He plucked a handful of dried leaves from a bush they passed, crushing them in his hand. They had a rich herbal scent, somehow similar to rosemary.

  "Well, I think it's very simple. Remember the guards that I incapacitated in the street to let the merchant woman flee?"

  Itani nodded and looked into his face from the side, but Anzu just kept staring at the crushed leaves in his hand as they walked.

  "Well, they weren't present at the trial. So, they've more than likely talked to the priests, who then put two and two together. The option we speculated about when escaping the temple."

  Itani looked up into the sky and frowned a little, as if something was bothering her.

  "Right... Is it possible that your spell failed somehow, though?"

  Anzu upturned his hand and allowed the crushed leaf pieces be carried away by the wind.

  "That's a really good question," he scratched his chin, "but one that is not easy to answer. You see, any kind of mind manipulation that Sages usually engage in is basically Psionic magic. The problem is that Psionic magic is fickle. Hmm..."

  Now, he looked at the sky and wondered how best to explain this to someone who had no knowledge of mind manipulation.

  "In the human head, we've got these anchors that represent our memories, and they are connected with links of sorts."

  The lore descriptions of magic were incredibly rich in the Age of Menhirs. It had fascinated him so much that he'd read through every lore book he could find and still remembered everything now. It was nice because the lore had some real-life correlations. Anchors, for instance, were surely neurons, and the links were synapses.

  "Psionic magic, at its very core, targets the links between the anchors and tries to thin them out, basically to reduce the connection. If the connection is reduced sufficiently, that triggers memory loss."

  Itani was listening with eyes wide open. It was one of those annoying situations where Anni's doubts crept into Anzu. Was she really interested, or was he being increasingly dull, and she was just polite?

  "Now, the problem is that, with the right kind of magic, the connection can be renewed, and the memory can return. Sometimes, the memory even returns on its own, as the body heals the connection."

  At this point, Itani's expression shifted from interested to fully alert. She slowed her pace.

  "But don't worry. Nobody in that room was beyond [Level 100], which means that my spell, cast with [Level 120] stats, was sufficient enough. I'm sure the priests only have the guards' descriptions to go on."

  Itani's shoulders relaxed, and she gave a tiny sigh.

  "Okay, good. The fewer details they have, the better. But that essentially means that a true forget-spell doesn't exist?"

  "Not quite. You can achieve true memory loss, but it needs to be done by someone like me, an Archsage that has access to Blood Magic and Necromancy. If you combine the two properly, it can be done. But I won't go into the details of that now."

  Itani was quiet for a few moments, and Anzu could see the frown that just wouldn't release her face. Something was bothering her.

  "Alright. So, you have all these abilities at your disposal. Why didn't you just use the persuasion spell all the time? It would've saved us so much time,' she looked up into his face again, "and money."

  Anzu wrapped himself in his cloak and kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, which was slowly acquiring stains of orange as dawn approached.

  "So, partly it's due to mana conservation. Remember that I need to fix my build. But, more importantly, it's for reasons of simple morality. I don't want to play with people's minds unless I really have to."

  He stretched out his left hand to illustrate.

  'With the drunk guard at the gates, it was necessary to intervene. But Emesh, the man with the horses? He's working for Shikku to pay off a debt. It didn't seem right to invade his mind.'

  Anzu was interrupted by a sound that reached his ears. It seemed distant.

  "Do you hear that?"

  Itani just smiled back at him.

  "Yes, I heard it about a minute ago. It's just people chatting. Don't forget I have these," she pointed at her elongated ears.

  Of course. He hadn't considered that her elven sense of hearing was much superior to his human one. It was even better for a Ranger. She really chose her class well.

  "I think we're approaching the caravan departure site. The chatter is increasing," she added.

  Anzu stopped and looked around.

  "Let's approach it carefully. Just in case."

  "Good idea."

  The chatter swelled as Anzu and Itani made their way over muddy ruts toward the departure point. The shapes obscured by the quickly disappearing darkness eventually gave rise to a queue of perhaps a dozen figures gathered before a wooden carriage. It wasn't small, and it even had a roof. A sort of leather-canvas that was pinned to small wooden beams at the top and at the sides. Ragged cutouts served as windows, revealing glimpses of simple wooden benches within.

  Four tethered horses stamped and snorted at the front, having coats that had been splashed with brown spots all over.

