6.78 - An Encounter in Tarantham
Tarantham was an empire built to endure. It had been designed that way from the start. The walls of the cities were laced with crystal lodestones, emitting fields of suppression that aided the citizens. The cycles of calculated war maintained a population of the strongest—according to the recently ascended emperor. Built in accordance with the styles of the ancient Pera’tal kingdom, Tarantham City was a sprawling cross between a metropolis and a fortress. The city was organized into quarters, massive walls between each section and more guards than a person could count manning the walls.
“Even without our leader, we’re strong,” Fenian said, sighing as he passed through another checkpoint. His gaze shifted upward, making him feel slightly dizzy as he viewed the height of those walls. But thanks to the suppression field around him, his absurd attributes didn’t mess with his thoughts too much.
“Plate,” an elven guard asked, holding out his hand.
Fenian reached into his coat, withdrawing the hand-sized metal plate infused with his magical fake identity. The illusion he was under was powerful enough to fool almost anything. He had taken a hint from Theo’s approach before he had been transported to this world. Sneak mode was well and truly activated.
“Behave yourself,” the guard said, handing the plate back to Fenian. He bowed his head, making his way into the central district of the city.
They just had to go and model the city after the real deal. The central district of the city held the palace, a temple, and buildings reserved for embassies. Of course, none of those diplomatic buildings were occupied. This section of the city was home to far too many guards. The worst part was, they were the highly trained ones with decent cores. Fenian slipped through the crowds, pressing forward on a path angled to the palace. They stopped him at the entrance, checking his papers and buying his story yet again.
As Fenian passed through the antechamber, slipping off into a side hall, he smiled to himself. The damage he had done on his last visit was still there. Fortunately, few knew of the secret Kuzan held in the dungeons below. Elves loved their secret entrances, and that man was no different. After at least one-hundred twists and turns, he found himself in a darkened series of halls. The lower he went, the deeper that darkness seemed to stretch.
Fenian paused at a corner, pressing himself against the cold stone and holding his breath.
“Just smash it,” a familiar voice said. “You’re good at that, at least.”