Chapter 294 – Isolated

Chapter 294 – Isolated

The sun hung high on the horizon, casting warm, golden hues over the somewhat barren, hardened landscape. Still, despite looking slightly abandoned, it was just at first look as the air was alive with the distant hum of conversation and the loud clangs of tools. Avalonian engineers made their final checks on the newly constructed train and stopped at the newly established border crossing between Avalon's territory and Atuvia. Once again, this freshly built wonder caught every eye when passing by, its fresh coat of paint untouched by the soot and grime that inevitably accompanied every type of railway work. This was the latest model, the Pioneer, the third train to emerge from the factories, and it stood ready for its maiden voyage.

For the five hundred prisoners assembled on the gravel-strewn platform and inspection station, the sight of the train traveling by it had been just the same exciting experience as it was eight months ago. While the mechanics and accompanying soldiers examined the engine one last time, they were allowed to stretch their limbs and get some air before they continued onward. If not for the fact that they were indeed prisoners, many of them would have thought this was some kind of trip, feeling like a child once again. Johan and Arik stood among the crowd, their uniforms rough but clean, marked with the insignia of their labor force, a hammer with chains wrapped around its handle. Despite the restrictions of their internment, their lives had become almost routine, starting and ending at the same time, and for the first time ever, they were beginning to understand Avalon's way of life. There were rules to it, and as long as those rules were followed, life was good, even for prisoners like them.

"Looks like they’ve outdone themselves again," Arik muttered, shielding his eyes from the sun as he squinted at the train. His voice held a mix of admiration as, this time around, he spent more time examining the machine than worrying about his possible fate awaiting him.

Johan, standing beside him, adjusted his cap and nodded in response.

"They always do. That doesn't mean this railway will hold up, though. I heard the engineers discuss it. The land we are heading into? The League or what? This Atuvia’s ground is nothing like Ishi... no, unlike Avalon’s. It has a hard soil, sometimes even shifting one, making it unstable... They’re asking for trouble. I don't think it will be just as easy to ride a train into their territory and go back home. Otherwise, they wouldn't have brought five hundred of us."

Arik chuckled dryly, hearing his friend speak.

"I agree. Which is why we’re here. If it derails, we’re the ones putting it back on its track."

The two men exchanged a look, their expressions calm and collected, unlike when they first were brought to Avalon. The months of hard labor in the mines had been hard, but the fairness of the rotations, the structured rest days, and the treatment they received had begun to soften their initial worry. They weren't whipped, they weren't hit, and they weren't pushed beyond their bodies' limit to break down and die underground. They were treated... well. Their lives were still confined, their freedom just a distant memory, but they were alive, fed, healed if injured, and then clothed. More importantly, they were learning. Orders had to be understood so those who couldn't read were taught to do so. The smarter ones were even taught to count and made to oversee groups of their comrades. It was how Jonah ended up as the supervisor of his own twenty-men group.

As they stood there, the guards called for order, and the prisoners filed into the waiting carriages under the watchful eyes of Avalonian soldiers. There were no loud shouts or beatings—only the firm, disciplined presence of men standing over two meters tall and wearing their black armor and bone-made weapons. Johan and Arik found seats near a window, watching the border crossing and rolling over to a railway that wasn't built by Avalonian hands.

As the train lurched into motion, the landscape outside began to blur. The rolling hills of Avalon gradually gave way to the wilder, less cultivated lands of Atuvia. The prisoners stared out the windows, some in wonder, never having the chance to visit another country. Others remained seated with quiet contemplation, more focused on what kind of work they may have before them. Johan, probably the calmest within their carriage, leaned against the glass, his gaze distant.

"Hard to believe we’ve come this far," Johan murmured. Hearing him, Arik slouched beside him and raised an eyebrow, whispering.

"Still thinking about running?" He smirked faintly because it was just a fleeting idea he had said once, not even taking it seriously.

"No. I was a bit drunk when I mentioned it, so you should have forgotten it already! Not worth it."

"Smart man," Arik said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Besides, you’ve got to admit, there’s something about this place. The way they do things... It’s like they’ve figured out how to make the world work."

Johan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched as they passed a cluster of workers repairing a section of track running parallel to theirs. Avalonian engineers barked instructions, their voices calm but authoritative, while another group of prisoners and hired laborers moved in synchronized efficiency. There was no chaos, no waste of motion—just a clear sense of purpose.

By evening, the derailment had been fixed, and the train was back on its way. The prisoners returned to their seats, their bodies aching, but their spirits oddly lifted. Their fatigue was accompanied by their sense of accomplishment, a feeling that they had contributed to something larger than themselves. It was even more evident out here than down in the mines, and they found themselves enjoying it.

As the train chugged along, Johan leaned back in his seat, staring out at the darkening sky. Arik, half-asleep beside him, snored softly, exhausted after hammering through the whole day. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels was almost soothing, lulling Jonah into a lullaby, too, just when they were being transported for the first time. It was also a reminder of the progress they had made—not just in the railway, but in their own understanding.

"Mhm..." Arik stirred, muttering in his sleep next to him, "Working off our debts... mhm... Peace..."

"Yeah..." Jonah smiled, letting his mind drag him into sleep, "Peace does sound nice."

...

....

.....

"That is... an issue..." Mirian muttered, standing on the balcony of her castle while Kustov and Milan listened to her, standing a step behind, still in the room.

The aging duke had brought back news, which was then confirmed and re-confirmed multiple times before he brought it up to Mirian. Then, the Empress herself took the Judgment and skirted the borders of their 'Northern Alliance' and had to come to the same conclusion.

"We are indeed boxed in." She muttered, looking out straight towards the South.

What she meant by it mainly was the Judgment, her, and the inventions of Avalon. Pascal's disciple not only surrounded the natural crossing points and most optimal routes toward the capital city with armies, dug in and constantly being reinforced, but also placed down massive, expert-level formations along the border, chained together. It was something she didn't know Ishillia could do, but evidently... it just did. This chainlink was not an ordinary one as it erected an invisible wall that would act as an anti-magic spell, activating the moment magic came near it, disabling, even if just temporarily, everything that passed through its generated field. It meant that if she tried going over with the Judgement, the ship would just fall out of the sky.

"Only magicless armies will be able to pass over," Kustov spoke up, rubbing his forehead. "We will need to inform Avalon of this and come up with a counter-solution."

"Maybe we can infiltrate and sabotage it. Create an opening to go through when we decide to do so," Milan offered. It could be a sound plan, but Mirian was still thinking. She had a feeling that it could hurt not only formations but people who were attuned to magic.

Evidently, Pascal was keeping the North in check so he could focus on the other battlefields. Ishillia was besieged on all fronts, something that troubled the mighty Pascal, too. They could just sit back and gather their strength, but who knows by doing that, what kind of preparations would it allow for Pascal's forces. Or they could attack... but once again, what would that mean for their own troops? She was, for a long time, unsure what to do next.

"Kustov."

"Yes?" he asked, stepping forward. He smiled at his son before facing Mirian, who turned around with a soft sigh.

"It is time for you to visit Avalon. Go and make the report personally for your Sovereign. Let us see what he has to say about this."