章節 52: The Visitor at the War Academy
As the most renowned academy of magic and martial arts on the continent, the War Academy is situated at the very heart of the land, precisely at the confluence of the two most powerful empires of Valoran: Demacia and Noxus.
It also serves as the pivotal hub for the extensive network of magical train routes that crisscross the entire Valoran continent.
Since the remarkable invention of the magical train by Klyson Johnny, utilizing alchemy and magical propulsion technology one hundred and fifty years ago, this exceptional mode of transportation has swiftly gained popularity across the nations for its convenience and speed.
The technology surrounding magical trains has advanced significantly since Klyson's original creation, rendering today's trains far superior in both comfort and safety.
However, one aspect that has remained unchanged is the fact that nearly every nation only constructs railways within its own borders.
Over the past century and a half, no country has ever considered connecting its railway system with those of other nations.
This reluctance is entirely understandable, as even the most eloquent of debaters would struggle to persuade any king to accept the notion of interlinking their railway with that of a neighboring nation, especially when faced with the persistent threat of military incursions—historically, the transportation of soldiers via magical trains has not been an uncommon occurrence on the continent.
If a nation's railway were to connect with another's, who could predict whether neighboring forces might exploit the convenience of this connection to transport troops under the cover of night?
It is conceivable that a railway connection established just yesterday could lead to the encirclement of a castle by enemy troops by the time the king awakens the following morning.
Thus, international travel remains a cumbersome endeavor. While airships offer a somewhat better alternative, they do not operate daily—especially for cross-border routes.
Moreover, the chaotic diplomatic relations among the nations of the continent render airship travel insufficient to resolve all issues.
For instance, there are no airship routes from Demacia to Noxus. This is not due to any fault of the Demacian royal family; even if the emperor were willing to set aside prejudices and animosities to establish such a route, no one would be willing to serve as crew—who knows if they might be slaughtered by Noxian foes upon disembarking?
Consequently, international travel remains a vexing affair, particularly when the destination is a desolate place like the Shurima Desert.
Nearly all travelers embarking on cross-border journeys via magical trains must pass through the War Academy.
The nations of the continent have reached a consensus: since it is impossible to directly lay railway lines between countries, they would instead create a singular connection from each nation's railway to a common point, establishing this point as a transfer station for magical trains traveling throughout the continent.
Thus, the War Academy, as a neutral entity with neither overwhelming strength nor weakness, has become this vital transportation nexus.
Connected to the intricate railway network of Valoran, one can purchase tickets to virtually any nation on the continent from here.
As a result, the ticketing office at the War Academy is quite expansive, as it must accommodate the countless travelers arriving daily from all corners of the continent.
Despite the bustling nature of the ticket office, there are moments of tranquility, even in the midst of serving numerous travelers, such as now—on this frigid winter night at three o'clock.
The biting cold wind howls through the station, taking full advantage of the waning winter to assert its dominance, ushering in a chill that blankets the quiet night.
Binnie leans languidly against her chair behind the ticket counter, her gaze fixated vacantly on the large clock in the empty hall, its second hand ticking away monotonously.
Nearby, a fellow night shift worker, the unfortunate Old Johnson, snores soundly.
To be honest, working the night shift on a winter's evening is the most tedious of tasks, particularly on such a frigid night when it's clear that no one will be coming through the doors.
A massive mountain range runs through the center of the continent, effectively dividing it into northern and southern halves.
Since the War Academy is the only gap in this mountain range, every winter, the frigid winds descending from Freljord converge here, making the winters at the War Academy exceptionally harsh.
On such a cold winter night, one must take care to keep warm, for it is all too easy to suffer from frostbite. Each year, numerous impoverished souls are found dead in their homes after failing to adequately protect themselves from the cold.
As winter approaches its end, the thick layer of snow outside is reluctant to melt; everyone knows that the coldest part of winter is not during the snowfall but during the period when the snow begins to thaw.
Though the ticket hall is warmed by a constant magical array, the streets outside lack such comforts, ensuring that on this frigid winter night, no one will venture out.
Moreover, this is not a peak travel season; the festivities of the Holy Night have only just passed, and even the busiest merchants choose to remain home with their families to see out the end of winter.
The true peak travel period occurs in early spring when the earth begins to warm, merchants prepare for the new year's endeavors, and students returning from holiday at the War Academy resume their studies, alongside travelers eager to visit foreign lands...
