I Tricked a God

The carts swayed steadily, their wheels thudding dully against the stone pavement. With each jolt, the youths of Lasthold pressed harder into the rigid benches, trying to keep their balance and not show any extra tension.

They moved along a wide street of white stone. The surroundings were almost entirely filled with people in black leather armor, moving quickly and with focus, without unnecessary conversation. Their gait carried discipline, and their gazes carried concentration. There were so many of them that the sight alone was enough to make one feel dizzy.

Roselle, gripping the edge of the bench and leaning forward slightly, whispered quietly:

“I feel like everyone’s staring at us…”

And that feeling was shared.

The warriors’ gazes lingered on them—quick, assessing, sometimes openly curious. People did not stop, but almost everyone passing by found a moment to cast a brief glance, as if trying to understand who they were.

Meanwhile, Kael, maintaining his balance and leaning forward slightly, observed the surroundings with clear interest, catching details and quickly forming a general picture in his mind.

“This looks like a military district…”

Right after leaving the square above the port, the streets had changed: straightened and precisely aligned, they formed a strict grid, and the buildings lining them were almost indistinguishable from one another, creating the impression of a carefully designed system.

Only occasionally, among the identical facades, there were shops—mostly selling items for training: weapons, pieces of protective gear, and consumables necessary for development and combat practice.

Passing another intersection, Kael caught something interesting. His gaze snagged on an open space where entire groups trained under the supervision of senior instructors. On the training grounds, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of mages moved at once, practicing strikes, formations, and synchronized techniques, acting in unison without unnecessary chaos.

Then his attention shifted to the layout of the streets.

Kael glanced slightly to the side and thought, “This street curves slowly, as if it were built like a ring.” Then he looked ahead and added, “And ahead—it’s perfectly straight…”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he began comparing what he saw with what he had read.

“In one of the books, such a structure was described as radial-concentric,” he thought. “The city is built in concentric circles. And straight avenues lead toward the center… Does that mean the military districts occupy the entire outer ‘concentric ring’ around the city?”

“This city is incredible…” Violet murmured softly, not taking her eyes off the street.

Kael gave a short nod in agreement and, leaning back slightly, raised his head, letting his gaze travel higher.

Rows of dark red roofs stretched into the distance in even layers, reflected in his amber eyes. The entire city was built on contrast—white stone walls, red roofs polished to a sheen, and dragon-emblazoned flags fluttering everywhere.

Shifting his gaze, he caught sight of one particular building.

It did not stand out much from the overall rigid uniformity, but it looked slightly more elaborate—the lines were more complex, and the facade was adorned with statues. On its wall, a banner bearing a blue serpent swayed slowly.

“It seems the Empire has clans or families with special status…”

The thought flashed by quickly, but he did not have time to finish it.

A dull thud echoed across the street.

Kael, like the others, immediately turned his head forward, tensing. At that moment, the cart rolled onto another intersection, and to the right a wide area opened up, enclosed by a semi-transparent spherical barrier.

A fight was taking place inside.

Two mages clashed at the center of the arena, exchanging blows, while a dense crowd gathered around, shouting something in support. The noise was loud enough to cut through the general din of the streets.

But Kael lingered there only for a moment.

Shifting his gaze forward and narrowing his eyes slightly, he smiled, and a thought crossed his mind: “Now this is more interesting…”

Beyond the line of buildings in the distance, multicolored smoke rose, drifting smoothly into the sky, and the more closely he looked, the clearer it became—the architecture there was different. The roofs looked different, the shapes of the buildings were less rigid, and the layout itself seemed less orderly.

“Are we approaching the second ‘concentric ring’?” he thought. “Judging by the smoke and its pattern… a crafts district?”

Meanwhile, Girren and the others watched the arena without looking away, completely absorbed in the spectacle. The carts, however, continued moving forward calmly…

✦ ✦ ✦

Not even ten minutes had passed before the carts slowed and, swaying gently, came to a stop.

