The Sovereign System.

Luke found himself being escorted back from the reception room to the guest room where he would be staying. His heart was still racing from the tension. He had fully expected his disguise to fail, bracing himself to fight for his life. Yet, against all odds, that hadn't happened.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

Upon entering the guest room, both Stoddard and Kayson turned to him, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. However, the moment they got a closer look, their expressions shifted to alarm. They waited in tense silence until the maid exited the room before rushing to his side.

"Brother, what happened to your face—and the disguise? Did the City Lord strike you?" Kayson's voice was tight with concern, anger rising as he leaned in to examine Luke's face more closely.

"What?" Luke brushed past Kayson, making his way to the bronze mirror in the corner of the room. The sight of his reflection made him recoil. His face was swollen, blotched with angry red hives as though he had been poisoned.

'Is this why the City Lord didn't recognize me?' he wondered, the thought briefly flickering across his mind. It made sense, but the more pressing question was, why was his face like this?

He raised a trembling hand to his cheek, only to notice that his hands were swollen too, marked with the same unsightly hives. He stared, wide-eyed, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"Commander, you don't look so good," Stoddard said, his tone cautious. "Have you been poisoned?"

Luke froze, his thoughts spinning. He remembered the mulled wine the City Lord had offered him. But hadn't the man also drunk from the same pitcher—and far more of it than Luke had?

'Wait… could my allergies have followed me here?' The notion seemed absurd, yet every sign pointed to the familiar culprit: an allergic reaction.

Taking a deep breath, Luke felt the telltale tingling at the back of his throat—yet another confirmation. "Do you know what's used to make mulled wine?" he asked, his voice steady despite the growing discomfort.

Kayson nodded, his brows furrowed. "It's made with spices, citrus, and sugars. Why are you asking? Did you drink poisoned wine?"

Luke shook his head. "The spices… Does one of them happen to be cinnamon? It's also called cassia."

"Yes, that's one of the main ingredients," Kayson answered immediately, his concern deepening. "What's going on? Just tell us."

Relief washed over Luke. He sank into a chair and let out a breathless, almost giddy laugh. "Fetch me some water. This is just my body's reaction to cassia."

The concept of allergies might not exist in this world, so he explained it as simply as he could. Upon hearing his explanation, both Stoddard and Kayson visibly relaxed. It was a tremendous relief to learn that Luke hadn't been poisoned while under the City Lord's roof.

After a few cups of water, Luke began to feel better, though the tingling in his throat lingered. The whole situation was deeply unsettling—his allergy from Earth had followed him to this new world. Strange as it was, he wasn't about to complain. If not for the reaction, he might have been unmasked by the City Lord in an instant.

Now that the immediate tension had passed, fatigue began to settle over Luke. The events of the day had taken a heavy toll. He had barely survived a duel against a seasoned soldier, and the revelation of Lhair's potential infiltration of the Marxx Kingdom weighed heavily on his mind.

The implications were staggering. He had no concrete evidence, nor did he know how deeply Lhair's influence had sunk its claws into the Kingdom. During his earlier conversation with General Hart, Luke had suggested that the recent assassinations might have been an inside job. But with this new information, he wasn't so sure.

'Could the assassins have been organized by agents from Lhair?' he wondered, though the theory didn't fully add up. If Lhair truly orchestrated the assassinations, how had the King managed to rally twenty thousand troops on such short notice for an invasion of the Qin Empire? The pieces didn't fit together, leaving Luke with more questions than answers.

A dull throb formed at his temples, and his eyelids grew heavy. Shaking off his thoughts, Luke addressed the others. "I'll need more charcoal in the morning before we set off with the troops," he said. "For now, let's make the most of our lodgings. We ride at dawn."

Both men murmured their agreement, relief evident in their expressions. After days of grueling travel and combat, the prospect of sleeping in a proper bed, even for one night, felt like a rare luxury.

The trio awoke an hour before dawn, feeling more rested than they had in days. Kayson applied his expert-level disguise to Luke once more—a necessary precaution, though it irritated him. Leading the City Lord's troops, many of whom had once served Viscount Nero, carried an inherent risk. Any one of them might recognize him and send word back to William Nox.

'Perhaps I'll be stuck wearing this disguise until I return to Clayton City,' Luke thought grimly, though he quickly pushed the thought aside.

Guided by the old butler, they left the estate under the faint glow of the morning stars. Much to their relief, the butler informed them that the City Lord would not be seeing them off, offering an apology on his behalf.

At the stables, a young boy waited with their three horses, already saddled and prepared for the journey. Luke's mare greeted him with an eager nuzzle, her usual cheeky demeanor bringing a faint smile to his face. He extended his hand, letting the animal press her muzzle into his palm.

"Where are the troops rallied?" Luke asked, his voice steady despite the morning chill.

"They await your arrival outside the eastern gate—eight thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry," the old man replied, bowing deeply.

Luke nodded, swinging himself onto his mare with practiced ease. The horse stomped the ground excitedly as he patted her neck affectionately. With a slight nudge of his heels, he urged her forward, the others following suit.

The streets of Valand City were quiet, save for the faint sounds of the city waking. The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making Luke's stomach growl. He hadn't eaten yet, and the thought of warm, crusty loaves was tempting. But he pushed the craving aside—there was no time to stop.

"Stoddard," Luke called over his shoulder, "I want you to take command of the cavalry. I need someone I can trust to execute my orders."

The long-faced man nodded, his tone uncharacteristically casual. "Of course."

Luke raised an eyebrow at the shift in Stoddard's demeanor. The lieutenant commander's speech had grown less formal since the previous day. Oddly enough, it felt more genuine, devoid of the stiff politeness that often marked their exchanges.

