The cart jolted and groaned along the road for hours.
Paul sat inside in silence, his eyes fixed on the floor, lifting them only occasionally to glance out the window. Ludwig sat opposite him, watching the landscape slide past as the trees grew thicker, darker, drawing them steadily toward the Forest of Obsidionreach.
By noon, the village had faded into memory. The forest closed in around them—dense, quiet, and watchful. The cart slowed and came to a halt in a narrow clearing.
Ludwig stepped down first, scanning the surroundings with a practiced glance. The coach followed, setting up camp with efficient speed.
Soon, firelight flickered across the clearing as the sun sank, bleeding the sky into a deep, bruised red. Paul sat near the edge of the camp, apart from the others. The forest remained unnervingly silent, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of killercrows.
Ludwig crouched beside the fire, his gloved hands held close to the flames.
"Answer me truthfully," he said, his tone calm, almost casual. "How many Lumens did you really save?"
"I… I already told you, sir," Paul stammered. "One hundred and twenty-five. That's all. I swear."
"And yet the ledgers state otherwise." Ludwig sighed softly. "You understand why I must act accordingly."
Paul swallowed. His throat felt dry. "I understand, sir. I did what I could to be honest. I didn't—"
"You did not cheat the Republic?" Ludwig interrupted, eyes fixed on the fire. "Then why does it appear that you have?"
Paul flinched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of burning wood.
"Fear accomplishes nothing now, Paul," Ludwig continued evenly. "But the truth might make things easier for you."
Paul's hands trembled. "I am telling the truth, sir. Every Lumen accounted for. Every tax paid."
Ludwig did not respond at once. He adjusted his gloves, his gaze lingering on the flames.
"Then where did the rest come from?"
He turned and looked Paul squarely in the eyes. Nearby, a crow burst into flight.
"Where did the others come from?"
Paul looked away, his jaw tightening. He said nothing.
Ludwig rose to his feet. "Very well." He met Paul's gaze. "We'll continue this conversation in the capital."
Paul's face drained of color.
"There are people there," Ludwig added, almost gently, "who are far less patient than I am. And then you will tell them everything you know."
Ludwig reached into his pack, pulled out a strip of dried beef, and offered it to him.
Paul stared at it for a long moment.
"Eat," Ludwig said. "It's better than it looks."
Paul took it and began to chew, slowly.
Ludwig finished eating and turned toward the coach. "How long before we reach the capital?"
"Three days, inquisitor," the coach replied.
Paul flinched as the bushes behind the camp quivered softly.
"Good," Ludwig said calmly. He rose and opened the cart's door, then looked back at Paul. "You'll be sleeping inside the cart."
"I—" Paul began, swallowing hard. "I'm not done eating yet."
"Inside." Ludwig's gaze fixed on him, cold and unmoving. "Now."
The coach quickly gathered his food and stepped into the cart, followed closely by Paul.
Inside, Ludwig fastened the manacle around Paul's wrist and secured it to the cart's railing. He gave the chain a short tug, testing it.
Paul winced. "What's that for?"
"A safety measure," Ludwig said.
He closed the cart's door and returned to his place by the fire.