Everyone tensed at once, instinctively leaning forward and peering over the sides.

Before them rose a checkpoint—massive gates of pale metal stood tightly shut, and a line of guards stood in formation before them. A dozen mages stood in full gear, maintaining formation and observing them.

The lead escort jumped down from the cart and confidently approached them. As he drew nearer, he began explaining something quietly, gesturing toward the carts. Almost immediately, shock and disbelief appeared on the guards’ faces.

Watching this and narrowing his eyes slightly, Kael allowed himself a faint smirk.

“Severus ordered them not to gossip… but it seems rumors about us will spread faster than we reach the Academy.”

Girren, sitting beside him, tensed slightly and said under his breath:

“They’re all Silver rank… And they’re working as ordinary guards?”

Violet, also studying the guards’ faces, replied quietly, unable to hide her unease:

“What worries me more is how young some of them are…”

Kael, letting his gaze sweep across their formation and quickly assessing what he saw, explained calmly:

“Reaching Silver rank by twenty is elite level in Lasthold. But here, it seems to be the baseline for any military mage.”

The words were spoken evenly, without excess emotion, but their effect was clear.

Girren involuntarily glanced toward a nearby cart, where Aiden sat, staring tensely at the guards, clearly trying not to reveal his feelings.

Narrowing his eyes, Girren muttered quietly:

“I think… I’m starting to understand what you meant, Kael…”

Kael had just opened his mouth to respond when his words were cut off by a sharp shout from one of the guards.

At that same moment, the inscriptions carved into the gates flickered faintly, a thin line of light running across their surface, followed by a deep, heavy rumble. The metal shifted, and the doors began to slowly part.

The noise died down instantly.

As the gap between the gates widened, everyone froze involuntarily, peering ahead.

A thick scent hit them at once—heated metal, coal, and something sharp with a faint sweetness blending into a heavy aroma.

“Wow…” Kael murmured.

The scene beyond was completely different, nothing like the military districts.

The streets no longer followed strict symmetry.

The space ahead spread outward, branching into numerous paths, between which stretched canopies, beams, and suspended structures, forming a complex network of passages and levels.

On both sides rose massive forges and workshops, each operating on its own. Tongues of flame burst from open entrances, thick smoke poured out, and inside, with a dull, rhythmic sound, hammers rose and fell again and again, beating out a single, oppressive rhythm.

There were noticeably more people here.

Civilians in varied clothing bustled between the workshops, carrying orders, pushing carts with materials, talking on the move, arguing, and shouting over one another. The space was filled with motion, noise, and constant work, leaving not a single quiet corner.

And the moment Gilmesh saw it, he practically sprang from his seat, lunging forward so sharply that the cart swayed slightly. His eyes lit up, and a wide, almost childlike smile spread across his face, as if he had suddenly found himself in a place he had long dreamed of.

Without even turning to Kael, he muttered:

“There it is… Ha-ha…”

And, unconsciously grabbing Kael’s shoulder and shaking it slightly, he added with fervor:

“Kael! You have to get me a place among them!”

Kael only gave a short nod, answering automatically, “Yeah… Sure…”

But his attention had already fully shifted forward.

“They’re different… A separate faction?”

His eyes caught on figures of mages in black robes, with red dragons embroidered on their backs. They resembled the military in some ways—but their clothing lacked armor, was cut differently, and seemed more functional.

And the moment he shifted his gaze to the nearest open forge, everything fell into place.

“They’re artisans.”

Under a canopy, three masters worked on a single blade, acting in perfect coordination without unnecessary words. One held the workpiece, suspending it in the air with mana; the second directed a stream of fire into the metal from his bare hands, heating it evenly along its length.

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The third looked different.

Wearing a strange metal device over his left eye, he closely observed the blade. Holding thin crystalline needles in his hand, he inserted them one by one into the blade. The needles immediately began to melt, dissolving and seeping into the structure of the blade.