  "Not bad," Anzu muttered, studying the horses. They were well-groomed.

  "They're gorgeous," Itani whispered.

  Ahead, the crowd presented a motley group of Lagashian citizens, ranging from the desperate to those who were clearly well off. Two couples stood at the front in colorful embroidered robes with gold rings glinting on their fingers; most likely rich merchants seeking speed over safety.

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  A cluster of rough-looking men loitered nearby with daggers hanging openly from their belts, as they inspected newcomers from afar with professional interest.

  Three dwarves huddled together, each of them clutching a mining pick. Clearly, on a mining expedition, their leather packs bulged with coiled rope and iron stakes.

  A lone dark elf in a clerk's robes scribbled on a piece of parchment, oblivious to the dank morning fog preventing his ink from drying properly.

  Then Anzu spotted the high elves. They were a tall couple, wrapped in cloaks crafted from very fine, silk-like material, but significantly travel-stained. They checked their bags every few breaths, turning their heads and sticking close to each other. High elves rarely wandered this far west from their eastern realms. They weren't present in the original game, just in its lore, so this was a treat for Anzu.

  "On the run," Itani whispered, following his gaze.

  "Probably."

  They slipped into line behind the dwarves, who muttered to one another in a in half whispers. One turned, gave Anzu and Itani a cursory nod, then resumed arguing about ore quality and alloy composition.

  Anzu leaned closer to Itani and assumed a whispering tone as well.

  "Well, maybe we can finish our previous discussion later. Somewhere more... private."

  Itani's eyes met his. She nodded once with deliberation and a flicker of understanding passing between them.

  There were just too many ears here, which resulted in too many variables. This caravan

  indeed operated outside the law, but that didn't guarantee safety. The shifty dark-elf, Shikku, made coin from this route, which meant keeping it running smoothly was prioritized. Still, it was hard to rule out a Mardukist informant slipping aboard. The regime's reach had proven longer than he'd anticipated.

  By the time the sun broke the horizon, the fog was gone, and the humidity was slowly disappearing, too. Puddles reflected the sky's shifting color. They wouldn't stay for long, as the heat of the Sumerian semi-desert was just around the corner.

  A figure emerged from the direction of the city. His leather armor creaked as the man made his way toward the carriage, splashing through the mud with his long brown boots. He moved with the easy confidence of someone who'd handled horses all his life. Which can't have been the case here, but he must've dealt with mules and oxen at least.

  He approached the front of the carriage and ran his hands along each animal's mane, murmuring words that were too soft to overhear.

  He then returned, wiped his palms on his trousers, and swung open the carriage door.

  "Right, then. Let's have your tickets, folks."

  The line shuffled forward. Anzu watched the coachman accept slips of parchment one by one, glancing at them quickly before letting passengers aboard. The rich merchants climbed in first, and the armed men followed right after.

  When it was Anzu and Itani's turn, the coachman's weathered face split into a practiced professional smile.

  "Mornin'."

  "Morning," Anzu replied, handing over their tickets.

  The coachman examined the slips briefly, nodded, and gestured toward the interior.

  Before stepping inside, Anzu paused.

  "Just to check—you are going to Larsa, correct?"

  "Aye, for sure. Tis' our end destination, in fact."

  Relief settled in Anzu's chest. So Shikku had come through on this, at least. He climbed aboard, Itani close behind.

  Inside, the carriage proved more spacious than expected. Wooden benches ran along both sides with two smaller ones in the middle. But with this many passengers, personal space would quickly become a luxury. There were scents of wet leather, wool, and just other people in the air inside.

  The dwarves grumbled as they passed, and one of the armed men watched them with flat, assessing eyes.

  Anzu and Itani shuffled past the others, heading to the rear, which luckily still had two vacant spots. They settled onto the back bench, and both gave a sigh of relief.

  "At least we'll have a tiny bit more privacy here," she murmured.

  "Agreed."

  But privacy wasn't the only reason Anzu preferred the back. Here, no one sat behind him, at least. Cramped spaces filled with people had always set his nerves on edge. It was just like the economy flights back in his world, where he was trapped in his seat with passengers in every other direction, just on a much smaller scale.

  Here, at least, he could see everyone. And also monitor the carriage for possible threats.

  When the last passengers boarded, the coachman secured the door, climbed to his perch at the front, and gave a sharp whistle.

