Chapter 788: Chapter 434: Headhunting Operation
Sixty miles north of the Imperial Capital, there lies an abandoned mill.
The night was pressing down heavily, with wind blowing in from the edge of the wasteland, carrying the scent of broken snow and dry grass, stinging the face.
The wooden wings of the mill had long since broken, leaving only a shadow-like axle, swaying slightly in the wind.
When Varius was brought here by that mysterious figure, the first thing he saw was a group of carriages.
They were scattered around the mill, their tracks crisscrossing on the permafrost, looking like a temporary assembly point.
Varius dismounted, stood still, and observed the silhouettes around him in the flickering light of scattered torches.
Maintaining order was a team of knights who looked like mercenaries. They wore mismatched armor, cloaks of varied colors, and their weapons were from different origins.
But Varius could see that it was just a disguise.
Their stance was steady, their speech brief, and their gaze constantly patrolled the entrance and perimeter of the mill.
These were people who had received systematic training.
What truly made Varius’ heart tighten was the people gathered in the open ground of the mill.
These people did not seem like ordinary refugees.
Varius’ gaze scanned their faces, recognizing a few.
They were people who had shown their faces in various departments during the former Emperor’s reign.
There was a special officer from the Treasury, an auditor from the armory, and one... responsible for judicial inspections in the Southern Empire.
Now these people were either disheveled or looked ashy; he understood it was the Second Prince’s disruption.
Yet, even so, Varius could see the marks of long-term professional polishing on them.
"The Northern Territory has a big appetite," Varius whispered to Cassian beside him, "so many talents, not one missing."
Cassian glanced at the knights on the mill’s exterior fringe and did not respond.
His hand still hung naturally at his side, as if ready for any sudden situation.
At this moment, the man who had brought them all the way north walked to the mill entrance.
He had changed into more practical clothing, the gray wool coat replaced by a simple leather jacket.
The firelight cast sharp and calm contours on his profile.
"Victor," someone murmured his name.
Victor stood at the mill entrance, holding a thick roster.
The pages were well-thumbed, full of names, origins, destinations, with several symbols marked in different colors.
He verified each one, and whenever a name was called, someone stepped out from the crowd, either nodding quietly or standing silently in a designated spot.
The entire process was very quiet, and everyone whose name was called was led to different carriages, which seemed random but was clearly arranged.
Varius was quickly assigned to an inconspicuous carriage.
When the roster reached the last page, Victor closed the book.
He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over all the carriages around the mill: "Everyone is here, get ready to depart."
A few knights who looked like mercenaries immediately sprang into action, untying reins, adjusting axles, quietly urging the horses.
......
Sitting inside the carriage, Varius wrapped himself in a blanket to keep warm.
The carriage was small, with rough wooden planks and an old mat covering the floor.
Besides him and Cassian, there were two other people.
One of them was an older man with a rather rugged appearance, broad shoulders, hands full of calluses, and fingers so gnarled they were somewhat deformed.
As he sat down, he carefully cradled a tool bag in his arms, protecting it as if it were more important than life itself.
"Varius," he introduced himself, "a registered Viscount of the Empire, formerly working in the palace legal office. This is my knight, Cassian."
"Baron," the old man spoke first, his voice hoarse but with a straightforward tone.
"Used to work in the Royal Factory." He straightened his back instinctively as he said this.
"One of the top craftsmen." He added, quickly explaining as if afraid of being misunderstood, "Awarded during the last Emperor’s reign."
Varius nodded.
He noticed that his interlocutor always made a point of addressing him with "you" in a formal sense, a blend of reverence and hesitation.
"No need for such formal address now," Varius said calmly, "at this point, we’re all about the same."
Baron paused, then scratched his head with a somewhat awkward smile: "Yes, yes... but rules must be kept."
"The Second Prince’s men treat craftsmen like livestock," Baron’s voice lowered, "doesn’t matter what skills you have, only if you can endure. Those who can’t are dragged away."
He swallowed hard: "I couldn’t take it, so I ran away. Almost starved in the woods, until the Red Tide found me, saved my life."
Varius did not pursue further.
His gaze shifted to the other corner of the carriage, where the third person sat.
That person had disheveled hair, eyes sometimes dull, sometimes clear.
He was muttering under his breath, fingers drawing in the air as if silently writing formulas or dispelling nonexistent things.
Baron followed Varius’ gaze and sighed.
"Master Herman. From the Royal Alchemy Institute."
He spoke slowly, as if piecing together the person’s identity.
"Truly skilled, just... mentally unstable."
Herman suddenly raised his head, clarity in his eyes for a moment: "I’m fine..."
