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## Chapter 8: The Road to Oakhaven and an Imperial Argument
Two days later, the chill of the early morning air bit at Caspian's exposed skin as he stood in the Imperial Palace's grand courtyard. The sun hadn't yet fully risen, casting long, shifting shadows from the palace's towering spires. Around him, a small, yet impressively equipped, retinue was assembling. Four Royal Guards, armored in the distinctive crimson and gold of the Volkovian Empire, stood like statues. Two junior palace mages, laden with scrolls and magical implements, fussed over a sturdy, enchanted carriage that shimmered faintly with protective wards. Pack horses, carrying supplies and luggage, stood ready.
Seraphina emerged from the palace doors, a regal figure even in her simpler traveling clothes. She wore a deep forest-green cloak over practical, dark trousers and a tunic, her dark hair neatly braided and tucked under a hood. Her expression was all business, her eyes already scanning the preparations, noting every detail with her characteristic precision.
"Good morning, Young Master Alderon," she greeted, her voice crisp in the cool air. "Are your preparations complete?"
"As much as they can be, Princess," Caspian replied, bowing his head. He wore a similarly practical outfit in a shade of deep blue, his golden hair a stark contrast against the dark fabric. He felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. This was his first time truly leaving the sheltered confines of the palace since his transmigration.
Their escort commander, a grizzled captain of the Royal Guard named Valerius, stepped forward. "All is in order, Your Royal Highness, Young Master. The route is secure. We await your command."
Seraphina merely nodded, then turned to the carriage. "Let us depart. There is much to do."
The journey to Oakhaven began. The enchanted carriage, while large, was surprisingly comfortable, its magical wards softening the bumps of the cobbled road and insulating them from the chill. Inside, Seraphina immediately pulled out maps and documents related to Oakhaven, her brow furrowing in concentration.
"The petition states the blight primarily affects the 'Sunblight Wheat' crops," she read aloud, her finger tracing a section of the map. "A staple of the Freehold. It began three seasons ago, worsening each year. Local mages identified 'mana depletion' as the cause, but their restorative spells have failed."
Caspian leaned over the map, his mind working. Mana depletion. That was unusual for a blight. Blights were usually a physical disease, or perhaps a localized dark magic. Mana depletion suggested something more insidious, something draining the very essence of life from the land. He vaguely remembered some side quests in *Aethelgard's Embrace* involving environmental mana disruptions, but nothing specifically about Oakhaven. This was a new puzzle.
"Mana depletion could indicate a lingering curse, or perhaps an elemental imbalance," he mused, tapping a finger on the map. "Have the local mages tried mana-channeling rituals, or even elemental rebalancing spells?"
Seraphina frowned. "The records do not specify. Only that their 'limited resources' were exhausted. It suggests their capabilities are not… on par with Imperial standards." Her tone was dismissive, almost condescending.
Caspian seized the opening. "Perhaps their limitations are not in their skill, Princess, but in their perspective. They live with this land daily. Their insights, however unrefined, could be invaluable." He remembered *Rule number three: Listen to the locals*. In many games, the humble villagers held the crucial clue.
Seraphina looked up, her dark eyes meeting his. "Are you suggesting we consult uneducated peasants over trained Imperial mages?" Her voice was cool, laced with incredulity.
"Not in place of," Caspian clarified, holding her gaze. "But in addition to. A blight affecting crops, season after season, implies a deeply rooted problem. The villagers, the farmers, they are the ones who know the subtle shifts of the soil, the whispers of the wind. They might observe things an Imperial mage, trained in grand theory, would overlook."
Her expression remained unconvinced, but the intensity of her stare suggested she was weighing his words. "Data from observation is secondary to empirical evidence, Young Master."
"Empirical evidence can be incomplete if the observations are narrow," Caspian countered gently. "Imagine if a plant appears withered. A healer might assume disease, a mage might look for a curse. But a farmer might notice the specific way the leaves curl, or the pattern of dew, or the unusual sound of the wind, leading to a conclusion neither the healer nor the mage would reach alone." He hoped his charm was making him sound wise, not insolent.
Seraphina leaned back, her lips pursed in thought. "A… curious approach. It lacks structure."
"And structure can sometimes blind us to the unexpected," Caspian pressed, emboldened slightly. "The Emperor tasked us with finding a 'comprehensive solution,' not merely a magical one." He used the Emperor's own words against her, a tactic he knew often resonated with her duty-bound nature.
She was silent for a full minute, gazing out the window at the passing countryside. The Imperial Road, broad and well-maintained, was giving way to narrower paths as they ventured further from the capital. Finally, she turned back to him, her expression still unyielding but without her usual dismissal.
"Very well, Young Master Alderon," she conceded, her voice clipped. "When we arrive, we shall first review the records and speak with the local administrators and mages. But then… we shall also speak with the farmers. On the condition that their observations are structured and presented coherently."
Caspian hid a small smile of triumph. "Agreed, Princess. I believe you will find their perspective illuminating."
The rest of the journey was spent in a tense but productive silence, punctuated by Seraphina's pointed questions about his "flexible wall" philosophy. He found himself articulating it more clearly, drawing parallels between mana control and political governance, between a flourishing empire and a resilient defense. He was subtly planting seeds of doubt about her father's rigid ideologies, gently nudging her towards a more adaptable, empathetic approach to leadership. Each discussion was a small victory, a tiny deviation from the game's tragic script.
As the sun began to dip below the western peaks, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, the carriage lumbered into a valley. Before them lay the Freehold of Oakhaven. It was a cluster of stone and timber buildings, nestled against the foot of a towering mountain range. Fields, stretching out around it, were a dismal sight. Where golden wheat should have swayed, there were only vast swathes of pale, withered stalks, brittle and lifeless. The air hung heavy with a sense of desolation.
Caspian felt a pang of genuine sympathy for the villagers. This wasn't just a game quest; it was a real tragedy for these people. And for the first time, his mission of survival felt less like a self-serving quest and more like a genuine responsibility.
Seraphina's expression had hardened as she surveyed the blight-stricken fields. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes scanning the devastation. This was no abstract problem from a book. This was real.
"This is worse than the reports indicated," she murmured, her voice tight with a frustration that was new to him. It wasn't the cold intellectual challenge she was used to; it was the harsh reality of imperial duty.
"Indeed, Princess," Caspian replied, his voice grave. "It seems Oakhaven has much to teach us."
The carriage came to a halt outside the largest building, likely the Freehold's administrative hall. A small group of local officials, looking weary and anxious, stood waiting. This was it. The real test. Caspian felt his mind sharpen, his "survival guide" shifting into active mode. He wasn't just trying to save himself anymore; he was trying to save Oakhaven, and in doing so, perhaps, save Seraphina too.
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