Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 62: Towards the duchy

The city itself was built in the Victorian style, all Gothic architecture and ornate stonework. Buildings rose three and four stories high, their facades decorated with elaborate carvings and stained glass windows. Church spires pierced the sky at regular intervals, their bells ringing out across the valley. The streets were cobblestone, winding through the city in patterns that spoke of centuries of organic growth.

But moving through those ancient streets were vehicles that would have been impossible just a few years ago.

Cars powered by crystallized mana hummed past horse-drawn carriages. Streetlamps fueled by energy cores cast steady light even in daylight. People walked the sidewalks in clothing that was distinctly Victorian in cut and style—high collars, long coats, elaborate dresses with bustles and corsets—but made from materials that shimmered with subtle enchantments.

The clash of eras was jarring, yet somehow it worked.

This was a world that had been thrust violently into a new age seven years ago, when the barriers between dimensions had fractured and Earth—no, Terrasper, as these people called it—had collided with Eadrogar in ways both literal and metaphorical.

But what immediately caught Jorghan’s attention as he entered the city proper were the decorations.

Every building was draped in white and gold fabric. Banners hung from windows proclaiming joy and celebration. Flowers—thousands upon thousands of them—lined the streets in carefully arranged displays. The air itself seemed to shimmer with excitement and anticipation.

They were preparing for a wedding.

Scarlett’s wedding.

Jorghan pulled his hood lower over his face and moved deeper into the city, following the flow of the crowd. People were gathering along the main thoroughfare, pressing against wooden barriers that had been erected to keep them back from the street itself. Children sat on their parents’ shoulders. Vendors moved through the crowd selling flowers and small flags bearing the Harrington family crest.

”Make way! Make way for the wedding procession!”

The shout came from mounted guards in gleaming armor, their horses stepping high and proud. Behind them came the procession itself, and Jorghan felt his blood run cold as he watched it pass.

First came musicians playing horns and drums, their music triumphant and celebratory.

Then came dancers in elaborate costumes, twirling and leaping with supernatural grace—clearly enhanced by abilities. Flower petals rained down from young women in white dresses, creating a perfumed carpet for what followed.

The carriage was massive, gilded in gold and silver, pulled by six white horses that had been bred for size and beauty.

But it was the occupants that made Jorghan’s hands clench into fists.

The man who had shot him sat on one side, his blonde hair perfectly styled, his aristocratic face wearing an expression of satisfied pride. He wore a coat of deep blue velvet with gold embroidery, the very picture of noble elegance. His hand rested possessively on the seat beside him.

He was the man who shot him.

The bridegroom came himself to fetch his bride; Jorghan chuckled softly.

He could tell that the man was a really strong mage, an equal to his own.

And there, wearing a dress of white lace and silk that must have cost a fortune, sat Scarlett.

She looked like a doll. Her hair had been arranged in elaborate curls and braids, woven through with pearls and small diamonds that caught the light. Her makeup was flawless, making her appear porcelain and perfect. The dress hugged her figure before flowing out in layers of fabric that spilled over the carriage seat like frozen water.

But her eyes were what made Jorghan’s chest tighten.

They were empty.

Blank.

She stared straight ahead with no expression at all, not smiling, not frowning, just... nothing. Like a puppet with cut strings. Like someone who had given up entirely.

[Target Status: Detected]

[Magical Influence: Moderate Compulsion Detected]

[Subject appears to be under mental manipulation]

Jorghan forced himself to remain still as the carriage passed, though every instinct screamed at him to act. But not here. Not now. There were too many people, too many guards, and too many unknowns. He needed to be smart about this.

The procession wound through the city streets, leading eventually to the castle that dominated the northern edge of Glasvoe. It was a magnificent structure, all soaring towers and thick walls, built in an era when such things were necessary for defense.

Now it served as both fortress and palace, a symbol of the Harrington family’s power and prestige.

The carriage passed through the main gates, disappearing into the castle grounds.

The crowd began to disperse, chattering excitedly about the wedding that would take place tomorrow.

Jorghan remained where he was, studying the castle’s defenses with a tactical eye.

High walls, at least thirty feet. Guard towers at regular intervals, each one manned by soldiers in full armor. The main gate was reinforced steel, protected by both physical locks and magical wards that Jorghan could sense even from this distance. There would be other ways in—there always were—but finding them would take time.

Time Scarlett might not have.

Jorghan scanned the crowd one more time, looking around. He wanted information about this duchy, the duke, and how people from Earth were already ready for marriage alliances.

Jorghan turned away from the castle and made his way through the winding streets until he found what he was looking for—a tavern called The Gilded Den, located in one of the older parts of the city. The building leaned slightly to one side, its style frame showing its age despite the fresh paint and modern lighting fixtures that had been added.

Inside, the tavern was crowded and loud.

People filled every table, drinking, talking and laughing.

The air was thick with the smell of ale, roasted meat, and pipe smoke.

Jorghan found a spot at the bar and ordered a drink, settling in to listen.

”Can’t believe the duke’s actually going through with it,” a man at a nearby table was saying, his voice carrying over the general din.

”Marrying his son to one of them.”

”One of the Terrasperans, you mean,” his companion replied, taking a long drink.

”Still can’t get used to seeing them. Even though they look like us.”

”Aliens are what they are,” a third man chimed in.

”Don’t care what anyone says. They came from another world; they brought their technology and their strange powers with them. That makes them aliens in my book.”

”Your book is outdated, Gorn,” the first man said with a laugh.