The Divine Wind was a fairly large junk and one that did trade three times a year across the eastern seas. Yop Hyonjun was familiar with the trader, who plied the northern routes, exporting the usual products of the Shangdong province – silk, of course, and golden rice and tea leaves – in exchange for some of the more exotic products of the eastern lands, unique wines, furs, and sugary saps.

Commerce had recently fallen a bit, as the northern port – New Willapaga – led only to a province embroiled in a long, protracted war. Wild rumors, tales of Ancient gods, and more had primarily been the products coming in during recent times, but the Divine Wind’s captain said that his trade contacts were confident commerce would boom again.

Of course, his trade contacts spoke of battles between Heroes and Sorcerers that were out of old epics. Even the southern routes had brought rumors of wars across the continent. But the kingdom’s trade ships still plied, and goods were bought and sold. And Yop was there to remind the merchantman that port fees were owed, and taxes on imports were levied.

Gangplank was extended, and Yop noticed a group of foreign-looking people on the junk’s deck, obviously waiting for the docking.

His expectations were fulfilled when one of the sailors came down, followed by the five foreigners he’d spotted.

“Honorable Hyonjun, I greet you.”

“Master sailor Ho Chuwon, I do not see you often come down as soon as you make landfall.”

“I have passengers this time.”

“So I noted.”

“They will need an interpreter of course. Ru Tohyon can do it for a bit, but I need him soon back on deck.”

“I assume they can pay.”

“They have some means.”

“What are they coming for?”

The captain turned and asked a short question, before turning back to Yop Hyonjun.

“Apparently they heard of registration for High Lords. So they want to meet with the magistrate.”

Yop Hyonjun found himself speechless.

The Magistrate was an Erlang, of course, albeit not one awakened. His great-grandfather had been a Heroic figure, and he himself only had a second cousin that was a minor High Lady. That he was Magistrate of a significant port city was proof of his competence and dedication, and he rather enjoyed this posting.

But being called upon because a gweilo wanted to be registered as a High Lord? Preposterous.

“So, one of the visitors claims to have awakened powers?”

The sailor that worked as an interpreter turned and had a quick exchange.

“They all do.”

“Did they bother me for a joke?” the Magistrate asked, feeling insulted.

The sailor dutifully repeated the question. Chen Long hoped he did not soften the meaning. The five foreigners exchanged looks, bowed, and… changed.

A silver sheen crept over the taller of the two men, flashing across his face and hands, turning him into a metallic statue.

“Esteban Tejedor, Metal Master,” he said.

At his side, the other man had veins of red crossing his skin, but they faded almost immediately to nothing, as smoke started to come from his clothing.

“William Gill, Fire Master, and I’m not burning my clothes,” he announced.

The woman whose skin had turned into rock said bluntly, “Juniper Glass, Earth Master.”

“Mikaela Patel, Wood Master,” said the one whose brown-mottled skin the Magister recognized as the mark of the Highest Lords of the Wood.

“Letizia Biasi, Water Master,” the ice-covered woman announced.

The interpreter backed away, clearly concerned by the display. Chen Long barked at him, “What did they say?”

The sailor looked back and forth between the five seemingly unconcerned foreigners and the Magistrate, swallowed a few times, and finally said, “They gave names, I think. And proclaim Master in all five spheres.”

“It is the custom in the lands of the Lords to register your strength and be scored, I understood,” Esteban said to their interpreter.

The poor man seemed to have forgotten half of his English but finally started translating.

“You broke him…” Mikaela started, and he cut her with a hand gesture.

The translator finally repeated the official’s answer.

“It is true, but it is rare among the people from beyond the eastern seas. Few have power, and fewer significant.”

Esteban could see that the town’s master was doing his best to restrain his curiosity, but he did not need Mood or any other Stock Fixer tricks to see that.

“We do, and thus we present ourselves for your examination,” he stated.

“Those powers are proof, but do you have others?”

Esteban noted the Magistrate had pulled some paper and a small brush, which he knew was used among the easterners instead of a proper pencil. A serious man, then. The five should have prepared a translation of the Talent sheets.

“Does the High Lady of the woods have more powers?” he started – through the interpreter.

Trust the Erlangs to focus on Wood, not Metal, Esteban thought, and he let Mikaela answer.

“I have Barkskin, Slow Poison, Spore Breath, Entangle, Drain Waters, Thorn Fist, and Ash Wind,” she enumerated, adding, “and twenty-two hours of sustainable Talent.”

The official’s hand stopped as the translation was made.

“The esteemed Magistrate requires clarification. Seven powers?” the interpreter conveyed.

“That is correct. And twenty-two hours. Outside of a mana zone,” she repeated. Then, interrupting before he started to translate back, “I think this puts me on top of the Wood power score list for the continent, right?”