Taking in the noise and creative chaos, Kael’s mind was already analyzing the surroundings.

“A fairly advanced technique…” he thought, watching the “needles.” “They’re reinforcing weak points in the weapon by embedding needles of concentrated mana directly into its structure.”

From the carts came increasingly awed voices:

“Look! There are three Gold-rank mages at once!”

“How is that old man melting metal with his bare hands?!”

But Kael focused on the people in black clothing with red dragons on their backs. Keeping his gaze on them, he evaluated the differences among the artisans.

His gaze caught on a tall woman collecting an order at a forge. She wore a long cloak with a red dragon and a black robe that concealed her movements. In the next moment, Kael instinctively compared her to the smiths, whose sleeves and pant legs were rolled up, their clothing tailored for work.

“Differences in clothing depend on the artisan’s specialization… That woman is definitely not a smith…”

Shifting his gaze further, he began to study the flow of people more closely, noticing details that had initially escaped him. As they moved deeper into this district, he clearly saw that not all smiths and artisans wore black clothing with red dragons on their backs.

“Some kind of mark of distinction? Like recognized artisans?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, observing the reactions of those around them.

Ordinary residents, encountering such masters, instinctively gave way or nodded briefly in respect—and it happened just as naturally as greeting soldiers.

“They’re treated no worse than the military…”

Continuing to analyze what was happening and holding several lines of thought in his mind, Kael calmly finished the thought: “I’ll need to figure out how everything works here…”

To his surprise, the carts did not continue straight.

Turning slightly, the carts began to curve away, leading them away from the densest flow of workshops.

“No! Where are you going?!” Gilmesh exclaimed almost indignantly, leaning forward sharply.

Kael, snapping out of his thoughts, deftly grabbed Gilmesh by the belt and, without any effort, yanked him back. Forcing the big man back onto the bench, he said sternly:

“You promised you’d listen to me. So now is the time to keep quiet.”

Gilmesh had already opened his mouth to argue, but froze when he met his gaze. Then he exhaled and, restraining himself, nodded.

Still, his eyes continued darting around, burning with the same eager hunger as he took in everything happening around them.

Meanwhile, the carts turned deeper in, and soon a new section opened before them.

Long rows of anvils stretched along the street, with apprentices working at them.

Their movements were sharp, sometimes uncertain, often with obvious mistakes—and nearly every hesitation was followed by a short, harsh bark from a senior instructor. One of the masters, without even turning, stepped forward and kicked an apprentice out of position, immediately taking his place and fixing the ruined workpiece in a matter of seconds.

Girren let out a quiet breath as he watched:

“They work… like squads.”

Kael nodded, not taking his eyes off the scene.

There was no familiar divide here between craft and combat training—every movement, every process looked like part of a well-tuned mechanism. Even the delivery of materials followed strict routes: carriers moved in chains, passing loads from hand to hand without stopping, barely looking at one another, maintaining a constant rhythm.

Violet, edging closer to Kael and trying not to miss anything, whispered softly:

“I… I’ve never seen so many blacksmiths…”

The carts passed beneath complex metal structures built above the streets. Chains of mana carried workpieces along, while semi-transparent pipes flowed with something like liquid fire. Somewhere higher up, at roof level, narrow walkways stretched along, where figures in black robes moved swiftly, never pausing for a moment.

What burst from the pipes was not just smoke—dense streams of colored vapor rose upward, tinting the air in muted shades before dissolving somewhere above the city.

The carts carrying the youths of Lasthold continued onward, gradually leaving the forge district behind.

✦ ✦ ✦

Soon the noise grew less muffled—the hammer blows faded behind them, giving way to laughter, the creak of carts, and the clink of coins. Shops lined both sides, displaying finished goods: weapons, armor, jewelry, artifacts. Vendors stood behind their counters, while crowds gathered in front of them, discussing, bargaining, inspecting the wares.