Countless individuals will crowd the once-empty ticket hall, anxiously waving their currency in hopes of securing tickets to their desired destinations.
But that is early spring, a month away from now; for the moment, the hall remains so empty that not a soul can be seen.
Thus, Binnie can only lean against her chair, sleepily drifting off, feeling both disgruntled and unhappy.
She firmly believes that her assignment to the night shift is a result of her refusal to accept an invitation to dinner from her rotund superior, which she perceives as an act of petty revenge.
"Honestly, just look at that corpulent face of yours—who could ever find you appealing? You strut around, convinced you're the most handsome man at the War Academy, oblivious to how you truly appear. I wonder where you get that ridiculous sense of superiority," she vents her frustrations, feeling emboldened by the solitude, as the only other person in the vicinity is sound asleep.
Yet, she dares not speak too loudly; who knows if she might awaken Old Johnson? Their relationship is not particularly close—though even if it were, she cannot guarantee he wouldn't betray her.
At that moment, a cold voice suddenly breaks the silence, cutting through Binnie's musings.
"Hello, may I have a ticket to the Shurima Desert, please?"
Binnie jumps, startled; just two minutes ago, she was certain the hall was devoid of any presence, and she had heard no footsteps in the eerily quiet space.
Yet here stands a man, indifferent, at the ticket window. How did he even arrive here?
Clearly, the visitor lacks the patience for Binnie to ponder such questions. Observing her stillness, he gently taps the glass of the ticket window with a pale hand, repeating in a chilling tone, "Hello, may I have a ticket to the Shurima Desert?"
"Ah? Oh!" Binnie, jolted awake by the sound of the glass being tapped, hurriedly responds, turning to face him, slightly embarrassed. "Sir... could you please repeat that? Where are you headed?"
His icy gaze lingers on her for a moment before he responds flatly, "To the Shurima Desert."
"Oh, very well, one moment please," Binnie replies hurriedly, lowering her head as she operates the ticketing system, all the while stealing glances at the visitor who braved the winter night to arrive here.
Before her stands a strikingly handsome face, yet it bears an expressionless demeanor that conveys a sense of detachment.
The man is clad in a tattered gray cloak, of medium height, and the few flakes of snow caught in his hair give him a somewhat travel-worn appearance, especially accentuated by his mixed gray and white hair.
If one were to overlook his face, they might easily mistake him for a man weathered by time.
Perched on his shoulder is a small silver-white fox, roughly the size of a fist, sound asleep. It is undeniably an adorable creature.
Binnie, as a woman, feels an overwhelming urge to cradle it in her arms, pressing her face against its soft fur to revel in its silky texture. However, it is the man's eyes that leave the most profound impression on her.
Cold, lifeless, and despairing... For the first time, Binnie is astonished to realize how deeply complex a person's gaze can be.
His indifferent eyes resemble a pool of stagnant despair, as if they have witnessed the harshest trials of existence and the most profound depths of hopelessness, unable to stir a single ripple.
When their eyes inadvertently meet, Binnie finds herself momentarily dazed, her cheeks flushing as she quickly looks down.
In her flustered state, she continues to operate the ticketing system, yet her mind drifts back to the man's eyes, seemingly encased in eternal ice, reminiscent of a passage she had read not long ago in a ranger novel—his eyes were colder than this winter night.
Binnie feels a blush creep across her face at this sudden thought, for the character described in that novel was a knight captain she greatly admired.
With her head bowed, she shyly hands the prepared ticket to the window. "Sir, here is your ticket to the Shurima Desert. It costs thirteen gold coins for the noon train tomorrow."
Typically, the order would dictate that the traveler pays before receiving their ticket, yet Binnie, lost in her thoughts, has made an error.
Realizing her mistake, she freezes, her hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air, a look of embarrassment etched on her face as she wonders what to do next.
However, the indifferent man pays no heed to her discomfort; he simply retrieves thirteen gold coins from his pocket and hands them over without a word, his expression remaining unchanged, as if he is entirely oblivious to Binnie's awkwardness.
Taking the ticket from Binnie's hand with a cold indifference, the visitor disregards her grateful gaze. With a slight lift of his cloak, he turns and departs without hesitation, leaving behind only a solitary figure etched in Binnie's memory.
Binnie watches him leave, leaning against the ticket counter, lost in thought, as she wonders what thoughts occupy her mind.
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