  The carriage lurched forward.

  It was relatively slow at first, at least for a horse-drawn vehicle. But even at this crawl, they moved faster than oxen ever managed. Anzu leaned back, letting the motion settle into his bones, and turned his attention to the landscape rolling past.

  It was quite calming to do so. He hadn't travelled by train in ages and, somehow, this seemed a similar experience.

  The semi-desert stretched beyond the window, revealing scrubby bushes and small trees that peppered the landscape. It was all familiar terrain from countless hours of gameplay, but now rendered in full, dusty reality. It was... amazing. Perhaps also a little terrifying.

  Itani pressed close to the window cutout, taking in the scenery.

  About ten minutes passed, and the outskirts of Lagash were far behind them.

  The coachman's whip cracked, and the horses surged forward, finally moving at full speed.

  Suddenly, the landscape blurred as bushes and trees turned into smears of green and brown. As the carriage's wheels clattered against stone and sand at speed, the whole wooden frame began to shudder at an even pace. It really wasn't unlike a train.

  Itani let out a shout of pure delight with her head sticking out through the window cut-out. Several other passengers joined her and cheered.

  Anzu watched their faces light up with wonder. And, of course. They'd never experienced speed like this before. Horses were new to Mesopotamia, and as such were foreign, exotic, and impossibly fast.

  A grin spread across his face.

  "So, you like it then?"

  Itani laughed out loud, for the time clearly forgetting the trouble they were in. And that was a good thing.

  "It's amazing!"

  She kept staring out the window as the wind whipped through the opening, moving strands of her dark hair in all directions.

  The dwarf next to Anzu pulled out a smoking pipe. It was made of dark wood and had a short, bent stem. The smoke of puffing leaf began to slowly curl toward the carriage roof.

  Now, that was an excellent idea.

  Anzu reached into the long pocket of his robe and produced his long-stemmed churchwarden with the reddish cherry-wood bowl. He packed it tight with puffing leaf from the recently purchased pouch, and then held the [Clay Spewer] ring close to the bowl. Whispering the correct word produced a flicker of heat, and the leaf caught.

  Quick puffs were required at first to make the leaf burn properly. And then longer, slower draws followed, bringing the nutty aromatic smoke into his mouth and releasing tension he hadn't realized still gripped his chest.

  His shoulders truly settled now. The landscape rolled past, and the rhythm of wheels and hooves blended with the warm fog in his head.

  Itani glanced over.

  "Soon you'll be able to get that southern puffing leaf you enjoyed."

  "Yeah. Wonder if they still stock Utu's Leaf Blend."

  The dwarf beside him had been shooting glances their way for the past few minutes. Now he spoke, sudden and direct.

  "Sure you can. Utu's Leaf is my favorite, too."

  The dwarf seemed to be a native Sumerian, sporting a thick and proper accent.

  Ah. That explained the stares. They were kindred spirits in a land where Akkadian had been forced down everyone's throats by conquest and the Mardukist priests.

  Anzu's face widened into a genuine smile. 'Yeah? Wonderful, then.'

  The dwarf grinned back.

  "I overheard you're traveling to Larsa. Local lad, are you?"

  "As a matter of fact, I am. Though I haven't been there in ages."

  "Ah, good old Larsa." The dwarf took a long puff, and smoke surrounded his grey beard. "It's not what it used to be. But hey, at least we've kept the cultist priests out so far. And folk still speak Sumerian."

  Another puff followed.

  "That's something to look forward to, for sure."

  Warmth slowly spread through Anzu's chest, and it wasn't just from the smoke. Talking about Larsa made him think of... home. Or close enough.

  His bowl burned low, and the orange embers had mostly turned to ash. A sensation crept over him, which was unusual for this long day, and yet deeply familiar. His limbs became heavy and his eyesight foggy.

  It was simple sleep. For the first time since France, he'd allowed himself to feel actual, honest tiredness.

  He pulled his hood low, tucked his pipe away, and let his chin drop toward his chest. The rocking carriage and the half-audible conversations that surrounded him were pushed into the background of his mind as his breathing slowed.

  Then, all of a sudden...

  His body shook, and his head snapped up with the hood falling back.

  An arrow streaked past his face. It had been so close he could feel the moving air against his cheeks.

  A woman screamed.