There were even more people here. And the buildings grew taller, gradually narrowing the streets and creating the sense that they were moving deeper into the city.

Looking around and listening to the conversations, Kael caught fragments of conversations, piecing together a general picture.

At one point, he picked up a conversation between two young men walking nearby.

“Going to the Alchemy District with me? I need to buy some mana elixirs.”

“I will, but only if we stop by the Herbalists’ District afterward. I want to pick up something for practice before an exam.”

Listening to this without taking his eyes off the streets, Kael began forming a mental map.

“It seems my assumptions were correct. The outer ‘concentric ring’ is occupied by the military. The next ‘concentric ring’ is occupied by the craft districts…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, continuing to compare what he saw.

“We’re leaving the blacksmiths’ district now… Besides it, there are definitely districts for alchemists and herbalists.”

The thought became clearer and clearer, layering onto the structure of the city he had already observed.

“The city is divided by specialization…”

But at that moment, Girren leaned slightly forward, peering ahead, and quietly remarked:

“The street is widening…”

And it wasn’t just a feeling.

Lifting his gaze, Kael immediately understood—the street was smoothly opening into a broad square, the space expanding outward, allowing the flow of people to spread freely.

In the center stood a low fountain, around which dozens of people moved. Some stood nearby talking, others sat on its edge, and some simply watched the movement around them, as if waiting.

Along the edges of the square stretched buildings with open facades, from which came the smells of food mixed with muted voices. People sat at tables, eating, arguing, laughing, while servers moved swiftly between them, deftly carrying dishes without pausing for even a second.

Gilmesh, momentarily forgetting the forges, looked around and muttered much more quietly:

“It’s… completely different here. Not like in Lasthold.”

Kael did not reply, continuing to observe.

The contrast with the craft district was immediate, yet it did not feel alien—everything seemed part of a single system, simply serving a different function.

Raising his gaze higher, Kael noted how the buildings themselves changed.

They became taller and cleaner; balconies appeared, along with decorations and carved elements. Some facades bore crests and statues—not only of a dragon, but other symbols as well, differing in form and style.

Letting out a short breath, Kael lifted his chin slightly and, with a faint note of admiration, said aloud:

“It seems we’ve entered the main part of the capital. This is where most of the capital’s life happens.”

Girren frowned, shifting his gaze from one street to another, clearly not sharing that calm:

“It’s too… calm. It’s hard to believe their Empire is at war with anyone.”

Violet, on the other hand, visibly relaxed, her shoulders lowering slightly, yet she still stayed close to Kael, as if unwilling to fully let go of her tension.

At that moment, the air was split by the booming sound of a bell.

A deep, drawn-out toll rolled through the streets, and it was as if an invisible wave passed through the city. People began to stop, cutting off conversations mid-sentence, rising from tables, and quickly finishing transactions. Shop owners put up signs for a break, closing their stalls, and almost at once all movement began to shift in a single direction.

The carts slowed, yielding to the flow.

Following that movement, Kael turned his gaze toward where the people were gathering.

Among the buildings rose a tall structure of dark-red stone, stretching upward and tapering to a point, resembling a blade thrust into the ground. It stood out sharply against the rest of the architecture, drawing the eye.

And within moments, chants began to echo through the air.

At first quiet and scattered, they quickly merged into a single rhythm, as if the entire district had taken up the same motif, filling the space with a strange, melodic resonance.

Figures in red garments began to emerge through the wide doors of the building.

“Priests?” Kael thought.

They wore voluminous, multilayered robes of dark-red fabric, and their heads were covered with tall caps. Their faces, however, were hidden behind heavy red veils, revealing neither features nor expressions.

“What is happening?” Lissandra murmured, instinctively shrinking back.

Roselle immediately reached for her hand and clasped it tightly, as if trying to hold back her rising anxiety.

Kael, without taking his eyes off what was happening, watched the priests’ actions, noting the details. Some of them handed out candles of thick red wax, while others moved along the street, sprinkling a dark liquid evenly over the stone.

