiraled completely out of control.
“Understood.” Logaris mounted his horse. While his riding skills were not as refined as Sylvia’s, traveling by horseback was still second nature to him.
“But before that…” Logaris pointed at her sunglasses. “Are yours made from one-way transparent crystals too?”
“I took them from your laboratory yesterday,” Sylvia said without a hint of guilt. “What, am I not allowed to keep up with trends?”
“You absolutely are,” Logaris said sincerely. “I was thinking of getting myself a spare pair as well. They really do look stylish.”
“Enough chatter. Let’s go.”
Sylvia pressed her heels against the horse’s sides. The black steed let out a sharp neigh, its front hooves rising high into the air.
“Hyah!”
The horse shot out of the side gate like an arrow released from a bow, kicking up a spray of snow.
“Hey! You’re too fast!”
Logaris hurried to follow.
The two fast horses, one ahead and one behind, raced out of Winter City’s shadow and toward the vast expanse to the east.
The wind howled past their ears.
Logaris lowered the brim of his hat and looked at the valiant figure ahead of him, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Setting aside all those heavy responsibilities and the burdens of daily life—even if only temporarily—this sense of freedom was sothing he had not felt in a long ti.
…
Two days.
Nearly a thousand kiloters of forced marching.
Even the high-grade warhorses with traces of magical beast blood were on the verge of foaming at the mouth by the end.
When that massive city, built along the mountains and stretching all the way to the azure coastline, appeared on the horizon, Logaris felt as though his backside no longer belonged to him.
He and Sylvia tied their horses at a relay station five kiloters outside the city, handed the stablehand a handful of gold coins to take good care of them, and then proceeded on foot toward White Harbor’s main entrance road.
White Harbor truly lived up to its reputation as the trade hub of the Northern Territory—and even the entire northern region of the kingdom. The line of rchant caravans waiting to enter the city stretched hundreds of ters. The air was filled with the sll of the sea, spices, and the fernted stench of livestock waste.
The guards leaned lazily against the barricades, their eyes sweeping over every passerby like hooks.
When they saw won, their gazes beca even more brazen.
When it was Logaris and Sylvia’s turn, the guard looked them up and down.
Their riga-style outfits were highly recognizable. On that new continent, such attire usually ant two things: trouble, and money.
“Entry fee—two silver coins.” The guard extended his hand, dirt packed beneath his fingernails. “If you are carrying contraband, you’d better hand it over now. Otherwise, it will be troubleso if we find it later.”
Logaris—now Leon—casually took out two silver coins from his pocket. At the sa ti, he slipped in an extra gold coin and lightly placed them into the guard’s hand.
“This is the contraband,” Logaris said in a low voice, adopting a slightly hoarse accent. “We are in a hurry and do not want our belongings searched. Understand?”
The guard felt the weight in his palm, and his lazy expression instantly turned into a flattering smile.
With a flick of his hand, the gold coin disappeared.
“Understood, completely understood!” The guard imdiately straightened up and even helped push aside the barricade. “One look at you and I can tell you are respectable, law-abiding citizens. Please, go right in! White Harbor welcos you!”
The two entered the city without issue.
Passing through the heavy city gates, the scene before them changed instantly.
If Winter City was a cold, solemn steel fortress, then White Harbor was a decadent den of indulgence, drenched in luxury and excess.
The streets were wide enough for four carriages to pass side by side, lined with colorful spired buildings. There was no sll of coal smoke here—instead, the air was thick with perfu and alcohol.
Most eye-catching of all were the various non-human races roaming the streets.
“Are those… sirens?”
Behind her sunglasses, Sylvia’s eyes widened slightly.
At a stall to their left, several won with faint blue, scale-like patterns on their skin sat among piles of shells and pearls. They wore no upper garnts, covering only the necessary parts with strings of shells, while calling out to custors in voices as lodic as ocean waves.
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