"Kayson, you'll take the infantry," Luke said, sparing his friend a brief glance. "With your physical prowess and tactical mind, there should be no issues maneuvering in open terrain."

"Too easy," Kayson replied, flashing a debonair grin as he adjusted himself atop his mount.

Luke's gaze lingered on his friend's confident smile, a stark contrast to his own lingering insecurities. The disfiguring disguise he was forced to wear in public only deepened his self-doubt, a silent blow to his already bruised ego. Letting out a quiet sigh, he turned his attention back to the road ahead, forcing the thought aside.

After another twenty minutes, they arrived at the city gates. A sea of soldiers and horses stretched before them, lined up in neat ranks and awaiting orders. Luke surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes quickly picking out two figures whose armor and helms were markedly more ornate than the rest. It was clear these men were in command.

"Commander Drakon, Commander Diego, we are at your service," one of the men announced, dismounting and cupping his fist in a respectful gesture. "I am Gerard, Captain of the City Lord's Cavalry, and this is Captain Pierce of the City Lord's infantry."

The speaker, Captain Gerard, was a tall, lean man with long, flexible-looking limbs. His sharp eyes exuded both confidence and capability, and his tone carried the unmistakable authority of a seasoned soldier.

Captain Pierce, on the other hand, gave off a very different impression. Of average height with a gaunt face, there was a shadowy quality to his gaze that made Luke uneasy. 

"It's good to meet you both," Luke said, dismounting his mare with practiced ease. He exchanged a few pleasantries before diving into the real conversation. With a calm but commanding tone, he gave the two captains a concise overview of the mission and reiterated the hierarchy he had discussed earlier with Kayson and Stoddard.

Both men nodded their compliance without issue, and soon the troops began their march eastward, leaving Valand City behind. Luke had already dispatched scouts to survey the route ahead and left a contingent of a thousand men to defend the critical supply line that followed their forces.

The first twelve hours of the march were remarkably smooth. Thanks to the favorable terrain, they covered an impressive twenty miles. At this pace, they could arrive at Xui Fortress within four days, well within the Deputy General's outlined timeframe.

For the first time in weeks, Luke allowed himself a glimmer of optimism. Progress was steady, and the men seemed motivated. However, the uncertainty of the Qin Empire's attacking force weighed heavily on his mind.

In the best-case scenario, the enemy would send only a preliminary force—something manageable with their current numbers. In the worst case, they could face a fully mobilized army.

The unknown made it impossible for Luke to finalize orders for his troops. For now, he would have to rely on the scouts' reports on the fourth day—or wait until they were close enough for him to use his Eagle Eye skill.

Thus, Luke was forced to wait—a skill he had yet to master. Seated on a fallen log, he cradled the wooden bowl in his hands, savoring the warmth that radiated from its contents.

The forest offered some reprieve from the biting wind, but the fluctuating climate remained a constant annoyance. Days were sweltering, nights unbearably cold. The dense canopy above helped break the chill, but it was little more than a small consolation.

"May I ask how old you are, Commander?" Captain Gerard broke the heavy silence, his tone almost tentative.

Luke raised an eyebrow at the seemingly trivial question but chose to answer. "Seventeen. Commander Diego is the same age. Does that make you question our competency?" His voice was calm, though tinged with coldness.

"N-not at all, sir," Gerard stammered, visibly uncomfortable under Luke's piercing gaze.

"Good." Luke's tone softened slightly, though his words remained succinct. "Rest assured, your men are in capable hands. After all, it was Master Gale himself who appointed us as commanders."

"Master Gale?!" Gerard's exclamation was sharp, his surprise unmissable. In the flickering light of the campfire, Luke thought he caught a mix of fear and reverence flash across the man's face.

Captain Pierce, on the other hand, remained silent, his focus solely on the bowl of food in front of him. There was an enigmatic air about the man that unsettled Luke. Deciding to probe further, he shifted his attention.

"Captain Pierce, how long have you been the head of the City Lord's infantry?" Luke asked casually, masking his curiosity.

"Three months," Pierce replied, his tone flat and disinterested.

'Three months? That's when I was forced to flee Valand City…' Luke's thoughts raced. 'Did he take over from William?'

"When Viscount Nero was… murdered, the current City Lord stepped up to prevent chaos in Valand City," Gerard interjected, as if sensing the unspoken question. "Since he had been the Captain of the infantry, Pierce was promoted to fill the role."

Luke nodded. It made sense, at least on the surface. "Understood. Let's rest up. We still have a long journey ahead." Rising from the log, he placed his empty bowl aside, brushing his hands clean.

Despite his attempt to maintain composure, Luke found the dynamic with the two captains awkward. Gerard's enthusiasm was manageable, but Pierce's quiet, inscrutable demeanor put him on edge. Relaxing in their presence proved to be an ongoing challenge.

This pattern continued for the next few days. Gerard was friendly enough, even talkative at times, but Pierce's dullness made him a poor conversationalist. Luke couldn't help but question how someone so lacking in charisma had been placed in a leadership position.

Still, with Kayson assigned to lead the infantry, Luke felt confident that Pierce's shortcomings wouldn't pose a significant issue.

On the final day of their journey, the troops marched through the western forest just after dawn. The morning light filtered through the trees, casting golden hues over the damp earth.

Luke's brief moment of peace was interrupted by the sight of scouts rushing toward him, their faces etched with urgency. He immediately straightened in his saddle, gripping the reins tightly.

The lead scout halted before him, his expression grave.

"Speak," Luke commanded, his voice firm and steady despite the knot tightening in his stomach.