“This is a ritual of worship…” he said quietly. “They are praying to the God of Blood and War.”

Turning his head slightly and listening to the growing chorus, he added, more confidently:

“The bells and chants aren’t only here. It seems such temples are spread throughout the Capital.”

Those among the youths of Lasthold who heard his words visibly tensed—some swallowed, others lowered their gaze, trying not to look at what was happening for too long.

The warriors escorting the carts reacted differently.

Without slowing their pace, they simultaneously inclined their heads toward the temple, showing respect, and then began to join in softly, picking up the shared rhythm—yet they continued guiding the carts forward.

For a brief moment, it felt as though the entire city had merged into a single voice.

Listening closely to the chants, Kael noted with surprise: “This is the language of the Gods… I wonder if they understand the words they are speaking?”

Observing this and listening to the unified chorus, Kael frowned slightly, letting his thoughts deepen.

“I wonder… why the Gods need such worship. They rarely do anything that does not benefit them.”

His gaze lingered on the priests for a moment, then drifted across the crowd, the candles, the red liquid on the stone.

“The Master did not have a single mortal world under his control… and yet he was considered one of the strongest Gods.”

Narrowing his eyes slightly, he unconsciously clenched his fingers, feeling a familiar, cold irritation rise within him.

“It seems I have much to learn… My understanding of the Gods is far worse than I thought.”

Meanwhile, the chanting grew steadier, deeper, filling the space, but the carts did not stop and continued moving, gradually leaving the ritual zone behind.

The farther they went, the emptier the streets became—people had either already gone to the temple or were hurrying there, leaving the roads nearly clear. The carts sped up, the wheels rolling faster with a dull rumble over the stone.

The flow of traffic thinned.

The road opened before them, and for the first time since entering the city, it became clear—they were truly moving quickly deeper into it.

✦ ✦ ✦

After about half an hour, the carts rolled onto a wide avenue without slowing down.

The stone beneath the wheels changed—light-colored, perfectly smooth, without cracks or debris. The space around them opened up, the crowd disappeared, leaving only a few figures moving calmly along the road.

Tall columns stretched along the edges of the avenue, each adorned with carved figures of dragons. Their silhouettes rose upward, creating a sense of order and power, as if the very street led to something important.

Kael, leaning slightly forward, lifted his gaze into the distance—and involuntarily drew in a breath.

At the end of the avenue stood a gigantic arch. Thin lines of runes ran across its surface, glowing evenly, as if maintaining a constant flow of energy.

And beyond the arch, an entire complex opened up.

The buildings were arranged with strict symmetry: several large structures, training grounds, watchtowers—all placed with precise calculation, without any random elements.

But his gaze was inevitably drawn to the center.

The main building rose above everything else, overwhelming with its scale and commanding attention. It was made of the same white stone with red roofs, and across its facade stretched the image of a red dragon.

But it was the structure of the building itself that caught his attention.

Looking closer, Kael realized that it was as if the building were divided.

The left side appeared strict and precise, with sharp roofs, straight lines, and smooth walls without unnecessary detail.

The right side, by contrast, seemed entirely different, its forms more complex, the architecture freer, as if several styles had merged into one. Gardens could be seen on the roofs, from which streams of multicolored smoke rose.

Another section of the building was covered in inscriptions and magic circles, their lines intertwining into a dense layer clearly serving a practical function.

“Each part has a completely different character…”

And then it clicked: “It’s as if it reflects the nature of the military and… artisans?”

Shifting his gaze to the arch, Kael noticed large runes carved along its inner curve. They glowed softly, yet remained clear and legible, as if etched into the stone.

Focusing, he quickly scanned them and easily grasped their meaning.

A faint trace of caution flickered in his expression—but along with it, interest.

“Imperial Academy…” he murmured quietly, almost without taking his eyes off the arch. “We’ve arrived.”